//------------------------------//
// Can 
// Story: Digital Effigy 
// by Starscribe 
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Sweetie Belle had little experience with funerals. After her first, she was content to keep that number as low as possible for the rest of her life. This was by far the worst—never before had she stuck around until the very end. She couldn't just be a passive participant in this one—almost everypony in the room wanted to talk to her and Scootaloo, even if it was just for a few moments.
"You're a hero," said a hundred ponies, a hundred different ways. "We heard what you did." "Brought her up from Ponyville Caverns on your own."
All she could do was smile and nod along to their praise, though all of it felt empty and hollow to her. She tried to save Scootaloo, but only half succeeded. They were still sitting at a funeral. What congratulations were really due?
But for whatever discomfort Sweetie had to go through, Scootaloo had it much worse. Every single one of them said the same things—apologizing for what happened, hoping she could come back to them soon. Some ponies asked a little more, wondering what it was like to wake up in the Dream. At least there was nopony around rude enough to ask if she still felt alive, or anything else so cruel.
But one by one the building emptied, leaving Scootaloo's closed casket where it lay. Her parents promised to call and write often, her aunts swore they would start saving to get her a body made as early as possible, though the prices were well outside their reach.
"No need to rush," Scootaloo urged them, wings open and pleading. "It's fine in here, really. I can fly, I'm with a pony I care about more than anyone in the world... I won't be alone. We'll find ways to pass the time."
"I see," said Lofty, looking over at Sweetie. Her smile showed an understanding that few other ponies could reach, no matter how tolerant they were.
"We'll keep you up to date," said Holiday, touching one hoof up to the screen. "And if there's anything you need in there, don't hesitate to ask. We'll be looking out for you."
That left only one pony behind—arguably the most important of all. Apple Bloom lingered in the empty church, waiting at the back of the line for her turn. She must have let a dozen different groups past her in the last hour, waiting patiently in her old-fashioned dress.
But now she was there, looking awkwardly up at the camera. "Hey you two. Guess it's been a little while."
"Yeah," Sweetie agreed. She kept her expression as neutral as she could, no matter how overwhelmed she felt with their day so far. Of all the ponies in the world who deserved them at their best, Apple Bloom was at the top of the list. "Not sure how long. There aren't real clocks on this side, just controls. It takes a little getting used to."
Apple Bloom wiped tears from her face. Her voice cracked, strangling whatever she was trying to say. Only Scootaloo's name came through. 
"Doing good," Scootaloo finished for her. "Miss you. That was supposed to be a casual trip. Go somewhere interesting, spend a little time together, then we're out."
Apple Bloom took a little while to say anything. She kept her voice down, barely above a whisper. Every second, she seemed to be fighting tears and losing. "Guess that's true too. About you two being together, I mean."
"Yeah," Sweetie said. "We were gonna tell you eventually. When it felt right. But we weren't sure if it would work out. Felt a little silly to make such a big deal out of something that might not even happen."
Scootaloo rested one wing around her shoulder. In Sweetie's mind, that might be an even better use for her new state than flying. Her marefriend gave some amazing hugs.
"But it did happen. And it was going pretty well! Right up until the part I died horribly." She chuckled, but no humor reached Apple Bloom. If anything, the mare only looked more upset. 
"Horribly? Nopony told me that part."
Sweetie stuck out one leg, stopping her marefriend before she caused even more harm. "We're fine now, that's the important thing. Being in here is weird, but I like it. I bet we'll be used to the weird parts eventually."
"And we don't have to say goodbye," Scootaloo added. "We can still call you! We can talk whenever you have time to go to the... center thing. It's in the big Lucid Bioinformatics building. You can tell us about everything happening at the farm, and we can tell you about how Sweetie is learning how to fly with me. She promised she would."
Apple Bloom looked over at her, as though checking to make sure she hadn't sprouted wings in the middle of their conversation. Of course, Sweetie looked no different than before, and there was nothing to see.
"That all sounds... nice," Apple Bloom said, her voice strained. "Just... don't forget about me while you're in there. All those times I was afraid we might never see each other again—don't make it come true. Hopefully you can get out soon."
"Hopefully,” Sweetie agreed.
But Scootaloo didn't—not after the cameras were off and they were out of the church. 
Scootaloo shook herself free of the dress like a magician might remove the chains at their performance. "Here's hoping that's the last time I have to watch my own funeral. That was awful!" 
She tossed the dress aside, directly into the dirt. "That's it! No more talking about dying, no more reminding me that I'm dead. No more tears and no more heartbreak. I'm done, Sweets! I'm done with all of it! If that means I might have to be waiting in here for a few weeks, or a few months, or a few years—I'm okay with that."
The dress vanished from the ground, fading away to a puff of sparkles and magical smoke. 
"Even if things are weird here?" Sweetie prompted. "Even though none of us are alive, and we're all living inside a big computer?"
Scootaloo shrugged. "Even with all those things. Since I was little, I had to live with things I couldn't control, Sweetie. No matter how much I practiced, I couldn't fly. No matter how much I wanted, colts stayed gross, and fillies were the interesting ones. If I can learn to live with those things, I can be okay with a weird world that's only as big as one town."
She nudged up against Sweetie's shoulder for a brief kiss. "Besides, you're here. What's more important than that?"



Time passed in the strange not-world of Lucid's Dream. Sweetie saw very little to make concrete record of its passing—there were no seasons, no proper clocks, no calendars.
Only when ponies called from the real world did Sweetie have any sense that time was moving. Sometimes the leaves were a different color in the back of the frame, other times Apple Bloom would mention the harvest, or her sister would show off a gown she was working on for the Grand Galloping Gala.
"Be careful not to break anything in my room!" Sweetie always reminded her, or maybe begged. "Those artifacts are important to me! I'm gonna do things with them!"
"It's exactly as you left it," she would promise, every single time. "Honestly, Sweetie, you should take a little more time to relax. You have much less to worry about than anypony else. No new wrinkles, no stiffening of your joints or aches when you wake up in the morning. Just enjoy your time off, and I'll see about getting you out of there as soon as I can."
It could've been right after the Winter Wrap-Up. Her sister had the wealth to pay for new bodies, and enough of a connection to Lucid Storm to ask for basically whatever she wanted.
But two bodies were apparently a bigger problem than just one.
"It's our other clients," the bat explained, late at night judging by the moonlight and starry sky behind him. "There's a rather important stallion we swore would get the very first body off the production line. Making an exception for the first pony we revived—that could be explained. But your friend wouldn't be so easy. Her connection to you isn't enough to avert the anger. It would be... considerable, I'm sure. Then we would have a hard time attracting future clients."
It was all boring corporate talk and might've made Sweetie furious at him. But Scootaloo was usually there for those conversations, to reassure her. "I'm good waiting, Mr. Storm. I'm grateful for the credits you give me in your town. If it takes a while to get out, I'm happy here."
No wonder why. Her friend's lifetime disability was entirely gone, replaced with competence in flight that came from athleticism and confidence. Sweetie couldn't just transform into a pegasus to join her in the sky—but she could get a spell done to give her butterfly wings whenever she wanted, and that was good enough.
Good enough to spend their endless days high in the sky, whenever her marefriend wanted. Good enough to fly around town some days, and trot others. Good enough for a lifetime's worth of leisure and competition. 
Though most new ponies to reach Lucid's Dream were elderly when they arrived—the passage of time gradually turned that back, until they returned to young, vital ponies. Quiet cafes and galleries soon got quieter, and the sports pitch and athletic field got quite a bit busier. 
That was fine for Scootaloo, but not so much for Sweetie Belle. The more time she spent in the virtual environment, the more driven she was to make that time productive.
There was a library, though what it contained wasn't very interesting. A few calls to Capacitor later, and Sweetie got herself an exhaustive copy of Lucid Bioinformatics's internal reference materials. Everything they'd discovered, every paper they'd published, every manual and guide and memo on the technology, filled a new shelf in her office.
"But you gotta promise me—" the unicorn had said, rubbing the bags under his eyes with a hoof. "You won't try to send the files out of Lucid’s Dream. That stuff is proprietary. I figure it's okay if you have it, but that doesn't mean you can share it. Understand?"
"I understand." She levitated the nearest book onto the table in front of her. They were all identical, brown covers with block letters. Capacitor had done nothing at all to integrate them into the world or make them look real. But that was fine with her—Sweetie just needed the words.
"Is there anything else?" he asked, clearly dreading the answer.
He knew her too well. "Maybe... one thing." She tapped her forehead with a hoof. "Remember the younger me? The one living on that old brain?"
He nodded weakly. "Living isn't quite the word I would use for a pattern minutes away from total decoherence. I know the one you mean."
"Do you think you could... maybe... plug the diagnostic machine into Lucid's Dream too? If I'm going to be stuck in here, I might as well use that time to help her. I know it's possible—I'm still on the same brain. Lucid already told me."
That part of her body had been built tough and survived the worst abuses Sweetie put it through. Keeping her on it meant more resources for all the other ponies stuck on the server.
"Possible? Yes. Stupid? Extremely. But you've got the time, like you said. How about you design the interface? When you know the hardware well enough to do that, maybe I'll ask Lucid if it's okay. Maybe."
He hung up, and the screen went dark.
Sweetie sat up from the chair, walking over to the bookshelf. She walked along from one end of the shelf to the other, counting each of the books in turn. Nearly thirty, each about as thick as Ponyville's phone book. Much of their contents would probably require her to read other things in the library, just to get the background necessary to understand what they were about. But the town also had lots of old ponies, experts in many fields. She could probably ask around for help.
Between adventures in the day and wilder nights, Sweetie would make time to learn.
There were no doctors of the mechanical mind—she would make herself the first.