I Blame You

by Whitestrake


John Tyler, Tenth President of the United States, has two Living Grandchildren

Chrysalis was sleeping snug against me, as I had been before my dreams were so rudely interrupted by the Deceiver's residual psychic energies. That was the only plausible explanation for this nonsense. No one can live for so long and remain alive, so the massive reserves of power he had were merely manifesting in my own mind as dreams. It only made sense for a powerful shaman to be able to affect the mind of a budding psychic, but I knew I was grasping at straws. As much as I hated it, I rose from the large bed, placing my shirt by Chrissy's face so she wouldn't notice I wasn't there and wake up.

Dressed in only my pants and cloak, I made my way to the chapel gardens. Luminescent plants were grown and displayed here, and a particularly beautiful species of flower shined the same shade of electric green that was characteristic of changeling blood. If that... thing from my nightmares was such a great man to build this place and educate the natives, why the fuck was he so intent on torturing me. Maybe he wanted me to run, trying to warn me that my duel would result in my death. Or maybe he just got his jollies on watching me squirm. The humid gardens provided enough moisture to make me forget that I was in a massive hive long enough to go off on a mental tirade.

“The sanguinary rose catch your eye?” A new voice caught me off guard, but I could tell it was one of Chrysalis's sisters that I had yet to meet. The newcomer had a bright blue mane and tail, and her eyes were a more muted green than any changeling I'd seen so far. Another fact that caught me off guard was that she was treating me like anyone else, nothing like the other queens had done with their celebrity act. “It tends to be rather intriguing for outlanders.”

“I suppose it did draw my attentions, if only slightly.” Something about this one was... off in some small way, but not enough to clearly pinpoint the strange trait that marked her as different from her kin. “You know, Arachni, I felt the same about your sister when I first met her.”

“How did you guess my name?” The older queen was slightly surprised, given that there were still seventeen queens that I had yet to meet, not including her. Of course, she knew the answer to that question, even if she wanted to hear me actually say it. I could only sense a slight hint of malice coming from the insectoid broodmother; she was probably attached to her champion, making things very awkward for me. That didn’t mean I was going to be merciful or anything, but it made me slightly uncomfortable that she would be watching the two of us fight to the death. “Your a clever little thing; Chrysalis probably has this in the bag.”

“Why on Earth is every queen dreading this?” It really made no sense to me. The changeling hivemothers had very little binding them to their mother, the successor gained more than she lost. But, that left the fate of the other children of the previous Grand Matron unclear. “The one that inherits thew throne is supposed to kill the other queens, isn't she?”

“Not directly, no.” Arachni shook her head, and it was obvious that she didn't know everything about the subject. The queen's muted eyes glanced about the room as she gathered her thoughts, though it may have also been to check for eavesdroppers. Cloak and dagger aside, this subject was far too sensitive to be discussed in public, even if we were alone. “Just ask Chrysalis when you get back; I'm sure she's been planning to tell you soon, anyway.”

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Jay's afternoon had been less than stellar, to use the antiquated term. The Cutie Mark Crusaders had been kidnapped by Orion, or whatever the fuck her name was, and now he had some bitch drone flitting around his room at this godawful hour. It wasn't like the ones from Chrysalis's brood, not with a frilled crest like that, and its wings were too big for a changeling its size. In the flautist's opinion, its comparatively large wings made it look small, like a little fairy. This gave the relatively scrawny teen an idea.

“Hey, jackass in my room, what's your name?” This was not a time for tact, not for Jay and certainly not for any human that had delusions of sanity. The comically mismatched bug hovered in place for a few seconds before turning to face the human. This was the first time the Pyromaniac had seen the reverence the emotional vampires had for his species firsthand. “Come on, out with it.”

“Sorry, sir, but drones don't have individual designations.” The nameless servant tried to hide behind a nonexistent mane as its crest flattened against its head. Technically speaking, every member of the changeling species had a sex, but they were completely asexual unless their disguise called for intercourse. That meant that they were genderless in their own minds, what little intelligence they had when disconnected from the hive mind. Despite that particular individual having male reproductive structures, it felt no reason to use them, and barely remembered they possessed a function other than waste disposal.

“I'm calling you Tinkerbell.” The now-named changeling thought for a moment, not understanding the implications of the moniker. With a respectful nod, the drone returned to its appointed duties of tidying the teenager's room until it was spotless. Too bad there was a spot on the wall with a darker colored tone than the rest of the suite, making it impossible to clean without industrial chemicals that no one on Equus had the ability to produce. “Tinkerbell the Faggot Drone, that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

“Indeed it does, sir.” Tinkerbell was feeling different than he usually did, a slight jolt down his spine reminded the changeling of his biological sex. Perhaps he would ask the Grand Matron about it when his job was completed, if it wouldn't be too far of him. Green magic wreathed his horn as Tinkerbell shook a bottle of air-freshener before giving a few spritzes of the stuff. Job completed, the drone turned to Jay and gave a humble bow, only to see a horrified look on the human's face as their eyes met.

“Why the fuck do you have a boner right now?”

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In the depths of the Deceiver's Chapel sat a throne that older than Celestia, tasked with a duty that would affect the entire planet if it failed. The golden metals that made the great machine never aged, never oxidized in the humid air of the grand hive. It was a remnant of a civilization long lost to the annals of history and ever-changing tides of reality. A set of armored fingers drummed a simple rhythm on the timeless surface. The device's creator reclined as everything it had worked so long for was finally coming together.

It had been simple, really, and the ancient felt things were ahead of schedule. From the very beginning, when the equines were just carving their niches from the untamed world, the immortal had been plotting the uplifting of every intelligent species that walked the planet. The changelings had been the easiest to manipulate, given their fascination with fancy lights and active camouflage. With a species so adept at espionage under control, it was easy to stick a few puppets around the planet. Plant a few misanthropic myths here, seed hero-worship there, and then the perfect environment for humanity to take the reigns was forged.

The ancient known as the Deceiver had seen many, many things in his eons of life. His exoskeleton had been the greatest extender of his life, granting him immortality when paired with his throne. It was nevertheless a piece of equipment he was more than willing to part with, should the right human come along to claim it. It was only by the barest if possibilities that the most recent outlanders to arrive on Equus were prone to mutation, granting gradually-increasing magical or psychic abilities as they spent time in this dimension. The phenomenon was fairly recent, appearing only in the past decade, but the effects were likely life-long for those that suffered the genetic changes.

It was nearly dawn, the time when that alabaster alicorn would rotate the planet for the day's duration. This meant twenty-four hours remained until the next Grand Matron would be crowned, and the Deceiver would come face to face with the human that built the fancy toy. The budding psychic might even prove strong enough to gaze at the immortal without suffered a, how would the young man put it?, headsplosion. Even if Taylor didn't win, the ancient would still have to transfer synapse control to a queen.

It was almost a shame the others in Karapass's brood would sicken and die over the next three hundred years while the successor would breed their replacements.

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Extra – Old World Blues and New World Hope

“Remind me why we're here.” Taylor peered through his binoculars, taking in the massive crater that was Big Mountain. Within this great facility were labs of every conceivable science, and it disgusted the teen that they were in the hands of the Think Tank. Mobius was alright, so were most of the other brains, but Klein could get fucked by a deathclaw. Living in the wastes for so long had turned the foursome into a fearsome fighting force, ready to take on the world. Jay was the one bitching about being dragged out to this place, but even he could see the value in getting the technology held within the massive facility.

“We're after the Transportalponder!, why else would we bother coming out here?” Lyra was unaware of anything Big Mountain contained. She and Trixie were aware of the inherent risk of being lobotomized, but there was an allure to going where no mare had gone before and all that nonsense. The green unicorn adjusted the air filter on her ponified t-51b as the showmare next to her did the same. A few pops in the distance proved that at least one other intelligent human or ghoul was in the Big Empty, and using a machine gun by the sound.

“Closure.” Taylor had been acting strange ever since they'd met a man with dreadlocks and a flag on his back. The assassin gave the crater one final sweep with his binoculars before descending the slope. For a guy wearing Enclave power armor, he was surprisingly agile. The three that followed looked at each other, with Trixie offering a few words before sliding after the human.

“He seriously needs to get laid.”

LEVEL UP
Allotting Skill Points... Done

Allotting Perks... Done

Perks Added:
Jay – Grim Reaper's Sprint – Killig an enemy in VATS now partially refills your Action Points. How the hell can you use VATS without a PipBoy?
Taylor – Heavy Weapons Expert – All Strength requirements for Guns, Energy Weapons, and Explosives is reduced by two. Looks like you aren't a little baby man.
Trixie – Bomber Mare – Your bombs have that extra little somethin'-somethin', increasing damage and blast radius by 35%. Alcohol and eyepatch not included.
Lyra – Xenophile – You deal with strangers in an incredibly gentle and endearing manner, making all first impressions 20% better for you and your companions. Looks like your only a fillyfooler for actual mares.