Act 1, Part 2: Music and Mirrors
The sun hung its head in the western sky. The day had been long and hard, and it wore upon the mighty orb with a crushing weight, sinking it lower and lower into the horizon. The world sat with baited breath, awaiting at last the moment that the sun's eye would close and it would die.
Shadows grew long, straining against their chains to flood the world. The wind swept and howled, cackling laughter at the thought of the chill to come. Leaves skittered across the ground, like tiny creatures seeking shelter from the darkness. Cold air bit at the hide of those few who were left outside. Slowly, ever so slowly, the fading light turned orange, then to blue as the last inches of sun disappeared over the horizon. Then, night.
The Mare in the Moon rose her head and saw the world. She saw the Upper Quarter in Canterlot, and along the very edge she saw a great, ancient mansion. It was nearly as old as Canterlot itself, and it looked its age: plain white flaking paint, dreary shutters, and wide windows from which one could gaze without being seen. The antiquity seemed an aesthetic choice, however, to judge from the carefully tended lawn and flowerbeds – or perhaps the gardener was merely the last remnant of a once plentiful house staff. Whatever the case, even he could not have contended with the vast, endless expanse of forest in back of the home.
It was not these things that concerned the gaze of The Mare in the Moon, however. Her eyes peered through the open windows, casting silver moonlight into the home. The lines fell across empty hallways lined with paintings, across dusty candlesticks and unused furniture, and across a lone mare laying in bed.
A stray breeze blew Erin's windows open with a snap, jolting her awake. She sat bolt upright, her head whipping back and forth for a moment before finally settling on the open window, curtains swaying in the wind. She sighed, brushing her mane out of her face.
“Mmm,” she hummed, leaning back on her elbows. She stared at the billowing curtains for a time, blinking idly. Eventually she flopped back down, letting her head roll to the side to gaze at the clock beside her bed.
Eight o'clock. Her alarm was liable to go off if she waited any longer anyways. She reached over, grunting softly as she switched off the waiting alarm, and let the momentum roll her out of bed. She plodded over to the window, shutting it tight and checking to be sure that it was properly locked this time. She only paid to heat as much of the house as was necessary, and she didn't have any intentions of heating that more than necessary either.
Which, come to think of it, was becoming more and more necessary these days. The wind blew a chill through her, causing her to shiver violently even after they had been shut. It was the sort of wet cold that clung to a pony’s bones. It would probably rain tonight, she imagined.
She pulled her blanket off her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders as she trotted out into the hallway. She didn't bother with the lights; she knew her home too well for that. Her hooves had tread it over and over, and even if the pale moonlight didn't filter through the windows she would have been able to navigate blind.
The house was silent, as it always was. Tucked away in her tiny corner of the huge mansion, nopony living there but her. Nothing but the necessities. A kitchen. A bedroom. A bathroom. Her laboratory.
Erin sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around her. She peered out the windows as she passed by them, watching the night go by. In the distance, a flock of birds flew away – or was it perhaps a colony of bats? Whatever it was, their shadows flickered across the window for a brief moment, and Erin smiled, continuing her journey down the empty halls, beneath the staring eyes of dozens of portraits of well-to-do ponies in all the fashions of their days. She was oblivious to their judging eyes, however, and moved on, naught but the creaking floor beneath her hooves to hear.
Her journey was short, though in the stillness and silence of the night it seemed to take far longer than it did. Eventually though, she reached her lab, hidden away behind a set of large double-doors. It had once been home to a great dancing hall, but it had fallen into disuse many years ago, now. Nopony had danced here for a long, long time.
Erin's horn lit up, a pale green glow made almost sickly by the dim of the night, and the doorlatch clicked down. The doors swung open slowly, creaking on their hinges as they revealed the darkness behind them, black as pitch. The mare stepped inside and paused.
She didn't reach for the light switch immediately, as she normally would have. Something stopped her. It was a feeling, vague and half-formed. It sat on her shoulders, gripped at her neck, festered in her stomach. It was a feeling that she had forgotten something, and was struggling to remember, but the memory wouldn't come. She could hear the wind howling outside, and it caused her to shiver almost instinctively, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“What was it?” she asked the emptiness. Her words echoed, reminding her of the hugeness of the room, even if she couldn't see it. Once it was gone, the silence seemed deafening. Her skin prickled as her coat stood on end, and she felt her gaze begin to flit about the darkness. She looked over her shoulder at the square of light leading out into the hall.
The silence was broken by the sound of scraping hooves and beating wings.
She whipped her head around, and her blood froze.
There, in the blackness, were two pools of light. Bright, orange light, strangely cold. They wavered and moved, but they never went away, always fixated on her as though they were staring. Erin took a sharp step backwards, and her horn came alight, her magic desperately fumbling for the light switch. She felt something that felt close enough, and flipped it madly. There was a flash, and Erin was blind.
“Geah!”
“Grrrrrraaaaaaaooooooooowowooooh!”
Erin clutched at her eyes, blinking painfully as they struggled to adapt to the room's bright lamps. Her vision was blurry at first, but it slowly began to clear. When it did she was finally able to look forward, and she could not help but laugh at what she saw.
Standing in his cage, the curious bat pony was shaking his head madly, pausing every so often to blink hard, snorting and flopping his ears back and forth in confusion. For a moment, Erin thought she saw him go cross-eyed.
“Princesses,” Erin sighed, putting a hoof to her chest to still her pounding heart. “You scared the piss outta me, you know that?” She giggled and sighed happily. The curious pony seemed to be adjusting to the light now, and he seemed to flop his ear in greeting to the unicorn.
“Goaw own!” he chimed. The other bat pony, who had previously been asleep on the bed, peeked an eye open and snorted.
“Goaw own to you too,” Erin said. She rubbed the last of the sleep out of her eyes as she trotted across the room, pulling the blanket from around her shoulders. She draped it over the back of her chair, sliding down into the soft, high-backed seat and staring across the room at the strange beasts. “And how are you two doing this evening?” The sleeping bat pony grunted again, and the curious one shook his head happily, hopping around the cage. The sleeping pony snapped at him whenever he hopped too close, and Erin chuckled.
The last time she had seen the ponies they had been asleep. It had only been earlier that afternoon, after all, slipping into their cage to leave out food and water for when they awoke. It was unlikely they would eat or drink it just yet, of course – they would take time to get adjusted to the cage, and to be honest it was greatly preferable that they keep their food-gathering instincts sharp so she could let them into the forest out back for observation – but it was still worth a shot for the time being. It would take time for Erin to prepare herself to observe them 'in the wild', and there was much data to gather in the meantime. The mare sighed, rubbing her neck and turning to her desk, leaning back in her chair.
The desk had been moved down into the laboratory from one of the many large studies in the mansion. It was large enough not only to adequately hold the madness of books and papers that her work wrought, but was attached to not one, not two, but three not-insignificant bookshelves. Her eyes scanned across the massive tomes kept therein, and her horn lit up. One by one a few select books came drifting off the shelves, Erin muttering their names aloud.
“We'll start with Order Chiroptera,” she muttered, brushing aside a loose bang. “May as well go with Laurasiatheria while I'm at it. Better to see how far up they go. They've got hooves, after all...” She paused, grunting and scratching her head. “Carnivora? Or Insectivora? Eph... too hard to tell.” She shook her head, and two large books drifted off the shelf, adding themselves to the stack on the desk. She rubbed her chin, apparently trying to decide if this would be enough, then paused. Her eyes lingered across a thick, ancient book bound in dusty leather. Embossed across the back, in golden letters, were the words equus spaiens-magicae. They rested there for what seemed like hours, and she did not know why. For almost no reason at all her horn came alight, pulling it off of the shelf. She held it above the stack for almost as long as she had spent staring at it.
“They CAN fly,” she muttered. “They might have some kind of magic. I should be... thorough.” Still the book stayed in the air, never touching the stack. Erin sighed, tossing it beside the stack.
“Feh,” she grunted. Three more books came flying off the shelf, each with the word equus, followed by other strange phrases printed across their covers, and shoved herself up from her chair. “Research comes later,” she said.
First Erin checked her equipment, walking in between the rows created by the large, humming machines, ensuring that they were all working properly. Once she had completed these checks to her satisfaction, she proceeded to gather a crate full of supplies from a shelf, hovering it over to the cage. The curious pony trotted over, apparently to greet her, what appeared to be a grin plastered across his face.
Erin had learned a long time ago that on many animals, what looked like a smile was very much not. Very few animals had either the mental or physical capacity to smile out of happiness as ponies did, and more often than not it was in fact a warning. Given that the bat ponies' first interaction with any pony had been to bite them, that was likely the case here. Even still, Erin couldn't help but smile.
“Hello, you,” she said smirking. The curious bat pony tilted his head quizzically, imitating her smirk and yapping wordlessly. He flicked his ears, beaming as though he were awaiting approval. Erin giggled, setting the crate down and looking at the other pony. He was no longer sleeping, but he hadn't decided to get up just yet, it seemed. He simply lay on the thick cushion, staring out at Erin through one eye. His gaze was as cold and unblinking as always.
“So what about you, huh?” Erin asked. “Not even gonna get up to say hello?” The pony merely snorted in response, and Erin rolled her eyes. “Well, you've probably got the right idea anyways,” she said, pulling a par of glasses and a book out of the crate. She slipped the glasses on, flipping through the pages as she spoke idly. “I hate to do this to you, honestly. I mean, Ive probably messed you up enough just by having the light on in here, but we can't all see in the dark. I guess I could buy a lamp, or something. Wonder if I could get one that looks like the moon? Eh... I probably don't need my eyes getting any worse.” She scratched her chin, laying the book down at a heavily dog-eared page.
“You should probably go lay down too,” she told the curious pony. He merely tilted his head this way and that at her, leaning down to snuffle at the book through the bars. He pressed his nose into them as though he were trying to get through, pushing his nose back to reveal his teeth, and snorting.
“Suit yourself,” Erin said, shrugging. She turned her attention back to the book, concentrating. A slow, soft light began to form around her horn, gathering near the tip. For just a moment the light faded, almost going out, before exploding out from her horn in a wave of soft light.
The wave washed over the room, covering everything but Erin herself, tiny particles of light clinging to every available surface. Most faded soon enough, those that had touched stone and steel, but those particles of light that fell upon the bat ponies stayed.
The curious pony stared down at himself, spinning around in a panic as he snapped at the particles. His spinning slowed though, and the light began to fade. In mere moment he had stopped spinning entirely, and Erin could see his eyelids beginning to droop. The stallion on the cushion was already asleep as the curious pony shuffled down to his knees, slowly flopping onto his front. Erin waited for a long moment, staring blankly as she tried to determine if they were truly asleep or not, a question that was answered as a small snore escaped the curious pony. The scientist laughed, rubbing her eyes.
“Well, I guess that answers question number one,” she said. “Subjects are susceptible to magic.” She tapped her horn against the cage door, producing a metallic clicking sound, and the door swung open. Lifting her crate alongside her Erin stepped inside, and began her work.
Her task was not a short one, and certainly not a common one to average eyes. The first object to come out of the crate, and by far the most pedestrian, was a measuring tape and notepad. She wrapped them around every conceivable limb that could be measured – front and back hooves, neck, muzzles, head, and the length of their wings in both directions. She was almost obsessively thorough in her measurements, so much so that one might question if she really needed all the measurements she took.
With the measurements all taken and carefully noted on individual charts, the measuring tape went away. The next tools out were a series of glass vials and other various implements. Syringes, scissors, scalpels, cotton swabs, and several pairs of rubber gloves.
“Better safe then sorry,” she muttered as she tugged the gloves over her hooves. She worked quickly, her hooves and horn working with practiced precision, and a nervous uncertainty of just how much longer the sleeping spell would work.
Blood, fur, mane hair, flesh from the wings and body, and saliva. Each quickly taken and carefully stored away in its individual vial, the vials moving to the rack even as the next sample was taken. Erin's face was impassive the entire time save for a barely-furrowed brow; the deeply professional gaze was akin to a surgeon at work. Her hooves joined in the effort with her horn, stopping and moving vials automatically. When her work was done she packed her equipment every bit as quickly, levitating the crate behind her and almost dashing out the door, kicking it shut behind her. The heavy metallic 'thunk' of the door locking drew a breath of relief from her, and she set the crate down.
“Well,” she said breathlessly, rubbing her eyes, “That's the hard part done. Now for the harder parts.” She stretched her neck, resulting in a loud cracking sound, and did the same for her shoulders. Her horn came alight, and across the room a record player began to play.
The mare went about her strange work, weaving in and out between the machines. She had retained her spectacles, slipping into a long white lab coat as well, and finally brushing and tying back her wild mane. Quite surprisingly, not only did she not look completely bedraggled, she actually appeared to be rather professional. Indeed, if were not for her location in the bowels of the ancient mansion, or for her haunches eagerly swaying to the beat of the record as she worked, one might actually confuse Erin for a respectable, professional scientist.
Each machine had its own bizarre combination of tests, its own odd actions and pedantic obsessions to captivate Erin's attention. The moon crept across the night sky as Erin worked, the ancient mare held within peering coldly through the mansion’s windows. High above Erin's head the top floors were flooded with moonlight, creeping through the walls and up and down the stairs. It was as though the light were searching for something, but Erin paid no heed. She paid no heed to the light of the moon, nor to the sound of the howling winds outside. She paid no heed to the clouds forming overhead, or to the branches scratching against the windowpanes, or to the shadows that crept through her halls. She merely slouched over her equipment, staring so intently that she was lost even the the sound of the record, or to the pair of eyes opening behind her.
The curious bat pony's eyes opened slowly, blinking away the blurriness in his vision. His head was fuzzy, but while it was very confusing it was not necessarily unpleasant. It was the sort of waking up a pony does after sleeping in a warm bed on a full stomach. He blinked again, flicking his ears. He didn't recall eating lately, much less a full meal. Nor was he aware of exactly why he had woken during the day. Had he heard a noise? He looked around sharply, but his eyes could only do so much. His ear swiveled this way and that, filling in where his eyes could not see and he snuffled at the air.
There was a strange echo to the room, and the air smelt dull and stale. There were also several strange lingering scents that he could not identify: other large animals he had never even conceived of and what, if he had known of it, he would have recognized as cheese. He stood up slowly, snuffling more and more at the air. The sounds, strange as they were, were not concerning, but the smells were another story. The scent of animals worried him. He couldn’t see or hear them, but if he could smell them they had to be somewhere, didn't they? Perhaps they were merely hiding. Or perhaps they were in the air? He peered over at the other bat pony, who was also beginning to wake in his usual slow way, and shook his head.
“Hurf,” the curious pony said, shaking his head. The smell definitely wasn't the other bat pony. His was a smell and sound the curious pony remembered well. No, the smell had to be coming from something else. He looked up, peering into the thick poles protruding back and forth above his head.
The more he looked at them, the stranger they looked, and the more familiar in their strangeness. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the daylight, and while his vision was still faded and not nearly as good as it was by the light of the moon, even he could tell the branches weren't real. He looked down, staring at the ground and scratching his hoof against it. There was a hard scraping sound, as though he were standing on a large, perfectly flat boulder. He leaned down, sniffing. It smelt of stone as well – stone, and an amalgamation of strange animals – and what they had left behind.
He pulled back, snorting and shaking his head. His ears flopped wildly, and the sleepy bat pony stared up at him.
“Goaruh?” the sleepy pony grunted simply. The curious pony shook his head again, beating his wings.
“Go-oh oh,” he said, shaking his head. He pawed at the ground, pulling a face and flaring his nose. His sleepy compatriot merely grunted, shrugging and rolling over, waving a wing idly in what appeared to be a less than polite gesture. The curious pony snorted at him, turning his attentions back to the room. His memory had mostly returned to him, but his head was still deeply fuzzy from whatever it was that had given him a full stomach, and he attempted to shake the fuzziness out of his mind, but to no avail.
Through his vague thoughts he knew that something must have been responsible for the strangeness, and he felt that it was likely nearby. He trotted around his cage, carefully sniffing at whatever he thought might not smell too foul. It was during this search, inspecting the metal bars obstructing his progress, that his vision finally adjusted enough to see out into the rest of the room. There, standing almost right before him, was a creature that looked almost like him.
The creature was tall and white, and had a long... thing coming out of its forehead, but nevertheless it still shared his general shape. The curious pony stepped up to the bars, sniffing rapidly and tilting his head this way and that. The creature was leaning against a large... rock-looking thing and was swaying strangely. It almost looked as though it was trying to attract prey somehow, some sort of strange dance to draw in unsuspecting animals. He narrowed his eyes at it, snorting loudly his confusion.
The creature stopped moving with a start, clearly having heard his snort. It seemed to shrink suddenly and turned around, and the curious pony suddenly remembered. He remembered that this creature had been there to greet him when he first woke up in this place, and that it had been to see him when he was trapped in the dark place some time before. His ears perked up and his beat his wings happily, prancing about in the cage. His memory suddenly flooded back to him, so quickly in fact that he was slightly embarrassed he'd ever forgotten. The creature trotted up to the bars, and began making strange noises.
“Hey there, you!” it said. “Finally decided to wake up, huh? How're you feeling?”
The curious pony tilted his head. He had only caught a little bit of that, and not really understood any of it. The creature seemed friendly enough at least. “Goo fing?” he grunted. The creature seemed to smile.
“Well, I'll take that as a 'good',” it said. “I've gotta say I expected you to be up earlier. I might need more practice with the spell, I suppose. It's been awhile since I've had something to study directly, and you're new to all of us. I still don't even know how much you sleep normally!”
The curious pony furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate, but this creature made too many noises, and they all blurred together. He couldn't be sure where one noise ended and another began, which ones meant anything, if they ever meant anything at all. “Ser... nourm,” he said, snorting and planting his rump on the floor. The creature laughed.
“Whatever you say,” it said, turning away. “You're just in time, though – I was just about to put on another record before I got back to work. What do you think of... The Whoof?”
“Woaph?” the curious pony asked, tilting his head. The creature giggled again, turning away.
“Well, woaph to you too,” she said. “We're listening to them anyways.”
The curious pony watched the creature carefully as she trotted across the room, weaving in between the large somethings. He saw her pause to fiddle with something across the room, and through his fuzzy vision he imagined that she lit up for a moment.
The sound struck him then, something unlike he'd ever heard before. It was not an animal's cry, nor the whistling of the wind or the rustling of the bushes. It was not the babbling of a stream, or the tumbling of stones. It was something deeply alien, and yet somehow familiar.
It was slow at first, and soft. He had to listen carefully, twisting and craning his ears in the direction of the sound. The sounds were small, sharp, but there were so many of them, more and more joining in every moment. They repeated themselves over and over, like hooffalls, but they sounded sharp, and sweet. They sounded like a drink of cool water after chasing prey. They sounded like cold winds when the world began to die. They sounded like rain against his skin. He put his hooves against the bars, trying to hear better. More sounds joined in now, like being alone when the moon was gone. The sounds sounded like emptiness. They sounded like lonesomeness. He shook his head, waggling his ears. He wanted to bark, to bray, to howl, but he couldn't. He couldn’t do anything. He was captivated by the sounds he heard. Noises like the mare creature had made at him, but so much more powerful. Noises like being tired, like missing prey, like being sick or injured. They repeated themselves over and over, pounding into him. They sounded like something he had never realized he didn't know. In spite of the warmth of the air, he found himself shivering. Before long he was completely captivated by the sounds, leaning up against the cage, so intent that he completely forgot about the strange smells in the cage, or about watching the strange creature who had gone to sit at its desk.
The 'strange creature' flopped down into her large chair, sighing and rubbing her eyes. She set aside her glasses for a moment, staring across the room at the bat ponies in their cage, observing them quietly. There would be more tests to do in the future. Many, many more tests, both updates on those she had just performed and more. For now, though, that much was over. The machines were doing their work, and so there was little for her to do but wait. She glanced at the pile of books sitting on her desk, and sighed.
“Eeeeeeeh...” she groaned. “Where's a grad student when you need one?” She paused for a moment, as though she were expecting some over-eager undergrad to come bursting through her doors offering to aid her research, but she was disappointed. She sighed again, looking between the cage, the books, and the machines. The bat ponies had not moved. Nor had the books. The machines had probably done something, but they were far from having their tests completed in most most cases. A glance out the windows told her that dawn was still a ways away, as long as the night had seemed already. She'd been busy, to be certain, but it was good. Work was good. Even if it could be tiresome at times.
Still, she thought to herself, best to start slow. I'll make my reports for the day, I think. She pulled open one of the desk's many drawers, pulling out a small black box with a pair of switches on it. She fiddled with it for a moment, setting it down on the desk as she swiveled her chair around, staring at the bat ponies in the cage.
For a long time she was silent. In a strange way, even she did not know what was on her mind. She merely understood a sense of vague confusion, of unsureness. Perhaps it was the nature of discovering a new species. It was one thing to know intellectually the gaps in one's knowledge, but to actually see something, in the flesh, that no pony had been aware existed until a mere two nights ago was breathtaking.
Or perhaps it was merely how strange the beasts themselves were. So similar, and yet so alien, so animalistic. She stared for a long time, shaking her head.
“September 22nd. Approximately two days ago, what I currently believe to be a new and unidentified species and animal was discovered. I've managed to procure two live subjects – both males. Thus far, the only subjects of the species that have been spotted.
“The species resembles some sort of... bat-pony. I'm honestly not sure how else to put it. Blood and tissue samples are currently being analyzed, and very soon I'll be able to send the data in for analyzation. The results should show how much DNA they share with bats... or ponies. There seems to be at least some form of latent magic, as they've demonstrated ability to fly, which would be as impossible for them as it is for pegasi without magic – possibly moreso.”
Erin paused again, turning her attention back to the curious pony. He was still pressed up against the cage, his ears flicking wildly. “I'll admit,” Erin continued, “I'll reluctant to ask for assistance in analyzing the data regarding the subjects. A discovery like this is monumental... I really have no guarantee that an expert wouldn't claim the discovery for themselves... I would probably be tempted to do the same. But more to the point... I feel like there's something strange about these two I can't put my hoof on. The bat ponies... rather, the subjects are extremely unique in a lot of ways, more than just their resemblance to ponies. They seem too...” She shook her head, shrugging.
Erin got up from her seat, her horn coming alight as the recorder floated behind her. She trotted across the room to check on the progress of the tests as she spoke idly to herself.
“Behaviorally, it's too early to make any accurate assessments regarding the subjects, but I do have some initial theories. I'll record them for posterity, if nothing else. They may be completely worthless, but they may turn out worthy of investigation at least.
“First and foremost, I believe them to be at the very least omnivorous. In spite of their largely equine appearance they exhibit very sharp teeth, though they may have molars further back I haven't seen. From the presence of the tapetum lucidum I would guess that they operate mostly via sight... though they've demonstrated to lean at least to some degree on scent and sound. According to a witness account, I believe they may have hearing superior to most ponies.”
Erin shook her head, catching herself. “That is,” she said, “They likely have superior hearing when compared to ponies. Not to imply that they themselves are ponies.” She sighed, growling to herself at the slip-up.
“They appear to be intelligent, but it's impossible to tell to what degree thus far. They appear to respond to communication, though it's unlikely they understand me to any real degree. If anything they likely just assume me to be one of their species due to visual similarities. The two subjects, at least, are close, as I've noted them engaging in simple communication. One of the subjects seems friendly, so I imagine they're a social species. Determining just how far their communication goes will play a vital role in determining exactly how intelligent a species they are in the end...”
Erin stopped. There was a sense of finality to the words. “how intelligent they are”... the words held a terrifying, unspoken suggestion. Erin shivered. “I will continue my logs with further details as they become available,” she said sharply, flicking the recorder off. She set it down on a nearby counter, leaning against it and sighing. Something weighed on her, but she couldn't quite say what. No, that wasn't true. She knew exactly what it was, but she couldn't bear to say it. Not to the recorder, and certainly not to herself. She groaned, rubbing her eyes as though it would chase away the lingering, troubling ache in her shoulders.
The was a clunk and a soft hissing across the room. The record had finished, and the player was resetting itself automatically. Erin didn't budge from her position on the counter as the music began again. The slow, steady beats, rising and falling and slowly accumulating more and more variety as they went along. The sharp sound of the singer drifted through the air, and it did nothing to ease her ache – particularly when it suddenly became a duet.
“Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill, Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill, Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill~”
Erin's head rose, slowly turning around to look over her shoulder. There, sitting on the floor of his cage, was the curious bat pony. Singing. Singing along to the record he had heard once, no more or less than an hour ago. Even more distressing, what truly sent a cold spike through the pit of Erin's stomach, was that the singing was very nearly perfect. The words were clumsy and off-kilter, but he clearly knew them, and with the exception of the odd stumble over a word the notes were all perfect. The rhythm as well, lining up perfectly with the record. The curious pony sang along if he had known the song his entire life.
Erin reached for the record slowly, her hoof shaking in the air, and switched it back on. “S... subjects,” she said slowly, “Subjects show remarkable talent for... vocal mimicry.” With that, she switched the recorder off again, staring blankly at the cage. The clock upon the wall ticked away, and the record continued to play, the soft hiss of vinyl undercutting the music.
The noise was deafening.
It needed to stop. Erin needed it to stop. She pushed herself away from the counter, dashing across the room and throwing the needle off of the record, switching the record player off as fast as she could. She listened to the spinning slowly wind down before walking away again, shaking her head dumbly. She felt a horrible tightness in her chest, and a paralyzing coldness. It was as though somepony had replaced her guts with ice while she wasn’t looking, stretching her form over the very essence of cold.
“Gods,” she muttered to herself. “Gods. No. I'm imagining it. Just because they look like...” She shook her head again. “Magpies can mimic tone too. Parrots can remember phrases. I should just... check to see if they have any bird DNA, and... balls.” She bit her hoof, scratching at her mane nervously and peering back to the bat ponies. The curious pony had stopped singing now, but he still looked quite pleased with himself. The feeling in Erin’s chest became somehow colder, and she cringed in guilt at some horrid, unheard accusation. She swallowed.
“The sun shines,” Erin said. The curious pony's ears perked up, but he didn't make a sound. Erin wandered closer to the cage, close enough that she knew he would be able to hear her clearly. “The sun shines,” she said again. This time the curious pony grinned.
“Pones for't!” he sang happily.
“...Wine pours.”
“Pones For't!”
“The snow packs?”
The curious pony paused, taking on a puzzled expression, and for a moment Erin's face lit up. “Snop acks!” the curious pony sang gleefully.
“FUCK!” Erin shouted, hammering against the cage. The curious pony jumped back, yelping loudly and flaring his wings.
Erin paid no heed, pacing around the room. She muttered to herself, growling and grumbling. Her mane had fallen loose and it splayed over her face once more. “It doesn't mean anything,” she said, repeating it over and over. “Mimicry. Nothing else. Recognizing sounds... I mean sure he did it fast, but it's not like the lyrics are diverse... h-he’s smart, but intelligence isn’t the same as...”
She sighed, collapsing into her chair. “It can't mean anything. There's no way that we could have missed them. How could... I mean, this close.” She drooped her head into her hooves, groaning.
The clock ticked away in the silence as Erin sat. Thoughts ran through her head at a million miles an hour, desperately trying to rationalize the situation. After what seemed like hours of thought, she finally stood up. She knew what needed to be done... the only trick would be actually making herself do it.
She left the lab, walking slowly through the halls. The night was winding to a close, and the world had reached the curious time when it is at its darkest. The lack of light didn't bother Erin at all, though. She knew that if she let even a single thing distract her from her mission then it would never be completed.
She trotted into a nearby drawing room, looking around idly. Across the room she spotted what she was searching for – herself, reflected in a large mirror hung on the wall. She nodded sharply, levitating the mirror and carrying it along behind her as she dashed back to her lab, carrying it to the cage.
The curious pony had taken a seat on the floor, staring out of the cage idly. His ears perked up when Erin walked in, but he snorted, turning his head away. The scientist didn't bother to recognize this, instead merely sliding the mirror through the bars and propping it up against the wall. She trotted away, grabbing her recorder like a beggar grasping at fallen change.
“September 22nd,” she said, nearly shouting as she switched the recorder on. She paused, collecting herself, and continued again. She fought to remain in control of her voice, fighting it down to a dull, stoic tone squeezed out through deep, calming breaths. “September 22nd,” she said again. “The sample tests are continuing along well enough. For the time being, however... I'm going to go against the standard method... well, it's not as if anything to do with these... with the subjects, is standard. I'm going to jump the gun a little bit and perform some behavioural tests. Specifically, I... I'm going to perform the mirror test on them.
“The test setup is very rudimentary for the time being,” she continued. “Just a single mirror in the room, no real... setup. Not very scientific, I'll admit... depending on the result I'll follow with more tests. If they don't demonstrate self-awareness, however, then...” She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Testing will continue as normal one way or another. This test, for now, is out of personal curiosity. It will not be put into any of my findings or journals, but kept as a personal log. It... shouldn't matter.” She switched the recorder off, watching the bat ponies as the test unfolded.
For a while, nothing happened. The curious bat pony still seemed to be sulking on the floor, and hadn't noticed the mirror yet. He snorted occasionally, but that was about it. Eventually though he sat up, flaring his nostrils. For a moment Erin though he might be doing it at her, but she put the thought from her mind, trying to focus on impartial observation.
The curious pony snorted again, turning away. It was then that he saw the mirror, his ears snapping up on his head like a pair exclamation points. He stood stock still, staring silently. Erin leaned in.
The curious pony got to his hooves slowly, tilting his head left and right. He snuffled the air curiously, his ears twitching. Though his vision was faintly blurry, across the room from him he could make out another creature like himself and the other bat pony. He had never seen another one of them, though. Who was this strange thing-like-them he saw? It seemed every bit as curious as him, at least. It tilted its head quizzically back and forth, back and forth, and it wiggled its ears. It must have been just like him.
Erin watched the scene play out, completely captivated. A slow smile began to form across her face. The curious pony didn't seem to realize that his reflection was not, in fact, him. He continued to move, continued to make social gestures, trying to greet the reflection as though it was another one of its species. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, running a hoof through her mane. She must have been mistaken. The phrases... the sociability... the bat ponies were intelligent, surely, but intelligent animals. The coldness in her shoulders was beginning to warm up, and she looked back up at the cage. Her eyes narrowed, and the coldness came back in.
The creature was too much like him. Too much to be just another one of him, at least. The movements too familiar, the shape too perfect. It wasn't just another pony. It was companion, the sleepy pony! Of course, how could he have not realized? Even still... something didn't sit right with the curious pony. He snorted softly, nodding at his companion. It wasn't like him to move about too much, much less fast enough to sneak around to the other side of the curious pony. As far as he knew, the sleepy pony was still sitting on the bed...
He looked over his shoulder. The sleepy pony was indeed still on the bed, the bulk of his movement being to roll onto his back and stare at the false branches weaving above their heads.
“No...” Erin muttered, biting her hoof. “No, no, look at the mirror. The mirror.”
The curious pony turned back, taking a step forward. The thing-like-him took a step forward as well. He turned his head, and so did it. He flicked his ears, and so did it. He swished his tail, and so did it. Perfectly in tune, as though it were imitating him... but too perfectly. He flapped his wings, and started sharply. The thing-like-him's wingtips had disappeared! He beat his wings again, and it happened again.
He stepped closer, snuffling at the air. He certainly didn't smell any other creature. Or hear one. No... this was not another creature. No creature just had parts of it disappear, or mimicked him perfectly. This thing was him, but not him. His face lit up as he realized – it was like the him in the water! The him that looked back at him when he drank, now floating in the air. How strange, but how fun! He laughed, dancing in place a bit, and sticking his wing out. The tip disappeared, causing him to snicker.
“Goaw!” he barked at his companion, “Gaow!”
Erin quivered in her seat, watching the proceedings breathlessly. She began to swear under her breath as the curious pony dragged his companion over to the mirror, waving his limbs and turning around as if to demonstrate the qualities of it. The sleepy pony grunted sourly, and the curious pony snorted, gesturing sharply towards the mirror. They growled and barked back and forth for a while, before the sleepy pony finally flapped his wings once, staring at his companion. The curious pony barked, prancing in a circle around the sleepy pony.
“No, no, no!” Erin groaned. She clutched at her neck like it was broken, like she was desperately trying to keep her head on her shoulders. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Her whole body shook, and she needed to leave. Needed to be not there, but was glued to her seat. The bat ponies growled, barked, snorted and yapped back and forth at one another, before the sleepy pony trotted back to his bed, leaving the curious pony playing with his reflection in the mirror and investigating it.
Finally Erin was able to tear her eyes away from it, dropping her face onto her desk and covering her eyes.
“Gods...” she groaned. “Gods.. gods dammit.”
The night outside was dark. Here, in that strange time between the setting of the moon and the rising of the sun, the world was still and cold. Here the world sat in the desperate hope that the sun would indeed rise. How long off it was, nopony could say. In the stillness, the wind howled.