//------------------------------// // Desperate // Story: Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl // by Estee //------------------------------// Every member of the palace staff is required to memorize the two dozen messages which can be delivered through the alarm system -- and prior to the Return, the count was at twenty-three. The most recent addition to the list has picked up the nickname of Bucket Brigade, and it has absolutely nothing to do with fire. The newest alert is meant to inform the staff that changelings may be in the palace and if that's a possibility, everypony has to get a bucket of water and sling the contents at their neighbor's legs. Changeling magic fools the senses, but it doesn't do anything to trick the environment. You get a very distinctive splash pattern on the floor when you toss water at a changeling's legs. It's produced by having so much liquid going through the holes. That's a universal alert, and the entire staff is expected to participate. (Avoiding the Brigade might be seen as somewhat suspicious.) But when it comes to the evacuation alarm, and how the staff is meant to respond... there, you find a few gradients. It's all in the exact sounding of the last few notes. Tirek's attack triggered the signal for a full evacuation: everyone on the staff, no excuses, no stragglers. And the Princesses were part of that, because they knew they had to be, and -- they hated it. Both understand the necessity of retreat, knew they had no defense against the theft... To have their magic stolen would mean that Sun still shone down on Canterlot. Every day. And every night, until the continent began to burn. They knew they had to leave, and they hated it. Hated abandoning their home, their citizens and nation, while some of the bravest, most selfless ponies volunteered to buy time. Remove sources of magic from the palace. Serve as distractions, and all of them made that offer while knowing that Tirek would see their continuing presence as appetizers. Because when it comes to protecting the leaders, a herd can produce heroes in quantity. Or, with the current invaders, monsters in bulk. There's a signal for a full evacuation, and that isn't the one Sunspot sounded. This version splits the staff. You're either a combatant, support, or somepony who has just been instructed to get out. Combatants stay behind and try to repel the invaders. Support assists in the evacuation, doing whatever they can to help the vulnerable reach safety: after that, they have the option to turn back. The rest have effectively been told to leave and in this case, that means getting off the palace grounds. Everyone in that category has to get out, because the sisters don't want to see anyone hurt and this at least cuts the odds. They're trying to protect the helpless. (It's 'everyone'. There are non-pony members of the staff. Something which the invaders usually see as a sign of the palace's corruption, because ponies (well, one kind of pony: they disagree on which) is all anypony should ever need. Currently, a few of them are getting a look at that corruption close up. It's a reminder of just how superior their own magic is. Absolutely superior in every way. In fact, it's so superior that any second now, that magic is going to come up with a countertactic for what the non-ponies are doing, and it's going to do so on its own because the ponies who are carrying that magic can't seem to think of anything.) This kind of evacuation is tricky, especially during what's effectively become a siege. There are designated routes, and the palace runs seasonal drills to make sure everypony remembers which way they're meant to go: primary, and a few backup options. But there's a shared aspect to all of those routes: namely, the departing staff members have to go somewhere. Some will be heading towards the tunnels which run under the palace: the trail which evaded Tirek. Those whose primary route exits at the front of the palace are going to need some other way out: nopony's sure as to whether another wave is coming in. (There is.) A number are going onto the grounds -- but that can become its own problem. There are passages which have their terminus outside the walls and out of necessity, those have the strongest protections -- but nopony's entirely sure of just how much is working right now. Every door out can become an invader's way in, especially if somepony sees them leave. Of course, they're supposed to have some issues on the other end... For the pegasi, any opened window which is large enough for a pony to pass through is an evacuation route. This is still an issue, because a window has to have its protections neutralized for a few seconds before it can open, they don't reactivate immediately (if they're working at all) -- and some of the invaders are in the air. The majority of those are still going after Summit -- but if they see a new way in... And some Solars don't want to go anywhere. The designated support staff, upon hearing the evacuation alarm, tries to get ponies on the move. But a number aren't cooperating. They don't want to abandon the fight. They're not going to let the invaders win. The fact that they have absolutely no combat training and have been trying to wreak havoc with what's effectively a stapler seems to escape them. Part of what worries the support contingent is that some of those ponies had been doing rather well. ...it's harder to shift some of them than it should have been. Quite a few wind up temporarily changing roles: the support group gets them moving by asking if they would be willing to look for others, or come along for a while and protect those who are leaving. But they're able to get a number onto their designated routes, and a few get out. Some of those will turn into couriers of words. Others simply discover how badly a few areas have been compromised. So now there's more fighting. There are times when the staff winds up on the gallop. Others which see invaders being chased. And with every passing minute, more are wounded. It may only be possible to keep it at wounds for so long. Combatants. Support. Evacuees. Designated roles. Much to the Guards' annoyance and thinly-veiled fear, the Princesses tend to designate themselves. There was a door in front of the sisters and as doors went, it was doing its job. The door was large, solid, and rather decidedly closed. A number of invaders had decided that a door which was this insistent on staying shut had to have something interesting on the other side and, after failing to defeat its protections, were taking out their frustrations on the artwork which occupied so much of the area. Oh, and there was a room nearby, one which they had been able to access -- but the only thing they'd found in there was paper. Not alicorn-written records which proved how the palace had been acting against them for centuries: shelves holding endless stockpiles of blank paper. What good was that supposed to do? A number were in that room, doing whatever they could to bring those shelves down. It was the punishment for not having been properly incriminating. But there was a door they hadn't been able to get through, and they weren't exactly wrong about it leading to something interesting. Under normal circumstances, the hallway on the other side was a path to some of the more secure areas of the palace. Sections which, while still containing no proof of a conspiracy that didn't actually exist, would have been a lot more fun to destroy. And in this instance, there were also two alicorns on the other side. White and dark blue ears heard something else crash. Both sets twitched. "So they're between us and the scroll supply," Celestia softly announced. "Likely coincidence," Luna decided, keeping her volume low. "They would have very little reason to see them as important." The elder nodded. Relatively few ponies were aware of the one-way communication, and the majority of those who did know about it lived in Ponyville: the usual method of discovery was through just happening to be in the area when something came in. Spike had a standing speech prepared as an explanation for the skittish, and still hoped to eventually deliver it while fully standing: most of his attempts had been delivered from a posture which was bent in on itself, as the little dragon panted from the effort of the long trackdown. (He no longer gave immediate chase. The chases didn't exactly help.) Most ponies didn't know what Celestia could do with the scrolls. (A number of sapients among the other species had found out about it the hard way. Most of them occupied political positions, and just about every one now responded to any unexpected flash of light with an internal surge of dread and a rising question of What Does She Want?) So it was unlikely that the room had been targeted or deliberately blocked. It was just something else to break. Three more things crashed. Two of them sounded generically expensive. Celestia readily identified the third by noting the exact sound produced by so many tiny crystal spindles scattering across a marble floor. "The scrolls are just important to us," the elder muttered. "And we have intruders in the way." "A short-term condition," the younger determined -- A very focused "-- Princesses," came from behind them. It was, in some ways, the sound of Authority. It was also the noise produced by a lot of Worry concentrated into a very small area. There were two alicorns on this side of the door, and what were now six very nervous Guards. "We need the scrolls, Seyfert," Celestia told him. "We don't have any other choice. I have to start sending messages to ponies within the palace. Get the information flowing, as much as we can. We've been out of contact too long already." She could have wished for another option, but... there had been gaps in pony magic from the start, and the centuries hadn't been enough to close all of them. One of the largest was communications. You could carry news on the wing, a chain of teleporting unicorns could relay-race information across the continent -- but when it came to sending words without also sending a pony... Ancient pegasi had swapped out smoke signals for more stable constructs of vapor, then put their codes into the wind and given them a push. Things hadn't advanced much since. Celestia's spoofing of the dragon magic which allowed a few to move their hoards to safety in an instant (with a lot of advance preparation, quite a few recently-consumed white opals, and only after getting past the perpetual dread which came from the dragon knowing that they couldn't move themselves and someone could be lurking at the designated receiving end) was one of the very few discoveries, and Spike was the only other person who could use it. The palace didn't even have speaking tubes. The walls were already honeycombed, and there were just too many potential destinations for any sound to go. They needed more communications magic. They had needed it for a very long time, and that ongoing need had done absolutely nothing for advancement. But right now, they needed the scrolls. For communication, and planting the seeds of sabotage. "There has to be another way," the densely-built Guard protested. "Some other route --" "-- you," Luna softly decided as something else crashed down, "are fully familiar with the passages. This means you are aware that there is a path we could use. One which still terminates outside the storage room -- after taking several winding minutes to reach. We would still chance facing the same situation: simply after a longer delay. Teleportation into a place so crowded virtually guarantees recoil and a moment of vulnerability. You are stalling. Hoping that something happens to clear the area, or that we will change our minds. We will not." "They might move out," Moonstone suggested. "If we just --" -- the earth pony stopped. Looked at both sisters, from tension-tight necks to too-stable tails and back again. She took a slow breath. "-- no," the Lunar Guard reluctantly said. "We need the scrolls. But you need to let us go through first --" "-- there's six of you," Celestia softly cut her off. "I'm hearing at least twenty of them. Six Guards against twenty ponies are, at a minimum, going to get hurt." Imbrium took a step forward. Her wings rustled. "Give them a chance to surrender," the pegasus requested, and there was just a little touch of tremble in her voice. Fear for what could happen to her Princess. "Maybe we don't have to do this. Maybe once they see you, they'll come to their senses. They'll stop --" Every Guard was ready to take a fatal impact for their Princess in every moment of their lives. Was prepared to step into the last moment of their lives, if doing so meant saving the world. It was an occupation which produced heroes, along with an understandable tendency towards expecting the worst. They watched out for their Princess at all times. "-- they shall," Luna considered, "receive one chance." "One --" the pegasus tried. "-- at the moment the door opens," the younger softly stated, "they will have the option to stop. And if they do, they shall not be hurt. An opportunity to -- change their minds. But I do not expect this to happen. They have made their choice, Imbrium. And still -- one chance, and only one." "Princess --" Looking to Celestia this time because for the staff, certain aspects of the Return had turned into the Reassignment. Imbrium had been a Solar once. She loved her recovered Princess, and did so as much as she'd ever cared for the elder. But this was the constant presence, the senior, the good mare -- They watched out for their Princess at all times. But these were the Generals. "-- one chance," the elder repeated, and felt her ears go back. "No more. Because she's right." "A single moment, in which sanity might reassert," stated the younger. "But after that? They have chosen to turn against their nation. And there is a price for that. One chance, Imbrium. But any attempt to attack negates it. And after that --" The temperature on this side of the door was stable: both sisters were making sure it remained so. But six tail-bound stars simultaneously went nova. "-- they already chose to break the gates. Invade our home. And there is a price for that. Let them come." Every mark talent came with a particular set of gifts. However, two ponies with the same talent wouldn't necessarily be in possession of the same set. Wordia was fully aware that both she and Raque had marks which came from the known group of journalism icons, which begged a few questions as to how the other mare managed to live with what had to be defective magic. Still, there was always room for individuality in any given mark family -- but some aspects were more common than others: with reporters, good hearing was almost universal. But quite a few gifts could wind up extracting their subtle price. Wordia's personal grouping included a sharpened memory: the ability to replay events within her mind, making sure she knew exactly what the original wording had been before deciding on how to best interpret it. To that degree, her notebook mostly served as a known tool of her trade, while occasionally doubling as her best weapon of intimidation. She could review events as much as she liked. There were times when she did so to excess, searching for that single crucial moment which would make the story work. Others found her focusing so intently on something which never should have been seen once as to require some assistance in stopping. Bottles were good for that. The mare had an eye for detail. She watched the trio of Guards who were trying to evacuate her, and did so a little more closely than they might have expected. It was easy to notice how they were keeping her in the center of a mobile triangle, with insufficient space between reporter and staff for giving her any chance to bolt. Treating her as if she was something to be protected -- -- no. As a prisoner. She'd never been able to figure out if it was a gift of the mark, or a subtle drawback. The tendency to narrate her own story, going over her memories and life in an attempt to give it all the proper... spin. It was so easy to get lost that way. And part of her wanted to retreat into recent memory, because the present held sounds of fighting which weren't as distant as she wanted them to be, she could hear the violence and smell the blood and she was tired of smelling blood, she'd always been good at dealing with the bloodscent but there was so much of it... The tiny spikes of rock at Tirek's drain site hadn't targeted her with intent. But more of the intruders could be searching for her. She wasn't the primary target: Wordia was sure of that much. More of an attack of opportunity. It wouldn't stop her from being attacked. And all she had was three Guards, when everypony knew Guards were incompetent. How stupid did you have to be, in order to think you were capable of protecting an alicorn? Oh, and the alicorns were also incompetent, because they needed to be protected -- -- who is the primary target? There it was. She was in the middle of a personal crisis and her mark was trying to figure out the story. Not that the alicorns would let her reach a typewriter. Censorship abounded. The Princesses? Not unless somepony had come up with a reliable way to move Sun and Moon. Or were exactly that stupid. ...it was the supremacy group trio. Some of the members were going to be that stupid. But the leadership never would have... The centaur? That still felt like a possibility. But even when she considered secondary targets (including, because the universe was unjust, herself), the attackers seemed to be too spread out. And if the centaur had been brought down, then wouldn't most of the group have left? With the centaur. Dragging the corpse behind them, as proof of their victory. Possibly in a net. The sweater stained with road dirt. Blood flowing across cobblestone. Mounds deforming with the passage, but no longer shifting from breath. Blonde hairs torn out by pony teeth, every strand treated as a trophy... I need a drink. The Guard trio moved. She had to move with them, and it didn't feel they were moving fast enough. What's so important that they would break in for it? What do the group leaders see as being worth that? ...are they even acting of their own accord? Important enough to bring down the gates. To attempt a teleport into the palace -- The reporter blinked. "Teleport," Wordia said, and was suddenly aware of just how dry her mouth was. She needed a drink. She had to get a drink. If she didn't -- "-- we can't," the unicorn Guard irritably declared. "I already told you. Several times --" But that wasn't it. "-- they can't." The door opened. The invaders turned. Saw what was on the other side. The oldest, largest mare in the world, whose expression suggested that there was no patience left. Next to her, the one regarded as the most dangerous, the monster whom the Lunar Guards might exist simply to contain -- somehow. They stared. They couldn't help it. And every tenth-bit of mercy in Luna's heart forged itself into a single chorused word. "Surrender," the alicorns said as one. Some did hesitate. One horn had its corona wink out. Four others had the light display the spikes of rage. Wings flared. Hooves stomped. Two of the stupidest began their charge. The sisters moved. Wordia's group stopped moving, and she nearly went into the triangle's apex pony. She hated that. Apparently Guards truly weren't capable of thinking and trotting at the same time. "They can't," repeated the unicorn on her left. Echo without comprehension. If you use my words, you could at least think about them! "The palace is under a permanent lockdown spell! You can teleport within most of the palace, but the only way to have it work going in and out is if you've been granted an exception! Otherwise, you just reappear at your departure point, and an alarm goes off here --" "I know what a lockdown spell is," the unicorn mare tightly said. "And that we have one." Really? Because Wordia frequently had to remind her audience about things they already should have known -- -- I forgot, I forgot about the lockdown, I thought anything I heard outside was a pony trying to get into position -- If she could just get a drink, if she could just think, she'd been thinking with the bottles for so long because they helped her stop having the wrong kind of thoughts for a while, but then they always wore off and you clearly needed more bottles or better contents because the mind needed lubrication and in Wordia's case, that somehow helped to keep her from slipping down the wrong holes. "You knew," Wordia accused. (The other two Guards were refusing to look at her. They weren't speaking at all. It wasn't going to save them. She was going to write an article, and she was going to take great pleasure in quoting their body language.) The "Yes," was decidedly irritated. Guards also needed to be a lot better at dealing with a stressed-out public. I shouldn't be this stressed. Not even with everything going on, with intruders in the palace and I heard my name at least once -- -- I shouldn't be like this -- -- I need -- "I forgot!" slipped out, and she immediately blamed the lack of bottles. "I forgot about the lockdown! That it's there, that it works!" According to the Tattler's records, a few prospective interns had tried to impress the paper by going directly for the inside story. Filing a pony interest piece regarding what it was like to be inside a detention area hadn't helped their cause. "But you should have known --" "-- I do --" the angry mare shot back. And there it was. You got them talking. There were times when her mark provided helpful whispers on what might keep them talking. And if they kept talking, if they went on for long enough, if you got them worked up -- they slipped. "Then why did you even come in?" In the strictest sense, there were more than two dozen witnesses for what happened next. Or at least, that was the starting number. The majority of them didn't remain conscious for long. The Guards got into position, or tried to do so. It was an effort just to keep up. The eldest of them had been with the Solars for more than two decades, and he'd never known his Princess was capable of moving at this kind of speed: that anything so large could move that fast... It was an effort just to keep up. Most of them didn't manage it. And the sisters advanced through a space which, in terms of ponies, was becoming no less occupied, but decidedly more prone. Afterwards, it would be the Solars who had the most trouble reconciling what they had seen. The sisters moved perfectly. There was some separation between them, expanding and contracting as combat maneuvers required. But each served as a constant watch for the other's flank. Any threat unseen by one saw the other moving to intercept. Coronas ignited (and always went dark before any backlash could hit), wings flapped here and there, and hooves kicked out in all directions -- but none of that detracted from the constant level of awareness for what the other was doing. They guarded each other. They moved perfectly and in doing so, they often seemed to move in exactly the same ways. Their movements matched. Their voices did not, for Celestia had gone quiet. A single word at the start, and then... She moved with efficiency. Virtually everything she did dropped a combatant. But she displayed all the emotional intensity of an abacus which had decided to subtract unruly beads, and her expression was grim. A combination which only one living pony had truly remembered. And Luna... Her Guards were fully aware that the younger could treat intimidation as just one more weapon in the arsenal. Some had even realized that the lashing tail was required, for it gave the Diarchy another aspect of balance. And most Lunars, if queried on the subject in a setting where they had to give an answer, might have reluctantly offered the consideration that their Princess would probably enjoy fighting -- and do so just a little too much. They would have been wrong. The younger hardly minded hurting those who deserved it and when it came to the option list for interaction with those causing trouble, would offer up 'violence' well ahead of her sibling. But she knew not to take too much pleasure in it. She'd seen those who did, and knew exactly where that road tended to lead. It wasn't a path she could follow. But somepony had recently informed her sister about a certain perceived lack of rights. Pleasure in violence for its own sake was dangerous. "EQ 14:3:6, Home Invasion!" the younger called out as she hip-checked a frost-covered earth pony into an alcove. "1:9:1, Self-Defense!" A flare of corona sent a pegasus into the ceiling, then the floor, and finally into a unicorn because a stunned pony could be put towards a new purpose. "0:0:4: Treason!" Education of the stupid, however, was a perpetual delight. The unicorn Guard was staring at her. Wordia didn't like that. Also, they hadn't started moving again. More incompetence. "I couldn't trust the spell," the mare tried. "I didn't know if it was still up." "It's never failed," Wordia stated. Unfortunately. Although this really wasn't a good time for that to change. "The gates haven't gone down either," the Guard rather viciously reminded her. "I couldn't be sure --" "-- the lockdown is the most reliable effect in the palace defenses," Wordia volleyed. "It always has been. It's kept independent of other spells and charge sources, so nopony can try to counter it by approaching it through a different working. The gates can go down, the palace could burn and the lockdown would probably go last --" "-- you know quite a bit about our defenses --" was a stronger observation than the journalist wanted to hear. "-- but you came in anyway! I forgot --" why did I say that again? "-- but you would have remembered, and you still came in --" "-- you were panicking! When you panic, you don't think! I could hear you through the door, and what I heard was that you needed somepony! SO I WENT IN!" It hadn't been anything close to a shout: force, but without much in the way of attached volume. Wordia was still convinced that the idiot Guard was about to summon every attacker in a hundred-body-length radius... ...she... "...what?" The Guard wasn't glaring at her. A glare would have been so much easier. "My squadmates held the line, and I took the reserve role," the other unicorn said, and her voice had become calm. Too much so, and far too quickly. "Going in. Doing that meant you weren't as scared. More rational. You stopped spooking and got closer to just being your usual bitch self. Because we're your Guards. That means protecting you." ...I... ...I need... ...are those hoofsteps getting closer? The stupidest madmare ever to have been foaled took an extra, fully unnecessary breath. "Even from yourself." And then the attackers found them. And then they were in the scroll storage area. Coronas shifted groaning bodies out to make room. Children, the oldest mare in the world irritably considered as she surveyed the damage. They're acting like children. The foals who, once they hear they can't have something, kick out a tantrum and destroy whatever they can reach. But most foals grow out of it. They look at the wreckage and realize that they were only breaking things to prove that they had control over their own lives. Something they felt was needed, after the indignity of a 'no'. But so much of what they destroyed was theirs. They shattered their own possessions, just to prove a point which doesn't even exist. Foals come down from a tantrum with their parents snuggled next to them. Warm and loved. These ponies are going to wake up in cells. They're breaking their own lives. They had also gone to some trouble in breaking most of the ink bottles. "Typical," the elder decided. She couldn't even gather up the ink with her field: liquids tended to get tangled in the borders, flowed around the edges in dark tributaries of lost words. "But we should have enough to work with." Her field lanced forward, split into multiple projections and fetched six scrolls. "I'm starting with support staff and senior Guards, Luna." The spell targeted ponies: as long as she knew her target, having an unknown location wasn't a problem. "The first group has to avoid the front exits. Guards are going to start gathering up the combatants. We'll use some of the kitchens for assembly points. Along with picking up weaponry." "The armory?" asked the younger, watching the Guards set up a perimeter at the door. (She had been trying to learn the scroll-sending spell for some time, and her results had been -- mixed. Having Celestia tell her that the first seven years of the elder's own investigations had been on pace for the same number of explosions wasn't encouraging.) "Who goes there?" "I want a better picture of what's happening in the basement before I try for it," Celestia grimly decided. "Or we might wind up going ourselves at some point. Because until we figure out where everypony is within the palace, asking somepony to open the armory might just give somepony else the chance to follow them in." "Weapons they do not know how to use," the younger noted -- then, a little more darkly, "Which could rapidly make the situation worse. Especially as the sphere still exists." Celestia nodded. Her field located an intact bottle, grabbed a quill, braced the opened scroll against a wall and began to write. "So," and experience meant her next words were never meant as anything other than the darkest of jests, "let's get this war organized." It was rather easy to hear where Luna's snicker wasn't. "Commence," the younger said. "Moonstone, search for more ink --" They both heard a noise in the hallway. A body shifting against marble. Given the post-combat context, Celestia felt it sounded suspiciously like a semi-conscious bound pony trying to stand up by using a wall for leverage. Luna's horn ignited. A burst of dark blue shot through the door frame. "-- 4:12:10, Resisting Arrest..." she stated over the thump. "Place a scroll for the Sergeant among your initial grouping. Let him know that you received his message, and we shall remove Cerea from Paddock ourselves." Celestia nodded. "When we can," the elder said. "She'll be safe there until we can reach her." More scribbling. The speed was doing horrible things to Celestia's fieldwriting. She wanted to put the quill in her mouth -- "They know about the sword's destruction," Luna observed. "How?" The old mare could confront the question and write at the same time. "We need to answer that," she readily admitted. "We both warned our staffs about bar gossip after that one article. It was just about all Guards who saw Cerea being brought off the air carriage. Then Applejack came out, with what was left of the sword." She frowned. Exactly who was there? Guards. Tutors. Some of the ponies she trained with. Crossing came in later... She had to put the list together. Quickly. But there had been so many ponies milling about... "I know somepony went directly to Barding," Celestia added. Desperate times... "Broken weapon, so the first thought was to try and get it reforged." She tried to picture Barding leaving the palace. Seeking the advice of an outside expert. ...looking for help in working with a material which didn't exist anywhere else in the world... ...and she'd gotten stuck on just trying to picture Barding leaving the palace... ...she had been seeing him outside the forge more often lately. To an unusual degree. Any degree at all -- -- it hadn't been Barding. "When the theory was still that the blade had broken off within Tirek's torso," Luna casually considered. (The elder absently listened to the sound of one Guard swallowing back what would have been some rather impressive retching.) "But there was insufficient material for any attempt at restoration, and its properties were gone." More thought: several meteors streaked through her mane accordingly. "Wordia Spinner would normally be a suspect, especially as she has a minor talent for placing herself in the vicinity of free-flowing words -- but she has had no communication with the outside." I want it to be Wordia. She wanted to kick down that prison sentence herself. What's her personal spell? Is it possible that she has something for communication? -- she would have used it already. Over and over. "We need to know how the word got out." Her corona flared, and the first scroll vanished. "Gossip overheard by somepony who repeated it in the wrong place: even after that speech we gave our staffs, that's still possible." Moonstone reluctantly cleared her throat. Both sisters glanced in that direction. "Some ponies went out to celebrate when they heard Tirek was dead," the earth pony told them, carefully nosing an intact bottle out from under fallen scrolls. "A few of them probably went to bars." "We may," Luna darkly contemplated, "have to install a staff-accessible liquor room. With its own barkeep, just to keep such occasions in-house. I almost look forward to seeing how Raque Marshdew excuses it --" The last sound had been a body shifting against marble. This one was marble moving against itself. ...and there were more attackers than Guards, they were trying to keep her in the center of the triangle but there was a pegasus in the group, that one kept trying to go up and over while hooves cantered around the reporter and her mark was for listening and thinking and she could fight, she'd always had some skill there because she'd grown up in the Tangle (a place which the alicorns didn't understand) and managed to have the process reach adulthood, but there were too many and one of them had just recognized her, the Guards were fighting and she heard hooves impacting armor, she thought she heard a hoof crack and it almost drowned out the scream of "TRAITOR!" as a pony's kick went directly for a vulnerable leg -- -- the field projection went between combatants, zig-zagged to its target, surrounded and yanked. A pony who was kicking would have, at a maximum, three legs which could be dedicated to other purposes. The sudden pull brought that number to two. Bipeds could work with two. Ponies who'd just lost the support from a pair of limbs on the same side of their bodies tended to have a little more trouble. The attacker, whose expression came across as both surprised and stupid, fell over. The next Guard kick went into their head, and did so as another burst of corona targeted vital flight feathers, pushed there and there on the structure of an active left wing. The subsequent flap did the rest of the work and after that, it was just a matter of waiting for the pegasus to slide down the wall. Shortly after that, the fight was over. And as soon as it ended, the Guards once again proved they were idiots. "Do the three of you have anything better to do than stare at me?" Wordia furiously demanded. And because her audience always seemed to need reminders of things they already knew, she followed that with "Oh, wait: you do! You're supposed to be getting me out of here! And if you're going to be guarding me, don't you think you have to stay conscious? And what kind of Guard wouldn't think to protect their legs? So if I have to --" They were still staring at her. She clearly needed a stronger insult. She found one. "Is the centaur any better at this?" The sisters could find their thoughts galloping down the same path, and so they shared a twinned reaction upon hearing the secret passage open. The first part was relief: somepony had found their way to the temporary command center and was about to provide information. Even in the absence of anything tactically useful, simply knowing that a familiar face had reached relative safety was more than enough. The other aspect said they had to be sure. And neither had anything close to the girl's olfactory range, not even mark-boosted ponies came close to that -- but too-fresh fur dye had a reek all its own. Two coronas projected into the hall. A robe-shrouded form, four legs split between sun and shadow, was pulled back. The pony struggled. They'd left just enough slack for struggling to take place, mostly as a side effect of eventually needing to get the robe off. "Explain!" the younger demanded. "How did you enter the passage? How did you get out again?" The stallion's reply initially emerged as an assortment of choking sounds. The elder suspected it was an early attempt to set up an accusation of brutality: neither of them had their field anywhere near this throat. "...I... I don't have to tell you anything..." "Then we won't waste time asking," Celestia told him. "Because I have six Guards here who are waiting for us to finish, and none of them are particularly interested in letting you rejoin your faction." "...I won't tell them --" "I do not believe," Luna coldly stated, "we had brought up the possibility of having them conduct an interrogation. They are going to secure you. Followed by a formal arrest --" He looked at the Guards. Six sets of hard-edged stares looked back. "-- you can't --" "Guards on palace grounds," Celestia informed the invader, "can arrest. Especially given the charges involved. Which means that anything you do to stop them counts as resisting arrest. So I'd advise you to just let it happen. And as it turns out --" and she very carefully didn't smile "-- I was considering whether to grant lesser charges for the first pony who talks. Pity that wasn't you." And paused. "I may add a charge of Not Talking." A rather desperate "...what? That... that law doesn't exist..." "The palace is under siege," Luna calmly told him. "Which happens to serve as one of the conditions under which martial law may potentially be declared. The law does not, in fact, exist. Would you like it to?" She smiled. The stallion did his best to faint, and didn't quite make it. The sisters transferred corona custody to the unicorns among their Guards, and the new prisoner was bundled out of sight. They won't hurt him. Celestia knew her ponies. They're just going to tie him up. Some of the knots may be a little tight. They wouldn't interrogate him, either. It was a waste of time. Especially when there was a good chance that the siblings already had the answer. Celestia knew Luna had reached the same conclusion, because each was somewhat like the other. Something which was true in more and stronger ways than anypony ever suspected. And in this case, all the elder had to do was look at the expression of rising rage twisting the younger's features, and she knew. Just about everypony was aware that the palace had passages hidden within the walls, because some secrets were harder to keep than others and Guards ran time trials. It wasn't uncommon for a staffer to see an armored form slipping out of the dark, it had been happening for generations, and sometimes it happened in front of a tour group... Centuries spent in the same structure. Having ponies know the passages existed was inevitable. There were children who could point to some of the entrances on a map, and a pony who had never been part of the staff, watching closely enough from a hidden vantage point, might figure out how to get in. They just wouldn't know how to get out. The passage doors always closed behind anypony using them, and the exit requirements were completely different. You couldn't readily guess at what you needed to do in order to get out. A failed attempt had a good chance to set off an alarm, and so many of those had gone off across the centuries. Tour strays who thought they had the opportunity to go exploring, most of whom looked utterly sheepish upon rescue... The passages weren't secret. The means of leaving them was. And they were part of the evacuation plan, something which already assumed that things were going wrong and detours off the original path might be necessary. Any member of the staff would need to have a few exits memorized, along with the routes which led to some of the hidden saferooms. Any member of the staff. Purple eyes stared into dark blue. And they both knew. Paddock wasn't safe. There might not be a single safe spot left. "We've been compromised," Celestia coldly stated. "Zero-zero-four," the heat of Luna's anger announced. "Treason."