//------------------------------// // Chapter 8 // Story: The Hostess // by Gaekub //------------------------------// Celestia was bored. She was in the last hour of the official Day Court, and not a single pony had come to see her. Every day, she set aside six hours, starting at noon, where she would hear the complaints and requests from any pony in Equestria. The most powerful pony that existed had promised to help anypony, and nopony could be bothered to take her up on the offer. The problem, she silently mused, was that she’d done her job too well. Over a thousand years ago, when she had first started this court, it had been crowded every day. Everypony had a problem, and they all wanted help. But as time had gone on, and she’d solved more and more problems, the amount of ponies that came to see her had dwindled. As it was, it had been two weeks since the Day Court had been attended by anypony but her guards and herself. “You” she said at a whim, addressing the guard nearest the throne. She concentrated for a second. “Dayshine.” She made it a point to remember the names of all her guards. “Yes ma’am” grunted Dayshine. His natural voice was actually quite high and lyrical, but he spoke in low grunts in order to keep the image up. Guards were supposed to be tough. “Anything I could help you with?” asked the princess, smiling sweetly. “Any little thing?” “No ma’am” replied Dayshine, internally trying to think desperately. What was the correct answer? What did she want him to say? “Nothing? So you’re completely happy?” asked Celestia, her soft smile fading an imperceptible amount. “Yes ma’am. Completely happy in her majesty’s service” growled Dayshine. He was at least confident that he knew the proper answer to that question. He hoped she didn’t ask any more questions though; his throat was starting to hurt from changing his voice so drastically. Celestia allowed herself the luxury of an annoyed grunt. Not audible to her guards of course, showing dissatisfaction wasn’t going to be good for anypony. She glared with smiling eyes at the two who stood by the door. Having two expressions, one internal and one external, was a skill all good royalty developed. The Royal Guard was yet another idea that had seemed so clever over a thousand years ago. Surround herself with large stallions? How could that be a bad idea? Sure, even at that age she was more powerful than any mortal pony, but backup couldn’t hurt. However, a thousand years of magical practice had given her more power then she could have dreamed of. Anything that could threaten her would be completely impervious to her guards. At that point, backup could hurt. They were just more ponies she had to protect. In a more mundane way, it meant that she couldn’t go anywhere without being followed by at least two of the armored ponies. They were just a relic, a tradition of a different age, but they were an annoying tradition that refused to die. A sudden cool breeze flowed over her brow, providing a brief moment of pleasure. The throne room wasn’t particularly hot, but a change was always welcome. Another breeze blew, stronger this time, and accompanied by soft grating sound. The princess turned to the apparent source behind her throne, but there was nothing there. The breeze again, almost a wind now, and the sound was louder. Right at the apex of the sound, Celestia thought for a second that a hint of blue hung in the air. Whatever was happening happened again, and this time a transparent blue box was definitely visible for a fraction of a second. The guards finally noticed what was happening behind the princess, and charged towards her. The box was now consistently visible, and they placed themselves on either side of it, body language aggressive. For her part, Celestia lowered her horn, pointing the tip at the box. The noise and wind cycled several more times, louder and stronger each time. The box faded in and out in rhythm. Finally, the noise faded from view, the air stilled, and the box became fully solid. Silence ruled the courtroom for a few seconds. Celestia noted the word ‘Police’ inscribed on the blue box a moment before a door creaked open on the side facing her. A brown stallion stepped out, stopping abruptly when her horn pressed against his throat. “Oh, hello Celestia. Sorry, I think I got a little off course. I was meant to be in Ponyville. I don’t suppose you’ve moved your throne room there at some point?” the strange pony said, completely unperturbed by the deadly piece of bone poking into his jugular. A few more moments of silence followed. “Suppose not.” “I’m sorry, do I know you?” asked Celestia cautiously. It had been decades since an attempt had been made on her life, but you couldn’t be too careful. Besides, this pony had an accent she couldn’t quite place, and that was worrying. “Of course you do. I’m the Doctor? We met in Ponyville? Where your student lives?” the strange pony said, still completely at ease. “I have no student.” “Err… hate to contradict royalty, but yes you do. Twilight Sparkle? Ringing any…” his voice trailed off as he stared into Celestia’s curious eyes. “Wait, hold on, what year is it?” “It is the year 994 of my rule of course. Are you not from Equestria?” Celestia replied. Her follow-up question went unanswered as the pony retreated back into the depths of his box. “994? Of course you don’t know me, I’m a decade early… how…” the pony mumbled as walked back inside, slamming the door in her face. She was about to force the door open when it slammed back open. “Has somepony been using retroscanners? Or rather, will somepony be using retroscanners in around eight years? …oh, sorry. Stupid question, for… several reasons. HATE retroscanners. TARDIS can’t stand them. Well, I suppose I’ll take another run at it. Oh, and forget all that stuff I said about students. Not important.” Celestia had been too slow to react under the onslaught of words, and the door slammed shut again. She pushed at it with her magic, but it refused to budge. She pushed harder, but still nothing. She reset her stance, and pushed enough magic through her horn to raise a sun. Not only did the door stay closed, Celestia nearly passed out from the exertion. By the time spots had stopped swimming in front of her eyes, the box was gone. The guards, who had not done anything while it was there, looked fairly sheepish. They all knew on some level that they were mere formalities, but they didn’t like to admit it. Celestia smiled. Her life may be boring right now, but she had a feeling it was going to liven up in around a decade. In the meantime… “Guards” she said. They snapped to attention. “Go see the dean of my school for gifted unicorns. Tell him I am to be alerted immediately if there appears any applicant by the name of Twilight Sparkle…” 1002 CE (2 years after the return of Princess Luna) The Hostess walked to the body of the Falaxaporian Spike had used as a chew toy. She placed a hoof on its chest to check for a pulse, or the rise and fall of breath, or really any sign of life. However, when she relaxed her hoof, it sank several inches into the still form of the alien. It was dead and rapidly dissolving into mush, as the shape shifting races tended to do. The Hostess sighed. She’d rather it not have been dead, but she wasn’t going to mourn it. It had brought this on itself. She scraped her hoof clean on the leg of an overturned table, and turned to Twilight. The unicorn was levitating a quill, and appeared to be writing. The Hostess opened her mouth to ask what precisely had happened, but John beat her to it. “What the buck happened here?” he asked loudly, staring around at the destroyed room. Twilight shot him an angry look. “Don’t swear in front of Spike” she said, pointing at the sleeping dragon. A brief look of confusion crossed her face as she realized that, under the circumstances, Spike learning swear words was probably the least of her concerns. “Spike happened” she replied, and turned back to her letter. Buck is a swear word? the Hostess briefly thought, until that thought was trampelled by the much more pressing questions that jockeyed to be first out of her mouth. “What just happened?” came in first, and was quickly followed by “and why did it stop happening?” Twilight let out a sigh. “I don’t suppose you remember the Elements of Harmony?” she asked, still not looking up from her scribbling quill. The Hostess replied in the negative. John only remembered about half of them, and wisely decided not to share that fact with the bearer of Magic. “Okay, so there’s these six Elements of Harmony. They’re these sort of… desirable characteristics. Everypony knows about them. What most ponies don’t know is they each have an opposite. They’re referred to as the six Deadly Sins, or the Elements of Disharmony, or a bunch of other names. Ponies tried not to talk about them, so a particular name was never settled on. That’s why most ponies don’t know about them, they’re only talked about in really old scrolls.” Twilight said, finishing her letter. She stepped back from the table and began to wrap it into a cylinder. “Anyway, the point is that ponies are creatures of the Elements of Harmony. They can wield the physical incarnations, and they become more powerful as they become closer to the Elements. Dragons, on the other hoof, are creatures of the Deadly Sins. When they embrace a Sin, they grow quickly and become adult in mere hours. It happened once before, Spike embraced Greed, the opposite of Generosity. That’s what lead me to research all this” the purple unicorn continued, slipping into her habitual lecture voice again. The letter wrapped, she approached the sleeping dragon. “The only way to bring a dragon back to his or her original state is to induce feelings of the corresponding Element in them. Spike had embraced Rage, the opposite of Laughter. So I made him laugh.” Twilight briefly considered telling the Hostess what exactly had happened to the bearer of Laughter, but decided against it. Now was not the time. “So… when he gets angry, he turns into an unstoppable killing machine?” asked the Hostess, worry in her voice. “Wait, what? Spike did this?” asked John, completely lost. “Not exactly Hostess. He has to be really, really angry. I’ve been teaching him anger management ever since he surrendered to Greed for just that reason. As for you John, yes.” John and the Hostess both made the exact same mental note. Do not annoy the dragon. “Spike. Wake up. I need to send a letter” Twilight said, gently poking her dozing assistant. “Wait, what are you doing? Who are you sending a letter to?” asked the Hostess, suddenly made aware of her companion’s intentions. “I’m contacting Celestia. This is something she needs to know about” Twilight replied. Then, noting the blank look on the Hostesses face, she continued “oh, she’s the most powerful pony in the world, and she’s the ruler of Equestria. I can contact her through Spike’s magical fire.” Twilight continued trying to wake her snoozing assistant. “She… why didn’t we do this earlier?” asked the Hostess, a little louder than she meant to. Twilight flinched slightly at the Hostess’s volume. “I don’t like to bother her. Besides, I didn’t really believe there was any danger until this morning” Twilight replied, finally having managed to wake Spike. He gripped the letter sleepily in one claw, and exhaled green fire onto it. The letter puffed into smoke, which flew out an open window. “Now all we have to do is wait for the princess to-“ The word ‘respond’ stuck in Twilight’s throat when Spike belched loudly in his sleep. The smoke that poured out of his mouth formed into the shape of a letter, which Twilight snapped out of the air with her magic. Twilight unfurled the letter, confused by the speed with which it had appeared. She spread it on a table, John and the Hostess standing beside her to read it over her shoulder. Dear Princess Celestia I’m afraid something has come up in Ponyville that requires your assistance. Please come quickly, as it is a matter of life and death. Your faithful student Twilight Sparkle “…This is my letter” Twilight announced quietly after a moment of silence. “This is the exact letter I just sent to the princess.” Another moment of silence followed, which was broken by the Hostess speaking loudly and happily. “Alright” she said, clopping her front hooves together in what would have been an excited clap by any species with hands. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” “What do you mean we’re getting somewhere? Somepony is blocking my communication with the princess, how is that good?” Twilight indignantly asked. “Because it means we’re learning. Come along, I need to build something at Pinkie’s” the Hostess ordered, turning away without waiting for an answer. “I’ll catch up” shouted Twilight after the retreating pink pony. John shot her a nod as he walked out the door after the Hostess. “Owlicious!” she shouted as she scribbled out a quick note. The owl flew down from his nest on the rafters and landed on the table beside her. She signed the note and tied it the owl’s leg. “Go find Fluttershy” she told it. The owl winged out the window as Twilight left through the door. She didn’t want to leave Spike alone, but Fluttershy made a great caretaker. It didn’t take long for her to catch up with the other two ponies, and she trotted up beside them, falling into line. “So what exactly did we learn, Hostess?” “Well, I don’t know exactly how dragon-mail works, but I assume the letter gets turned into some sort of energy pattern?” the Hostess asked, looking at Twilight. Not even surprised at the Hostess’s leap of knowledge, Twilight just nodded. “Well that means that they’ve set up a general screen over Ponyville. Basically, you just set up a shield of all the energies and frequencies you can get, and pump a whole bunch of energy through it. If you hit enough frequencies, it’ll bounce anything back at you. Plus give any ponies trying to get out a nasty shock” the Hostess explained in the long, unbroken stream she tended to explain things in. She noted the confused look on her companion’s faces, and simplified it. “It’s a magic shield that stops any message or pony from escaping.” “So you have something at Pinkie’s that can stop it?” asked John, very appreciative of the simplification. “Better. I can make something that will let us find it.” Mr. and Mrs. Cake stared at the strange device in their kitchen. Pinkie had called it a ‘microwave’, and said not to use it until she had explained it. However, then she had disappeared, and one oven was not enough to cater the lunch rush. It was the strangest oven either of the Cakes had ever seen. It took a fair amount of experimentation to figure it out, but they thought they had a handle on it now. They lifted a bowl of batter into the microwave, shut the door, and pressed the button that said ‘on’. Inside the box, a small stone burst into life. It was a very small and impure example of the huge crystals that powered a TARDIS, but it was powerful enough for this machine’s purpose. The power it generated coursed through wires of copper, the melted down remains of some old baking trays the Hostess had found in the cellar. The power poured into a 6 inch length of pipe wrapped in three complete rolls of tape. A small bare portion of the pipe emitted near lethal amounts of microwave radiation, directed precisely into the interior of the radiation proof box. From the Cake’s perspective, the strange makeshift box whirred into life, a frightening occurrence for those unacquainted with electricity. The batter bowl also began to slowly rotate, because the Hostess believed appearances were important. Both Cakes shied away from the whirring mystery at first, unsure of its safety. Eventually Mrs. Cake, who had more experience with Pinkie’s experiments than her husband, gathered the nerve to approach it. She peered in through the tinted glass separating her from the bowl. Inside, she saw the slowly rotating batter begin to bubble and rise. Mr. Cake tentatively walked up next to her, squinting as he cautiously stared through the glass. The batter was bubbling madly now, bits splashing out of the bowl. The Cakes leaned as far from the glass as they could while still being able to see inside. From their remote view point, they could see the bubbles slowly die down as the batter hardened into a cake. They had set it for an hour and a half (using the cannibalized wall clock embedded in the side), but it seemed to have cooked it in around five minutes. Mr. Cake, slightly embarrassed that his wife had shown more bravery than he had earlier, sidled up the door. Standing to one side of the hinged glass panel, he carefully reached out a hoof and flipped it open. Both the bakers flinched pre-emptively for the explosion that never came. After waiting around twenty nerve-wracking seconds, Mr. Cake slipped his front hooves around the bowl and pulled it out of the microwave. He placed it tenderly on the floor and sniffed it with great caution while his wife trotted up next to him. “It smells fine” he announced, shrugging at his wife. She reached out with a shaking hoof and gently poked the bulging bowl of cake. As soon as her hoof touched the straining crust, the hidden gas bubbles inside put their daring escape plan into action. A wet explosion deafened the Cakes momentarily as they were covered in sticky, half-baked batter. Both stood completely still as the sickeningly warm liquid dripped down their faces. Unfortunately for their pink employee, they were not quite deafened enough to miss the creaking of the kitchen door’s hinges. “PINKIE!” the couple screamed as the Hostess scampered up the stairs, ears laid back. She knew she wasn’t getting out of this, and reluctantly turned back down the stairs. She sighed heavily as she tromped back down the stairs. “I told them not to use it” she muttered to herself. Twilight and John stood meekly in the corner as the Hostess scampered around her room, frantically throwing together a new creation. Ignoring the protests of her mental passenger, she ripped a complicated gear assembly out of a device made for an unknown purpose. It had been an hour since she had arrived home. Her employers had ordered her to clean the kitchen, teach them how to use the microwave, and help with the lunch rush. The Hostess just thanked… She cast a mental tendril into Pinkie’s memories to find an appropriate being to thank. Luna, came the response. She thanked Luna that the Cakes hadn’t asked her to explain how it actually functioned. Even giving them the device was technically highly illegal by intergalactic law. Technically, she could have just blown them off. She had never actually worked for them after all, and it wasn’t like she needed the job. However, she felt obligated. Pinkie had worked for them for six years, she couldn’t just tell them to stuff it. Plus, she was a little afraid that Pinkie’s mind was reasserting itself. That had never happened to a Time Lord before, but this was a fairly unique situation. Not only had she interrupted the regeneration cycle, but no disguised Time Lord had been quite as… energetic. Time Lords were naturally very bouncy after a regeneration, due to high levels of life force, and she was pretty sure Pinkie had been permanently stuck at that level of hyper activity. It certainly explained how she ate seven cakes a day and didn’t die of obesity. Her metabolism must have been through the roof. Regardless, the point was the Pinkie returning was not impossible, and the Hostess didn’t want to mess her life up that badly. She owed her that consideration. She snapped out of her introspection to find that her project had been completed. She had apparently managed to build an extremely complicated piece of technology without thinking about it. That was a little bit of an ego boost. Apparently having two ponies in your head had its advantages when it came to multitasking. “Alright” she began, turning to her two companions. “Now I just need the sonic screwdriver” - John tossed it to her and she snatched it out of the air – “an’ a smaw peesh of tarshoniam” she mumbled around the metal cylinder. “A small piece of what?” asked Twilight. The Hostess inserted the tool into a small hole in the machine and turned back to them. “Tarsonium” she repeated. No response came from either of the blank faced ponies. “Oh, maybe you use a different name. Hullsteel? The essential metal? It’s a necessary material for space… travel… oh. Right. Planetbound race” the Hostess said, face falling. She lifted a front hoof and slammed in heavily into her forehead. “Wait, what are you talking about? What’s tarsonium?” asked the purple unicorn, completely lost. “It’s a metallic alloy, made from… made from a bunch of elements. It’s not important; you would have no idea what it is.” She sighed, dejected. “I just assumed you’d have it, since… well, since every race has it. Dammit.” A determined look grew on Twilights face. There was very little she hated more than being told she didn’t know something. “Describe it. Maybe we can figure it out.” “No, I’m telling you, there’s no way you could…” the Hostess began, before faltering in the face of Twilight’s glower. “Okay, fine. It’s this silvery purple metal, extremely shiny. Usually at least. The exact appearance varies from maker to maker. The point is, it’s highly malleable in its natural state, but becomes extremely rigid when-“ “-when you apply magic to it” finished John, cutting her off. “Are you talking about starmetal?” Both mares stared at the brown stallion. He stepped from hoof to hoof, uncomfortable in the sudden silence. The Hostess looked confused. Twilight looked shocked, and maybe a little upset. He had the feeling she wasn’t used to being out-knowledged. “Yes, that sounds right. How do you know about it?” asked the Hostess, voice quiet and even. “It’s this strange metal that falls from the sky sometimes. I’ve… I’ve always had this dream of making a clock from it. That’s how I know about it.” He paused. “There’s a chunk of it at the museum, if you need some.” “…okay” said the Hostess, grinning a Pinkie sized grin. “Let’s go to the museum.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE CAN’T BORROW IT!?” screamed the formerly happy pony at the museum manager whose office they now stood in. Twilight’s ears flipped back at the sound. Today had involved a lot of the Hostess yelling at public servants. She wasn’t sure whether a pattern was emerging, but as a public servant herself, she wasn’t particularly happy about it. To be fair, the curator was holding his own better than Justice had. An extremely old stallion, he had seen enough summers to turn his mane and coat a matching white. A common museum patron herself, Twilight knew him only as ‘Bones’, a name derived from his talent for archeology. She didn’t know his real name, and she certainly didn’t know he had such an impressive lung capacity. “IT IS A MUSEUM EXHIBIT! IT IS NOT A LIBRARY BOOK YOU CAN TAKE OUT AT YOUR WHIM!” he yelled back, vocal cords far too powerful for their age. “No offense, Twilight” he apologized after a deep breath. “None taken, Bones. We really do need that starmetal though” Twilight replied, hoping a more friendly voice would get through to him. Or at least a quieter one. The old pony’s face softened. He liked Twilight, she was one of his only patrons these days. “Look Twilight, it’s not up to me. Those are the rules. Now, if you could bring in a letter from the princess, I’d be happy to…” The Hostess appeared to stifle an obscenity with great difficulty. “I can’t contact her, that’s why I need it!” pleaded Twilight, beginning to become frustrated with the older pony. “Well… I suppose I could sell it to you. It’s not a display item after all, it’s just gathering dust in the vaults. Hold on, let me look up its value” Bones said, creaking his way on ancient hips to a thick book on his desk. Twilight bounced from hoof to hoof, nervous about the price of such an item. John had worry plastered all over his face; he knew the approximate value of starmetal, and it wasn’t cheap. The Hostess, who had very little grip on the idea of money, stood calmly. “Well… looks like the minimum I can sell it for is 2,342 bits.” Technically he was supposed to barter when asked to sell an item, but that didn’t exactly seem appropriate for some reason. Twilight gasped at the huge number. John looked like he had swallowed his tongue. He had known it would be a lot, but he couldn’t have guessed it would be that much. Although the number did seem vaguely familiar. “Is that a lot?” whispered the Hostess. Both her companions nodded emphatically. “Are you sure you can’t let it go for any less?” croaked Twilight. “No, I’m afraid not. Precisely 2342 bits is the lowest amount I can sell it and keep my job.” The bell that had rung in John’s head at the mention of the price began ringing louder at the word ‘precisely’. Why was 2342 bits significant? Why… John gasped. He turned to the two mares and told them to wait here, before bolting out the door. He ignored the confused questions shouted after him. He knew that the answers would take time they didn’t have. He galloped through the halls of the museum before bursting out of the street entrance and sprinting down the street. Luckily he wasn’t far from home, and he leaped, panting, through his front door less than five minutes later. Trotting on exhausted legs, he entered his kitchen. He gripped the handle of a particular cabinet and pulled it open. Inside sat the mysterious box of bits, with its even more mysterious note still sitting on the top. There are precisely 2342 bits in this box. Use them wisely. They are yours. Do not worry about where they came from. “Jackpot” whispered the clockmaker.