//------------------------------// // Chapter III: Luna // Story: Ordo ab Chao // by Integral Archer //------------------------------// “The Union exists in a State of Perpetualism; and Congress shall recognize no Alliance, Confederacy, Kingdom, Federation, Empire, Tribe, or additional Union, within its Jurisdiction. ” —Article II, Section I of the Constitution of Meeting Tribes of Immediate Siblings After the debate, as the observers piled into the auditorium’s lobby to speak with one another and to catch their carriages home, Disce kept his distance and observed the Royalists who were crowding around Princess Celestia. He snorted in disgust when he saw them fawning over Princess Celestia, complementing her, kissing her hooves, and bowing in the most sickeningly sententious manner toward her. He was nauseated at the sight. How could anypony have the dignity to devote their entire being to ingratiating and idolizing somepony for the simple reason of their birth—a fluke of nature—and how could the pony being idolized enjoy such attention and feel it was deserved? The only thing that kept him from leaving—for he feared that if he stayed any longer, he would have lost all faith in the ponies of Equestria—was that blue alicorn he had seen in the audience and who had halted in its tracks his train of thoughts with a mysterious force that he could not fathom—and who, at this time, was standing next to Princess Celestia. She was also a member of the Royal Party. On recollection, Disce had realized that he had seen her whenever Princess Celestia made a public political appearance, and he usually saw her sitting in the front row of the debate, along with the rest of the Royalists. Her mane, her tail, her head, and her neck were no less royally magnificent than Princess Celestia’s; but, for whatever reason, she stood almost immobile as if she did not want or did not care to be noticed. Disce was immediately shocked by the contrast of the personalities and the difference in color between the two ponies: The colors that composed one’s mane were bright, made up of multiple hues, and they reflected the way she carried herself. In public, she was charismatic, charming, sickeningly modest; and she acted, and was expected to act, as if she was larger than life, soaking up the adulation of whatever pony chose to grovel in front of her for affection. In her private life and political, she was cut-throat, pretentious, elitist, and not scared to slander her political opponents in an effort to boost her own public standing or her family’s. The other’s mane was a dark hue—which appeared even more dark when it was placed along side that of her sister—as if to reflect her seemingly cold and uncaring nature. Disce looked once more to her face, then back to her mane; the colors were mute, just like the voice inside of her, a voice that was desperate to get out and speak the unadulterated truth. It was like the colors imprisoned some enigma, in fear of the destruction it would unleash should it be set free. Disce was determined to crack this enigma, for it was the one that he had been unable to initially. He had to go and talk to her. He started at the group of Royalists and then stopped himself dead in his tracks. He had realized that he had already felt ill at the sight of the Royalists, who were gaining pleasure by sharing like ideas and confirming what they had already thought. He stopped and he waited, suspecting that being surrounded by such superficiality would only strengthen Luna’s prison and make it harder for him to exonerate her. It was a long wait, and he feared that it would be in vain, as he never saw Princess Luna alone. He was amazed at how austere she carried herself in the presence of the noxious politicians. Disce was convinced that if he was put in the same situation, he would not have been able to restrain himself; and he would have retaliated in a violent, blind fury, lashing out at anypony in his immediate proximity until either they or he were dead. He kept looking at Princess Luna. After about ten minutes, which felt to be an hour, he saw Princess Luna’s eyes dart around the room, as if looking for an escape route. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met his unsettling stare, and no sooner had they seen him, that they looked away as if he were invisible. Disce mouth curved into a furtive smile, while he kept his eyes on her; it was only a matter of time now. He could see that she was visibly uncomfortable, as if something had penetrated deep within her subconscious—a powerful, unremitting force that beckoned for whatever she kept locked away to appear in its full glory. Disce kept watching her, like a predator keeping its distance waiting to pounce on its prey as soon as it appeared vulnerable. As Princess Luna grew more and more agitated, rocking back and forth on her hind and forelegs, Disce’s smile grew larger and larger. Eventually, he saw Princess Luna interject in one of her sister’s mindless platitudes, and she walked away from the group, the Royalists bowing to her as she left. Disce followed, ecstatic that his tactics and patience had paid off. She went down the hallways, taking every single turn when the opportunity presented itself, with Disce surreptitiously following ten paces behind her at every moment, never losing sight of his target. With every turn that she took, the hallway became less and less dense with ponies; until finally there was nopony in sight except the majestic alicorn, and the serpentine draconequus, now in full view behind her. The deserted corridor she now found herself in, a maintenance wing, with its dim and humid atmosphere, with the large water pipes that snaked around the walls and up onto the ceiling, hissing unsettlingly as steam escaped from every one of their cracks and imperfections, all regrouping here in this single hallway, out of sight from the rest of the building, made Princess Luna think that she had, unwittingly, walked into the lair of a beast. All she had to do was turn her head—which she, at this point, must have been making a conscious effort to not do. The slower and the lighter she walked, the quieter she tried to keep her hoof steps—and the louder and more ominous-sounding the steps behind her seemed to become. She stopped suddenly. The sound of the steps behind her lingered for an instance longer, until finally stopping in their turn. Without turning around to face her pursuer, she called out in that voice peculiar to those of royalty, that voice which is inordinately loud in an effort to sound threatening: “We suspect we are being followed and we demand to know the reason!” “Excuse me, Miss,” the voice behind her said. The voice carried so much weight and it was so pleasant to the ear, that Princess Luna was so put at ease that she turned around to see the source of this marvelous sound. She was shocked and terrified to see that this entrapping voice belonged to a creature so horrifyingly intimidating, but her initial terror was short-lived, as she recognized him as the United Party leader. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she saw him say, confirming to her conscious mind that the two entities—the voice and the figure—were connected: a thought that she had immediately rejected for its apparent contradiction. “My name is Disce Cordis; I’m the leader of the United Party.” “Yes, we know who you are, and we have nothing to say to you.” Her voice echoed off the hallways in a manner that would have intimidated any of her fellow party members. She was even more frightened than before, as she saw that her usually authoritarian voice had no effect on this creature. Disce stood there, a friendly smile on his face. “Your use of plurals are quite odd,” he said, slowly stepping forward, admiring the fact that the princess firmly held her ground. “Why do you refer to yourself as ‘we’?” “It is customary for us to use the plural form when addressing our subjects,” she replied without a moment’s hesitation in her voice. “That’s a shame,” Disce said, scratching the back of his head with his talons, “because I had hoped that maybe I could talk to you as if we were born equal—you know, how the founders always intended one citizen to talk to another.” “We have no desire to converse as equals with the subjects of lower class.” “Oh, but I think you—thou—are lying,” Disce replied, stepping closer as he switched into the casual dialect and lapsing into his usual accent, which did not help to put the princess at ease. “Do thou want to know what I think?” he said, now coming so close that he was mere feet away from Princess Luna’s face. “I think that thou are regurgitating what thou were told to say since the moment thou were born. I think that thou think that thy fellow Royalists are profoundly stupid, and I think that thou just want to put them in their place; only something is holding thee back. I haven’t figured that out yet. “I think that thou are much smarter and more defiant than you let everypony believe.” He was so close now that she could smell his putrid breath on her face and could hear his raspy breathing. She furrowed her brow and said back, defiantly: “Your assumptions are utterly false and unwarranted. How dare you speak to us in such an insolent manner!” Disce’s eyes, which up until that point were squinting as if to see into the princess’s mind, suddenly relaxed in intensity, and his frightful smile remitted. He took a step back, looked at the ground and sighed, as if admitting defeat. “I sincerely apologize, Miss; I was frightfully incorrect. Please accept my most humble apologies.” Disce turned around, and started to walk away, his head still bowed in dejection. He did not see Princess Luna open her mouth—partly in surprise and partly because she meant to interject, but her words failed, through a mixture of apprehension and fear, to escape her throat. She closed her mouth and looked after that miserable creature who was still walking away overwhelmed with disappointment. What Disce had seen from behind the podium, although still unknown to him, was that the princess was tired, awfully tired. She now found it physically difficult to maintain the false smile that was requested of her. She now never smiled in public, never accepted the adulation that was heaped upon her, as she lived in a miserable existence. Her defense mechanism was simply to not think of a better outcome, to not think of her foalhood daydreams: She, when she was small, longed for a magnificent creature, carrying himself upon golden wings, to swoop into her room and tell her that she had nothing to fear. He would then take her to his redoubtable palace, where he would treat her justly, the way she deserved to be treated. He would offer no false praise, and he would accept none himself. The only thing that would come out of his mouth was the truth, and the only thing he asked was for her to give him the same. The highest thing he looked for from her, the thing he held highest in his esteem was her respect: respect for his honesty, respect for his candor, and respect for his virtues, and the only thing he asked of her was to make herself deserve the respect that he wished to extend to her, for he longed to find a pony that he could admire because she exemplified the values he held so highly. Such was the creature of her foalhood, her hero, her savior. And, for a brief second, as she looked at the dejected draconequus walking away with his long tail between his legs, inside that repulsive exterior she saw her hero. It was for as long as a lightning strike, and the vision faded immediately afterwards; but lightning strikes, no matter how fast they are, still manage to sear their victims with their heat and purity, leaving a permanent impression upon their skins. “Citizen, we command you to halt!” she said after him, her wavering voice filled with notable disquietude. The creature continued, as if he had heard nothing. With her last effort before her breaking point, she called out with all the strength she could muster: “Please, don’t leave me; stay a little while longer!” Disce halted, for he heard the sorrow and honesty in her voice. His mischievous smile crept back onto his lips in victory: He had won. The lock had been broken, and the prisoner had been freed. He gathered his composure and turned around to face her fully. When she looked at him, she saw his face was stern and resolute, but also understanding, like he was giving one last chance for her to prove herself—but would not accept failure this time. “Will you—thou—may I say ‘thou’ to you?” she stammered. Disce smiled in the same manner a father does when he lets his filly know that it is safe for her to speak her mind freely. “Of course,” he said, in that soothing voice he had used in the debate that had taken place prior. “We’re friends, equals. Let us assume the tone of equals.” “Will thou tell the other politicians what I’m about to say, or any of the editorialists?” she said, her voice shaky and uncertain. He slowly walked toward her. He said, with his affected accent: “We’re speaking as equals, are we not? I saw in thee a trait that I thought to be extinct in Equestria by this point: a thirst for justice and truth. There’s nothing I value more than that. I want to help thee; I want to understand thee; I want to see this marvelous value brought into its full glory, as it hurts me to see thee sit there and not say a word, in fear of what others would think. I wouldn’t get what I desired if I wasn’t completely devoted to these goals. I didn’t earn the United Party’s leadership by betraying the ones who had trusted me,” he replied. Then he added, with a smile: “Besides, let’s be honest here: If I truly had ulterior motives, thou would’ve known it by now. Thou, like me, can spot a lie from the second thou hear it.” “Thou are right, Mr. Cordis; I can, and it seems that my talent for recognizing deceit is better than yours, because thou didn’t realize that I had lied earlier, when I had said that thine assumptions were unfounded. In truth, I’ve never heard anypony speak so accurately about myself and my life.” “I want thee to tell me all about it, and I don’t want thee to stop until thou have said everything thou feel toward me, yourself, and the world.” Princess Luna took a deep breath. “Nopony had ever spoken to me like that before. Nopony had ever treated me like an equal, or entreated me to speak my mind freely. Ever since a foal, I was raised in royal manner: I was taught that a true princess never caused a social disturbance and that a princess never tells lesser ponies what she thinks, as it shows weakness to her crown and her family. I was taught to speak with an uncomfortable and unnatural dialect—the plural form thou noticed earlier—that my elders insisted made me sound more affected, but I think it sounds nothing but pretentious. Throughout my life, at every social gathering, I was told to sit and smile sweetly, while my elders talked in tones that were so spurious in their amity, ostentatious in their dialect, and deceitful in literal meaning. “And if I didn’t comply, the punishments were relentless. For the slightest thing, I would be disciplined without mercy to the point where I would lie in a puddle of my own tears, sobbing uncontrollably, and I would look up at my sister, with my forelegs extended toward her for help, and she would only respond with a cold shake of the head and a simple: ‘You should have known better, Princess Luna.’ “I mean, for the smallest, most insignificant things! Whenever I said a word improperly or said something that wasn’t a word, never were my parents more angry. Among other things, they yelled at me, my sister joining them, until my ears were ringing. The punishments that ensued from my misuse of language was more painful than if I had done anything else, for whatever reason.” “Wait,” Disce interrupted her, cocking his head to one side and staring at her intently. “What do thou mean: ‘said something that wasn’t a word’?” “Thou know what I’m speaking about. Thou must know about the incoherent babbling that foals use before they fully master their mother tongue.” “Foal-babble? Thou were punished for foal-babble?” “Not only punished, but without mercy: more harshly than if I had done anything else, like I said. There was one time where, after I had mumbled one of those unintelligible pieces of nonsense—what foals say!—my parents immediately took me to their personal enchanter. I wasn’t in the room when they explained to her what I had done, but I could sense the graveness in their voices through the door. “When they came out, the enchanter dragged me into her room and performed some sort of spell. I don’t remember what she said, what it entailed, or what the effect of it was. All I remembered that I was in the most pain through its entire duration. My parents couldn’t stand to hear me screaming, so they left the room. My parents! How could they treat me like this! I couldn’t summon up the strength to speak for nearly two months after that. “But the worst was when I mispronounced my sister’s name: I’ve never heard the end of—” “Wait, what?” Disce interrupted, yet again. “How could thou mispronounce thine own sister’s name?” Princess Luna blushed. “I’m ashamed to admit that it was only quite recently that I started, unconsciously, pronouncing her name properly. No matter how many times I was censured, I would always pronounce the c with a hard sound and give only three syllables to it—” “I did that, too, the other day, and everypony stared at me, as if I was crazy. That may have been because it was the first time I said it out loud, but that’s how it had sounded in my head for years, and it feels and sounds right.” At this, Princess Luna’s eyes lit up with the most brilliant of lights that Disce had ever seen. “What!” she said, completely ecstatic. “Thou did that too!” “The pronunciation that she insists on using still sounds weird to me.” “As to me! Do thou know what the most peculiar part is? With most words that take the soft c, it feels natural to say. It’s only that word, and a few others, that still feels odd on the tongue. “Thou have no idea how happy this makes me, that I’ve found one who shares some of my plights. Because, Mr. Cordis, until thee, this had been the worst part: Aside from my sister, who said that my punishment was very normal and who told me that I had deserved it, there was nopony else—literally nopony else!—who would be able to empathize with me. The second I felt comfortable with anypony, whether it be my secretary or my chambermaids, I would bring up this situation in a sort of off-hoof and innocent manner. They would, without fail, immediately become surprised and would say how horrible my foalhood had been. It seemed that out of all the families in the world, I got stuck with the most indifferent one. “Now thou, who I now feel comfortable with and who has shared a elocution problem of which I thought to be the only sufferer—I ask you: have you had similar experiences in your youth? Were you treated with the same harsh way I was?” “No,” Disce said wistfully, staring blankly at the wall behind Princess Luna, while scratching his goatee with his talons. “I . . . I can honestly say that nothing like that . . . has happened to me before.” Then, he reestablished eye contact with Princess Luna, and when he saw that she was expecting him to say something, he shook himself out of his strange torpor and asked: “So, what else do you believe to be unjust?” She groaned. “From the moment I was born, my parents knew that, unlike my sister, I was incorrigible and dangerous; because of this, all my life, I’ve been taught to keep my ideas to myself and I’ve been told that it was improper for me to express disapproval of any of the actions of my family members. My elder sister, Celestia, has always been favored over me by all the members of our family; they always saw her as the princess I could never be, for I was too strong-willed and resistant. They always told me to look up to her, that she always knew better. “My sister always knew exactly what to say to illicit the approval of all those around her, while I did not. My sister knew to say what was popular, but I refused to do so, as what’s popular is not always right and what gathers the most praise is not always justice. “When my sister joined the Royal Party, she, and the rest of the family, pressured me into doing so as well, to follow in her footsteps, to be taken under her wing as a sort of mentor; I guess they figured that this reduced the chance that I would ruin their good name. They threatened to disown me if I didn’t show my full and uncompromising support to her, her ideas, and to the Royal Party—which, as you probably know, was founded by the first president, and my ancestor, Princess Platinum.” “Why didn’t thou just tell them to leave thee alone and that thou would be better off by thyself?” “That’s easier said than done. Thou are not from a noble family; thou don’t understand how interdependent we are on each other—we’ve always been raised that way and I’m scared to live any other. I saw my aunt—thou remember her as the former president—upon being found guilty of her crimes, after she had been ignominiously impeached, was worried more about what the family would do to her, rather than the punishments of the law. It’s almost like we have no individuality, like we’re a single unit all working in unison to some amorphous, undefinable goal—and I’ve been raised to believe that any other existence is impossible. “When I first joined the Royal Party, I couldn’t stand it. It was so difficult for me to sit there and watch my sister say those things, and it was physically painful to watch her make such inaccurate and aggravating things while being incapable of doing anything about it. The pain came from how powerless I felt, how I was merely a pawn in their eyes, like I could do nothing—and even worse, they raised me to be dependent on that powerlessness. Who am I, if not Princess Luna? In my public appearances, at which I’m always beside my sister, I can say nothing, but my silence is taken to be tacit approval of the absurdities she spouts. “I’m at each and every one of the Royalists’ debates. As I sat there while they shouted obscenities at each other, I used to get silently indignant and so mad that I thought I was going to explode with rage. It’s different now: it’s gotten to the point where I find myself so apathetic to what they say, that I’m actually worried that it might be unhealthy. “What choice do I have, if I want to keep my sanity? I sit there, unaffected by the insults and the conflict, figuring that eventually they’ll get tired and fall apart, in their exhaustion. It’s a miserable existence, but it’s kept me through even my most darkest days. “But then I saw thee at the debate just now: I saw how firm, how resolute thou were, and how each one of my sister’s foalish arguments passed through thine ears without disturbing thy train of thought. There was no flicker of a change of emotions in thine eyes; it was like thou didn’t even care. Even though thou didn’t win the approval of the audience, thou knew that thou were right and that they were wrong. I was incredibly inspired, so much in fact that I think the little defiant foal that’s been dead in my heart is stirring in her grave and kicking at the coffin, eventually to wake and scrape at the dirt, dying to get out and show them just how wrong they are. Mr. Cordis, you better start heeding my family, for I think they’re going to have a new greatest enemy.” Princess Luna stood there, breathing heavily; she had never felt so good in her entire life. Disce smiled affectionately at her. “Thou are perfect,” he said. “Thou are absolutely perfect.” “What do thou mean?” “I have another debate in a few days. I think it’s just against thy sister, as I imagine the independents will be dropping out soon since they’ve said all they needed to say. Will thou be there so I can talk to thee afterwards?” “Unfortunately, I’m always there.” “Meet me here right here, in this exact spot, immediately following the debate; we’ll continue this conversation then. I want to give thee some time to think about what thou just said here and to strengthen thy mind to make sure that thy defiance has no holes, hesitations, or whims. While thou think about it, I must tell thee that there comes a time that each one of us must choose to live the life they’ve always known, or to stay ignorant and stunted. Thou must think about this, too, as thou must make thy decision soon; I trust it will be the right one. “I thank thee so much for this opportunity, but I must bid thee farewell for now.” Disce nodded respectfully to her and turned around, walking back the way he came. When he turned the corner, and was therefore out of her sight, he slyly grinned to himself, as if he had just encountered an untapped and unknown gold mine. * * * Disce hurried home and played back the tape he had used to record the debate he had about an hour ago over the radio. He fast-forwarded the tape through Princess Celestia’s opening statements—and while doing so, scoffed a second time at how riddled it was fallacies and straw pony arguments—to get to himself. Sitting there, listening to his own opening statement and rebuttal, he was in a state of awe: his voice commanded so much authority, so much respect, that one was obliged to stop whatever they were thinking about and listen to him. He was proud of himself for having created such a beautiful sound from his vocal chords, such that he forced an almost imperceptible smile while thinking about his ingenious image consultant—then he quickly snapped back to his usual resolute composure. He could never allow her to know how he felt. An hour earlier, back at the United Party Debate Hall, the image consultant had smiled to herself after the broadcast of the debate had ended. The draconequus had thought he was so clever; but, while he had been enjoying himself, he had not realized that the last laugh had been surreptitiously taken from his throat. “Well, you win, Mr. Cordis,” she said, during their first session together following his first debate. “I see how resistant you are to my advice about your voice, and I’m not going to push the issue any longer.” She made sure that Disce saw her exaggerated sigh. “That’s more like it,” replied Disce. “However, despite the fact that you may have failed in just this one aspect, I see no reason to fire you just yet. Prove to me that I should keep you on my team.” “I was listening to your debate, and for the most part, I was quite impressed . . .” “Who wouldn’t be?” said Disce, with a mixture of both incredulity and anger, as if he was greatly offended that the awe of his rebuttals would be questioned so rashly. “But I couldn’t help but notice that, although Princess Celestia is, by her nature as an alicorn, very tall, you slouch a great deal. You need to always have your head higher than hers; you need to tacitly imply that you believe you are her equal, if not better. Can you do that for me?” “I can’t make any promises,” Disce replied, closing his eyes and turning up his nose at her. “Although I do rehearse these debates, they’re very unpredictable, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to tell you that I will adhere to your plan.” She shrugged, as if to admit defeat. “I guess that’s the best I can do.” * * * Disce stood in front of the podium, on the stage’s right side, squinting in an effort to reduce the glare from the massive chandelier which hung on the ceiling of the debating chamber. To his right, he saw his opponent, the leader of the Royalists, Princess Celestia, whispering to a comparatively short pony. The audience members were speaking among themselves and were looking at Princess Celestia with endearing delight, but had they been looking at Disce, they would have been able to see the emotion that he held on his face during that very moment, and they would plainly see that it held nothing but contempt: contempt for her family, contempt for all the straw pony arguments she was about to construct—and, most importantly, contempt for how disingenuous her superficial air was. He didn’t have to stay on stage for that long; as soon as he finished this last thought, the arbiter—the same one from the last debate—walked in and sat down behind a desk, positioned to face the debaters. He was a young pony, but the signs of the stress and aggravation emitted by the debates he oversaw made it easy for one to mistake him as middle aged; all the fire and the passion, that is peculiar to the youth, had been sucked out of him, and it didn’t even look like he had put up that much of a fight. “We are here at the second presidential debate between Princess Celestia, the leader of the Royal Party and Disce Cordis, the leader of the United Party,” he said, after a couple of quick coughs. “By virtue of a coin toss, Princess Celestia has elected to make the first opening statement, lasting no more than three minutes, by which time Mr. Cordis will make his three-minute opening statement followed by a rebuttal lasting no more than one minute. Princess, you have the floor.” “We extend our thanks,” Princess Celestia quickly replied, as to make clear that her courtesy was merely obligatory and she wished to begin as soon as possible. “We are running as leader of the Royal Party, because we have directly seen that the policies perpetuated by the United Party under my unfortunate aunt, Princess Cadenza, are the causes of all the plight of the working-class Equestrians. To start with, their perquisites toward the Canterlot Elite have been nothing short of damaging for the lives of our subjects . . .” At this last word, Disce immediately turned off the listening centers of his brain; he did not consider the platitudes that would no doubt emerge from her mouth in the next few sentences deserved his valuable attention. When he was young, he had always tried to refute any offensive and unfounded comment that his opponent had immaturely thrown at him, because he had thought that they had intended it as a valid, constructive point and having not realized it was being said completely maliciously. With that naivety peculiar to teenagers and young adults, he had believed that anypony could be persuaded to change their minds if he just pointed out to them their fallacious thinking, and that his opponent’s sanction upon himself was the goal of any debate. Unfortunately, as he now knew, the world lacked such justice; and, by virtue of having tried to explain the semantic and structural errors that his opponents had used against him, he had unwittingly agreed to argue on their terms—and he had lost both the dispute and his dignity the second he had opened his mouth. He had learned long ago that the best way to counter such arguments was to let its speaker tire herself out. “Excuse me, Mr. Cordis? It’s your turn. Do you wish to make an opening statement?” the arbiter said to him, clearly agitated, as Disce had not responded the first time to his request. Disce was taken aback at how quickly the three minutes had passed, at how fast and how many words Princess Celestia has spoken—but, ironically, how little she had said. “Yes, I do wish to make an opening statement,” he replied, finally regaining complete control of his senses. “This isn’t a time to be looking for scapegoats. Although Celestia’s plan to fix Equestria seems ambitious and attainable, it is actually—” “If we may be so bold to interject,” interrupted the princess, “we would like to take this opportunity to strenuously insist that our opponent addresses us by our family title.” Disce’s nostrils flared as that feeling of contempt, which he had suppressed out of courtesy while she had been speaking, slowly crept back up to his conscious mind from the recesses of his brain. He was appalled at the audacity that it took from her for her to interrupt his opening statement, when he had so quietly and so difficultly sat through hers, riddled with logical flaws, without making a sound. He sighed. He was better than this. With a desperate effort, he summoned the last little drop of childhood naivety that still remained within him. He refused to stoop to her level and do the worst thing possible for a debater to do: raise his voice. He took a deep breath, and said, in his sweetest possible voice: “If I may respond—I believe that it explicitly says in the first article to the COMTOIS, that all ponies are created equal in the eyes of the law and the government. Here, I emphasize the name of our beloved country: The United Republic of Equestria—a virtue of our country, explicitly outlined in the COMTOIS, that I couldn’t be more proud to say that our founders knew to be right. “The title by which my opponent has requested to be addressed by is an ancient relic: one that is left over from the days before Unification. “When the Union was formed, slowly, but surely, we discarded ourselves from the remnants before: among these included hypothermia, starvation, and disease. For convenience reasons, although quite understandable, my opponent’s family has kept their monarchical title under this new republic for the sake of, I presume, sentimentality. Anypony who addresses my opponent and her kin with this title is, also presumably, doing so for sentimental reasons; but I’d like to remind my opponent that this debate is, not a social gathering, but to help the citizens of Equestria decide which one of us is more fit to uphold the COMTOIS. Because of the nature of this meeting, being of a legal and governmental one, I address each and every one of its participants by their legal name. If this perturbs my opponent, she can humbly request to not attend these debates in the future. This would be an unfortunate decision as these debates are, not for us, but for the ponies of Equestria—nevertheless, we would respect your right to do so. “Now, Mr. Arbiter, and my humble opponent: may I please request the permission to commence my three-minute opening statement and my one-minute rebuttal without further interruptions?” The arbiter sat with his mouth ajar, his brain still trying to gather what had happened. His face displayed every single emotion he was feeling, ranging from incredulity to inspiration. The princess, for her part, retained a coy smile; but not one among them knew, save Disce—for spending years observing the faces of the officials of many administrations and his fellow Unionists had accustomed his eye to picking out the deepest thoughts that they had tried to hide—that she was feeling raw, powerful, dangerous, and hateful emotions that none of the audience members could possibly fathom. “By . . . by all means, Mr. Cordis,” stammered the arbiter. “Thank you.” Disce smiled at the colt. “As I was mentioning earlier, Celestia’s plan are no doubt ambitious and have the best of intentions, but looking for scapegoats is hardly productive, and her policies are hardly in the spirit of the COMTOIS, for . . .” * * * When Disce got back to the United Party Debate Hall, exhausted with what he had just been forced to put up, he flung open the doors to the cafeteria; and, for the first time, all heads turned toward him—not in confusion, but in awe. “There’s our fearless leader!” yelled a voice, and every single pony’s face lit up with a bright smile, and a round of applause erupted from every single corner of the cafeteria. Three ponies, who, by coincidence, were closest to the door through which Disce had entered, immediately swarmed him, and their glares deterred any of the other Unionists from doing the same. There was a black earth-pony stallion, with a complementing gray suit and red necktie, and whose slick mane-cut gave off the impression of a seasoned politician, somepony who knew all the ropes and who only had wisdom to impart. Behind the stallion was a pure white unicorn, also with a black suit; but a maroon clip-on bow tie and his eagerness, as he approached Disce, betrayed his young age. The third was a purple old mare, who had not bothered to wear anything; and the scowl that seemed permanently glued to her face, along with her absence of formal attire, showed that the cynical nature that comes with age had long ago taken its hold of her. “That was amazing!” said a stallion to Disce, as the leader was queuing for a meal. “Truly inspiring!” said the young white unicorn. “In fairness, he was just voicing what none of us had the guts to say. A pony is lying if he says that he’s always respected the royal family and what they stood for,” said the mare. “That is true,” replied the first pony, “but still, none the less amazing! Think about it: you’ve set a historical precedent!” Disce was not feeling like himself today: he felt more chipper, lively, sociable, and hopeful. In honesty, he was not surprised at his entrance to the cafeteria being greeted in such a manner; since the moment he stepped into the debate hall this afternoon, he had not been able to walk past another Unionist without being complimented on his performance. Sometimes the compliments were long-winded conversations that went on for minutes; other times they were a simple “Brilliant!” or a “Great job!” No matter in what form the compliment came, it made him feel very different: he felt warm; he felt loved—he felt like he was making a difference. Just since this morning, he had stopped seeing the expressions in his subordinates’ faces, as if there were no ulterior motives; and he had stopped analyzing the countenances of those who passed him, trying to unearth their secrets, and instead treated every expression toward him at its face value, as genuine. He was definitely not feeling like himself—he was feeling better. “Do you really think what you said was fine?” the unicorn asked. “I mean, good job and everything, but you really kicked dirt in the eyes of the royal family. I’m not saying I disagree with what you said, but—” “What’s the problem?” said Disce. “I didn’t insult her, I didn’t make a straw pony, unlike what she does all the time. She interrupted me, and if the arbiter wasn’t going to do anything about it, I had to say something. Sure, maybe, one could argue that I used a bit of guilt by association when I compared her title to the pre-Union pestilence”—at this, he chuckled—“but it wasn’t overt and I can claim to anypony accusing me of faulty arguments that the fact that I made them completely separate sentences and had no intention of ridiculing my opponent means that their accusation says more about their feelings than mine!” The first pony, and even the elderly mare, laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant,” replied the unicorn. “I meant that the royal family is probably one of, if not the, oldest family in Equestria. They founded the Royal Party, for Pete’s sake. They no doubt have many connections, and I don’t think I need to remind you that they have a history of stamping out anypony who insults them or gets in their way . . .” “Ah, don’t listen to him,” the first stallion said, waving a forehoof dismissively at the unicorn. “You want to know what we call Chrome Finish? We call him the bandwagon pony. He’s the quickest to jump onto any new theory, just for the sake of being extreme. I would like to remind him that he was the loudest in voicing his support for Cadenza when she ran for leader and during her presidency.” This statement gathered laughs all around, except from Chrome Finish, who tried to hide the fact that he was blushing. “But seriously,” the earth-pony continued, “the royal family makes a lot of hoo-ha, but that’s just because they’ve been terrified ever since Unification and President Platinum, in effect, signed away any authority they had carried. Really—and these are words of experience, mind you—their bark is far worse than their bite.” The four Unionists paid for their food and shuffled through the crowd to find a seat, but not after Disce received a few more compliments from passing ponies. “So, have you made a decision yet?” said the mare, as they sat down at an unoccupied table. “I don’t understand what you mean,” replied Disce. “Humph! We’ve elected an ignoramus!” she scowled, and then she proceeded to blow on her soup. “What my senior colleague means to ask,” said Chrome Finish, in a mocking tone, “is that have you picked a running mate yet?” “A what?” “Wow, you really are thick!” said the stallion, as he sipped from his coffee. “Well, the president of the Union must have a vice president of the Union, right?” the unicorn continued. “Have you thought about it?” “Hey, come now, Chrome Finish,” said the stallion, as he poked the young unicorn in the rib with his hoof. “Don’t bother the leader right now; he’s probably got a lot on his mind, and the last thing he needs is for some young rascal interrogating him.” “No, it’s fine,” Disce said, with a smile creeping to his lips. “I’ve guess I’ve given it some thought; in fact, I think it would be fair to say that I already have the pony in mind.” “Really? Who?” said Chrome Finish. “I’d rather not say. Nothing’s final.” “Oh, come on—don’t tease us,” said the first pony. “We’re your friends.” “You didn’t even vote for him!” whined the unicorn. “Come on—tell us!” “Alright, alright,” said Disce, with a smirk that might have been construed to imply that he was clearly enjoying the power that he held over his subordinates, “but this is not final, and the decision can still be easily changed. In fact, it’s not really a decision; it’s more like a passing thought. Not even a thought, really, more like—” “Tell us!” “Alright, just calm down and don’t make too much noise!” said Disce, while nervously checking over his shoulder. “Come closer—nopony is supposed to know until the announcement in a week, so you have to keep this a secret.” The ponies leaned in closer, their faces dripping with anticipation. “Do you . . .” Disce said, as he glanced over his shoulder one final time, “do you know—Luna?” “What!” yelped the mare. “I thought I told you to keep your voice down!” Disce snarled, as he looked around and noticed their table was starting to attract a few fleeting glances. “Who?” said Chrome Finish. “Or, if you’d rather, Princess Luna,” continued Disce, rolling his eyes at the title. “Princess Celestia’s little sister?” said the first pony. “And you call me thick!” replied Disce. “But she’s a Royalist!” Chrome Finish whined. “You can’t have a Royalist as your running mate!” “Why not? Nothing in the COMTOIS says that the vice president must be in the same party as the president.” “What I want to know is what he was doing talking to the Royalists,” muttered the mare. “An excellent question, and I’m sure I can assuage your feelings of apprehension if you just let me explain—” “I’ve seen her,” said the first pony, as he chewed nosily on a piece of bread. “During the debates, I’ve seen her. She always sits at the front, with all the other prominent members of the Royal Party. I’ve stood beside her, in the hallways before and after the debates, and let me tell you: In terms of a snooty, noble mare, she’s fine. As a politician, especially if one desires one of the scrupulous caliber, who you like to say you value so greatly, she’s terrible. I see everything bad in her, politically, that I see in Princess Celestia. On top of that, she’s so cold, dismissive, and rude to anypony that tries to talk to her.” “That’s because ‘anypony’ isn’t me,” said Disce, with a sly smirk. “While I was talking to a few of the Royalists—” “Why were you talking to the Royalists?” repeated the mare. “Well,” Disce said as he leaned back in his chair. “That really depends on who’s asking. If you ask potential voters, I was talking to the Royalists because I’m not dogmatic and I like to keep my mind open; but, because my fellow Unionists are asking me, I was talking to the Royalists because all the best military manuals say that the best way to defeat your enemy is to know them better than you know yourself.” Disce smiled in his peculiar manner. “But to answer your question of, ‘why Luna?’ Well . . . that’s slightly more complicated, and I don’t feel like getting into it right now. Just wait for the announcement in a week.” The three ponies stared at Disce, still listening intently. Disce tilted his chair back and smiled. “I don’t expect you to understand; but, if you ask me, there is nopony in Equestria more fit to be my vice president than Luna.”