//------------------------------// // Vengeful // Story: Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl // by Estee //------------------------------// One of the more common ways to learn about another person was through listening to them talk about the things they loved. Favorite subjects could be a starting topic, along with prized possessions -- but in Japan, the girls had typically encountered certain difficulties with both. For starters, when it came to the household, the favorite subject was Kimihito and if any of the exchange students stayed on that topic for too long, it could easily lead to a fight. And when it came to possessions... they certainly had their favorite pieces: Miia's hair clips approached the level of religious artifact, which meant the lamia treated any attempt to make her swap them out as the act of a heretic. But six of the girls didn't own much of anything and for the lone exception, the vast bulk of it stayed within the waters. Additionally, if anyone found Suu lovingly cradling something new in simulated hands, it was generally best to investigate immediately because the slime didn't understand very much about human society and there probably wasn't a receipt. The alicorn and centaur were still within the royal bedroom, because an interrupting knock had yet to sound and neither of them wanted to wrap things up just yet. And when it came to prized possessions, books were most of it. When it came to Cerea, Luna couldn't really do much with books. Pointing to titles as future recommendations for when the girl finally learned how to read could become depressing in a hurry, and the mare probably wasn't about to start reading anything aloud. Doing voices was right out. It was just about all books. But... "What was his name?" Cerea quietly asked, and her right index finger carefully pointed towards the portion of the sketch which hosted the male pegasus. Luna quietly regarded that section, met the frozen eyes of the dove-grey stallion. She'd faded out the glow, allowing the girl a better look at those who were hosted within. The glow itself had turned out to be another security measure, so that none might peer too closely. Look, and -- wonder who those portrayed had been. No one was truly allowed to look. None but the alicorn, and... those who were trusted. Her knight. How would one of her favorite characters have dealt with the situation? Cerea was sure that several of them would have felt the situation violated boundaries, created impropriety and, in the hands of certain authors, guaranteed tragedy because of course something horrible was going to happen to knight, liege, or both. So many stories existed as lessons of punishment for breaking morality, at least for what the author had decided was going to be moral. But this was about what Cerea thought was right. They'd spoken about confidentiality. That nothing could be repeated to any other unless a crisis left no other option, and the girl had understood. She had existed as a living secret, and... Her liege didn't trust easily. But it had to start somewhere. Luna was talking. And in a newly-welcomed knight's opinion, the best thing which could be done for her liege was to listen. (For somepony who might be a little bit more.) They were both standing near the desk, and the sketch had been the focus of their mutual attention for some time. "In terms of what he wished to be called?" Luna softly began. "Because there was an appellation which was given to him at birth. I may have used it all of seven times, generally when angry. But his name... that was what he wanted to be known by. The way he would have asked us to remember him." "Like Render?" Cerea managed a small nod towards the minotaur. "Zephyra named this one, too?" A small smile had its way with the corners of the alicorn's mouth. "You have yet to take possession of the timeline," she told the girl. "He came before Zephyra or Render. He..." The dark eyes closed and when they opened, the mare was no longer looking at anything in the room. The deep gaze pierced the past, and the air was filled with the scent of mourning. "...could easily be argued as... the cause. The reason it all happened. And his initial contribution was to provide us with his new name, as the very first thing he said after crashing in front of my sister. 'Surprise!' Trying to make himself look less threatening, I suppose. Turning it into a joke. But much like you, Cerea, one could say that his timing was off. Attempting to be both peaceful and personable, seeking sanctuary directly after a raid -- the rest of the barricade point decidedly failed to see the humor in it. Or what ultimately turned out to be the sincerity..." Inhale. Exhale. Check the room's temperature. Repeat. "...a long story," Luna quietly decided, as pain twisted mane and tail. "Too long, and... there are many ways in which it is not a happy one. I cannot entertain the delusion of currently providing any significant fraction, not when we have already had so much more time than I anticipated. But on this night, I can at least offer identities. We called him Surprise, almost from the first day. To the last. And our Laughter thought it was funny." Do I keep talking? Do I stop? She's hurting. I can smell it. But she would ask me to stop if it was too much. "His wing," Cerea risked, and pointed again. "The right one --" The limb didn't seem to quite be in a normal rest position. "-- yes," the alicorn intercepted. "The artist rendered the true. It was injured, and never healed properly. Something which affected both his flight and magic. He could fly -- but it was generally ill-advised for him to remain airborne for very long. And he was never the strongest in his techniques. When it came to his jests, he typically concerned himself about the subtlety of magic. Small effects designed to create maximum havoc." This smile was exceptionally quick. "I think you can imagine that simply holding a pocket of scent against a snout for a time can have a number of effects. When it came to raw strength, there was generally a semi-informal contest between Zephyra, Star, and myself. And during any given cycle, none to all of us would win --" She stopped. Her eyes closed again, and dark fur became darker still as it absorbed the first drops of moisture. "I can stop," the girl said, immediately deciding she'd pushed too far. "We can stop --" "-- it... hurts to speak of them," Luna steadily forced out, and a mare immune to cold shivered. "It always will, Cerea. But part of that agony exists because I have not spoken of them with anyone other than my sister, for... a very long time. There is a base level of pain: something which has never truly faded." Decibels fell away. "I no longer believe that it ever will. But for the current extent of the wound... this allows the bleeding to slow." The dark mare breathed, and did very little else. Her head dipped, her ribs shifted, and her eyes stared into time -- "Your hand is on my back." Automatically, "I'm sorry --" "-- once again," Luna offered, still focused on the ancient sketch, "I did not say to stop --" A hoof knocked on the door, and the alicorn's head turned. Looking first at Cerea, and then the artwork's frame. "-- although it would seem the world has decided that we must do so, at least for now," Luna announced: a glance at the frame restored the glow to its original intensity. "My orders were to hold all interruptions unless the matter was truly important. Let us assume that my staff has judged correctly." Cerea nodded, pulled her right arm back. Luna trotted towards the door, and a flare of field opened it. "Your news?" she asked the pony on the other side. Cerea didn't see who it was, any more than she listened to the low-pitched words. She was still thinking about everything she'd been told. Knowing she had but a fraction, and that the rest had to wait for future nights. There would be other nights -- "-- good," the alicorn decided, and the syllable was saturated with the shadows of satisfaction. "Then let us -- hmm." A thoughtful sound, one which almost vibrated from dark anticipation. "Cerea, this requires a test. The sword is rather obviously not present. Do you currently have any hairpins manifested?" The centaur, already feeling confused, shook her head. Blonde strands shifted accordingly. "Then we test," Luna announced. "Place your hand on my back." The staffer at the doorway looked at Cerea. Then she looked at her Princess and in that, she had company. "You want me to --" the girl started, because privacy had been broken -- "-- one of your earliest formal lessons in our magic," Luna cut her off. "Although sufficient time has passed to potentially mandate a reminder. I am about to attempt short-range teleportation. The distance covered will be a single body length, and I will be doing my best to bring you with me. This remains easier when all parties are touching. You do not have the sword manifested and the hairpins are absent. Therefore, this is the time when we need to determine whether your body resists such effects without them. If you will?" The centaur moved towards the alicorn, carefully touched cool fur and solid spine. (The contact was made more quickly now.) The horn ignited. Light flashed -- "Good," Luna repeated upon the dual emergence from the between. "There is no longer any issue in transporting you with your weapon, because the weapon does not need to exist until the transport is complete. So the next thing we need to do is -- check the timetables. And allow a considerable margin of error, because there are multiple variables in play." She glanced backwards and up, looked at Cerea's bruised neck. "However, at the very least, I hope to have sufficient for you to fetch a scarf. And if we happen to find ourselves with significant lead time..." The smile, directed at no one in particular, was thin. Vicious. Cold. "...perhaps," the Princess concluded, "we should visit a seamstress." The overweight mare (and that was as far as she was willing to go with her self-description in the face of all physical and dress material cost evidence: merely slightly overweight, and always fashionably so) was still on the train, staring out the window of her private compartment in utter boredom. She'd always known that the world outside Canterlot was nothing worth looking at and as scenic vistas and fabulous terrain passed by under Moon's light, she congratulated the planet on being sensible enough to prove her right. It was a long ride to Prance and if the only other significant pony nation had its way, the trip would either be longer still or utterly impossible. They had connected themselves to the rail network with great reluctance -- but the citizenry's collective habit of sniffing loudly at anypony seen getting off a train had developed almost instantly. Prance was generally perceived as preferring to deal with the rest of the planet from a distance, because the stereotypes said that population collectively believed itself superior and the best way to maintain that illusion was through never actually meeting anyone who could shatter it -- for that value of 'meeting' which indicated true social interactions. Tourists were seen as a necessary evil, along with a slow-trickle supply of those who could be looked down on at no personal social cost. It was a long ride, and it could have been a longer one. In Prance, the extremists usually argued for isolation, typically in the name of keeping their culture from being corrupted. Ideally, this would have taken the form of cutting the rail lines, stopping all trade, expelling every embassy and, in the best-case scenario, teleporting the entire country to Moon. The mare, who was currently dyed red and black because it struck her as an effective combination for a future display of power, felt she was going to fit right in. She'd already been working on her accent, and recognized that was going to take a while to perfect. But when it came to the distant nation's supposed signature sneer, she'd been a natural. It was a long ride, and that was partially because the train kept stopping. The railroads offered private compartments for those who wanted a little more space for themselves, and it was possible to get all meals delivered from the dining car as a courtesy service. (Courtesy, in the mare's mind, meant she was under no obligation to tip. She was becoming rather irritated about always being the last to be served, and didn't understand what she'd done to deserve it.) But you couldn't get the whole train to yourself. There was no way to keep the line from stopping at multiple stations. It kept picking up passengers whom the mare really didn't want to look at, because it hadn't taken her long to discover that the railroad had absolutely no standards. It would let anypony ride, in any car, and she'd closed the heavy curtains over the aisle-facing windows accordingly. And now the train was slowing down yet again, as a small, rather ordinary-looking settled zone began to come into view. A place which obviously hosted nopony of any class whatsoever, and therefore probably had a population of those who were just waiting to hear how special they were. But the mare couldn't exactly afford to get off. The train occasionally stopped long enough for passengers to stretch their legs (and, sadly, wings -- very few pegasi were true endurance fliers, and so quite a few rode the rails), look around a little, and find a different source of snacks. In this case, the mare preferred to remain isolated until she reached her destination. It wasn't just an unwillingness to move among lessers. It took time to set things up, and those efforts were best reserved for Prance. Any promising opportunity in Equestria had to be -- -- she didn't initially recognize the grinding sound as having been produced by her own teeth, and then it took far too long to make it stop -- -- abandoned. A private compartment, with nicely-padded benches, a foldout bed which wasn't completely horrible, and a sliding door that she kept locked. (One which, unfortunately, did not come with an equally-private bathroom. She was still trying to figure out the best possible timing for making sure she never had to share. And she kept hearing noises from the other compartments, and the aisle, and the doors as they opened and closed. The walls were far too thin.) Remain within. Practice her accent. Every so often, count the letters of credit she was carrying, which was occasionally followed by vague internal questions about how exchange rates worked. Wait for the boredom to end. Waiting for her true future to begin. The train came to a full stop. It left her looking at the side of the station which didn't have anypony boarding, and she distantly regarded the very few ponies who might be waiting for a trip to Canterlot. Possibly to tour the palace or in the ideal, what was left of it. She'd left during the first stage of the assault. News typically traveled at the speed of ponies, and a mare on the rails who didn't care to leave her compartment could get ahead of the details. But when it came to how things had shaken out... a certain amount of destruction would have been welcome. Appropriate payback for her suffering. But in the end, not even that mattered. The plan had but one true goal, and that had been accomplished. She was out of the capital. ...the walls were too thin. Her ears reported every passage down the center aisle, and thus told her that there were quite a few ponies getting on. She distantly wondered what the next stop was. Perhaps the majority of new passengers were just going to the next settled zone up the line. There couldn't be this many ponies heading for Prance, especially not on a train boarding at this hour of the night. The little portion of settled zone she could see beyond the platform looked too stupid to know where it was. There were a lot of hooves going by. The heavy curtains vibrated in sympathy, which indicated the only way that word was going to be used within the private compartment. The mare irritably wondered how cheap their luggage was. Half of it sounded like moving metal. She heard multiple sliding doors open. Then she heard more doors, and... it sounded like the number of ponies on the move had more than doubled. Compartments emptying out, with hooves moving towards -- the dining car? Perhaps there was a special dish being made for dinner. She'd have to ask the server, presuming that idiot ever showed up. Hooves on the march. What almost felt like a low-level mutter of confusion, echoed from too many throats. And then it all went silent, just before the train's steamstack vented and the whole thing began to move again. ...good. One stop closer to Prance. One more nag-riddled excuse for a settled zone which she'd never have to see again. The train picked up speed quickly. (She imagined it would be able to move faster still if the supposed inventor hadn't so clearly kept unicorns out of the design process, but that was what you got with earth ponies. Sabotage.) The boring scenery began to whip by again, and mostly served to hit her in the face. If she blocked out the sound of the wheels -- something which, in theory, might eventually be possible -- then it was rather pleasantly quiet now. The advantage of mealtimes. She didn't have to put up with half-heard mutters, or hints of conversations that nopony of sanity would have ever cared about. It was almost as if she was the only pony in the entire passenger car -- -- typical. All she'd had to do was have the thought, and the world punished her with the sound of hooves working their way down the center aisle. Very heavy hooves. The mare considered her build to be -- pleasantly padded, and she couldn't get that kind of impact on a normal hoofstep. It was a sound which took the extremes of typical pony mass and added a multiplier. Whoever was coming down the aisle had to be the heaviest -- -- the largest exterior window of the compartment could be forced open: a necessary emergency evacuation measure, because narrow strips of wild zone had been cleared to make room for the tracks and there was always a chance of having the protections break. But it was something which presumed the train had stopped. And if you weren't a pegasus or, in the case of the recently red-and-black mare, happened to be a unicorn whose inadequate teachers had blocked her from mastering teleportation theories, using that exit on a train which had reached near-full speed was suicide. The mare recognized the possible danger at the exact moment she heard something grip the door's outside lever. It rattled a little. She heard the unseen party push. The lever, secured by what was actually a rather good lock, held. Then the intruder pushed a little harder. The lock was perfectly fine metal. It meant the housing parted from the wood as a single unit, trailing along behind as the entire door slammed sideways into the hollow between thin walls. The mare heard the now-interior edges splinter, and the lever itself just came off in the monster's hand. There was a perfectly reasonable reaction to seeing this happen, and the mare instinctively used it. But the monster had two hands, the other one moved, and the edgeless blade cut through the shower of sparks. It produced a moment of weakness: something which had the mare sinking into the well-padded bench as the momentary disruption of unfocused magic created a sickening sensation. Her stomach seemed to flip, all of her joints loosened, the black jaw fell open, and sheer rage pushed the words out. It was a lie. It's supposed to be gone. It was all a lie. I should have known I could never trust -- "...she lied," the unicorn hissed. "She --" The monster's response was to duck under the door frame, because an excess of size was just one more way it proved just how unnatural it was. And then it entered the compartment. It was a process which took a second to enact, and never really finished. There was a lot of monster and, once you left the pony scale behind, not all that much compartment. The abomination just barely managed to get its hips inside the violated sanctuary, and most of the overlong blonde tail remained in the aisle. "'She'," it rather passively said -- or rather, the disc and wires did. "That's interesting." The mare immediately tried to rally. This was beyond merely bad. Her current situation had a good chance to be the single worst thing anypony had ever experienced, and those who argued otherwise simply weren't in possession of the facts. The monster had the sword. She couldn't fight the sword. A physical blow might be possible, as the monster wasn't wearing armor. It had a sweater, a well-bundled scarf, and a vertically-pleated skirt, with the last being somewhat overdone: there was far too much fabric along the excessive length, and the covering over the hips was a festival of folds. For that matter, the sweater itself was obviously of low quality: each sleeve had a short length of thick thread hanging out near the fully-unnatural wrists. And that meant the mare could strike with nature's perfect weapon, but -- she didn't have the space required to get up speed for a horn strike, and the monster was just too big. Magic was out. A charge had very little chance to work. But the monster was stupid. Monsters always were. ...it had those mounds on the front. They kept moving. Shifting, every time the monster breathed. The mare wondered if the mounds could attack. Looking at the mounds was better than looking at the sword. But not by much. It's stupid. Just talk... "I'm sorry," was the mare's first lie. "You startled me." Which was one of the few times she'd felt Honesty working for her. Who wouldn't have been startled -- "-- you can get up on your own," the monster evenly told her. "Or, if thou chooses to resist, I hast --" stopped, just for a moment, and the left hand dropped the broken lever to the floor. "I have the option of carrying you out, Mrs. Panderaghast. It's up to you." The former leader of CUNET, in the face of terror and monstrosity, continued to execute her brilliant strategy. "Who?" The monster's small blue eyes narrowed. There was a small jolt as the train accelerated a little more, and Moon-lit crags of rock sped by all the faster. "I have papers," the unicorn said, and that was true. Acquiring a properly-forged set had been a necessity in the plan. "I think you've mistaken me for somepony --" "-- you're actually rather distinctive," the monster stated, with the artificial voice maintaining a fully unnatural calm. "Once ponies start looking past your normal fur and mane colors, at least. Because the Princesses did realize that you might have tried to leave the city. It didn't take long to get your bank to turn over the records. Not a full withdrawal, because that might have looked too suspicious. Closing everything out can draw attention. But then you turned it all into letters of credit. Bearer bonds, if you prefer that term. And then you went to another bank, and turned them into different bearer bonds. Which was followed by a mare displaying different hues turning up at a third bank, converting them again..." There was a small head shake. Blonde hairs, unconstrained by the natural dignity of a mane's center line, bounced. The mounds echoed some part of that, and the unicorn fought back nausea. "You still smell like fur dye," the monster said. She couldn't. The smell faded after a few hours... "Cosmetics are legal," the unicorn announced, and hated hearing the defensiveness in her own voice. But she was entitled. Who wouldn't be defensive, when challenged by a monster? "Anypony can wear them. And you don't have any proof --" "-- you're distinctive," the monster cut her off, and it was a deliberately cruel substitution for 'beautiful'. "I'm guessing you didn't think about that. But a --" and a hiss entered the artificial voice, something which sounded as if it was coming off the wires "-- binding/corset/girdle might have helped. Once the Princesses realized that you'd gone on the run, it was just a question of how you'd leave. You didn't risk the escort network, because they keep records of their passengers. Just in case somepony does try to use them for an escape. Ground carriages are what you hire for other ponies. Going by air... no. Not you. And you'd never risk a long trip on hoof. Princess Celestia thinks your top range is about sixty blocks. So that left the train. And all they had to do was check with the Grand Gymkhana's ticket sellers until they found the one who remembered you." The strange head shook again. "You were easy to remember," the monster observed. "The palace had your chosen colors from the last banks along the line. Then they just asked if anypony had seen a mare with those hues, a lot of luggage, and... let's call it 'a memorable build'." The predatory eyes briefly glanced down at the mounds. "I'm not in much of a position to go after you there," the monster wryly noted. "So we'll keep it at 'memorable'. You're under arrest, Mrs. Panderaghast. Because Guards can arrest, when the crime involves the palace. I feel like you've overqualified yourself there. Are you coming quietly?" A Guard. They made this thing a Guard. As unpleasant reminders went, it felt worse than the sword's disruption. Besides, why did Princesses need Guards anyway? If they truly believed in the supposed virtues of 'Harmony', wouldn't they go without? "You can't prove I'm this Panderaghast mare," said Mrs. Panderaghast. "Whoever she is." "Once you're in the palace," the monster stated, "the dye can be removed. Not that it's very hard to see underneath it. I can spot you. I can scent you." "You... you can what?" What kind of monster was -- "Other ponies will verify your identify, because they have police lineups here too. If necessary, the Princesses will take a sample of your field. There's already a warrant for that." The higher set of shoulders shrugged. "I would have brought the device with me, but somepony checked it out of the armory --" "-- I'm not going anywhere with a monster!" The scream echoed through the rail car, bent the wrongly-placed brown ears back. Mrs. Panderaghast liked that. It knew how wrong it was. It just needed to be reminded -- -- I need other ponies. "THERE'S A MONSTER!" the unicorn screamed. "IT'S TRYING TO HURT ME! EVERYPONY, PLEASE, THE MONSTER IS --" "-- the Guards emptied out this part of the train before I got on," the monster said. "There's nopony to hear you. And as far as monsters go --" -- no, they can't all be gone, they can't -- -- I could have talked to some of them, found the vulnerable, had them take me to dinner -- The sword was pointed forward now, leaving that annoying loose thread hanging down from the wrist. The blade's tip was all too close to Mrs. Panderaghast's horn. The mare, dreading the touch, with nowhere to go, fell silent. "-- I was in the palace," the beast softly continued. "But you know that. You knew I was helpless, because you're the one who seems to have told everypony else. But I was just a target of opportunity. And the Princesses are starting to wonder whether they could say the same thing about the entire palace. Because they also saw what you did to your own home, and... it made me wonder, Mrs. Panderaghast. The Princesses were talking about all of it, and that made me think about children. The ones who respond to not getting what they want by throwing a tantrum. You could have gotten out of the city with just about the same lead if you'd left normally, I think. But you were angry. You were going to lose your organization, your income, and your home. So if you couldn't have anything... then you were going to throw a tantrum. You just wanted to see people hurt. Why should anyone else be happy, if you weren't? Why not just use the chance to make us all suffer?" It kept breathing. The attack should have made that stop... "You made sure your possessions could never be used again," the monster said. "That your followers couldn't be used again, because you took ponies who trusted you and destroyed their lives. And the one thing you left intact was the membership list. Because it's another distraction. Columns of ponies to be tracked down and questioned, instead of you. A tantrum. Do damage for the sake of the pain alone. You could have tried to leave without all of this, and you. just. didn't. care. You only care about yourself. And I've been told that's the definition of a monster." The huge hooves shuffled the giant body a little closer. "Definition," the monster repeated. "And in your case, actions. There's proof. You don't care. The law does. The lawsuits, for that matter." And added a little sigh, followed by another one of those warped shrugs. "But we have plenty of ponies who can identify you, no matter how much you lie or claim conspiracy. One of them is still in the cells, still alive after everything you tried to do. And maybe her testimony can't be trusted -- but paperwork can be followed." The corners of the too-thin lips twisted. "You shouldn't have had her sign over her assets." Mrs. Panderaghast briefly resisted the urge to offer a well-prepared protest, because she'd had it ready to trot out in court for years and there was every chance that a monster would fall for it. She stood ready to claim that she was a world-class financial advisor. It was always the same advice: give me control of your money. And every time somepony followed it, assets increased. That was a proven Fact, and that all of the increased assets were her own didn't make it any less Factual. But that would mean admitting her identity. And when it came to caring about what happened to anypony, she was focusing her attentions on the only worthy subject. There had to be words which would drive the monster off. She'd already made it flinch, or so she was fully prepared to see it. If it was a matter of triggering retreat... ...if only the train wasn't moving so quickly, if self-levitation hadn't been sabotaged to make it so hard to learn... "No matter who I might be," she made herself declare with well-practiced authority, "I'm a pony. And you're a monster. One whose form is nothing more than a distortion of mine, a warping. A pony might be able to falsely claim authority over me, but not a monster. A beast with nothing in common, a foulness which possesses no magic of its own --" She could have gone on from there and, given the chance to do so, might have automatically slipped into how all of the other magics were lesser anyway. But that was when the monster raised a hand, and the body horror of bending fingers sliced through her words. "Princess Luna thought you might say something like that," the beast announced. "So she asked a seamstress for a quick alteration." The left hand bent in on itself at the wrist, grabbed the dangling thread and yanked. A hastily-sewn internal structure went taut, and the curtain hidden among the hip-pleats pulled open. The unicorn automatically looked. Stared. And something within shattered. She tried to sink into the padding. To lunge for the window. To go everywhere, all at once, and it turned her into a shivering mass of fear and denial. All she had was words. One word. The most fundamental Fact. "No! Nonononononono...!" But no matter how much she said it, nothing changed. "You're the second pony to react that way," the monster said. "I wonder what you two might have in common?" "Fur dye!" Mrs. Panderaghast screamed. "You're accusing me of what you did, because that's how monsters work! A false mark, with no magic behind it! Nothing which connects to the core of a soul, because you don't have one!" It opened the right hand. The sword vanished. Closed the fingers well before the unicorn could hope to react, and the hilt was being held fast again. "-- NO --" "I suppose," the beast calmly stated, "there are some who would say I should thank you for this. One mare did. Princess Luna suggested that I give you the credit, since you set so much of what led to my manifest into motion. And then -- watch how you dealt with it. But given how many ponies were hurt, that wouldn't feel right. So I won't give you thanks or credit. Instead, I think you should always remember that you were responsible. Or at fault. But I'm sure you'd rather just be in denial. And even so... CUNET existed at the palace's sufferance." It smiled. "I was asked to tell you," the abomination announced, "that it's finally time to watch you suffer. Get up. Or I'll carry you out. It's one or the other." The unicorn couldn't deal with the lies. Nopony of sanity could. So she ignored them. "They'll never convict me," Mrs. Panderaghast decided -- then, somewhat belatedly, edited. "Her. No neutral jury would. Attacking a monster is common sense. Anypony who disagrees is corrupted. The verdict would be invalid." The monster's head tilted slightly to the right. "Of all the ponies I've seen," it said, "you're the most human." The unicorn blinked at the nonsense word. Something which had only sounded in her ears because the monster was corrupting the disc. "What's a --" "You've told yourself that you know everything," said an artificial voice backed up by an unwavering nightmare of a sword. "So anything you don't know is a lie. But the jury will weigh the evidence. Or... the facts." Which didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense any more, because there was a monster with a mark, a false mark and there had to be a hidden pony somewhere, illusion magic, there had to -- -- but she still had one last resort. The final defense. That which would save her. And as a special bonus, it was something she'd been planning to do anyway. "You're a Guard," Mrs. Panderaghast allowed solely for purposes of strategy. The monster nodded. "Then you're a government official," the unicorn declared with satisfaction. "And I hereby declare, in the presence of a government official, that I'm surrendering my citizenship. Equestria no longer has any direct authority over me. You'll have to contact my new nation for extradition. And they won't be so ready to give me up." The predatory eyes blinked. "...really?" "Once I decide on that nation," Mrs. Panderaghast reasoned. "Until then, the best you'll be able to do is deport me --" She would have said more. There was a full speech coming, and some part of it concerned getting the palace to pay for first-class transportation. But that was when the hands reached out, seized fur and skin, then lifted. "I've been wondering," the monster said as she began the complicated process of turning in the small compartment, along with doing so while both keeping the sword's blade against the horn and fully ignoring every justified scream. "As someone who's been taking classes. Is it a side effect of birth citizenship, deciding to learn nothing about your own government and just make up civics as you go along?" There was an interlude after the teleport back to the palace. It was time in which the Princesses could question the former head of CUNET personally, and it also let Cerea go back to the barracks, where she found Nightwatch and -- got to tell her that she was staying. Some of the ensuing celebration took place above floor level, because Discord wasn't the only recovering party who had to be kept from overdoing it. Fawning also occurred. And nuzzling. There was rather a lot of nuzzling, and Cerea still didn't know what to say about it. Or... whether she should say anything at all. Nightwatch simply wanted to nuzzle her as a friend. As a sister. As the little knight would have nuzzled any pony that she loved. She didn't understand any other implications. And given that... perhaps any such action was only taboo if Cerea thought it was. Maybe if she just asked the pegasus to only do it when they had privacy... They did wind up having a short argument, and it concerned what had taken place just before Cerea had gone into the armory. The girl told the pegasus that she was aware Nightwatch had been trying to buy time for the centaur to escape, thanked her, and then asked that she not do it again. The little knight had answered with a deflection: Cerea would do it for her. For or to? Because if anyone or anypony died in the attempt -- -- maybe it was for and to, Nightwatch argued. But mostly for. You had to care about someone if it was 'for'. And that was called being a Guard... They'd tried to keep the fight on the minor side, and Cerea had finally ended it. The ceasefire had been called because neither wanted to argue for long, not on the night when the centaur was staying. There were other things to talk about. And once that was done, writing had to get involved because there was an invitation which needed answering. Nightwatch was the only one who could take Cerea's dictation for the reply. The two Guards were only halfway through that when the next summons arrived. And then they both went off to meet a traitor. It didn't take long. Most of what was necessary was simply going into the proper office, where the Princesses were already waiting. And then they all watched the clock for the arrival of the final invited guest, because that pony had followed treason by continuing to show up for work. She trotted in, the grey-white forelegs crossing the threshold exactly on time. Being late counted as Rude. The mare looked at the waiting quartet, and her regard was perfectly normal. Or at least, as normal as it ever was. "Princesses," the mare rather properly greeted, with each Guard receiving a precisely lesser nod. "Is there a question of Etiquette which I need to resolve?" "One," Luna gravely began, "of -- shall we say, proper approach. Something only you can answer." The mare primly nodded. Celestia took a single hoofstep forward. "Why Majorica?" Celestia softly asked. "Why did you sell out the palace to the unicorn supremacist, Ms. Manners? Geodene's headquarters has a public address. Anypony can find it, even if it takes a lack of horn and wings to actually get through the door without being kicked. Why didn't you go to her?" The earth pony was silent. No hooves stomped, the tail did not lash, and neither ear changed its loft. "The chain of loathing," Luna stated, "collapses one link at a time. But it does so at speed. She -- what is the term? -- sold you out, Ms. Manners. We barely had to ask her for the traitor's identity. She did not attempt to bargain for a lesser sentence: something she never would have gained to begin with. She is simply trying to drag the maximum number under the waves with her, rather than drown alone. And she could certainly think of no reason --" the slight nod was visibly aimed at the old mare's forehead "-- to defend you." "Fortunately," Celestia gently sighed, "she's not intelligent enough to start blaming the innocent. Or... doesn't know enough names to make an attempt. But she hates you. She hates anypony like you. And CUNET has a few earth pony members -- but that takes a lot of self-loathing. And I always thought the one pony you respected was yourself. So why her?" Both pupils contracted. "Geodene Fracture," the earth pony mare tightly said, with every syllable visibly weighed before release, "wishes to do things which nopony of refinement should ever do. Actions which would ignore the Weight Of History and the Burden Of Need. She is an upstart. A child in an adult's body, in eternal rebellion against true Authority. Majorica Panderaghast, for all her Views, is a mature mare from a good family. I knew she would understand." The centaur's entire body went rigid. The pegasus moved into an intercept position, watching for the earth pony to break into a gallop -- but Ms. Manners did not move. "Why?" Celestia quietly asked, as the borders of her mane and tail went still. "Why, Demea?" "We ask for the sake of the knowledge alone," Luna coldly added. "Consider it as our final order of your employment." The earth pony's tail lashed, and the contracted pupils lanced collapsed rage at Cerea. "She slapped me!" The girl, suddenly aware that she was also the focus of alicorn and knightly attention, forced her hooves to cease their canter. "I told them about that!" Cerea frantically offered, because it had just become her fault again and she didn't know any way to make it stop. "I couldn't hold a Greeting Stance, not in the way you wanted me to do it! I don't bend that way! And my -- they were going forward, and --" in full desperation "-- I was bracing myself on the edge of a table, and you ordered me to move my hand! I pitched forward! I didn't mean to slap you! I told them about that, I told you, and I apologized --" "SO?!?" The old mare had reared up on her hind legs, and the fore kicked out. Meters away from hurting anyone, which meant words had to strike across the gap. "Apologies represent failure! Proper Behavior exists so that situations which might require apology can never occur! There are Rules, and you break all of them simply through existing!" She was starting to weave now, fighting to maintain balance as froth began to bubble up within her coat. "Six limbs, six, and two of them failed to present the basic Courtesy required for becoming wings! A pair of torsos! A girl who comes from nowhere, knows nothing, and expects that we will change everything simply to suit her existence! That which is Proper does not change, can never change, and to believe that exceptions and change must be invoked simply because there is something new -- !" She crashed down. Both foreknees bent too far upon landing, and white foam dripped onto the chipped marble floor. The quartet stared at her. "Thank you, Demea," Celestia sadly stated. "There are times when I need a reminder --" "-- both of you, lost," the earth pony panted. "One who no longer understands what is Proper when she should have been the one who defined all of it, and the other creating change --" "-- of why Discord," the white mare finished, "is preferable to you. Because when a pony falls into their mark... they need help. Ponies to bring them out. But somepony like you would never allow that to happen, because they feel they've become perfect. So... I kept you here, because I thought that was protection. Placed where you were safe. But Discord is chaos, and chaos is change. You're order. The worst kind. Stasis. And perfect order, perfect chaos... they have one thing in common." The oldest pony in the world sadly shook her head. "They're both destructive," Celestia told them all. "Order just feels it's for your own good." And raised her voice, just enough for those waiting outside to hear. "Take her to the cells." Four Guards entered. Heavy chains were deployed, cuffed onto the earth pony's legs in precise ratcheting fits. The mare didn't notice. The mad eyes could only look at Cerea. "You are Shockingly Informal," Demea Manners told the girl. "Did you ever realize that?" The centaur's ears went back. The dark mare took a step forward. "You feel," Luna began, "in what is clearly your first public attempt to establish a basis for the insanity plea, that Cerea --" But that was when the Guards took up the mouth grips on the chains, and began to drag the mare away. Her legs went backwards, and did so at a perfectly even rate: something which kept her upright, as the cuffs had included smooth-bottomed platforms for the hooves. It meant her final attack was delivered on a Proper Angle. "Your parents," she screamed at Cerea, "clearly used no Discipline!" And then she was gone. There was a sound. It was a rather odd sort of noise. When it came to the dark mare, the recipe consisted of half a swallow and about a quarter of a laugh, added to one hoof which had just desperately slammed itself in front of a snout. The result, chilled to the proper temperature and forced into decibel-leaking cold storage, arrived in the world as 'SNRK!' It couldn't really be seen as a typical sort of expression, if only because the average SNRK! generally didn't emerge from two mouths at once and when it came to the centaur, had encountered a little more trouble in getting past pinning fingers. Centaur and alicorn glanced at each other. And then, in spite of everything, bound and united by shared secrets, they both did their best not to laugh. The journalist stepped into the still-disarrayed Solar throne room for what she was dearly hoping would be the last summoned time. Noted the damaged fabric hangings, and immediately planned an article on tax bits being used for restoration costs. "The Guards said you two wanted to see me," she half-snapped at both alicorns. (Making sure to direct each half of the snap in a different direction was an art, especially when she had to aim part of the barrage high to reach the giant on the throne.) "About my leaving." And she wanted to leave. She wanted to go home, because the crisis had passed -- on the national level. Wordia was certain of that. In terms of going after palace, arsonist, or centaur, there weren't enough of the organizations left to try again -- as groups. But there were still individuals out there, and a single pony didn't need a herd as an excuse to go insane. She was still at risk. But she was sick of being trapped within marble, when she didn't control her own movements or have freedom to publish words. They were cutting her off from freedoms. ...and bottles. She hadn't touched a bottle in... ...she needed... "This is about arranging your return," the smaller alicorn nodded. "A somewhat less complicated process than arranging mine." "I'm a little curious as to how you intend to haul out that miracle," a lack of bottles half-spat. "In a few seconds," the larger freak said. "But before we do that... off the record, not that it usually matters to you..." The giant stood, and looked down at Wordia from the apex of the throne. A momentary twisting of features suggested a sudden flood of acid within the mouth. "Thank you," Celestia said, if in a tone which was just shy of fluoroantimonic. It was the sort of vocalization which made cushions melt. Wordia stared at her. "...what?" "You'll probably never hear it again," the Solar princess told her, slowly sinking back down. "Barring a drastic change in circumstances. If you think about it, you might even come into agreement with me on a single issue: namely, that once was enough. But you played your part, Wordia. And did so when so many others wouldn't have. So there it is. From both of us." Purple eyes flicked to the left, glanced at the younger in a way which implied both frustration and the recent loss of a bet. "So now we're going to talk about how we're getting you back onto the Tattler staff." It was a statement which made the journalist balk, and she didn't know why. And then she did. "I won't be your agent there," she immediately announced. "I'm not going to work for the palace --" "-- we are not asking," the younger imperiously stated -- then paused. "However, I would advise you to begin considering future career opportunities." "Not necessarily here," the elder quickly added, getting the words in just ahead of Wordia's sharp inhale. "Princess Luna and I were talking it over, and the thought of having you in the Public Relations department is several unique and contradictory kinds of concerning. But if you'll take any advice from us at all -- yes, I did resist the urge to laugh there, Wordia -- it's this: keep an eye on your paper's circulation numbers. A fully independent one, because your publisher will probably lie about it to the last. And be ready to unhitch from the draft team before the cart goes over the cliff." "I don't --" Wordia began, because it would give her time to think of exactly what she didn't understand. Or to fully realize what she had subconsciously understood, and then come up with the best way to distort it -- "You are the enemy," Princess Luna calmly observed. "Our enemy. That is how you regard yourself. With pride." "And you're not going to change," Princess Celestia decided. "Neither of us believes that. You'll be a stone in a hoof crack for years to come, always trying to work deeper and start an infection. But Wordia -- we've had enemies. More than a few. And on the whole, if we're going to have one -- we'd rather it be somepony who, in a crisis, agrees that the world needs to exist. And that we can sort out the details about how it should operate later." "We have gone against sufficient foes," the younger dryly said, "to recognize that level of sanity as a rather rare quality. As such, we have agreed that we would both prefer to avoid having the Tattler replace you with somepony who does not possess it. So we have constructed a scheme which should allow you to return." Wordia Spinner spent several seconds trying to figure out if she'd just been complimented or insulted. (Leaving the palace would eventually turn it into several weeks.) "...what?" she finally tried, and considered it sufficient. "What's the grand scheme?" "We're sending you back with a story," the Solar alicorn said. "Something where the Tattler will have to accept that you needed to work your way in for a while, just to have any chance of getting the facts. They won't be able to turn you away, because it'll mean losing the exclusive to another paper. And any lingering anger towards you from everypony else will be dispelled when they see what it is." "Although," the Lunar specimen added, "we do plan to have you watched for a time -- do not, Wordia Spinner. From a distance, and solely for your own safety. There are volunteers." The journalist thought about it. "Not an exclusive interview with the centaur," she guessed. "No," Princess Luna defined, and did so firmly enough to frost the air. "I fail to see how that would regain your readership's trust." "Can I get one anyway?" "No," the giant echoed. "She's a lot of things, Wordia. But she's not good with speeches." "I heard some things about how it all ended," the unicorn naturally contradicted. "It sounded like she put something together in a hurry. A few things. Including a mark. And when it comes to that story --" "-- no interviews at this time," the dark mare stopped her. "We'll have a press conference soon," the white one offered. "And a new one-sheet. Somewhat less soon. But you'll have some degree of chance when we gather everypony. And if it helps, Raque isn't getting an exclusive interview either." It did, and Wordia was never going to admit it. "You heard about the conclusion," Princess Luna not-quite-asked. Wordia snidely nodded. She hadn't even needed to make any real effort at eavesdropping. It was all anypony had been talking about. "All things considered," Celestia smiled, "it's a good thing that Cerea was still allowed to attack..." The unicorn blinked. Several times. Bitches went through her mind. Twice, while making an effort to stay ahead of the world's most temporary surge of hateful admiration. "So a story," she said. "One I can bring back. What is it?" The Solar Princess took a slow, reluctant breath. "Something embarrassing," she said. "Humiliating, really," the dark mare softly groaned. "As the other emotion which never seems to truly fade..." "It's from deep in the past," Princess Celestia admitted. "Something we managed to bury. Inexpertly. A dedicated... journalist could have uncovered it." The white horn ignited, and sunlight delved under the throne's cushions: eventually, a rather reluctant field bubble carried a familiar notebook back to the unicorn. "It's not going to make us look good." "Quite the opposite," Princess Luna sighed. "And then some." "But," the dark mare firmly said, "it does not involve elephants." "We talked about this," the giant told her. "If the primary story wasn't going to be good enough to get her back in --" Wordia was looking from one to the other, stunned gaze shifting like a hoofball caught in a scrum. "No elephants," Princess Luna declared, and put a cold hoof down. They all waited until the echoes died away. "...no elephants," the Solar alicorn agreed, then began to evaporate the fast-spreading frost. "Here's some quills, Wordia. And ink. A lot of ink." With a sigh, "I'll give you the documents you'll need for proof after you finish taking notes. And please listen carefully. Because we're not going to repeat any of this. No matter how much you wind up laughing."