//------------------------------//
// Confidential 
// Story: Diprosopus 
// by WritingSpirit 
//------------------------------//

	"-sure it's necessary, Shining?"

"Of course, Twiley. We require some scholarly insight into this, and the Princess said that you'll be the perfect candidate for the report. I've already switched it on."




...



"Date, twenty-fifth of January. Time, three quarters past eleven. Recording file Juliet-November-Sierra hash five-two-two. Private and confidential. Supervising officer, Shining Armor, Captain of the Canterlot Royal Guard and Prince of Canterlot and the Crystal Empire. Assisting candidates present, Twilight Sparkle, protege to Her Majesty. Verbal identification commence. Shining Armor, present."

"Twilight Sparkle, present."

"In accordance to the recent bombing of Canterlot. Twilight Sparkle, you may begin."



"Ahem. It happened on the twentieth of January, approximate time, half past one..."


The colt held up the silvery tray, leveling his neck while he maintained a cultivated, somber mask on his lips as another one of the guests snapped his hooves against the flamboyant frames of the restaurant seats, signaling his presence over. Quietly striding towards the customer, he tipped a bottle of white wine, the golden, dulcet contents flowing ever smoothly into the bowl of the wine glass.
His horn lit up a light brown, his corresponding cloud of magic enveloping the thin, glass stem as he hovered it towards the guest. In return, the pony gave an acknowledging nod, placing on his silvery tray a few bits; one which made his eyes glimmer a little.

With a respectful bow, he waded through the reticent scenario of clinking silverware and low chattering of the customers, all the while sliding his tip into the suits of his pocket. He whistled a small tune, picking out a few wine glasses and a wine bottle from the luxury of collections displayed on the racks.
His mouth was forcefully zipped silent; any form of communication between his colleagues was reduced to hoof signals, head gestures or even eye twitching. Anypony caught loitering, as his manager affectionately put it, will have their pay suspended or, in important occasions such as this, fired on the spot.

"It was the twenty-third annual meetup of the Canterlot Stone Faith Conference, a meeting dedicated to the restoration of a few gardens and sculptures around the city, at the rooftop Restaurant La Dugarde of the Rembury Hotel."

It wasn't long before he had to head back into the swarm of connoisseurs again, lifting his tray back up to his neck level. The routine of refilling the wine and the glasses became irritatingly normal for him after a few rounds, and he's utterly glad that this was only a part-time job. Of course, he could've found better.
The ponies of the high society around him had little appreciation for his work. He sometimes questioned their lack of sympathy, which seemed to be placed more onto the statues around. Suddenly, he told himself, statues have a higher level of importance than other ponies. All these gatherings about restoring the 'sculptures of old, never letting them fade into time' was a little overboard sometimes; no wonder there were circulating talks about anarchists and rioters roaming throughout the streets, waiting just for the perfect time to set their plans loose.

Another click of hooves called him once more, as he shifted through the sea of tables, eyeing jealously at every glint of sequin on the dresses of mares to every golden timepiece sticking out from a colt's hooves. The stallion that called for him was the same, as was his procedure of never bothering to give him a glance, though he did, surprisingly, spoke to him:

"Do you have any of the fifteen sixty-six, my lad?"

"None, sir," he replied, pouring a glass of white wine for him. The other pony's white hooves reached out for it, gripping onto the glass stem once it was filled to the middle.

The colt could only look in surprise at that. Usually, guests would simply beckon at him for wine, not reach out for it in an act of self-service. Maybe there is some hope for the upper-class societies for Canterlot after all; he was one of the tramps living in the suburbs (which was the gutter) of the splendid town, and he himself had deemed it to be a foolish act of expectancy for his kind to serve underneath them like groveling hounds wanting for a nice treat, by treat it was the water and electricity and, in the scarcest of a chance, a charity foundation.
"Tell me, my young friend," the guest continued speaking, to which he hurriedly gave a bow.

"Do you believe in fate?"

"F-fate, sir?"

"The fate of worlds. The fate that connects us in the chains of mortality."

With a queer laugh, his guest sipped on the swirl of white wine, before placing the glass down onto the table with an inclined grin, all the while leaving him in deep thought. Fate of mortality... in laycolt term it would be the simplest way to end a life, wouldn't it? Then again, pigs might be able to fly.
"If I were to say... I have the ability to break those chains," he continued, "would you work on my side?"

"If it means you can prevent death," the young waiter attempted to translate, "then of course I will, sir."

"Wise choice, my friend," the pale stallion said with a laugh, rustling the colt's mane.
"But alas, although feted by many, it is but an impossible task. I trust that you cherish your life as well?"

"I'm trying to," he replied, leaving a hanging silence before realizing his rueful mistake.
"Uh...! S-Sir! Sorry, sir!"

"It's alright. Food for thought, however..."
His guest knelt down from his recliner, whispering quietly to him:

"Try to enjoy it while you can. I conceive that you have but little time left."

With that said, the stallion suddenly got up and left, much to the waiter's surprise, who could only watch him stride across the restaurant, his black mane and tail elegantly swishing around the many guests in his way. Sighing at the departure of his special guest, he turned back to clean the tables, though not before noticing something lying underneath the recliner.
It was a brown briefcase; one he had seen before a countless times while passing by the shops around the avenues on his way to work, though some of them had closed down because of last year's slight economical downturn, which would only increased the value of such goods. Many ponies had been talking about the year before, remembering the chaos coming in an amalgam of dragons, assassinations and the like. Who could forget the night they saw the light piercing into the sky as well, he thought to himself. The sight made him turn back whilst calling out:

"Hey, sir! You forgot your-!"

He stopped immediately, the white stallion having vanished into the chattering crowd before him. Of course, he glanced at the many faces around him, though no matter how hard he tried to search, there was no sign of him, leaving him to settle his tray and his cloth.
That's strange, he thought to himself, before looking back at the briefcase. Now what can he do about this? Hand it over to Lost & Found downstairs? Give it to the charity like many of his kind would claim (he doubted that they would do as they say) if they were upper-class ponies?

"The explosion was sudden. None had ever expected it to happen..."

Everything suddenly flared a searing white, as he felt himself being thrown across the restaurant, the tray tossed out of his hooves. The sounds of shattering glass and crashing tables ran through his mind, his vision managing to make out his many guests and colleagues being flung along with him.
He crashed into the longest table, the pyramid of wine glasses collapsing upon him, fracturing almost immediately once they touched his scorched, stinging skin. All he could register was the plumes of black smoke and the large, billowing flames eating away at what was the restaurant, all tossed up with the chaos of screaming and shouting ringing across every corner.

"Witnesses reported the highest floor of the Rembury covered in smoke and flames soon after. The police arrived in the scene five minutes later, followed by the fireponies."

Wailing sirens soon joined the fray, though his hearing was isolated into only his rapid, shallow breathing, his hoof clawing at the last fragments of charred tablecloth whilst he tried to hang onto the snapping thread of his lifeline.
How did this happen? Why did this happen? The answers could not enter his broken mind, prancing over words like 'anarchists' and 'rebellions', just like in the comics back at home, yet it never matter if it did; his singed self had already felt numb, and, like many others, he closed his eyes, sending himself into the spiraling darkness that the guest had mentioned of before all the chaos.

Cruel irony.

"The fire was put out soon after, and the source of the explosion was traced to five, separate pipe bombs in a briefcase. This, along with the staggering amount of alcohol in the restaurant, yielded devastating results. There were no survivors in the incident. Shining Armor."

"The plot was at first blamed on anarchists, whose numbers have risen slightly after the previous economic downturn. However, as of date, there is no evidence to suggest that. We are striving to increase the security of Canterlot, especially since the threat from Pendant Lakes. As Captain of Her Majesty's Royal Guard, we will ensure that the matter will be looked upon once any new evidence is discovered. End of recording."



O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O=O



Twilight breathed a huge sigh of relief once his brother stopped the recorder. She wasn't always involved in Shining's duties, and never thought he would, though the Princess did say she would never know.

And, by her teacher's china collection, she was right. As always.

"That wasn't so bad, wasn't it Twiley?"

The lavender unicorn could only roll his eyes at her brother, who let out a hearty laugh. Now there's somepony who wasn't always right. She quickly gathered her papers, stacking them neatly before sliding them into her satchel.
"So," Shining continued, "I guess you'll be heading back to Ponyville tomorrow, huh?"

"It's been a year already, Shining," she said with a laugh.
"I'm sure the others would've missed me by then, wouldn't they? Especially Spike."

"Well, I guess Mom and Dad would miss you horribly once you leave too," her elder brother replied with a hug, her face landing into his medal-encrusted uniform with pride.
"Say hi to Spike for me."

"And the same to Cadence once she gets back from the Crystal Empire."

The two gave each other a small chuckle, before they quickly got up, leaving the barracks towards the palace in the glow of the sunset. Twilight could see her teacher on the balcony, her horn directed at the descending sun.
"By the way, Twiley," Shining suddenly began, prompting her to turn to her older brother.
"Please be careful. You'll never know what might happen suddenly," to which she gave a cheerful yet understanding nod.

"I will."