//------------------------------// // Something Rotten in the City of Canterlot // Story: The Great Tabloid Disaster // by Lupin //------------------------------// Chapter 1: Something Rotten in the City of Canterlot It was surprising, sometimes, how the world’s problems started. At times, they began on the smallest of things, like a mighty oak germinating from a tiny acorn. Some would call it the butterfly effect, or perhaps, as would please a certain petrified draconequus, chaos theory. No matter what one called the phenomenon, it didn’t change that it existed, and by it, huge problems sometimes sprung from tiny, ordinary depths. This particular problem all began with a few misplaced words, a crafty reporter, two pairs of similar-looking bottles, a careless chef’s assistant, and a lucky photographer. “Rotten, I tell you!” declared the pegasus on the bar stool. “They’re all rotten to the core.” “Whatever you say, Javelin Throw,” said another pony trotting to a table across the room. “Whatever you say.” The pegasus muttered a few choice words into his mug. He hadn’t been posted to the palace for very long, but so far, he wasn’t really getting the sense of camaraderie he’d expected. Most of the senior guards already had their own little groups, and the other new guards didn’t seem to like him all that much. The fact that he’d been stuck with two weeks of cleaning the barracks latrines hadn’t helped either. Javelin still didn’t understand why that had happened. Clearly, it was a form of punishment, even if it hadn’t been presented as such. But what had he done to deserve it? He’d stood at his post and followed all the orders he’d been given. Something moved in the corner of his vision. He turned, and saw a gray unicorn with a deep black mane sitting beside him. “You seem like you’re having a bad day,” said the unicorn consolingly. “It’s nothing,” muttered Javelin Throw. The unicorn leaned in. “I don’t think that’s true.” He held out a hoof. “The name’s Tattle Tale. What’s yours?” “Javelin Throw,” answered the pegasus in kind. “You know, Javelin Throw, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” The unicorn smiled politely. “If you need somepony to talk to, that is.” Javelin Throw propped his elbow on the bar, considering the other stallion’s offer. The guy was a complete stranger, and a part of him wondered if he should be talking to him at all. But on the other hoof, he was far friendlier than the other guards. Besides, he reasoned, what harm could talking do? “Things just haven’t been going well at the castle,” explained Javelin. “I’m a guard, you see.” “You don’t say,” answered Tattle Tale. He ordered a drink, and the bartender slid the glass across the counter. Drink secure in his magic, Tattle turned his attention back to Javelin. “You said something was rotten,” he added casually. “I hope it’s nothing too serious. A civilian like me would worry, you know.” Javelin laughed. “I was just talking about the princess.” Tattle Tale’s head snapped back to look at him. “The princess?” he said with barely-contained excitement. A more observant pony might have noticed the almost predatory glint that entered Tattle Tale’s eye, and thought twice about speaking any further. Unfortunately, to the lament of quite a few individuals in the near future, Javelin Throw had never been that sort of pony. “Yeah,” he laughed. “It’s a wonder she has any teeth at all.” Tattle’s drink lay completely forgotten now. He leaned in. “What do you mean?” he asked breathily. Immensely pleased at finding a receptive audience, Javelin let loose his rant. “See, the thing is, the princess has a really big sweet tooth, and I think that…” Enthralled with his story, Javelin never noticed when Tattle Tale began to write things down. She trotted past the guards without a word. Most children would have been intimidated by their solemn faces and gleaming armor, but Sunset Shimmer was not an ordinary child. She was Princess Celestia’s personal student, and she’d just returned from another day at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. School was a novel experience for Sunset. Her parents had been in favor of homeschooling, for what little it had actually counted before they became separated from their daughter on a very permanent basis. Sunset found herself more than a little intimidated being around so many other ponies her age. She wasn’t entirely sure how to act around them. Thankfully, the presence of the instructors had distracted her from her social anxiety. At first, Sunset didn’t understand why she needed to go to school in the first place, what with Princess Celestia teaching her personally. But the princess had simply said that learning from ponies besides herself could be a useful experience. They’d certainly been interesting so far. Professor Inkwell’s lectures on transfiguration were especially interesting, even if Sunset had been a little ahead thanks to the princess. At the moment, though, other matters weighed in her mind, matters beyond lectures and schooling. A mental burden Sunset carried all the way to the room where Celestia was taking a break from Day Court. The princess always took a short reprieve around the time school let out. “Good afternoon, Sunset,” greeted Celestia with her usual serene, radiant smile. “Hello, princess.” As per their customary habits, Sunset hopped up onto the chair on the other side of a large table (at least for most ponies; for Celestia, it seemed small), where a tea set and a few assorted foods had been laid out. “Did you have a good day at school today?” asked the alicorn, levitating over the still-steaming pot and pouring the unicorn a cup. Tea was also a relatively new thing for Sunset, ever since she started living at the palace, but something she quickly got used to. Besides, it tasted so good. “Yes, princess,” answered Sunset distractedly. Celestia set the teapot down. “Is there something bothering you, my student?” Looking up at the princess, the unicorn nodded her head. “I...” she paused, looking away, unsure how or if she should ask the question that had been bumping around in her head. A gold-covered hoof touched the bottom of Sunset’s chin, raising her head so the two were at eye level. “What is it, my faithful student? You know you can ask me anything.” “Princess...what are dentures?” Celestia blinked. First once, then twice, then she tilted her head. “They’re artificial teeth, Sunset.” She stopped, seeing the unicorn’s confused expression. “Fake teeth. For ponies that have lost theirs.” She laughed. “What in Equestria made you ask such a thing?” “Well...” Sunset began, biting her lip. “Some of the other ponies, they said...they said you...you wore dentures.” Celestia’s mirth suddenly evaporated. “Excuse me?” “That’s what they said!” Sunset defended. “They said they read it in a tab...loid,” she added, struggling to remember that one alien word. “I got a copy, see?” From her saddlebag, she produced a small newspaper. After she’d heard those other ponies talk about it, she’d run over to the nearest newsstand and bought one with the bits the princess had given her. Sunset levitated it over to the now very dour-looking alicorn. The title of the paper read The Canterlot Whisperer, and there, on the front page, was the headline: “Does Princess Celestia Wear Dentures?” For several seconds, the room was filled with a palpable silence as the princess read the article. Sunset fidgeted in her seat. Had she upset her mentor? Maybe she should have yelled at those ponies she’d overheard. But she hadn’t even known what they were talking about. How could you yell at ponies over something you didn’t know? The alicorn set the paper down. “I…see.” Her voice was carefully controlled. “This article is wrong, my student. As I told you once before, I take very good care of my teeth, and they’re all my own.” “But why did they write it?” asked Sunset with a mixture of relief and curiosity. “Why’d they print a lie?” “The Canterlot Whisperer is a tabloid, Sunset.” Sunset tilted her head. “Isn’t that just another newspaper?” “Not exactly,” explained the princess, taking a sip of her tea. “Tabloids typically print ridiculous, scandalous, and most often untrue stories in order to sell more copies. Generally speaking, what they print is no better than rumor and gossip. Why, last week, one tabloid said they had a pony claiming they were half dragon.” Sunset opened her mouth, but Celestia cut her off. “It’s not possible, Sunset. Believe me, I’ve been around long enough to know.” The unicorn drooped a little at that. Being half-dragon sounded kind of cool. For a while, she sat there in thought, sipping her tea in a precise imitation of her mentor, pondering everything else Celestia had said. It made sense. After all, if a tabloid was just like any other newspaper, then it would just be called a newspaper, not a tabloid. Something still bothered her, though. “But they’re writing bad things about you,” she pointed out, before following that up with “why are you letting them print stuff at all?” “Because, Sunset, I established freedom of the press. Ponies are allowed to print any news they see fit, and most of the time, those newsponies take the time to make sure that what they print is true. Freedom of information is how ponies such as you and I make informed, intelligent decisions. The fact that it also allows things such as tabloids to exist is an unfortunate, but unavoidable side effect.” Sunset’s tongue stuck out in thought. She accepted the explanation, but that didn’t mean she had to be about it. Lying like that was still very, very mean. Still, a part of her was still just the tiniest bit nervous. “So…you don’t have arti…uh…fake teeth?” This time, rather than being offended, Celestia merely laughed. “No, my little pony, and if it makes you feel any more reassured, here.” She bent her long neck down across the table so the two were almost eye to eye, then opened her mouth. “Go ahead, give them a tug. You’ll see they’re quite real.” Gingerly reaching out with her magic, Sunset gave a tug on one of Celestia’s gleaming white teeth. It stayed firm. Sunset smiled in relief. “They’re real.” “Of course they are,” said Celestia, straightening back up to her full height. “Now, what say we eat?” She pointed to a rather lush salad filled with all kinds of fruit. “Chef Braise developed a new type of dressing for us to try out.” “Is that your new dressing, Chef Braise?” The orange earth pony looked up from the counter to see Chocolate Mint, one of her assistants hovering over the hefty-looking black cooking pot. She set down her knife next to a half-chopped carrot. “Yes it is, Mint.” The unicorn licked her lips. “It smells amazing.” She shuffled her hoof against the kitchen floor. “Chef Braise, do you think I could...” “You want to try it?” Braise laughed. “Go ahead. Another critic won’t hurt.” Practically jumping for joy, Mint scooped up a portion of the dressing into a cup and began levitating fruits and vegetables into a nearby bowl. Braise shook her head. Chocolate Mint was going to get in trouble one of these days if her “taste testing” wasn’t reined in a bit. But for now, there wasn’t any harm. It was a pretty large batch. Probably too large, now that she thought about it. Still, better to have it and not need it than the other way around, and it wasn’t like the castle pantry didn’t have more than enough room to accommodate. Braise turned back to the counter, picking up her knife to resume chopping. For a few minutes, her attention was filled by the rhythmic sound of the knife. Thump. Thump. Thump. Chopping vegetables was always so peaceful, Braise found, as long as you were careful not to cut yourself. That was when Chocolate Mint let out an ear-piercing scream. Nearly avoiding chopping her own foreleg, Braise let the knife clatter to the counter and spun around. “Mint, what’s wrong?!” “Mah tongue!” shouted the mare. She sat on her chair, mouth open like a dog, tears streaming down her face. “Ish hot! Agh, rehhly, rehhly hot!” she whimpered, barely able to speak as she fanned her blazing red tongue. “Sumfing’s wrog wif the dhressink!” “What?” Braise frowned thoughtfully even as her heartbeat settled back down. Something wrong with her dressing? That was impossible. She’d been so careful in preparing it, a custom mixture of vinegar, mustard, olive oil, garlic, honey, and lemon. She’d even made sure to use fresh honey made from sunflower nectar to enhance the sweetness, just the way the princess liked it. There shouldn’t have been anything spicy in there. Grabbing a small spoonful of dressing, Braise took a sip. What hit her mouth should have been the sweet, honeyed taste she’d spent the better part of the morning perfecting. What actually hit her mouth was a sensation of heat so powerful that, had any dragons ingested it, they’d have begged for water. “YOW!” she screamed, spitting out the substance as quickly as she could. “What in Equestria is going on here?!” “Hey, Chef Braise?” In walked Hot Sauce, her other assistant. The red unicorn stallion was holding a sandwich of some sort. “I think there’s something wrong with my recipe. Could you take a look?” “The sandwich looks fine to me, Hot Sauce,” said the royal chef. “And right now, I have another problem to figure—” “It’s not the sandwich,” interrupted Hot Sauce. “That’s just lettuce and tomato. I’m talking about my special windigo ghost pepper sauce. It smells funny, and it doesn’t taste right.” He floated over a bottle. Braise opened the cap and smelled it. It didn’t smell like something spice-based. In fact, it smelled like... vinegar. And... wasn’t this her vinegar bottle? She glanced up at the shelf where she usually kept it. It was still there. Or…was it? Now that she was really looking, she could see that the bottle on the shelf had a red stripe across the top. Her vinegar bottle had a blue one. Braise looked down at the bottle before her. Blue stripe. She grabbed the bottle on the shelf, unscrewed the lid and took a deep breath of the aroma that wafted out. That definitely spelled like spice. “Hot Sauce,” she asked casually, “did you put your bottle on this shelf?” “Sure did,” answered the blazing red unicorn proudly. “Put it there last night after I perfected the recipe.” His face fell. “Or I thought I did.” “Did you move any of the other bottles over?” He blinked. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I did. Why?” “Because I think you got your sauce mixed up with my vinegar.” She always did keep the vinegar bottle on the left side of the shelf, and she’d had a large breakfast meeting to cater that morning, right before preparing the dressing. In her frazzled state, she must not have noticed the different stripe when she went to make the dressing. “This is your windigo ghost pepper sauce.” “Awesome!” cried the unicorn happily, lifting up the other bottle. “I knew I didn’t mess it up.” Well, at least that solved the mystery of the salad dressing. It was a thought that gratified Braise for a total of ten seconds. After that, a new thought began to appear, a realization that filled her with an ever-mounting, nauseating horror. Chocolate Mint hadn’t been the only pony to draw from that batch of spiced salad dressing. A portion of it had been set aside for… Oh. Oh no. Braise looked at the clock. It was about time for the princess to be taking her customary break. Perhaps she wasn’t too late. “Chocolate,” she barked at her assistant, “did Princess Celestia ask for her salad yet?” “Sure,” said the unicorn. “She asked for it five minutes ago. Why?” With a speed that would have turned the Wonderbolts green with envy, Braise took off from the kitchen. Princess Celestia poured a very generous amount of dressing onto her salad. “So, my faithful student,” she said, stabbing a now-drenched piece of lettuce with her fork and levitating it toward her mouth. “What did you learn in school today?” Suddenly, the doors to the room burst open, and Chef Braise came stampeding in, her face pale and dripping sweat. “PRINCESS! DON’T EAT THE—” Princess Celestia swallowed the lettuce. “Don’t eat what, my little pony?” she asked, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “And what’s so wrong you had to burst in here like Discord himself was on your tail?” “Princess,” replied Braise slowly, horror written all over her face, “the salad dressing...there was something wrong with it.” “Something wrong?” questioned the alicorn. “Well, the taste was a little off, I suppose, but I hardly consider that worth barging...” Celestia paused as a strange feeling began welling up from her throat. An irritated, burning sensation. It grew in intensity, spreading up to her mouth, before transforming into an almighty inferno across her taste buds, and one thought took precedence over anything else. Water! She needed water! For Mother’s sake, it felt like somepony had dropped the sun right into her mouth! The alicorn began to choke, tears spilling from her eyes as she grabbed her mouth in agony. Her magic reached out for the teapot, but the raw agony made it difficult to concentrate, and she only managed to spill it onto the richly carpeted floor. “PRINCESS!” cried Sunset, leaping up from her chair. Chef Braise, what’s wrong?!” “My assistant mixed up my vinegar with windigo ghost pepper sauce!” replied Braise, hopping on one hoof and then another as the princess flailed in blind, spice-induced agony. “Here!” said Sunset, holding out a bottle. “Princess, have my thermos!” Celestia grabbed it in her magic, shoving it into her mouth and drinking greedily. The liquid tasted awful going down, almost sour. For a moment, she wondered if the staff had filled Sunset’s school thermos with lemonade instead of water, but the thought passed away as quickly as the liquid down her throat. “Thank you, Sunset,” sighed the princess in relief. The edge of her mouth tingled painfully. Princess, I’m so sorry,” babbled Braise. “Hot Sauce put his bottle where I usually place my vinegar, and I was so busy this morning I didn’t notice, and—” Celestia silenced her with a hoof. “It’s fine, Braise. It was an accident, and there was no lasting harm done.” “Oh, thank you, princess, I...” Braise stopped, her voice fading away until all that remained was a strangled cry. Beside her, Sunset let out a horrified gasp. The solar alicorn raised an eyebrow. “What’s...” Celestia began, only to stop as a dull ache formed in her gums, like something... retracting? “Whatsh...” she lisped. Celestia paused. Lisped? She hadn’t spoken with a lisp since she was a filly. She tried again, calling upon centuries of training in public speaking. “Whatsh...” Another failure. Her eyebrows knitted together. “Whatsh wrung wif meh?” “Princess,” whispered Sunset. “Your teeth...” “Wot ahbout mah teef?” Nervously, the little unicorn lifted the polished dish cover and held it up to the princess’s face. Celestia took one look…and screamed. It was the sort of scream that had not been heard in many centuries, not since her fillyhood, when Luna had pranked her by putting insects in her bed. It was the sort of scream that sent hairline cracks in the dishes around the room, and caused Braise and Sunset’s ears to pin back in pain. WHAM! The door flew open, and Celestia’s guards stormed into the room, weapons drawn—then skidded to a halt at the sight of their monarch. In olden days, poets had compared Princess Celestia’s teeth to shining pearls, or, much to Luna’s annoyance, to the white glow of the full moon. Musicians had sung of the brilliance of her smile. Artists had labored on replicating it in countless paintings, that beautiful, serene smile. The sight that greeted Sunset, Braise, and the guards would have made every one of those very artisans faint, for at that very moment, Celestia’s famous smile was replaced by a pair of empty, saliva-soaked gums. Braise curled herself into a ball, rocking herself back and forth. “The sauce dissolved her teeth. The sauce dissolved her teeth!” she cried. “I’m fired, Oh, horseapples, I’m fired. I’m so fired!” she wailed. “Horseapples! Horseapples! Horseapples!” “Braith!” snapped the princess, though with her lisp, and the spittle that flew from her empty mouth, any attempt at sternness was completely lost. “Wath your langwith. Thurh are fillieth prethenth. ” “Hey,” said Sunset. “What’s this flower thing on my thermos?” Celestia took the thermos from her again. Right there, on the side of the bottle, was a large blue flower marking. The princess’s brows furrowed. This wasn’t Sunset’s thermos. It was the same shape and color, but hers had her cutie mark stamped on it, Celestia had made sure of it before she’d sent her off to class on the first day. And what was this flower? An ancient memory floated to the surface, memories of the time when Celestia had lived near the Everfree Forest. “Poyhon oke,” she said. The unicorn frowned. “Huh?” “Poyhon oke,” she repeated. “I still can’t understand you,” said Sunset. Sighing in aggravation, the alicorn summoned a quill and parchment and wrote down the words. “Poison Joke?” read Sunset. Her head tilted. “What’s…” She let out a gasp. “Professor Green Leaves! I asked him questions after class and he said he had Poison Joke extract.” Her eyes met Celestia’s, horror written over her tiny face. “I must have mixed up his bottle with my thermos. I’m sorry, princess! I’m so sorry!” Celestia placed a calming hoof on the filly shoulder. “Ith ahrite, Thunset,” she said, though it had very little effectiveness. One thing was for certain, she was going to have a very serious discussion with Green Leaves about bringing such a harmful and chaotic substance into her school, and so poorly secured at that. It was then that Kibitz, her faithful majordomo, and the latest in a line of majordomos, walked up to the open doorway. “Your Majesty, it’s almost time to resume Day... Court...” The stallion’s words trailed off as he beheld the sight of her, mouth still open to reveal the toothless gums. Sighing, Princess Celestia wrote down a message on the piece of parchment and floated it over to him. Poison Joke. Cancel all appointments until the antidote can be found. “Right away, Your Majesty,” said the unicorn, rushing down the hall. Celestia sighed. It was going to be one of those afternoons, it seemed. Well, at least she could console herself that nopony beyond her staff had seen her. Telephoto Lens snored, shifting his position on the branch. Working for The Canterlot Whisperer wasn’t the best, and certainly not the most respectable job, but it paid the bills, and, hey, it helped him get out of living down in Miner’s Hill. Right now, he was situated in a tree top not too far away from the royal palace, basically staking it out for any interesting photos. Not that Telephoto thought that was going to happen. Nopony ever got anything good staking out the royal palace. But his editor always put him on the job just in case, and he got paid either way, so what the hay? Shifting again inside his leafy cover, the poke of a particularly sharp branch woke him into full consciousness. Groggily, the pegasus checked his watch. Three o’clock. The School for Gifted Unicorns would have let out. Celestia always sat by a window when that happened, though why, he didn’t know. A school emptying out was a school emptying out. Still, it was as good a time as any to do his job, and look for any newsworthy shots. Probably wouldn’t get one, but he had to at least try. He wouldn’t have felt right otherwise. Picking up his camera, the pegasus peered into the viewfinder. There was the room Princess Celestia always sat in at this time of day. In recent days, she’d been joined there by another pony. Her new personal student, or so Telephoto had heard. Pretty little filly. She’d probably be real photogenic when she grew up. And there was Princess Celestia, eating a piece of salad. Nothing exciting there. “Guess I can call today a wrap—OW!” Something hard and sharp tapped against his hind leg. Turning around, he saw an angry-looking pair of robins glaring at him, and a half-constructed nest in a hollow spot in the tree trunk. They must have moved in between now and his last visit, he realized. The birds pecked at him again. “Okay, okay!” he cried. “I’ll leave in just a minute. Jeez. You’d think you were woodpeckers with those beaks.” He’d have to find a new vantage point. It was a real pity, he’d grown to like this tree. Clearly, the robins were a very discerning pair. He felt another sharp poke at his leg. A discerning, and impatient pair, he amended. Turning back to the balcony, he refocused his camera. Princess Celestia was still there, still the same regal, elegant... Telephoto paused, staring wide-eyed into the viewfinder. Princess Celestia...Princess Celestia had no teeth. Princess Celestia had no teeth! Telephoto’s jaw dropped. Sure, he’d seen Tattle Tale’s article. But even though he worked for the Whisperer, he’d never put any stock in what they printed. He was fairly certain the editors didn’t put much stock in it, either. It was all nonsense. Nonsense that paid well, but nonsense. Had Tattle Tale actually gotten something right? After all, here was visible confirmation of Tattle’s story, Princess Celestia, mouth open to reveal nothing but gums. Ignoring the painful sensation of a robin’s beak jabbing at his hind leg, Telephoto followed his instincts and snapped a picture. Then he snapped a few more, just in case. He was definitely going to get bonus pay for this. It was another day in Canterlot, and Celestia was holding Day Court. As she dismissed a satisfied petitioner, her tongue slid across her teeth. It had taken a few hours, but the cure for Poison Joke had eventually been found in the Canterlot Archive, and by dinner, Celestia’s smile had returned in all its glory. Truly new experiences were sometimes hard to come by in so considerable a life as hers. But last night, the solar alicorn had nonetheless found herself, for the very first time, luxuriating over the simple act of brushing her teeth. “Next,” she commanded gently, gesturing at the line of ponies. One of them, a rather tall and dapper white stallion in a business suit, pushed his way forward. Celestia frowned at his rudeness, but continued on nonetheless, donning a pleasant smile. “What is your name, my little pony?” The stallion bowed deeply. “Maxilla, Your Majesty.” He got to his hooves, fishing out something from his saddlebag. “And I would like to demonstrate to you my company’s latest offering. May I present…The Precrestinator 2.0!” With a dramatic flourish, he pulled out a set of false teeth. “The Precrestinator 2.0 is a top of the line prosthetic. As you can see, every single tooth has been molded to resemble the real thing, and just look at that polish!” He paused, admiring the bright sheen. “Plus, the teeth are very strong, so you won’t need to worry about them breaking, even on the hardest of food. And thanks to our patented cushion,” he ran a hoof along the top of the teeth, “they’re so comfortable you might even forget they’re prosthetics!” The unicorn grinned at her. “Why, I guarantee you, Your Majesty, you won’t find a better product than ours—” “HEY!” came a shout from further back in the line. Suddenly, a short gray unicorn shoved his way to the front, glaring at the other. “Maxilla, you dirty little snake! Trying to get here before me, huh?” “It’s your own fault for being late, Mandible,” titted the taller stallion. “I got here first, so my company gets the first say.” “Oh no, you won’t!” shouted Mandible. “I’m not letting you take this away. My company’s worked way too hard to fall for one of your underhooved tactics again!” “So what?” sneered Maxilla. “You—” Mandible back-hoofed his rival across the jaw, silencing any further comment. Eyes burning with shock and fury, Maxilla leapt forward to tackle him to the floor. Celestia’s mouth fell agape as her court broke into a brawl for the first time in…she wasn’t even sure. Her guards rushed in, pulling the two ponies apart from each other. Their faces were bruised and sweaty, and the Precrestinator 2.0 lay broken on the carpet. But though the stallions couldn’t use their hooves, their tongues still worked perfectly. “You never worked for a thing in your life!” “And you don’t deserve to shine my boots!” “Yeah, well you belong back in dental school!” “You belong in CLOWN school!” After about a minute of non-stop arguing, the princess felt a vein throb in her head. She reached out with her magic to clamp both stallions’ mouths shut. They blinked, suddenly chagrined, staring up at the now-irritated Celestia. She took a deep, cleansing breath. “Gentlecolts, please. There is no need for this.” She looked at Maxilla. “I’m sure your company’s product is most spectacular,” she said, willfully ignoring the collection of broken teeth scattered around the base of the dais like birdseed. Maxilla preened. “Why, thank you, Your Majesty, I—” “But why have you shown it to me?” Celestia continued. “Do you perhaps require a loan to produce it?” She looked to Mandible. “And furthermore, I don’t understand why you two are fighting in the first place.” Maxilla’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Your Majesty, I would think the reason would be obvious.” Celestia shook her head. “It is not, my little pony. So why don’t you explain it to me?” Maxilla looked taken aback. “Well, I...uh…” he said, suddenly tongue-tied for the time since entering the throne room. “It’s alright, Your Majesty,” said Mandible gently. He said it in the same tone Celestia often used to console ponies. Hearing it now, directed at her, it somehow had the opposite effect. “Really. It’s quite alright. We know.” Celestia’s eyebrow shot up. “You know?” What on Terra were these two ponies talking about? “To be more specific, most of Canterlot knows,” Maxilla said awkwardly. This conversation was getting less and less clear by the minute. “And...what exactly does most of Canterlot know?” The two stallions looked at each other, and Mandible took something out of his own saddlebag. “This,” he said, floating it over. Before her was a copy of The Canterlot Whisperer, dated today. The headline splashed boldly across the front read “DENTAL DISCOVERY!” Right below it was a picture of Celestia, her mouth open to reveal empty gums. For the second time in so many days, the princess of the sun screamed, and every single window in the throne room shattered.