In the City of Doors, there is a Faction who name themselves the Society of Sensation. They hold that real insight comes only from experience, and so they spend their lives seeking enlightenment through their senses.
You’ve taken up with several Factions at various times in your life, out of curiosity or convenience or happenstance. The Sensates have never been one of those – yet of all the beliefs enshrined by the Factions of Sigil, theirs is the one closest to your own heart. You can’t argue with a thing they say, really; it’s just that you don’t see the need to join a club to ratify your own quest for excitement, and it seems a little pretentious to frame the whole thing as some sort of approach to cosmic truth. That’s been your stance in the past.
You find yourself reconsidering it as Octavia’s bow caresses the strings of her cello for the first time, filling the ballroom with a wild, spectral sound that soars high above Vinyl’s bass and percussion like the valkyries of Ysgard riding the wind over a glorious, bonecrunching melee. The rich, ecstatic song of the strings is like a silver needle weaving through the rhythm, in and out, over and under in patterns complex beyond comprehension, and you are carried helplessly along: the thread in the needle’s eye. This, right here: this might pass for an approach to cosmic truth, at least as well as anything else.
The music makes its demands, and your body submits. You dance.
You dance in a circle of cheering ponies, egging you on in delight as you pull in influences from every style you can think of, from Broken Reach thrash-dancing to Star Court ballet, and bind them all to the service of Vinyl and Octavia. You dance with partners, with whatever mare comes to hand, sometimes leading them in a mad jig or a romantic waltz, sometimes letting them teach you something new even as you riff on it and together the two of you improvise some fresh way to bend to the music’s will. Pinkie, Twilight and Rarity all pass through your hands at one time or another, three mares among the dozens or hundreds that you dance with that night.
At some point you find yourself in the middle of a circle of spectators again as Rainbow Dash alights in front of you with a determined smile. You’ve been called out, you realise, but you don’t really care about that. All that matters is the music. Her mouth moves in some kind of protest as you sweep her up onto her hind hooves and into a tango step. Her body knows what she needs to do, following your steps instinctively, even if her brain is still stuck on this whole contest idea. She glares up at you from where her head rests against your sternum, but her balance shifts with perfect poise as you lead her, and you feel the pressure of her lithe body pressed close against yours, willing and responsive to the way that you’re leading her, on, down, deeper into the rhythm.
You focus for a moment, and the enchantment on your ankle wraps kicks in, leaving faint blue traces behind your heels with each step. The last of her resistance vanishes with a gasp as your feet leave the floor, taking two steps up into nothingness as you whirl her up into the air along with you. Her wings flare out and give an instinctive beat or two as if to fly off, but you hold her tight to you and begin an aerial waltz, your feet finding purchase wherever they need to in the empty space above the crowd’s heads. She gets it soon enough despite her shock, taking her weight with her wings so that she can follow the steps properly again rather than simply being dragged around.
When you drift back to solid ground at the end of the song, her eyes are shining brightly up at you. She must realise this, after a moment, because she blinks fiercely and looks away.
“Pffft,” she mutters in the moment’s relative quiet as the crowd applauds the two of you. “You know it’s not like you won or anything, right?”
“We both won, featherhead. One more?”
“…fine.”
You grin as you clinch her to you once more and the music resumes, obliterating everything except you and her and the beat.
You dance on long past the point of exhaustion, losing track of time, until finally the set reaches its apocalyptic climax amidst an avalanche of coloured balloons falling from the ceiling, and winds down. Vinyl and Octavia leave the stage to wild applause and, after a minute, the pre-recorded music on the speaker system comes back on at what you now think of as a quiet volume. You wash up at the bar, elated and totally wiped out, and order a scotch on the rocks.
With a good-sized gulp of the cool amber liquor burning its way down to your belly, you begin to feel a little more grounded again, and by the time Vinyl and Octavia turn up at the bar you’re even able to speak in coherent sentences.
“That was bleeding incredible,” you say emphatically as you step over to them. “…Octavia, you still owe me a drink.”
“Performers drink free,” Vinyl chuckles, “so I guess she can manage that for ya.”
“Wait, we… what?” Octavia says in confusion.
“…you were paying for your lemonade earlier?”
“Well of course,” Octavia says with some embarrassment.
Vinyl shakes her head in exasperation. “Better make up for it now, then. YO! Bartender! Six tequilas, line ‘em up.”
“So you actually liked the set, then?” Octavia asks as the drinks are being poured. “I was concerned that it might be a little… unconventional… for you to appreciate it.”
“Well geez Tavi, didn’t he look like he was enjoying it?” Vinyl cuts in. “I know you might not used to this from your orchestra days and all, but when a guy is going absolutely fucking mental all over the dancefloor through your whole set, you can take that as a sign of approval. If you want, I mean, if it helps you to get the idea, imagine that he clapped politely and then made some pompous asshole remarks to you after the show while creepily staring at your flank the whole time. That’s more the kinda appreciation you’re used to, right?”
Octavia starts to draw herself up to reply but you cut in first.
“I can actually stare at your flank, if it’d help. I wouldn’t mind at all. Anything to oblige a lady.”
There it is, the familiar red flush starting to come over Octavia’s cheeks. It’s just too easy.
“I… umm… that is to say… Vinyl…”
“Shhh,” Vinyl grins. “Drink up.”
She slides two glasses of tequila down the bar to Octavia along with a bowl of lime wedges and a salt shaker. Several shots later, Vinyl is reeling off a litany of the creepy fans and agents that Octavia has been put upon by.
“…and so then there was the one dude with the cigars. Now this stallion was fat. Like proper fat. His cutie mark was a cream trifle, I’m not even fucking kidding. And he used to come round to the flat and smoke these huge, stinking cigars, and breathe creepily through his mouth and tell Tavi about how talented she was and how far she could go in the classical scene – like, with the right stallion backing her, y’know? ‘Backing’ her. Ehehehe. And so this one night-"
“Do you really need to tell this story, Vinyl?” Octavia asks, already flustered.
“Aww c’mon Tavi, you don’t wanna deprive Anon of a good laugh at Gravy Train’s expense, do ya? …So. This one night, he invites Tavi out to a fancy dinner party, to introduce her round he says, y’know, schmooze, make contacts. And oh, Celestia’s sweet shiny ass, I wish I’d been there to see it, I just had to hear about it later from a friend. But, so, he introduces her to everyone as his ‘little marefriend’, whatever the crap that’s s’posed to mean, and starts stroking her ears. Right at the dinner table, in front of everp0ny. She threw a drink in his face and then made a ten minute speech about how music industry professionals needed to establish a code of ethics and start behaving like businessponies instead of sleazy fratcolts on their own behalf or else somep0ny on Celestia’s advisory council might just get their ear bent with a sexual harassment claim and decide to press for an external regulatory body overseen directly by the Princess’s court.”
You splutter with laughter. “Good for you!”
You hold out your glass to Octavia and, her face beetroot red, she reluctantly clinks it with her own. A moment later you each add another empty glass to the ever-growing collection.
“Well he WAS an insufferable boor,” she says vehemently, her face twitching into the hint of a smile. “I’m only embarrassed that I put up with his overtures for so long. But then…” Her eyes narrow. “There ARE a few stories I could tell you about the stallions that Vinyl has brought home, you know.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Vinyl laughs. “Ahhhh buck, this whole ‘get Tavi drunk and embarrass her’ plan is going horribly, horribly wrong. Anon, I’m counting on you as my deputy.”
“Hmm… I don’t know, Vinyl,” you muse, punctuating your thoughts with another shot of tequila. “…I’m not sure if I have it in me to deliberately embarrass her any more. I think…” You drop your eyes to the floor and look up slowly, your expression hesitant and tender as you meet Octavia’s eyes. “I think I might be falling for her.”
You give a nervous swallow, dropping to one knee to be on a level with her as you gaze deep into her eyes. She blinks at you.
“Your eyes, Octavia… like two amethysts in the dusk, glinting with some mysterious promise. And your playing… oh, by all the Powers, Octavia, your playing. Such subtlety, such grace, such…”
“PFFFFfffffffhahahahahahaha!”
The snort of laughter comes from behind you as Vinyl puts a hoof around your neck, leaning into you in hilarity. “Oh, dude, that was buckin’ terrible.”
“I must concur,” Octavia smiles, giggling a little herself.
“What?! Aww c’mon, I totally had her, she was gonna start blushing any minute if you didn’t ruin it.”
“I assure you I was not,” Octavia says primly, reaching for another glass of tequila.
“Not a chance, man,” Vinyl says. “But now we’ve got a new game, ‘get Anon drunk and watch him hit on mares’. This is gonna be even more fun, so it’s all cool.”
You smile wryly. “Fine, well, get on with phase one then. We’re out of shots.”
“Right. Ohhhh bartendeeeer~!”
A few shots later Vinyl points excitedly behind you.
“Look! Look, it’s your first target! RARARARAmpf.”
You clamp a hand over her muzzle and lean in conspiratorially. “Be cool,” you hiss, as Octavia dissolves into giggles. Vinyl nods slowly, and you take your hand away.
“Rarity’s at the bar?”
“Yup! Go make us proud, big guy. Or, y’know, at least make us laugh.”
“Right. How’s my hair?”
“…fine, probably?”
“Good.” You take another shot and bite into a slice of lime before slamming the glass down and spinning about. Rarity is a little further down the bar, ravishing as ever in her fancy gown, ordering drinks. You go over, propelled along your way by a helpful shove in the small of the back from Vinyl. Rarity looks round as you approach, and shoots you a smile and a flutter of her eyelashes.
“Well, well. The guest of honour graces me with his company at last?”
“Yeah, well, figured I could take a minute out from my tireless work at getting all these mares to appreciate what a dashing figure I cut in your outfit.”
“Oh, that’s what you’ve been doing?” she peers past you to where Vinyl and Octavia are watching and giggling with tequila glasses in their hooves.
She looks back to you and raises a good-humoured eyebrow.
“Definitely. How better to do it than by fraternising with the artistic elite?” Your grin drops. “Listen, I want to talk to you. Properly. Wanna go get some air?”
Her smile fades, replaced by one that is smaller, uncertain, but sincere. “All right. Let’s take a turn around the lawn, shall we?”
She starts towards the doors and you follow, smiling to yourself as you are pursued by Vinyl’s yell of “OH COME ON! THAT’S NO BUCKIN’ FUN!”
The night air is mild again, and sweet with all the scents of the palace gardens. There are lanterns on poles lighting up the lawns, and there are quite a few ponies – some couples, some larger groups – out for some fresh air, leaning against the balustrade of the portico or promenading around the lawn. You lead Rarity down to the lawn as well, figuring it’s the best place to get some relative privacy to talk.
“So.”
“…so.” She looks up at you with a half-smile, waiting to see where you’re going with this.
“Last night.”
“Yeeees?”
"You don’t want your friends knowing that anything happened, I get that.”
She gives a ladylike cough. "…well. No. Not at present.”
“All right, fine, that’s up to you. Do you regret it?”
She gives you a frown. “Hmph. Hardly. I’m perfectly able to take responsibility for my own actions, you know. I’m not some empty-headed filly who’s incapable of making a rational decision.”
“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t ever do a thing and regret it later.”
“Are you attempting to prove that by making me regret ever entering into this conversation with you?” she asks sweetly.
“Okay, okay. Fine. You don’t regret it. Good.”
You look across to her where she walks beside you, trying to fathom what’s going on behind those big blue eyes. She blinks.
“I trust you’re not feeling taken advantage of, either, Anonymous?” she asks drily.
You chuckle. “No. Look, if that’s all you wanted, then I’m ful happy to have obliged, and we can call it a day right there. If you want.”
“…but you’d prefer otherwise?” she asks archly.
“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”
“So what do you want?”
“…more sex would be a start.”
She kicks you sharply in the ankle, but you see a hint of a smile before she turns her face away and withdraws it behind the curtain of her mane.
“Look, I don’t really know, okay?” you say with a chuckle. “I only met you a couple of days ago, and I’ve had kind of a lot else going on in that time. But I like you.”
She turns back to you with a silent smile, and you reach out a hand to stroke her face briefly. “So how about we just say –"
You’re interrupted by a rustling of something large moving in the bushes nearby. A silver knife comes to your left hand as you use your right to draw Rarity in next to you, away from the concealing shadow of the bush.
“Get behind me,” you whisper. “There’s something there.”
“…I heard it too.”
There is another heavy rustle of foliage and the snap of a twig, and then an awkward cough from the shrubbery.
“…WE… umm… that is to say, I… apologise if I startled ye. Hello, Anonymous. And hello, Miss Rarity.”
“Princess LUNA?” Rarity says, her voice rising in surprise.
“Shhh!” the princess urges, a horn and then a midnight-blue head coming into view through the leaves. “Please, do not alert anyp0ny else to my presence. It has not been a simple matter to shed my escort.”
Remembering her manners, Rarity gives a bow, and you follow suit.
“No more of that,” the princess demands, her voice growing frustrated. “Ye make yourselves conspicuous. I beseech ye, act naturally. Miss Rarity. Might I impose upon thee to give Anonymous and I a few minutes alone? There are delicate matters I wish to discuss with him.”
Rarity smiles graciously. “Of course, Princess, no imposition. I’ll see you inside, Anonymous.”
“Right. See you.”
You turn back to the princess with a certain amount of trepidation, and she beckons you with a jerk of her head before pulling back inside the shrubbery. You cautiously follow, and find yourself inside the thick canopy of a laurel bush. Luna is just barely visible in the moonlight that filters down through the branches, a dark figure sitting on her haunches by the trunk, watching you. She seems nervous. You can’t help but be impressed forcibly once more with just how unlike her sister she really is.
She has none of Celestia’s gravitas or majesty. You wouldn’t take her for a princess if you didn’t know better, let alone a Power. It makes you wonder…
“I must apologise for the unorthodox conditions of this meeting, Anonymous,” Luna says haltingly.
“It’s quite all right, Princess. I’ve parlayed in stranger places than this.”
“I am happy to see thee looking so well after the regrettable incident earlier today. I… trust thou art enjoying the festivities?”
“Yeah, it’s been pretty spectacular so far.”
“Excellent. And hast thou admired our capital city?”
“I sure have,” you reply, wondering just how many of these pleasantries you’re going to be exchanging. “It’s quite something. And I couldn’t have asked for better tour guides than Twilight and Pinkie.”
There’s a shadowy movement which you take to be a nod, and then a moment’s silence before Luna speaks again. “Anonymous, I would speak with thee of the planes, the other realms thou hast travelled before coming here.”
“Well… sure. But that’s a pretty big topic. Anything specific you had in mind?”
“Sigil. The city that lies through the gate in our former palace. Is… is it true, that no god or goddess can set foot there?”
Well, that’s interesting. You assumed Luna was as knowledgeable about the planes as Celestia, but it would appear not.
“It is. The Lady of Pain rules Sigil, and she doesn’t suffer Powers to enter.”
“…I see. And…” she pauses nervously. “And dost thou take me for a Power, Anonymous?”
“…more or less. I’m honestly not sure, Princess. You command the moon, don’t you?”
“I do. The rising and lowering of the moon is my charge, as well as its cycles, and all the stars that shine in the night sky.”
“Okay. That sounds pretty divine to me. But really, the question is – does anyone worship you? I mean, that’s generally considered the definition of a Power.”
“I… I’m not sure. Nopony pays me such reverence, to my knowledge. And yet… sometimes… sometimes I think I hear things. Oaths. Supplications. Like whispers on the breeze, so faint that most of the time I’m never sure if I truly heard anything at all.”
“Okay. Interesting. I assume you’ve spoken to your sister about this?”
“I… I have. But… Celestia is…” there’s a pause. “I hardly know. She is so kind to me, such a loving sister, and yet… sometimes I feel I hardly know her. She is… so much wiser than I, Anonymous. So much more knowledgeable. I feel a blundering foal before her. And although I do not think she would lie to me… when I ask her about such things, I fear that I ask the wrong questions.”
You smile to yourself. “I think I know the feeling already, Princess, despite my brief association with your sister.”
“That is somewhat reassuring,” she says with the hint of a smile in her tone. “But then, it seems that at the least, my status as a power is uncertain.”
“Yeah. Which would seem to make it a pretty risky idea to go stepping through that gate, if that was your plan.”
“…yes. Not exactly. It is more that I wanted the reassurance of knowing… if I wished to leave this place, would it be possible? But it seems I must assume that it would not, even though the gate opens at my command.”
“So, uhh… pardon me, but I’d figured that you and your sister had come to this plane from elsewhere, Princess. But the way you’re talking makes me doubt that.”
“You are correct, I think, about Princess Celestia,” Luna says after a moment’s hesitation. “She shares almost nothing with me of her life before Equestria, but I have at least inferred that she had such a life. As for me… no. I recall nowhere else.”
“What about your parents?”
The shadowy figure of the princess looks at you silently for a long, tense moment.
“I mean…” you continue, “if you were born here in Equestria – what of them? Did they leave here? Or…. excuse me if this is indelicate, Princess… did you even have parents? Because if you’re confused as to your ontological status, that’d be a pretty big clue.”
Her silence continues and you feel her eyes on you, glinting sea-green sparks in the darkness.
“I… I think perhaps we should end this audience here, Anonymous.”
“…if you want. I meant no offense, Princess.”
“And… and I took none, Anonymous. But there are things I am uncertain about. I must speak with Princess Celestia.”
She takes a heavy step backwards, cracking a branch or two as she backs out of the bush and muttering a curse under her breath.
“Good night, Anonymous,” she says with all the regal dignity she can muster. “I am sorry to have waylaid thee in this manner. We shall speak again.”
“Right. It’s okay. Goodnight, Pr-"
She’s gone.
What a weird pony.
Speaking of weird ponies, there seems to be a cat-suited shadow warrior of some kind sliding rapidly down a rope towards you from a branch at the top of the bush; you might be worried, if not for the poofy pink tail protruding from the back of her costume. She stops upside down right in front of your face, blinking big blue eyes at you and making a muffled noise from behind her mask that sounds like a question.
You reach up and help her out by peeling it halfway off so that her mouth is free to talk. She just stares intensely at you for a moment before straining forwards as if to kiss you. You step backwards and she falls to the floor in a heap before hopping up, giggling.
“Oops! Sorry Nonny, dunno why I did that! Are you all right? Rarity said you’d been foalnapped by a spooky princess and that somep0ny should maybe come check on you, so I volunteered cos it’s been a while since I got to wear my stealth suit.”
“Right as rum. But thanks for checking up on me.”
“You betcha! Can’t go letting my guest of honour get foalnapped from right under my nose, that’d be super bad party planning. Are you finished hanging out in the bushes now?”
“Reckon I am.”
“All righty then, let’s go back in! I think we’ve nearly convinced Twilight that she should use her anti-gravity spell for this new drinking game I invented. It’s going to be like musical chairs crossed with pin the tail on the pony crossed with a bottle of peach vodka. And anti-gravity! And balloons! And…”
You just grin to yourself as you follow her across the lawn and back to the ballroom.