//------------------------------// // Journals of a Petite Bourgeoise // Story: The Scramble for Equestria (A Pre-EAW Story) // by Radical Centrist //------------------------------// By some work of fate, the Jaffmare's petite bourgeoise had gravitated to the rear, being drawn to the massive heads of the ponies and griffons at the back, their skulls seemingly leaking with brains. Accounts of Shah Al Assad, Historian and Populist Organiser Iron ships, thrice taller and longer than our baghlahs had arrived at our shores at exactly midday of April 17th 774. Their mighty fleet consisted of 7 of mighty scale, with circular compartments in the centre, able to swivel and shoot the cannons stored within. Following them were 14 similarly iron-cladded ships, but smaller. They looked to be dedicated transport ships, definitely not converted merchant liners, for only one could only imagine how rich these foreigners must be to cover all their ships with those glistening priceless metals. Imagine my surprise when I eventually found out from my new foreign friends that all ships of their nations were made of (('steel')), an alloy, like bronze, but mainly consisting of iron. This would baffle me. Perhaps because I am not an engineer, I could not fathom how such a heavy vessel could float on water. ... This nation, (('England')), from where they hail must be exorbitantly rich for them to undertake such grandiose projects of engineering. Their 'Battle-Ships' dwarf any great monuments our Kingdom has ever produced, and I could only compare it to my glances of our glorious capital of Trotgiers. It may not be gelded in gold, but it is still beautiful in its meticulousness. (('HMS Victoria')) they call it. ... But the most foreign of all was the crew. The fact that they were griffons and ponies had not surprised me. It may have shaken my peers, but as a learn'ed reader and as a supposed fool who believed there was such a thing that existed in our world, I had been more shocked by how they moved. They very uncomfortably stood tall on their hind hooves or paws, only occasionally falling to the normal mode of four-leggedness before rebounding back on their twos'. Most peculiarly, it seemed that the griffons were most acclimated to this unusual method of maneuver, as they barely ever contacted the floor with their claws. Their pony partners were in comparison less fortunate, humorously tripping on their flat hooves as unlike the griffons whose paws had digits to balance themselves, our fellow equines had no such luxury. Despite this, they determinedly pushed on, only looking slightly annoyed whenever they fell on their forehooves. It was a most bizarre tradition. Like many, the only times we saw a pony, or even any equine for that matter, stand on two hooves were mere foals learning to trot. Adventurous as they were, they would quickly retire their pubescent experimenting and learn to be on all fours. But I dare not presume the ineffectiveness of these weird practices of the foreigners, as I do not know why or how they came to be, and would be foolish of me to dismiss them due to mere prejudice. By sight alone, I could only posit that these 'Two-Legs' adopted this 'tradition' to use their unoccupied forehooves as how we would use our muzzles, holding precise tools and the like. I would find this quite ingenious, if not, extremely discomfortable, as I had momentarily tried to adopt their strange tradition, only for me to fall quite embarrassingly backwards on my barrel, much to the amusement of my peers around me. It was around that time I also noticed the foreigner's chronic disuse of their mouths. While some, especially those in the buisness of war could definitely relate to these foreigners in using their forehooves to hold weapons or shields. I don't imagine they would feel the same way with how these foreign ponies seem to completely neglect their mouths. Not once have I seen any of the ponies atop the ships use their mouths in any capacity. Even when they seemed to write, they had forgone the convenient mouth, awkwardly grabbing onto their quilt-equivalent instruments on an uncomfortably bent hoof. Everyhorse knows, and I can't imagine the ponies don't either, that the grip of their hooves is notoriously weak. While there are sparse enough cases to suggest one can improve their grip by extensive training and feverish 'visualisation' (as attested by those aforementioned subject cases) of their hooves to act like their digitigrade counterparts, it is hardly replicable. Not only that, the meagre reports of great ancient thinkers who delved into this subject warn madly against trying to understand those aforementioned phenomenal cases, instead, pleading to all who have read their manuscripts to abandon their inquiries immediately, lest they also go insane. The fact that these same daring ancient thinkers promptly committed suicide or entered into a great chasm of despair, never to recover again, or even mentally broke and became catatonic, I rightfully marvel at these foreign ponies. Perhaps they have solved the 'Forbbiden Mystery'. What even the greatest thinker of our world* refrained from investigating, infamously dismissing it as "Hooves, being Hooves" Spoiler alert, the Europeans didn't. They were just biologically hard-wired to 'have' hands and use them. We still don't know how our brains or body fully work, so they were doubly ignorant. ... There is something else which defines the 'Two-Legs'. The most obvious, really. The feature I have been withholding so far due to its ironic inconsequentiality. It is, of course, their attire. Their sailors typically wore a darkish-blue overshirt, sometimes in the form of coats and usually an aged-white undershirt. Several of them also seemed to wear the switched colour variants of the same uniform, most likely a distinction of rank. All of them wore a quaint hat of similar darkish colour, of which shape I could not relate to any of our own. Some of the more smartly posed crew among them wore an appropriate-looking uniform, as I could clearly make out their golden buttons, stripes and buckles on their longer coats, accompanied by a long, thin-sheathed sword on their side. Despite mine inexperience in war, I could definitely tell that they were some sort of officers, especially as their plainly dressed compatriots looked obediently to them periodically, loyally awaiting orders. To further distinguish them, they wore a sort of triple-layered hat, of midsection had a golden stamp of sorts. (Something like this, minus human characteristics:) Seeing this uniformity in colour, I had a mind to quite rudely refer to these foreigners as 'Blue-Shirts', in instead of the misleading 'Two-Legs', but the convenient arrival of some much brightly dressed soldiers on-deck quickly made me reconsider my choices. These new strangers wore a more eye-catching red, with tanned bands wrapped over their shoulders, carrying several miniature 'bags' that neatly hugged their upright barrels or torsos. Their strange tanned egged-shaped hats immediately gave me the impression that these were ground troops, since they seemed unbearable to wear in the probable cramped environment of the ship. (They look like this, also minus human characteristics:) But this is all somewhat usual if you discount the difference in probable material or look, as our own armies and dignified horses wear clothes to distinguish their ranks, wealth or prestige. But even here, these foreigners must confuse us still, as if one were to drift their eyes lower, they would discover the immense injustice. They wore a strange... Article of clothing over their flanks. In our society, this is a great punishment, levied against shunned horses who are forever cursed to cover their cutie mark at the threat of death if they were to unveil it. The North Zebrican Ponies have similar ethics, but have largely fazed out such punishments, and rightfully so in my opinion. For there is no greater indignation to an equine than to hide their cutie marks, essentially removing their individuality and robbing them of any purpose or employment in our highly ordinal society. Those sadly subjected to this 'veiling' live in a pitiful state in our society. The luckiest ones are able to find menial jobs from the empathetic few, but most are shamefully ignored by the large populace, avoided, cursed and eventually starved in the middle of the streets, their flanks branded with the dreaded 'crown' of irony, a reminder to all to avoid such a similar fate. So the fact that these foreigners were willingly subjecting themselves to these punishments, seen as too cruel to administrate in the north, was utterly baffling to me. To the griffons, maybe not as vexing, but to the ponies among them? What bizarre culture they must have to hide their individuality so. ... ... A lingering suspicion of mine became fostered as I saw what I could only determine as civilians leaving the 'Red Coat's' ships. They were headed by a particularly stuck-up pink unicorn and fearsome-looking griffin, flanked by two extra ponies wearing some humorously fluffy large hats. They all similarly wore those dreadful 'hind-clothes', all still very uniform, wearing some sort of slick black coat over a clean, white shirt and a strange varying article of accessory around their necks, tightly hugging the collar of their shirts. It was thought-provoking, that last accessory, as it, to me, proved no purpose other than perhaps offer a slight opportunity of individuality as they all varied slightly in colour or pattern. It also seemed exclusive to stallions alone, as the mares and lionesses wore their own variants of clothing, as expected. The fairer sexes wore quite noticeable clothes, with none of them seemingly wearing the same colours, exotic patterns and jewellery dotting their dresses. Eerily, they also seemed to cover their flanks, but their choice of 'veiling' elicited an unknown reaction within me. It was very strange, I cannot serve it justice with words alone, but I will still try to provide a description. Their 'veil' was large, seemingly multi-layered and gave an illusion of an obscenely large flank. I must remind you again, that words alone cannot describe what I have seen, and that prior description gives the impression that it may look horrendous, but I assure you, it was quite the opposite. And I must admit, shamefully, that I fancied them. ... ... ... I had met a quite fascinating character. Despite needing to intermediate with an interpreter, our conversation was very warm and pleasant. He was black in mane, bushly bearded and beige in coat. His horn was modest in size, however, poorly maintained compared to his neat attire and straightened mane. He would introduce himself as Sigmund Freud. The tall pony was joined by another unicorn, unusually dressed in a military-style attire that stood out among the other civilians and varied with the red-coated soldiers. His alleged acquaintance had a deep magenta coat, ruby red mane, neat moustache and pointed beard. His name was Thomas 'Henry' Howard, and apparently an officer of a presumably militaristic religious order. They were finally accompanied by an old griffoness. Modestly dressed, she was dovish in plumage, white and red-eyed. Apparently, she was highly esteemed back in their collective homes, yet, in my time conversing and observing her, she gave me no impressions of being so. These opinions of mine would only strengthen when they praised her for relieving (An equivalent of the foreign word (('nursing'))) the stallions (A vague translation of their word (('men')) which encompasses both male griffons and ponies) during a conflict called the 'Crimean War'. I do not how a war-wife* could be acclaimed, no less even mentioned without invoking shame, but again, I dare not question their culture or their foreign customs. War-wife* - A woman who followed armies to provide spousal services. They would cook for the soldiers and provide promiscuous 'relief'. As expected, they were hated and seen as a disgrace by the larger public, propagandised, tempting men to fornicate. My new friend, 'Freud', would kindly answer all of my questions, however, his answers would prove somewhat unsatisfactory. As an example, I had asked him about the circumstances of how our Princeling had boarded their ship, only for me to be disappointed when he regretfully informed me that he also didn't know. My frustrations would only grow, as he was also ignorant of the ship's name, its design, armaments and mode of operation. I suppose it wasn't fair to him though, as like me, he admitted that he was no engineer, and neither were his two acquaintances as I soon found out. Nonetheless, these predicaments would all prove insignificant to the mane-tearing occupation of my new 'friends'. Freud similarly looked to be distressed in my incomprehension, as he tried to explain to me this otherwordly concept called (('neurology')) and his expertise within it as a (('neurologist')) in their foreign tongue. He tried to convince me of the utterly noble idea that the brain, and not the heart was the seat of the mind. More ludicrously, he explained to me a theory of his that our minds 'had a mind of its own'. I had truly met an interesting character. This 'Thomas', pony, though, had a far more familiar concept in occupation. Like the savage Great Laker Zebras, it seemed, these foreigners mixed militarism with religion, albeit, obviously with technological superiority. Once thought by me a contradiction for a society to obsess with war yet achieve prosperity, these foreigners seem to have achieved it, despite following said savages' ethics. This gave me a pause for thought. It should advise you to reconsider those eastern savages too. Perhaps we shouldn't dismiss their beliefs and traditions as entirely folly, but adopt some of them, or at the least, learn from their best aspects, as the case of these Red-Coats propose. ... ... ... The journal continues on with the rest of the delegation's events, better explained by the journals of other notables, Fareed and Bakar.