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// Potaters 
// Story: Prodigy 
// by Sable Tails 
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	Stasis stood quietly in the hallway for several minutes, heartbeat slowing, muscles still quivering slightly from the tension of his flight and fright. As his breathing returned to normal, he tried to think of what he should do now.
The bearded unicorn probably wasn’t a warlock; warlocks, Stasis knew, always dressed up in the skin and entrails of little changelings who didn’t listen to their big brothers and sisters. If the unicorn was a warlock, he was probably the brunt of all the other warlocks’ jokes.
So if the pony was a just a pony…well. Anything that voluntarily wore clothes was at least a little addled, in Stasis’ humble opinion. But the addled old pony seemed to have bought Stasis’ disguise, so maybe his original plan would still work. Maybe he could stay here in this big old pony house, at least until the heat died down. Maybe even until his wing healed, if he could find something to eat.
Of course this brought another question to mind, one that began to weigh heavily upon him. If it wasn’t grimoires and the still-beating hearts of their ancestors…what did old ponies keep in their old houses? He needed to know.
Careful not to touch anything lest it be cursed, Stasis began investigating the house from top to bottom. Most of the rooms were used in some capacity for storage of said junk, although some were clearly accessed more often than others. There were, however, two bedrooms on the second floor. One of them held nothing but a bed, a closet, a dresser, dust, and cobwebs, and the other was furnished almost exactly the same except that the bed wasn’t made and it was a little cleaner. Stasis did not consider himself an expert on such things, but it all seemed rather Spartan to him. Not that that particularly bothered a creature who had spent most of his life sleeping on the forest floor.
There were also a few rooms that were locked, but when Stasis surreptitiously used his phasing spell to enter them anyway, and lit his horn so he could see, he was disappointed that they seemed to just filled with junk, like all of the other rooms. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had been hoping for – bodies, maybe, which he could possibly use to blackmail the crazy old pony, or weapons with which to defend himself – but more junk was surely the most disappointing possibility.
Once he had firmly scouted and secured the premises, Stasis made his way to the kitchen. His stomach was audibly growling now, yet he was forced to again suffer great disappointment as he realized that the only edibles the unicorn had was pony-food. Jam? Brussel sprouts? Daisies? Discord’s tooth, what was he supposed to do with daisies? If only he had had a taste of that filly before the counter-attack…his stomach growled again at the thought.
Hunger overriding sensibility, he carefully sniffed a celery stalk, frowned, and took a bite. It didn’t taste any better than it smelled. It was like eating grass…but even grass can fill you up, at least. As he slowly chewed and swallowed the bitter herb, he began playing fantasies in his mind…a bird, or a dog, or even a rat, still living, so tender, so juicy, so warm…the rich, steaming blood gushing over his fangs and into his maw, filling his belly…even a cat would be fantastic. Didn’t old ponies always have cats? He hadn’t seen a cat, but they were small and quick and hard to catch; maybe he had just missed it. He started to look around the kitchen hopefully as he nibbled on the celery stalk.
There was a loud thump from the front of the house. He heard a slow clopping approaching, and after a few moments the old pony found his way into the kitchen. For a moment, Stasis grew afraid that maybe he wasn’t supposed to be in the pony’s larder, and wished he hadn’t left the celery sticking out of his mouth, but the unicorn just smiled sadly.
“It’s okay, lad. After what happened to you today, I don’t mind you eating a little celery.”
The fear of being caught misappropriating nasty pony food was replaced by the realization that he was supposed to be in mourning. He had been so busy exploring the new house, he had completely forgotten…he sat on his haunches, looked down at the floor, and wiped away an imaginary tear.
“You were right, though.” The unicorn shook his head. “The whole city’s a mess, and I didn’t know a thing about it. Stay cooped up in here a bit too much for my own good, I reckon…” He gave Stasis a sorrowful look. “Lad…did you…are you sure your parents are, you know, dead? Did you actually see it happen?”
Stasis, who had been desperately trying to bring every feeling of aloneness, sadness, and fear that he had experienced over the past several hours to the surface, looking up and nodded mournfully, hoping his eyes were at least a little watery.
The unicorn shook his head once more. “I am so, so sorry, lad. Where…where do you live? Are there any friends or relatives about that you can stay with? Aunts, uncles? Siblings?”
Stasis shook his head sadly and, deciding he’d best elaborate before any more questions were asked, proceeded to recite the little story he’d carefully prepared. “No…my parents were the only family I had left.” Sniffle. “We lived way, way out in the country, in a place there’s not even a name for and that I don’t think I could find my way back to, in a little house in the woods, and we didn’t have much, but Daddy saved up the money he made cutting wood and stuff and took us on a vacation in his wagon to Trottingham, a wagon that was destroyed during all the fighting, and we were gonna stay in the city for a few days, but then…then…” He buried his face in his hooves, wondering if he had overdone it.
The unicorn sighed. “Oh, geeze, lad…look, I’m not going throw you out in the cold or anything, alright? We’ll figure something out.”
Nope. The crazy old pony had taken the bait. Time to go for the kill.
Stasis threw himself at the old pony’s hooves and wrapped his forelegs around one of the unicorn’s, startling him. The changeling mustered as much emotion as he could as he said, “Please…please don’t make me leave, good Sir…I don’t have anywhere to go, and I’m so, so hungry….” The emotion came easier than he had feared, since he had nowhere to go, and was so, so hungry….
The old pony patted him. “It’s going to be alright lad, I promise. Princess Celestia and her guards have run those changelings out on a rail by now, and are busy scouring the city….” He sighed. “And I reckon you can stay with me until we find someplace for you to go. This isn’t really the place for a colt, and I can’t have you running about an breaking things or breaking yourself, but-“
Stasis hugged the gruff, grey pony tighter. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…food. Please, food.”
The unicorn snorted. “You younglings are made out a rubber…don’t matter what happens, you just bounce right back.” Stasis’ tummy found this an opportune time to rumble its distress. “Hollow rubber, I reckon. Alright, I’ll dig you up some grub.”
Stasis froze, suddenly afraid that he was going to have to eat worms or something. He would surely die.
“Though it looks like you already found something to nibble on all by yourself.”
No, not worms. Grass. Such a vast improvement….
The old pony shook his entrapped hoof. “If you let go of my leg, I’ll try and whip you up something.” Stasis released the larger pony and stepped back as the bearded one walked over and started rooting around in the cabinets. “Now, whatcha in the mood for…I got more celery, and brussel sprouts, and lettuce, and…let’s see…I think I’ve got even got some fresh daisies around here somewhere….”
Stasis thought he was going to cry for real this time. He was certain the old pony had stashed the good stuff around here somewhere; surely not even ponies could survive solely on grass and weeds all the time. He tentatively asked, “Do you have anything that’s less, um…green?”
The unicorn gave him an odd look. “Less green? What in the stars your parents been feeding you, lad? Bark?” Stasis remained silent, desperately hoping this was a rhetorical question. Did ponies eat bark? How was he supposed to know?
After a few tense moments, the old pony sighed. “Well, I guess there’s fruit, but the apples I got have gone bad by now…how about potaters? That’s brown, I guess. Or nuts? I got several different kinds of nuts. No green there, unless you count the pistachios.”
“Yes, please.” Stasis had never had either – he had no idea what potaters even were – but they couldn’t possibly be as bad as that celery had been.
The unicorn grunted and began levitating out some various pots, pans, knives, and other cooking utensils Stasis didn’t recognize. A few hours ago, he would have found the location of the knives to be a key defensive factoid. Now, its only relevance lay in his empty gut. Surviving the battle was hardly a victory if he wasted away to nothing here in the kitchen.
Seeing this as an opportunity to fish for information – ‘ignorance is death’ being something of a changeling maxim, since it made lying so much harder – he decided to ask a question that had been bothering him for a while. He asked, “Did you say that Princess Celestia was the big unicorn pegasus thing I saw? The dread goddess from the stories?”
The unicorn shot him another odd look while he chopped big brown blobs – which bore a disturbing scatological appearance in Stasis’ mind – into tiny white chunks. “Alicorn is the word you’re looking for there, lad. And yeah, that was Princess Celestia you saw; Sun Shepherd, they call her, along with a bunch of other things. She’s co-ruler of Equestria, along with her sister Princess Luna. I know both of them; nicer regents you couldn’t ask for, though Luna’s a bit of a quiet one.”
Stasis felt his eyes widen. “You know the goddesses?”
The old unicorn, who was boiling some white chunks and frying others, snorted. He was smiling as he said, “Ain’t got to act so surprised, lad. A more famous pony you’re not likely to meet outside of Everfree City herself; that’s why I had my house built way out here, and why I put that fence up. Couldn’t get any peace before, what with curious ponies sticking their noses in my business all the time.”
Stasis, who was standing with his hind legs on a stool and had his nose stuck in the pot of boiling water, stopped sniffing it and pulled back quickly.
The old stallion laughed. “How is it you speak such nice Equestrian with such a slight accent when you don’t recognize the Princesses and act like you never seen potaters before?”
Practice, Stasis thought. Changelings had little in the way of formal education, but mastering the languages of their prey was absolutely essential to their way of life. You couldn’t infiltrate without it.
The old pony used his magic to levitate over a thick knife. “Here. You’re old enough to know how to use that horn of yours by now, aren’t you? You should be able to cut up some of these vegetables without me having to worry about you cutting yourself.”
Stasis gave the old pony puppy-eyes. “Vegetables? Do I have to?”
The bearded unicorn snorted as he stirred the frying white chunks – which didn’t smell all that unpleasant to Stasis’ sensitive nose. “You must be some kind of new breed of pony I haven’t heard about. Anyway, those vegetables are mainly for me, though I think if you are going to be staying here for very long at all you better get used to ‘em. I’m not feeding you potaters morning, noon, and night, you know.”
Stasis stifled a groan and, levitating a knife with his magic, began chopping the vegetables the bearded stallion had laid out. The thought of using the knife on the old pony and staying here alone briefly crossed his mind, but he suppressed it. Changelings normally didn’t kill their victims without good cause, or at least not on purpose, and besides. If he was good, maybe the old stallion would get him a kitten, or a puppy...Discord’s tooth, he couldn’t wait for those potaters to be done….
The stallion looked over at him and whistled appreciatively. “I can tell you don’t know what you’re doing, but your control of your magic is excellent for somepony so young. I know adult unicorns that can’t chop away as fast as you’re going, not with magic.” Stasis beamed, genuinely pleased. He was a prince among changelings, after all, but that normally only brought him envy or scorn, not compliments. He couldn’t remember the last time any of his family had said something nice about his abilities, just for the sake of being kind. Or if they ever had.
The unicorn chuckled. “Of course, most adults would know to watch what they’re doing rather than just standing there smiling like a nitwit….”
Stasis stopped cutting the air and blinked. The old stallion laughed at him.
“You’re a funny one, lad. And a talent for a magic, well, that’s something I can certainly respect. Maybe I’ll even teach you a few spells after dinner…if you eat your vegetables, that is.” He gave Stasis a stern look, or tried to. His mouth was still smiling.
They’d best be some spells to turn off his taste buds.
As the old pony levitated the chopped vegetables into a separate pot of water, he said, “Now that I think about it, I never did tell you who I am, did I? Though if you didn’t recognize the Princess, you probably haven’t heard of me anyway, living under some rock as you have. My full title is Star Swirl the Bearded, though since you’re such a close friend, you can just call me ‘Sir.’”

*	*	*

Old pony and little changeling ate dinner together that night at the kitchen table. Stasis had some measure of difficulty paying attention to the bearded one’s elaboration on the condition of the town and its inhabitants, partly because he was already so busy guzzling potaters, and partly because he just didn’t care.
Although potaters weren’t real food, when they were fried they were all greasy and flavory and he barely even had to chew them, instead letting them slide down his gullet all slime-like, as if they were bits of skin or meat or entrails. It was so, so much better than celery. In fact, Stasis had a sneaking suspicion that celery wasn’t really food at all. Poor stupid ponies, probably ate dirt and rocks and stuff too because they didn’t know any better. That was why they were so weak; they were always malnourished. 
Well, except for the scary golden ones. They didn’t eat celery, he was certain.
Still, the old one wouldn’t be satisfied until he had forced Stasis to eat the other vegetables as well, like some kind of sinister child-abusing vegetable sadist. The changeling’s only comfort was that if the old pony were just fattening him up to eat him, he was doing a terrible job, what with all these carrots and lettuce leaves and whatnot. Stasis tried to adapt by chewing the food really really fast and then swallowing and washing the gunk down with water before the taste could reach his brain. Alas, this almost caused his stomach to reverse all his hard work, and he was directed to the waste-bin by Star, laughing uproariously all the while. Stupid old pony.
Afterwards, true to his promise, Star Swirl agreed to teach Stasis a new spell. Stasis had really, really wanted to learn the teleportation spell so that he could enact brutal vengeance against the next pony who thought he could whip Stasis around like some kind of changeling yoyo, but no amount of begging or pleading would convince Star that he was ready for something that complex. Stasis didn’t think mentioning that he already knew a little advanced changeling magic would be wise.
Instead, he was taught a spell that could cause a pony to sleep with his eyes open. Not that the sleeping pony could actually see anything, Star assured him, but it was apparently great for boring classes and for pranks. Learning from the old pony was actually more fun than Stasis had expected, even if Star did treat him like a pony foal sometimes. Still, he couldn’t wait to learn how to blast things with lightning and use mind-control and raise the dead and whatnot.
Alas, the fun was soon to end as he was introduced to the uniquely pony concept known as ‘bedtime.’ Apparently, since ponies had access to advanced technologies like candles and oil lamps to let them keep the night at bay, they used the concept of bedtime as a means to enforce strict diurnal cycles on their young, as well as a way to maintain the rigid parental tyranny that dominated their society. Although Stasis could understand the rationale behind the system, that didn’t mean he appreciated it when he was the one being treated like some kind of mental incompetent who couldn’t regulate his own biological cycles. Still, it wouldn’t do for the bearded one to realize the true extent of Stasis’ maturity and wisdom...plus, so far today he had watched his relatives obliterated by a vengeful god, survived a warzone, and then survived pony food. He was pooped.
Crawling into the old bed – Star Swirl had been kind enough to change the dusty old sheets first – Stasis barely registered the old pony closing the door. He was tired, so tired....
…But after several minutes of tossing and turning, turning and tossing, Stasis began to grow frustrated. As exhausted as he was, he just couldn’t go to sleep in these conditions.
For starts, the bed was way too soft. He was used to sleeping naked on rocks and dirt and sticks and things. Sleeping here was like being slowly devoured by a giant marshmallow, the ravenous alabaster confection gnawing and nibbling on his poor back, swallowing him bit by bit as he sunk further into the mattress. Alas, he was fairly certain that normal stupid pony colts slept on beds like this, so he resisted the urge to move down to the wooden floor, no matter how enticing. The pillow was absolutely unacceptable, however; his head sunk so deep into it, he thought he was drowning. He refused to use it, instead trying to sleep with his head underneath it instead. Hopefully that would be close enough. The blankets made him feel like the dark grey chocolaty center of a giant pony s’more, though he dared not remove those either. But the worst part was trying to sleep while wearing his masque.
He knew that adults often went for days, weeks, or sometimes even longer wearing the same masque all day and night. Still, even though he was closer to proper pony size than an adult prince or queen, the masque suddenly seemed terribly tight and itchy, especially across his now-masqued wings. In particular, his left wingtip was driving him crazy. The burnt appendage had actually been hurting some all day, and the masque had been no more comfortable, but there was something about trying to go to sleep that magnified every little itch and aggravation to consciousness-consuming proportions. Now it was annoying him to no end, and he wriggled about tortuously under the sheets, like a giant soft-bodied larva under a piece of rotting wood, trying endlessly to find a position that would leave his poor changeling flesh less irritated, but to no avail. After at least an hour of this, an idea began to form and, although he knew it was a bad one, he was finally able to convince himself otherwise.
He pulled the sheets and blankets way up over his head so that he was completely covered, and then with a delightful feeling of wickedness and daring he dispelled his masque, leaving him deliciously naked. Suddenly, the soft fabrics almost seemed to be kissing his bare flesh, and he streeeeetched out, flexing each of his muscles slowly in turn and giving a slight moan as he felt all of the tension and stress of the day drain away into the mattress. After that, sleep was nearly instantaneous.