By changeling standards, Seta was a beautiful girl.
Her golden yellow forelimbs were adorned with a cute little bee-like fuzz, her haunches were well-developed from years of cheerleader practice, and she had a toned dark brown torso that would almost make one think she’d skipped all of the starvation periods their kind had suffered.
Admiring her form in the mirror, the girl sighed. Seta was sixteen years old now, and her infiltration into a high-end school in Phillydelphia had transitioned smoothly into open acceptance, a scholarship grant, and even more attention from the local colts now that she had her own form to show off.
She’d even taken two nymphs under her wing, at the start. Those two were now otherwise occupied, but she kept in touch, for obvious reasons.
Truly, Seta was the epitome of a beautiful changeling, a benevolent queen bee, something all girls aspired to.
“Ocellus? Ready for the Forum?”
All the more reason why Ocellus hated dropping that form once she was done admiring herself.
A quick flash of green flame, and Ocellus was her normal self again. A fourteen-year-old, with oversized eyes, no strong haunches to speak of, a drab green colour scheme offset by a tacky ladybug carapace, and a slight asymmetry in her ears that no one else noticed but she swore was there.
Not a cheerleader, but a nerd. Not a girl who dances, but a girl who reads.
Not a beautiful girl, but a smart girl, as if that matters for anything important.
Scoots is probably dating some cheerleader by now.
She groaned. “I’m ready, mom.”
The Feelings Forum was a place for changelings to share their concerns and their innermost questions, to discuss deep matters of psychology and emotion.
“So am I a reddish orange or an orangey red?”
Some matters were a little more practical than others. Not every changeling had had the good fortune to grow up literate, for starters. Even more basic issues like maintaining a consistent character or dealing with emotions you hadn’t picked up from feeding were a struggle for some.
“Be what you want to be,” Tymbal, the head of the Forum, replied. A kind changeling mare who acted older than she was, she’d imbibed on a few hippies in her time, and had absorbed their inner calm as a result. Like most of the calm changelings, she was a light green, though it was considered a faux pas to point out that sort of thing. “Be orange, be red, change it day by day.”
“Okay, but that’s not really an answer. When I drop my disguise, I’m obviously one or the other. I can’t be both,” came the retort. “And I don’t know which.”
Tymbal sighed and looked around. Most of the changelings were nodding in agreement.
Today was Colour Discussion day, and Ocellus was struggling with some basic questions just as much as the rest of them.
“And does everyone else feel the same way?” Tymbal asked.
More nods came, and this time Ocellus nodded right along.
“Alright, then. Your natural colour doesn’t really mean anything,” Tymbal said. “It’s just a random thing that happened when you transitioned from feeding on love to sharing. It’s superficial, nothing to worry about. You can change it whenever you like.”
“Easy for you to say: you’re just green, and you don’t even have a horn,” a greenish yellow changeling replied. “The rest of us aren’t so lucky. We have to worry about how many nicks our horn has, where they’re pointed…”
“Having a horn or no horn doesn’t matter, either. Our magic is in our souls,” Tymbal insisted. “And so is our character.”
Ocellus raised a hoof, and waited for Tymbal to let her speak. “That’s true, but you can’t deny that our colour shows our character a lot of the time, right? If you really look at it.”
“And what do you think it means? You’re blueish, you’re smart.” One of the lighter yellow changelings asked.
Ocellus shivered and looked away, trying to weigh her words. “I think maybe our shapeshifting magic mixed in with our characters, and that’s why yellow changelings tend to be, you know, the way they are, and same with red changelings and green changelings. I read up on chakras and colour theory in Ponyville, and I think it kind of matches in a few ways. It’s not a perfect match, though.”
“So what, red changelings have too much of a temper, is that what you’re saying?” The red one growled.
“Are you saying yellowbellies are emotional?” Said a changeling with a yellow belly, gasping emotionally.
“No, I’m saying maybe our natural colour is like a pony’s cutie mark. It means something, it shows something, but it’s not, umm, definitive. You’ve all turned into ponies at some point, you’ve seen them, you know how they act, how odd they get about their flanks.” She blushed, as her mind wandered to Scoots again.
“Especially the little ones,” a green and yellow changeling said. “They practically kill themselves trying to figure things out.”
“So, umm, you know, maybe that’s a better way to look at it? We have our natural colour, but we’re still magical, horn or no horn. Maybe colour’s just like a cutie mark: it doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone, but it does mean something, and it might mean something important. Maybe we should figure that out first.”
“That is an excellent idea, Ocellus,” said Tymbal. “Perhaps reframing is the right way to go about it. Don’t think in terms of red or yellow or green, think about what the colour means.”
“Okay, but that still doesn’t answer my question: am I orangey red or reddish orange?” asked the first changeling.
Tymbal took a deep breath in, held it, then grumbled. “We’re going to need a colour swatch. Who’s got the Neighkia catalogue?”
“I think one of the little ones ate it,” came the reply.
“Fine, we’ll make do.” Right when Tymbal was about to grab a book about the works of Van Dough and Moneigh, a gong rang throughout the Hive.
“That’s odd. Thorax already did his morning announcements. Why would he need to do another round?” one of the changelings asked.
“Perhaps Pharynx wants to organise a fight pit.” Tymbal growled. “Again. Alright, Feelings Forum adjourned.”
Pharynx stood stoically upon his podium, and the changelings around were discussing things as they usually did: by jumping to conclusions and ignoring all evidence or lack thereof.
It took Ocellus five steps to get to the front of the crowd. In those five steps, she heard at least three bets that Pharynx had finally dethroned his brother, two questions about which foreign nation was attacking this time, and one remark about soup supplies.
All in all, a pretty average crowd by Hive standards.
“Everyone, settle down!” Pharynx called out. “I have an announcement for all the young girls of the Hive.”
“Are we instituting forced marriage again?” One changeling asked.
“That was one time and it was annulled,” Pharynx retorted, before shuddering. “I’m still picking yak fur out of my joints. But no, we’re not doing that.”
“Virgin sacrifice?” asked another.
“We only just planted those olive trees, no! We are not doing sacrifice yet! No, we’re going to have a beauty contest!” He shouted. “Tomorrow!”
Silence fell over the crowd. From the looks of it, most of them were adults, male and female, so there weren’t a lot of potential candidates present.
“Tomorrow? Why?” came a cry from the back.
Ocellus squinted and looked behind her.
That almost sounded like Professor Fluttershy.
“Well, for one thing: doing it last-minute stops anyone from spying on contestants and trying to sabotage the thing. That means you, Trachea!” He called out.
No reply came.
Ocellus looked around, and found that for once, Trachea wasn’t eavesdropping on the proceedings. “That’s odd, she usually doesn’t miss-”
Pharynx picked up a rock, threw it behind him, and one of the vines decorating the walls turned back into the Hive’s resident ninja fanatic.
Ocellus rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
“Anyway, we’ve got an invitation from the Touslemane Wax Museum in Geneighva. They want us to send a couple models for their new exhibition, something about ‘Children of the World’ or nonsense like that. A lot of pony cities are sending their kids to model, one boy and one girl. Same with the yaks, the griffons, you name it. But apparently someone almost caused a diplomatic incident and forgot to invite us. Now, we’ve already got a boy we can send: we had a model ready and waiting for another job in Phillydelphia. For the girl, well… we need someone who represents us properly, and that’s gonna take a little more thinking. You know, considering the last female that represented us?”
A collective shudder went through the crowd.
“So just pick one at random already!” one of the male adults called out, again from way in the back.
Ocellus’s ears twitched. Who’s doing a Discord impression back there? I’d know that voice anywhere.
Pharynx sighed. “Wish I could, but no. We can’t just send someone at random, not for this. They specifically want a model to represent our future. They want someone who is everything a changeling ought to be. You can’t just shapeshift into whatever they’re going to sculpt. This is going to matter for a couple of decades. Whoever goes, she has to be the best example we have. The only way to settle that is a contest. And we need to settle it by tomorrow. Everything’s already been arranged: the winner will be going on a trip to Geneighva for two weeks, with the other model, and a chaperone.”
“You could just explain we need more time.” The changeling with the Fluttershy voice argued.
“Do you want Thorax to go begging to some candlemaker just so we can get a few more days?” Pharynx grinned at the prospect.
“Point taken.”
Ocellus pondered the option.
I can’t join in a beauty contest, can I? I’m not pretty enough for that. I’m not a model, or a cheerleader, or a dancer.
“So,” Pharynx started. “Who wants to sign up?”
“I do!”
Ocellus shuddered. The first contender was a sickeningly pink girl whose reddish carapace had heart-shaped spots. Like most changelings of her generation, the girl didn’t look as uniform as the elders, having grown into her new form and deviated from their old standard build. This particular girl had additional armour on the ends of her hooves, making it look like she had shoes grafted to her.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, she spoke with a strange pony accent.
“Cuticle,” Ocellus growled under her breath, with all the suppressed anger of a Hooffield greeting a McColt, or a Tableturner addressing a Dinkleberry.
“Okay, so Cutie’s gonna be our first contestant, of course.” Pharynx stifled a groan, before grabbing a book and a scroll and quill. He gave the book to Cuticle and wrote down her name on the scroll. “Anyone else wanna get in on this?”
Ocellus gritted her teeth.
“What’s the matter?” Cuticle mocked as she walked by. “Not up to the challenge? Catfish got your tongue? I know how much you like to swim in the mud back in pony country.”
“That was one time and it was for a rescue,” Ocellus retorted.
“Whatever. You’d better sit this one out, Celly. Gosh, just think, you might faint when you get up on stage. If you even manage to get that far, of course. I’d hate to see you get embarrassed in front of everyone, in your own home, no less.” She faked a cute and babyish pout for maximum effect.
“I’ll have you know I’ve already done cheerleading, thank you very much.”
Part of Ocellus thought back to when Cozy Glow was turned to stone. She’d silently hoped that Cozy’s disappearance would coincide with Cuticle going missing under mysterious circumstances. Ocellus still wasn’t sure if she would have reported that if it had happened.
“Oh, I know you did, I heard all about it. You went on stage for a contest with Princesses in the audience. And, you know, with your friends behind you, and two professionals, carrying your weight. And in pony country, where no one really cares if you mess up. Come on, we all know how forgiving ponies can be.” Cuticle leaned in and grinned. “There aren’t any ponies here, Ocellus. This is gonna be one on one, on the home ground, in front of everyone we know. If you even have the guts for it, of course.”
Ocellus huffed. “Hey, you leave Viscera out of this. She didn’t know those birds were a fire hazard!”
“Well?” Pharynx asked. “You girls gonna make it a real duel, or are you just gonna stand there and talk big to each other?”
“I’m in!” Another girl called out.
Anger made way to fear, and Ocellus felt her skin crawl at the sound of that voice. Even Cuticle winced.
“Serrate, honey!” Cuticle turned to face the new arrival, her voice dripping with fake politeness. “Golly, I didn’t know you were back. How was, umm… how was boot camp?”
Ocellus didn’t need a dumb question to know how it had gone. Serrate was known among her peers for two things: her military-style discipline that matched her camo colours, and the serrated blade she kept at her side at all times.
However many times that girl had seen the entire ‘Bambo’ film series, it was twice as much as she should have. Ocellus was pretty sure Serrate could turn into Sylvestrus Millstone with her eyes closed.
“It went okay,” Serrate replied. “So, beauty contest, right? Count me in, sir.”
Pharynx, for the first time that morning, let out a genuine smile. “Perfect.” He wrote down her name and gave her another book. “I hope you go far. It’d be nice to have a changeling with discipline be the model for the rest of us.”
Ocellus gulped. Competing with Cuticle over who was prettiest was a daunting prospect, but manageable, at least. Ocellus had a few angles she could play out against that one. But Serrate? Serrate was intimidating as far as changeling girls went. All the obsessing over military traditions and physical discipline had left her looking lean and sleek. In a contest of pure physical attractiveness, Serrate would be a tough contender.
“Umm, I’d like to apply, too, if that’s okay.”
That was the last straw. If even that girl was competing...
“Sensilla?” Pharynx asked. “Are you sure? You’re gonna have to go in public for this.”
“I’m sure.” The girl walked up to recieve her book.
Ocellus and Sensilla didn’t mingle, as a rule, but they tended to get mentioned together a lot, as they had similar colours, even if Sensilla’s green shades were much darker and her reds a little browner. Sensilla shared the aversion Ocellus had to social gatherings, as well as the habit of speaking softly. Where the two differed was in Ocellus liking books and Sensilla liking things that liked books.
That is to say, Sensilla was a nature girl, and had a fondness for many creatures that listed ‘paper’ as a favourite food. The pattern on Sensilla’s face was supposed to look like a butterfly pattern of sorts, as far as Ocellus understood it, but it ended up giving Sensilla the look of a raccoon more than anything else. The forest and autumn colours of her carapace only added to the look.
And curse it all, Sensilla was smart enough to make that look cute.
Ocellus felt her stomach churn with nerves. All those eyes on her, it made her want to burrow into a nice, comfy hole and hibernate. Unfortunately, she still had trouble turning into moles, with the whole blindness and everything, so she was stuck standing there, awkwardly.
“Okay, you girls have fun with that,” she finally said. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“Suit yourself,” Pharynx started, before turning to the competitors. “Now, girls, that book you’ve got there is the rules for the contest, and the list of the events. Read it carefully, and start preparing. I’m gonna go do my rounds and make sure everyone else knows.”
Once he was gone, Trachea came to talk to Ocellus.
Trachea was odd like that: her blue coat made her blend in perfectly at night, but stood out like a loose nail during the day. Beyond that, she was well-read on topics like assassination and espionage, but for some reason she was usually friendly.
Ocellus had often wondered about that back when Chrysalis was still in charge. Then life in Ponyville had introduced her to Neighruto, and now Ocellus just wondered whether there was a secret stash of those manega somewhere in the Hive.
“Are you sure you don’t want to compete?” the ninja girl asked.
“Aren’t you?”
“Oh, I snuck my name on the list when Pharynx wasn’t looking. I could sneak yours on there, too, if you like, he’s pretty easy to distract.”
“No, thank you.” Ocellus forced out a smile. “This isn’t my thing, and there’s nothing for me to win, anyway.”
Trachea looked left and right, making sure there were no eavesdroppers, then leaned in to whisper. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure your little Scoots would notice if you won.”
Ocellus blushed fierce and hushed the ninja girl. “Don’t mention that in public!” She hissed.
“Why not? Everyone knows about it.”
“No, everyone does not!” Ocellus insisted. “I’m not even sure if I know.”
“It’s not that hard to see, Celly,” Trachea joked. “I mean, if you have a thing for orange, that’s okay. If you have a thing for purple, that’s okay, too. If you have a thing for both, maybe start calling dibs while you can. It’s not like anyone would mind. Well, unless they do in pony country…”
Ocellus felt herself changing colours in the cheek region, and not in the magical way. “I need to go, and you need to go practice for the contest. Good luck!”
With that, she flew off.
Ocellus was still second-guessing herself when she got back to the Forum. There was a sign out front.
“Feelings Forum is on hiatus until further notice, due to jury duties.”
Ocellus groaned. “Great. I guess it could have been worse.”
“Ocellus! Why didn’t you sign up for the contest?”
Again, she groaned, both at the sound and the sight. Seta was one of the few girls Ocellus had spent a lot of time with on infiltration duty, usually playing the younger subordinate geek to Seta’s dominant cheerleader character. After the fall of Chrysalis, Seta had been one of the few girls who took charge of things, having been fed on a steady diet of cheerleader admiration as well as getting an actual education.
Ocellus wasn’t jealous, per se: she just wished she had everything Seta had, totally different.
“I didn’t want to sign up because I have enough problems trying to figure out who or what I am without making a fool of myself on stage.”
Seta was taken aback by that. “But I thought you tried cheerleading already?”
“I did.”
“And you were good at it?”
Ocellus winced. “That really depends on who you ask. It’s not like anyone asked me out on a date afterward.”
“But are you good at it?”
“At dating?” She pondered for a moment. “I could tell you if a spellbook was Pre- or Post-Classical, but regular dates? No.”
Seta rolled her eyes. “I don’t mean that. Are you good at cheerleading?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? But even if I am, I’m not pretty enough for that.”
“Well, then we’re gonna have to pretty you up fast. You’re competing tomorrow, I signed you up.”
“What?! You can’t do that!”
Seta grinned. “Shapeshifters, Celly. You’re not that hard to copy.”
“Well, then I’m signing out of the competition right now.” Ocellus made to storm off. “You can’t make me compete, Seta. And you can’t mind control me: I went to private school.”
“I know, I know.” Seta rolled her eyes with a giggle, before looking pleadingly at the younger girl. “Please just do this for me? I’m sure you can win, easily.”
“Why would I?”
She gulped. “Because Scutum happens to be the boy they’re sending on this trip, and I don’t want my brother stuck with one of those psychos for two weeks.”