Dealing with Dreamwardens was always a pain. Why was she sitting on a smiling toadstool? Rebecca sat across from the toadstool table, overeating cake. Why even eat cake in a dream?
“Sure, I can have the lawyers email you a copy of that contract ASAP. You’ll have it ready to go first thing in the morning,” Rebecca said between bites of food.
Jessica stood up. “Good, thank you. You can release me back into my dream now.”
The toadstool suddenly grew, forcing itself under her, and then shrank again. Did it giggle?
The food vanished from in front of Rebecca, and there was suddenly an old-timey telephone operator station in front of her, and Rebecca was connecting different lines.
“Actually, I have one more order of business. You have a dreamwalking request from my good pals, Blanche and Tempest. They want to talk to you. Do you accept charges?” Rebecca asked.
“Charges?” Jessica asked.
Rebecca shrugged. “It’s free, so charges are zero. I was keeping with the theme. Do you accept them entering your dream to talk to you?”
“Why do they want to talk to me?” Jessica asked, feeling suspicious.
Rebecca raised a hoof, which morphed into a hand she used to shake a finger. “Ah, ah, ah. You know I can’t disclose that. Will you or won’t you speak with them?”
Jessica rubbed her head. “Fine. Let’s hurry this nonsense up.”
“A little nonsense now and then, valued by the wisest men,” Rebecca sang. She then vanished, leaving Tempest and Blanche suddenly appeared, sitting on their own toadstool seats. The cakes vanished as well and were replaced with a tea party spread.
Tempest looked around, picked up a teacup to examine, put it down, and then bent down to look at her seat.
“Your dreams are not what I expected,” Tempest dryly said as she sat back up.
Jessica groaned. “Rebecca picked the setting. This isn’t one of mine. Cut straight to it. What do you want?”
Blanche started to lean on the table.
“Hahah hee hee! That tickles!” the table giggled.
Blanche sat back up. “You have permission to act on this information. We’re currently on a mission in Mexico to try to bring down a partial trafficking ring. Unfortunately, by our estimates, we don’t have the numbers to safely do so because the operation is larger than anticipated. We’re looking for extra help, and you could be useful.”
She gaped. “I’m guessing you want me to use my sound powers to listen in on conversations to help build a case against them?”
Tempest shook her head. “No, we aren’t building a case against them; we’re assaulting their base and freeing the hundred or more partials they have prisoner there. Much of our early assault will rely on stealth. Your powers can help us determine guard movements, mask our sound, and cause disruption in the enemy ranks once our stealth is blown.”
She stood up. “No! I’m not some action hero! There’s a kid that I’m trying to adopt, and I’m certain he wants me to adopt him. I’m not going to have him lose out on me as a mother because I went and got myself killed trying to play superhero down in Mexico.”
“Would us telling you that the kid’s parents had been prisoners down there who had escaped change your mind?” Blanche asked.
She sat back down. “What?”
“His parents had been among those who were imprisoned at this camp,” Blanche said with a nod. “After the mother got pregnant, she and the father made a daring escape from the prison, the prospect of their baby being born in captivity being what pushed them to do what was surely a suicide run. They trekked cross-country over hundreds of miles of arid land without supplies back into the USA to get him to where he could be born free. The father died long before making it to the destination, the mother not long after delivering the child to his grandmother.”
Something didn’t make sense. “Wait, why did Mark’s mother leave him with his grandmother without stopping to get care so she could live?”
“She was likely terrified she was going to be tracked down and didn’t want to lead her previous captors to her son,” Blanche said. “They might have figured the kid died out in the wilds. It’s a miracle he didn’t. Our tracker says she wasn’t at the grandmother’s long.”
Jessica’s shoulders slumped. “Oh…I guess that also explains why the grandmother kept him secret. I remember them saying the old woman had a son who vanished soon after ETS. I suppose that was the father–I mean, we already guessed that, but this gives more evidence of that. I can’t imagine what she must have felt after discovering what happened and then left trying to know what was best for Mark.”
“They target partials who are seen as vulnerable and would cause the least suspicion if they went missing. That’s why you were never in danger. You’re too high profile, but kids run away all the time, and Mark doesn’t even have a social security number yet,” Tempest explained.
“How…how do you know this?” Jessica asked, trying to process the information.
“These guys have been on our radar for a while, and we happen to have the best tracker there is. Our tracker was able to piece together details about the parents' fate,” Blanche explained.
“I can confirm it too!” Rebecca chimed in. “We don’t have to keep the secrets of the dead, and if they had magic and died while Drwamwardens were active, we can remember their dreams. It isn’t perfect information, but when something is a big enough deal to someone, they’ll dream about it. Once they dream it, we’ll have that memory of that dream stashed away, at least for a very long time. Old stuff…like ancient stuff…gets very patchy after a while. Our mental power is based on the number of combined dreamers, and when the dead outnumber the living, there isn’t enough brainpower to remember everything, and we start forgetting old or unimportant stuff. Traumatic dreams in the recent past, even straight-out memories in most cases, that’s easy to remember, if we’re trying to–although, unfortunately, not admissible evidence in waking world courts, which sucks so much sometimes.”
“Why would they even do this?” Jessica asked, still reeling from the revelation.
Blanche snorted. “Come on, you can’t be that dense. Partials often have very unpredictable and powerful magic. Yes, humans can have that, too, but humans like me are the minority. Statistically, partials are highly likely to develop some strange magic. This magic can be weaponized, and because it falls outside what we typically expect from magic, it is harder for others to counteract. I’m sure your friends Beverly and Jennifer can tell you all about people weaponizing people with unique magic.”
“And if they turn out to be duds when it comes to magic that can be weaponized, they’re still potential unpaid labor and test subjects,” Tempest added.
She considered for a few seconds, then shook her head. “The answer is still no. Yes, I want justice for his parents, but I do him no justice if I get killed trying to avenge them. Being adopted by me would give him notoriety, which should protect him. Plus, I don’t want to be weaponized, even for a just cause, and that’s what you are asking me to do. I wish you the best of luck, but I must firmly refuse.”
Blanche looked at Tempest, and Tempest shook her head. Blanche then sighed. “Very well. We will await different reinforcements. Thanks for taking the time to hear us out and at least considering what we were saying.”
Tempest looked up. “We need aid, Marshmallow!”
“You don’t have to keep asking. I told you I’m not to leave you hanging. Be patient and sit tight,” Rebecca’s disembodied voice answered.
Jessica pointed upward. “Why are you asking me if she’s already going to get you help?”
Tempest gave her a flat look. “Have you ever had to have the Marshmallow help you? Nothing is ever straightforward, and it usually involves some overcomplicated plot. It is headache-inducing. It would be helpful if she directly ordered a few people to do what she wanted instead of going through all these insane hoops!”
“She orders me around just fine,” Blanche mumbled.
“You know I can hear you, right?” Rebecca’s voice said, sounding just a pinch annoyed. “Come on. Who’s your favorite neighborhood Marshmallow? I’ll come through for you. My plans have a very high success rate–aside from diets; those never seem to work out.”
“I can’t tell if she sounds like a hustler or a person trying to reason with a hustler,” Blanche muttered.
“She’s your boss,” Tempest reminded her.
Blanche groaned. “She’ll probably come through with something. We just have to wait for it. Whenever the help arrives, we’ll no doubt think she’s insane, but it will somehow be invaluable–unless her plan completely falls apart. I know how things go with her, so I give it a fifty-fifty chance.”
”Hey! Have faith! It is eighty-one to fourteen percent chance in my favor. I keep track,” Rebecca’s voice said proudly.
“What's the other five percent?” Tempest asked.
“Things sometimes resolve themselves, so the entire thing becomes irrelevant,” Rebecca replied nonchalantly. “The point is that even if they don’t always work out, my plans have an excellent success rate.”
Tempest crossed her arms. “You’d likely have an even higher success rate with your plans if you didn’t have such absurd and overly convoluted ones that leave an obscene amount of things to chance.”
Rebecca sighed. “Ah, yes, chance. Do you know what chance is? Chance is failure to see aspects that impact the inevitable outcome. You know, I’m rather torn about how to feel about such failures. When I succeed, everyone is happy and relieved that everything turned out alright, and I like people to be happy. Making people happy feels good. However, sometimes I fail, and I have to look at why. It means I get exposed to something I didn’t expect, some element that my super-Dreamwarden brain, which is capable of looking at things from billions of different angles, didn’t see coming…and even though people are unhappy, I have to sit there and admire this element that I failed to see; it’s almost beautiful, like a freshly baked chocolate cake with rainbow sprinkles. Sometimes, I succeed, but there're still elements I didn’t see coming. When that happens, it is the best of both worlds, and I like that the most. So, yes, I invite chance to play a part in as many of my plans as possible, which means doing what I can to invite unexpected outcomes. I want to succeed but also be surprised. The unexpected is one of the core sparks of creativity. It is hard to plan to make unexpected things happen, so things sometimes get a little crazy with my planning.”
Tempest looked at Blanche. “Your Dreamwarfen is insane.”
Blanche shrugged. “Are any of them sane? Your Dreamwarden likes being called the monster in the closet or under the bed and calls herself the Queen of Nightmares. Where is the sanity in that?”
“She wants people to drive her out of their dreams after understanding their fears. It’s making them view their fears more rationally,” Tempest asserted. “Yours insanely does things because she wants insanity she didn’t expect to happen. How is that making things better? Phobia’s goal is more rationality; the Marshmallow’s goal is the opposite of rationality. She’s no better than Discord!”
“Never compare her to that beast![” Blanche hissed.
“Tell me how she’s different?” Tempest asked skeptically.
“Discord does things for shits and giggles. He has no goal. He wants only to be amused. Rebecca wants people to encounter something that inspires them. People need to be inspired. If she didn’t see something coming, the average person didn’t see it coming. That forces them to think of things differently. That sparks creativity,” Blanche asserted.
“Well, he also cares if his little marefriend gets nad at him, so that’s another influence on Discord,'' Tempest added in. “I still don’t see them that differently. You could argue the Marshmallow has considerably less power than Discord, but instead of direct power, she has access to knowledge he could only dream of. Knowledge is power, so the two aren’t as far removed from one another as they first appear in terms of power. Bottom line, the two of them are both interested in having nonsense happen and get amused by it. They're crazy!”
“Crazy? How about how your Dreamwarden gets all dressed up and paraded around Skytree like a queen on Halloween?” Blanche fired back. “how is that advancing anything?”
“Oh, now you are just digging for anything,” Tempest snarled. “That’s something she does one day a year because the people like it. It’s good public relations for her to do it. It’s not like she goes out demanding candy tributes like Luna does on Nightmare Night.”
Jessica rolled her eyes and looked up. “Rebecca, please release me back into my dream so I don’t have to listen to these two argue about how crazy you are.”
“I never said I wasn’t crazy. The dream realm is like Wonderland; we’re all mad here, but it’s nice to know that Blanche has my back,” Rebecca asserted. “However, there’s no reason to keep you around anymore. Enjoy your sleep!”
And with that, she faded off into her dream.
“Why is stupid pony asking us to walk?” Bursa growled as they continued to Wabash.
Charlotte glanced back. “Do you honestly think any driver will have seats that can fit you? Stop whining; it’s only six miles. Don’t be a wimp.”
A car driving by slowed down so the passengers could stare at them. Charlotte stuck her tongue out them, and they moved on.
Bursa stared at the vehicle as it drove away. “They'd let us ride if you let me disguise myself. Pony is crazy, making me walk down the street without a disguise. Someone is going to try to attack me.’
“I’d call the police if that happened and defend you in the meantime. Are you that ashamed of what you look like?” Charlotte asked.
“They will panic. I’m a monster,” Bursa answered.
Charlotte watched another car drive by. “Haven’t so far. Sure, they stare, but nobody is panicking. As long as I’m here and treating you as no big deal, the most they’ll do is stare–maybe jeer.”
“I'll eat them if they laugh at me,” Bursa growled.
Another car drove by, again slowing down to look at Bursa before speeding up again.
“Don’t make empty threats,” Charlotte scolded. “You aren’t a monster, because you aren’t a killer. You make a lot of noise, and I wouldn't doubt you’d completely total someone's car, which would cause us a lot of problems, but you don’t kill.”
Bursa let off a long have you hiss. “How do you know, pony? Who made you an expert?”
“My titi, Wild Growth,” Charlotte answered.
“What’s a titi?” Bursa asked.
“Aunt,” Charlotte clarified. “When I was a foal, she told me all about you. I was in Equestria as part of that tourist group that you kidnapped that mare from and tried to impersonate. You had to have gotten close to me sometime during that trip–me, my brother, and my sister.”
“Don’t remember anyone from that group except Wild Growth, the mare I captured, and that fat dumb pegasus,” Bursa confessed. “I know there were lots of Wild Growth’s family on the trip. I avoided them as much as possible….So…what did she say about me? Not that I care…or anything.”
Charlotte kept silent fir a few seconds as she watched another car slow down. Everyone wanted to take a gander at the strange creature following her down the street. Video of Bursa would probably be a viral video by morning as people tried to identify what they were even looking at. Most would dismiss it as some publicity stunt, possibly for some movie. Equestrian flora and fauna were still primarily mysterious and alien to the general public, and a few might question if some Equestrian animal was loose on the streets of Denver. It was surprising that the police hadn’t at least stopped to check what was up, but then again, they weren’t causing any disruption, and whatever those passing by thought Bursa was, they didn’t think she was that dangerous if a mare was aware of the giant bug following behind her and didn’t seem to be alarmed. Making Bursa keep to her proper form was primarily to keep better track of her, but it was also to break the belief Bursa had that everyone would run from her if they saw her natural form. Yeah, she was ugly, but after spending several hours with her, Charlotte knew Bursa was just another person.
“She said that some crazy scientist experimented on you and left you trapped in a cave for years,” Charlotte replied. “How’d you survive that anyway? What did you eat down there?”
“Fish and bugs,” Bursa answered.
Charlotte looked back at her. “Fish in a cave?”
“Yeah, there were fish. I got good at catching them,” Bursa replied. “I don’t know what they look like. It was completely dark, but there was an underground lake. There was water; there was food. I could survive.”
“You just ate them raw?” Charlotte asked, feeling ill.
“No choice. Nothing to burn. No way to make fire,” Bursa answered. “You don’t like that I ate the fish.”
Charlotte grimaced. “Well, raw fish sounds even more disgusting than cooked fish. I doubt you enjoyed it much.”
“It was the most exciting thing. I was always happy to catch a fish and eat it. It meant I wasn’t hungry. It meant I was doing something. It meant I was alive,” Bursa hissed. “It was easier to move around in the lake. It hurt less, but I had to come on shore to eat and rest. I tried sleeping in the lake once. I almost drowned. Can’t swim and sleep at same time.”
Titi had said that Bursa wasn't very bright. Trying to swim and sleep simultaneously was a good indication of that. It was best not to rub that in Bursa’s face. She was trying not to be as toxic as that night pony from Equestria. At least Bursa learned her lesson.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t drown,” Charlotte said. “My aunt also said that you were falling apart when they found you. They had to send you to Equestria to be transformed into what you are now, and that was the only way to save you. She says that you’d been trying to get back to Earth ever since so you could get your vengeance on the guy who experimented on you. She also said that in all your attempts, you never killed anyone in your way, even though you are big and strong enough to do so with ease. She sympathizes with you. You’ve been through hell, and you want to punish the person who put you through it. I don’t think anyone who heard your story would hate you.”
“My parents did,” Bursa said in a low voice. “I showed them this form, and they rejected me. They denied I was their daughter. They were so disgusted, angry, and terrified. It made me more sick than the nasty pony.”
Charlotte wondered how much warning and briefing about what had happened Bursa’s parents had been given before the reunion. Springing Bursa on them without letting the information sink in would have been too much for most people to process. She could see the higher-ups pulling something like that. It would be a way of trying to force Bursa to believe that there was nothing here for her. During the call, Titi hadn’t seemed aware that Bursa had already met with her parents. That meant things were moving faster than expected. Titi was no fool, and she had to see what they were doing. Somebody was going to have a national hero screaming at them.
“I’m sure that was very hurtful,” Charlotte said, putting as much sympathy into it as possible. “Maybe we can try that again, only this time giving your parents more information and time to process it. Do we have any hard evidence we can present them with?”
“No, dream ponies search the memories of the dead to find the truth,” Bursa answered bitterly. “Nothing remains. My memories are broken. I didn’t even remember my parents when I saw them. They seemed familiar, but still strangers.”
Well, at least that might have blunted the feeling of rejection slightly, but with that level of rejection, it would have still been devastating. If this sister of Bursa’s was dead, then that was probably the memory they grabbed onto.”
She stopped and shaded her eyes with a wing as blue lights started flashing. Why’d police have to make those things so damn bright? She wondered if they ever inadvertently caused traffic accidents by blinding drivers.
“They’re going to take me away and lock me up!” Bursa yelled.
“Stay calm. I’ll deal with this,” she instructed Bursa. “Yelling stuff like that makes you seem guilty of something. You haven’t done anything wrong. If you seem too agitated, they’ll start thinking you’re dangerous. It’s one car. They’d be waiting for backup if they thought you were dangerous.”
Bursa went silent. It was hard to read her body language with all the bright flashing lights, so there was no telling if she was fidgeting anxiously
Keeping a wing shading her eyes, she looked towards the cop car as she heard the doors open and close.
“Evening officers. Mind dimming those lights? It’s a bit much for my eyes,” she greeted.
“Sorry, it’s procedure,” a male officer answered. She could only tell by the voice. The road had too many smells, including Bursa’s.
“What’s up with that thing? Some animatronic costume?” another officer asked, also male. She assumed they were humans. Night ponies couldn’t stand being around lights like that, and day ponies didn’t typically take night shifts, but it would be nice to see to confirm.
“That is my friend Bursa. I’m Army Major Charlotte Martinez,” she explained. “Bursa is a member of an exotic but intelligent magical species from Equestria. She’s visiting our country with permission from the government, and I’m her chaperone. I have the paperwork in my saddlebag, along with my military ID, if you need to see any of that. Please be nice to her. She gets nervous easily. This is all very different from what she is used to.”
“Ack! Get that flashlight out of my eyes, puny human!” Bursa fussed. “I’ll eat your liver!”
“No, she won’t!” Charlotte said quickly. “Sorry, she’s very temperamental. Bursa, behave yourself. Do you guys want to see that paperwork?”
“We can take you in for threatening a police officer,” one of the officers said sternly.
She needed to diffuse this quickly. “Bursa is used to talking aggressively, but that’s all it is: talk. Do you want to have to deal with a giant bug that has all kinds of diplomatic issues? We are on our way to Wabash Manor, and when we get there, she’ll be Wabash’s problem.”
The officers were silent for a few seconds, likely considering if they wanted to have to deal with this kind of hassle.
“We’ll review your paperwork, and if everything is in order, we’ll let you be on your way,” one of the officers finally said. “Why are you just walking down the street? You’re distracting traffic and causing a scene.”
Since when was distracting traffic a crime?
“Well, she’s too big to ride in most vehicles. I’d rather fly, but there’s no way the big bug is flying,” Charlotte answered.
“I can fly, stupid pony!” Bursa hissed. “I asked you why we were walking!”
Charlotte shut her eyes and groaned. “You could have mentioned that before. I had no idea.”
“I have wings. Why wouldn’t I be able to fly?”
“I thought they were just for show. They’re tiny and flimsy looking, and you’re huge! I had to stare at you to even notice they were there!” Charlotte protested. “You never even flutter them.”
“Pony doesn’t know as much as pony thinks! I’m smarter than pony!”
“Well, intelligent you didn’t bother to tell me you could fly when I was talking about riding in vehicles. I’d have happily–”
“Yeah, you’re right; I don't want to deal with whatever the heck this is. I thought I’d seen everything after ETS, but now there’s an intelligent dragon-sized bug walking down the street,” an officer cut in. “I don’t even know how we’d take something that big in. Maybe the SWAT van could hold it, but I’m not sure even about that. You say it’s going to be Wabash’s problem? Hurry up and fly over there. We’ll radio a few night pony officers to ensure you head straight to your destination.”
“I am not dragon-sized!” Bursa protested.
“Are you calling her fat?” Charlotte asked. “She’s not fat.”
“Yeah, I’m not fat! You’re just puny, puny human!”
“Bursa, we need to expand your vocabulary,” Charlotte informed her companion. “I’m sure Wabash has a thesaurus. We’ll find some other words than puny for you to say.”
“Are you saying my vocabulary is puny? I know other words, small pony.”
“Just go,” the officer ordered.
Well, that wasn’t so bad.