//------------------------------// // 5 - Of Shocks and Searches // Story: A King's Return // by Maulkin //------------------------------// “Who's that?” Luke whispered nervously, wings fluttering in agitation. “Read this,” I whispered back, handing him my phone as I hurried past him, hoping against hope that it wasn't the pastor. I stood up on my tiptoes – tip-hooves? – to peer through the peephole, and saw a depressingly familiar face. “Crap,” I mumbled under my breath, panic rising. I did the only thing I could think of. While he was reading the text message, I got behind my brother and pushed him to the door. “You answer it, I'm outta here,” I said gruffly, fully intending to let him deal with the impending shitstorm. Before I could make good on my retreat, however, I felt a sharp pain in my tail. “Let go!” I hissed, and tried to slap away his hands. He shook his head vigorously. “No way! We're in this together!” “Look,” I said carefully, trying to sound reasonable and calm even while my heart hammered, “if you keep your shirt on and, I dunno, wrap that couch blanket around your legs, you'll look almost normal – sick, but normal. Throw on a pillow and stick a thermometer in your mouth and no one will be the wiser. But what do you think he'll do if he sees me?!” Visions of screams and curses danced through my mind, panic and pandemonium, and the dreaded CDC... I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. “Come on, he has to see you first! And I certainly can't answer the door like this!” He glared, annoyed, but nodded reluctantly. “Fiiiine, I guess that's fair,” he grumbled, letting go of my tail. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around his waist, hiding his furry legs and hooves. “Just get out of sight, okay?” he said testily. Needing no more encouragement, I ran around the corner without another word and hid in the side room. The last thing I saw was my brother tucking his wings against his back and walking to the door. I pulled the bedroom door nearly closed, only keeping it cracked to listen. The front door opened a moment later. “Ummm, h-hi pastor,” my brother greeting him nervously. “Please come in, and close the door – I don't want people to see...” He trailed off awkwardly, clearing his throat The pastor, to his credit, did so before asking any awkward questions. “Does this have anything to do with why your hair's blue and brown?” he asked, referring to my brother's failing dye job. The fast-growing mane had rendered his work pointless; the dye only made his attempts more obvious. “Ummm... Yeah, that too,” my brother mumbled awkwardly. The pastor was silent. “What's wrong with your face?” he asked nervously. “And... why are all these pictures broken?” My brother stammered awkwardly, trying to explain, but the pastor interrupted. “Look, just calm down and start from the beginning, I promise I won't judge.” “Alright,” I heard Luke respond meekly. “Could you sit down, then? It's really... Well, you'll just want to be sitting down for this.” I heard the pastor sigh, but he cooperated – a moment later there was a creak as he presumably settled on the couch. A second creak a moment later was probably my brother joining him. I nodded to myself, satisfied – all according to plan, so far, if he didn't make a fool of himself and balls it up. 'Good, now they can talk this out like civilized adults,' I thought, nodding to myself in satisfaction. Then I had an idea. “Hey!” I called out, unaware of how deep my voice had become, “turn on My Little Pony! It'll be easier to show him!” “Was that James?!” the pastor asked, startled. My brother started to answer, but the pastor must not have heard. The couch creaked, and footsteps approached the bedroom door. “James, why are you hiding? What's all this about?!” the pastor nearly shouted, far too close for comfort. I gave a yelp and slammed the door shut before he could get a look. “L-look!” I stammered, trying to sound confident, and only then realized just how different I sounded. I coughed and tried again. “Look, just go along with it! You'll figure it out, we just... Need to do it right!” “Please pastor,” my brother said with unusual gentleness, trying to keep the peace. “We want to tell you, but we can't do it all at once. Please sit down and just watch. I promise we'll do our best to explain, but you'll have to go along with it for now.” The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. After a few moments I heard soft footfalls moving from the door back to the living room, and then the creaking of the couch as the pastor sat down once more. I sighed with relief – he was still cooperating. Good. I honestly didn't know what I would have done if he tried to force the door open. “Well, go on, then,” he said, his voice strained as he acclimated to the strange situation. “Show me.” I waited, trying to be patient as my brother turned on the TV and the Xbox. “Which episode?” my brother called out a minute later. I wracked my brain, trying to think of the one that featured Soarin – anything depicting Sombra wouldn't only muddle the situation more. “Uhhh... Look in season five, something with 'Wonderbolts' in the title,” I called back. He gave a confirmation as he found it, and we waited for the video to load. The episode started, and I cringed as the theme-song began playing – that wouldn't help our case. Fortunately my brother had remembered the song, too, and we only heard a second of it before he fast-forwarded to the actual show. “Now, I haven't watched this myself,” he said defensively, “my brother is the brony, not me, but it should help you see where we're coming from.” If the pastor thought this was strange, I couldn't hear it; he remained silent, and I can only presume he watched. The show went on as I remembered it. Rainbow Dash had graduated from the Wonderbolts Academy, and Soarin was putting her through her paces to see what they could do with the new Wonderbolt Trainee. The focus was on Rainbow Dash, true, but Soarin got plenty of dialogue and face time. The episode ended, and my brother started speaking before the pastor could get a word in. It was rehearsed, from the sounds of it, as if he'd been thinking it all up during the episode. Well, it certainly showed. “So, now that you've seen the episode,” he began in his best, and very poor, formal voice, “you have some idea what we're dealing with – and why we're so confused.” I groaned – why did he have to ruin everything?! He continued digging himself deeper, of course, and I could only watch as things went downhill from there. “So, it is with great consternation that I inform you that I am, err...” He blundered to a stop, at a loss for words. He finished without grace or finesse, his forthrightness and bluntness the only saving grace for the little coup-de-grâce as he said, “I'm turning into Soarin.” I resisted the urge to bang my head against the door. There was a pregnant pause, and I heard nothing for several seconds. I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to chew out Luke for being such a damn fool – perhaps he hadn't completely ruined everything after all. But the silence continued for far too long, and considered peeking around the corner to see what was wrong. Before I could, however, the pastor finally spoke. “I'm afraid you'll have to run that by me one more time,” he said faintly. “I could have sworn you just said you were turning into a... an animated cartoon horse.” He gave the nervous laugh of a man who hopes that he's the butt of a bad joke but fears that he isn't. My brother sighed – I could just picture him rubbing his temple – and it was a few moments before he spoke again. “Alright, time for Plan B.” I frowned. Plan B? We hadn't talked about a plan B... My confusion only grew as I heard the couch creak as someone stood up from it. Was the pastor getting something? Confusion turned to alarm as I heard the soft floof of a blanket falling to the floor, and then outright horror as I heard the flutter of wings – it wasn't the pastor getting up at all. “What are you doing?!” I yelled, feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under me. “This wasn't how it was supposed to go!” With an anguished cry I yanked the door open and sped around the corner, only to find my fears confirmed. My brother stood, proud and uncovered with his wings spread – in retrospect, they actually did look impressive, even only partially grown – and stared at the pastor defiantly. “See?” my brother said, voice terse. “I'm turning into a pony. I don't know how, or why, but that's the truth.” It was the first time I'd ever heard the pastor swear. When he caught sight of me, it was the second time I'd ever heard the pastor swear. And, while we're speaking of firsts, it was also the first time I'd ever seen the pastor faint – first time I'd seen anyone faint, actually. His eyes bulged and he slumped back on the couch, out cold. 'At least he's not yelling anymore,' I thought grimly, and looked up at my brother. “Why didn't you stick to the plan?!” I hissed. “Look what you did!” I pointed at the pastor, glowering at Luke accusingly. “We weren't getting anywhere,” he grumbled, glaring right back. “Besides, he was handling it OK until you came in with...” He gestured at me, indicating 'everything'. I glowered, grumbling, but turned back to the pastor. “We fucked up,” I muttered, gently prodding the pastor's foot with my hoof. “Eeeeyup,” he said stonily, sighing heavily as he scuffed the floor. He trotted out to the kitchen, muttering, “I'll be right back.” I ignored him and sat on the couch, trying to think of what to do next. Had the pastor called his wife beforehand, and told her when to expect him home? Maybe. In which case, if he didn't get home in time and didn't answer his phone, she might call the police. Worse, he might have told her where he was going, and the police could surround us without warning. I bit my lip, not liking that thought. We couldn't stay in the house. Maybe we could just leave? Well, my brother might have been able to – his wings looked like they were filling out nicely, perhaps they would support his weight – but it was getting harder and harder to even walk normally, and I couldn't yet walk on my hands. Maybe we could drive somewhere- I snapped out of my reverie and yelped in surprise as my brother dumped a pitcher of cold water on the pastor, forcing him back to consciousness with a splutter and groan. “What'd you do that for?!” I demanded, stepping back as the cold water sloshed against my shins. He just shrugged, supremely unconcerned. “That's how you wake up unconscious people, right? And we need him conscious.” he said, matter-of-factly, and crouched down beside the pastor. “Heeeey there buddy,” he said, giving to the poor soaked man a falsely cheery grin. He gently patted the pastor's face with a fresh towel. “Sorry about the water, but you were out cold and, well... we need to talk.” The pastor squinted and looked around slowly, blearily. “Whazzat? Huh? Oh.” His eyes settled on my brother's cheery rictus, and frowned. “That was real, then,” he groaned, grabbing a couch pillow and burying his face in it as if to hide from the fact. I considered doing the same to hide my face, but the damage was done – he'd already seen me. 'Ah well, can't make things worse,' I thought resignedly, clearing my throat. The pastor turned to me and recoiled, but didn't scream or curse or faint. 'A good start,' I thought, and gave a rueful smile. “Yeah, I felt the same way this morning,” I mumbled awkwardly, and resisted the urge to scratch my neck – a nervous tick. “We're turning into cartoon ponies. Except, well, we're not cartoons, we're real.” Truly, I was the pinnacle of smoothness. He just stared at me, eyes flicking from my horn to my eyes to my hooves, unable to settle on any one abberation. I shifted in my seat, feeling more and more discomfited. “Uhhh... Hello?” I mumbled, trying to stop his awkward staring. “I'm still, well, me, and I'm pretty sure we're not contagious. If we... were...” I cursed my stupidity as his eyes went wide with terror. Apparently he hadn't considered that possibility yet. He was probably too preoccupied over our changes to consider much of anything else. I cleared my throat. “Yeah, not contagious,” I finished lamely. “That's... that's good!” he said, his voice unnaturally high. I tried to keep my nerve as he composed himself. “Really, I'm, umm, glad to hear... that.” He kept darting his head from side to side as he tried to keep us both in view. I thought his neck might snap if he kept that up. I frowned, realizing he must feel surrounded with me on one side and Luke standing on the other, and tried to make the situation less tense, and the pastor less likely to freak out and tell the CDC. “Luke, could you please sit down?” I asked, patting a nearby patch of couch, far enough away that it wasn't awkwardly close. My brother frowned, cocking his head in confusion. “Why? I'm comfortable here,” he said, stretching. He didn't notice the pastor cringing away from his extending wings or hooves. I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please come sit over here before the poor guy has a panic attack!” I nearly shouted in exasperation. How could he not know how these things worked? Personal space was the basic rule of courtesy! My brother raised an eyebrow, nonplussed, looking from me to the pastor and back several times as he put two and two together. He finally did, and gave a sheepish grin. “Err, sorry pastor,” he mumbled, awkwardly sitting down next to me on the couch. I shook my head in exasperation as I realized I had lost my train of thought. “Where was I?” I asked, trying to hide my annoyance. “You were saying that your condition wasn't, umm, contagious.” He gulped at the last word, but otherwise sounded more like his normal self. I gave a mental sigh of relief – maybe we would get through this civilly after all – or at least without involving the authorities. I nodded. “Yes – all of this stuff happened over night – way too fast for these kinds of changes to be caused by something biological. Besides, I don't think anyone could engineer a virus or bacteria or prion or whatever to make these,” I gestured at my whole body, “-kinds off things. Plus, my hair wouldn't change color – hair's dead, it can't be altered as if it were alive. And if it were some sort of infection, we'd both be exhibiting the same or very similar symptoms, most likely.” I belted out the explanations rapid-fire, trying to overwhelm him with evidence, but as I spoke he reached around and scratched his back as if expecting wings to be sprouting from it. I grimaced, realizing what I'd have to do next, and prepared myself for another breakdown. “It can't be a disease,” I said resignedly. “Diseases are biological. They don't, umm...” I squeezed my eyes shut, took a breath, and blurted out, “Diseases don't give you magic powers.” He stared at me for several seconds, brow knitted as if I was a particularly mind-bending Escher painting and he was determined to figure me out. “You have magic powers,” he said, voice emotionless and flat. I couldn't tell whether he believed it or not. I eyed him nervously, hoping I wasn't sending him into another panic attack. “Should I d-demonstrate?” I stammered, trying not to think of how a pastor – an admittedly liberal and 'open minded' one, but still a pastor – would react to something ostensibly condemned by the Bible. True, there were no 'familiar spirits' involved, nor necromancy, nor any of the other things that seemed to define the 'magic' forbidden in the Bible, but it was still a touchy subject. He didn't give any opinion one way or another as he slowly nodded, watching me intently. Well, he did say yes, even if it wasn't in so many words... I looked around for an object, and settled on the throw-pillow he had set aside. “Alright, please don't freak out,” I mumbled, already concentrating, and managed to get it to float relatively steadily in the air. 'Aha!' I thought triumphantly, in spite of the circumstances, 'apparently I just needed practice!' The pastor wasn't as thrilled about it as I was. His eyes grew steadily larger as he watched the pillow glow and start gliding unsteadily upward, as if it were impersonating the world's largest mosquito. He finally turned to my brother and broke the silence. “Can... can he do magic, too?” he asked, his thin veneer of calm flaking away. I quickly withdrew my magic and let the pillow flop down harmlessly – out of sight, out of mind, I hoped vainly. Meanwhile I tried to frame the intricacies of pegasus magic in a way that was both concise and informative for someone with no familiarity with My Little Pony canon – how they technically had magic, and how they probably channeled it through their wings and hooves to fly and manipulate weather, and how theirs was probably more an instinctual and kinetic form of magic than unicorn magic, how the different tribes all had magic of their own... And then my brother broke in and cut off my train of thought. “Nope!” he said simply, pleased with himself and gently flapping his wings. “I think you need a horn for that. I'll be able to fly, though!” I grumbled, resisting the urge to tell him off for being so damn wrong, but it wasn't the time. The pastor sighed and rested his chin in the palms of his hands. “Of course you can fly,” he mumbled tiredly, looking like he had a headache brewing. I could almost hear his preconceptions shattering as he tried to accept everything he'd been shown. Transformations, ponies, flight and magic... it was a lot to take in, especially all at once. He rubbed his temple and continued. “Alright, you clearly can't work in the shop – and Mary too, if she's going through the same thing.” I looked at him in disbelief as he started sounding normal again – he was taking charge of the situation and establishing order. If he could do that, he could probably accept that his employees were turning into characters from a children's show. He wouldn't like it, of course, and he would probably be under a great deal of stress for the next several weeks... But he could get through it. He could handle it. And that meant no surprise visits from the police, FBI, or CDC, and all of the unfortunate consequences they would entail. I closed my eyes in relief for a brief moment, and relaxed. He continued, his voice growing stronger as he got a grip on the situation. “But we need to fix this. Somehow. You said it wasn't a virus or anything like that, do you have any ideas what it might be?” Ah, there was the rub. The pastor always seemed to know how to ask the most awkward questions. “Well, yeah, but you're not going to like it,” I mumbled, not wanting to share my theory. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I've spent the entire morning covering my job and yours because my employees have grown hooves, horns, and wings. In the past hour, I have sat through a perplexing children's show, been startled more times I can count, said things I never say, been shocked into unconsciousness by mind-numbing terror, been shocked back into consciousness by a deluge of frigid water, and seen things no one else on earth has ever seen before or should ever see again! My world has been turned on its head, and I am treading the edges of madness.” He said this all with the placid air of someone discussing the weather, his serenity unbroken as he continued his calm litany. Perhaps he wasn't handling it as well as I thought... I edged away from him for my own protection. “So,” he continued cheerfully, “believe me when I say that nothing would seem out of the ordinary at this point.” I cringed, still reluctant to share, but he did have a point. None of this made sense, anyway; why should the solution? I cleared my throat and arranged my thoughts, trying to find a way to say it that didn't sound like gibbering nonsense. And besides, it wouldn't do any good to refuse the potentially deranged man, anyway. “The only thing I can think of,” I began hesitantly, “is some sort of enchanted object in the shop. Something common that all three of us activated – not you, but me, my brother, and Mary. It couldn't have looked expensive or old or it would have gone straight to your desk, but it also couldn't have been so unremarkable that only one of us handled it, as none of us have worked at the same time for weeks.” I pondered, organizing my thoughts and deducing what we could reasonably know about the mystery object. But nothing jumped out at me. I couldn't think of any likely Magical Macguffins that I had shared with my brother or Mary. A few shirts, sure, but they were just ordinary shirts. I pushed away the doubts, shaking my head – it was the only lead I could think of, and we were going to exhaust that possibility before we discounted it. “Alright,” he said, nodding to himself. “it's nearly dark, we can head to the store soon. Do you have anything to hide.... Umm, that?” he said, pointing at my horn. I grimaced. “I don't wear hats, but... I guess I could make some sort of turban? Is that racist?” I asked uncomfortably, shifting in my seat. “It's necessary,” he said firmly. “Some dark glasses wouldn't hurt, either.” He turned to Luke. “And you need to put on a sweater to hide those wings. As for your hooves,” he stopped for a moment, twitching at the word as if it caused him physical pain, and tried again. “As for your hooves,” he said slowly and firmly, “you could try some thick, heavy boots.” I nodded gruffly, glad that things were getting organized, while my brother trotted to the closet and pulled a jacket over his back. “We can't do much about your faces,” he continues as I started searching for some concealing clothing, “but hopefully it will be too dark for anyone to notice.” I grabbed some linens from the closet and took them into the bathroom with me. It took several tries to get it to stay wrapped around my horn without unraveling, and lots of tweaking and adjustments to make it look more natural, but eventually I had a passable turban. It was stereotypically large, but at least it wouldn't cause a panic. The rest of the outfit went on more smoothly – the shades fit like normal, and I found that the boot's ankle holes could be tied snugly around my hooves. I finally stumbled back into the living room and gave the pastor a tight-lipped smile, hiding my teeth. “How's this?” I asked, turning around and swishing my tail, proud of my work even as I missed something crucial. The pastor, to his credit, took the unintentional revelation in stride. “Just hide the tail and you'll be fine,” he said shortly, turning away. I cocked my head, confused, then yelped as I realized what I'd forgotten. I meekly tucked my tail into my pants and down my leg, hiding it from view. I found my brother already waiting – he had finished up much more quickly than I had, only needing to get boots on after his jacket. He was not good at waiting. “Finally,” he groused, and stumbled outside. I rolled my eyes and followed, heading out to my own car. I grumbled as I fumbled in my pocket for my keys, my hands feeling stiff and uncooperative. I groaned as I realized they were probably turning into hooves, too. I wondered how long I had before there wasn't any human left in me, and even these crude disguises wouldn't hide my new form... It wasn't a pleasant thought. But there was no time for navel-gazing – there was a car door to unlock, and I'd be damned if I let it defeat me. If my hands wouldn't cooperate, well, I would simply use magic! I pushed my worries away and carefully, carefully tried to levitate the key into the lock. It took several attempts and a few minor scratches in the paint, but I finally managed to get it in. “Yes!” I said, grinning like a child who had finished their first macaroni picture, and unlocked the door... and stopped. I cringed with embarrassment as I realized I could have just pulled the lock-knob up through the window; telekinesis doesn't care about barriers. I gave the door a dirty look before climbing in, grumbling about it being good practice. Heavy, awkward footfalls alerted me to my brother's presence. He was blushing. “Your turn to drive,” he mumbled. I frowned – no it wasn't. I'd driven him the last few times, and... Oh. I looked down at his hands, and caught a glimpse of them before he hastily stuffed them in his pockets. His nails were turning broad and hard, and his fingers seemed much shorter. I might have laughed and told him to drive his own car if he wanted to play like that, but my own changes seemed to be following his with an hour or two delay – I wasn't in any position to tease him. “Err... Alright, hop in,” I muttered, this time expediting the door-unlocking in a more intelligent manner. I fumbled with the ignition as he took shotgun, and decided not to wound his pride more by buckling his seatbelt as if he couldn't. By the time he'd belted himself in, I'd only just started the car. I looked behind me and started to back up, attempting to telekinetically guide the steering wheel. Dear reader, please mark these words carefully; magic is not an adequate substitute for real hands when it comes to driving. At least, not with my unpracticed and fumbling skill. The only reason we didn't end up wrapped around a telephone pole was my excruciatingly slow pace, and even then there were several near fender-benders. I had to pull over at one point to calm down – I didn't want to do to my steering wheel what I did to the wad of newspaper, or anything else my by-and-large unknown magic was capable of. We both staggered out of the car into the store's parking lot, grateful to have solid ground under us. “I can't wait until I can fly,” my brother said nauseously, and I felt a brief moment of envy as I thought of puttering around in a car for the rest of my life. Then I snickered, realizing how silly it was to be jealous of a pegasus – I was a unicorn, and if I was as powerful as Sombra was, I could probably teleport! Even if he was a Wonderbolt, I could still get around faster than him. Probably less noticeably, too – I could stay on the ground, but he'd have to zip through the air in plain view of everyone. “Heh, that's nothing, I'll be able to just warp wherever I want,” I boasted proudly, trotting on all fours past him, head held high. “Why, I bet... Ummm...” I looked down at myself, my gloating cut short as I realized how quickly I'd switched to a horse's gait, and blushed profusely. “Crap,” I grumbled, and forced myself to stand on my legs properly, like a human. I could do it, but it ached – it was like trying to limbo everywhere, my body just wasn't meant to bend that way for an extended period. Unfortunately, I had no choice; I'd have to walk normally if I wanted to pass as a human. “Let's just find this magic juju,” I grumbled, wincing as I walked as normally as I could. My brother nodded, his sweat running down his brow as he grunted and walked along slowly behind me. I winced – of course, he was farther along in that transition, and he was probably incredibly sore already. I paused for him to catch up, trying not to be impatient as he hobbled along closer. We made it to the door without incident. All the curtains were drawn but light spilled from the cracks between them, giving off a warm, friendly glow. I fished for something to tell him, something to keep him positive. “And hey, maybe you can fly my around sometime when your wings grow in!” I thumping his back cheerfully. He nodded and gave a hesitant smile as we clopped through the threshold together. I closed and locked the door behind me and he gave a grateful sigh, dropping onto all fours behind me. If the pastor noticed his change of locomotion, he didn't show it. He was already at work, looking through the curio cabinet where we kept all of the older, more exotic looking merchandise – careful to not touch anything, naturally. “Sooo,” he said dubiously, eyeing the knickknacks, “how do we tell which is enchanted?” My brain locked as I considered the question. How did one uncover an unusual magical object that apparently looked normal and non-magical? I groaned, realizing we hadn't even considered the 'how' of the plan. “I don't know,” I admitted, eyes downcast as I scuffed the floor. “I didn't think about it, I guess.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed at my oversight, and rubbed my forehead, accidentally knocking my horn with my hardening hand. “Ow!” I grumbled, my sensitive new appendage aching, “why are horns so damn... sensitive...” Of course. I had a magical aerial stuck to my forehead; if anything could detect enchantments, it was my brand new face ornament. “Hey guys,” I mumbled, not wanting to get any of our hopes up, “I think – well, my horn is sensitive to magic, and I could probably sense any enchantments if I got close enough!” I tried not to grin to broadly at my own creativity. My brother scratched his chin, considering. “That might actually work,” he said, nodding with approval. “By the way, how's it feel?” he asked out of the blue, reaching over and poking my horn. I winced and pulled away, glaring at his rudeness. “Ouch, hey, careful!” I grumbled, rubbing it gently. “How's what feel, the horn?” He rolled his eyes. “Magic! How's it feel when you 'sense' it? What about when you use it?” I frowned, still miffed at his rudeness, but it was a good question. “Well,” I began, thinking carefully... then grinned as I realized how to get his goat. “Well,” I started again, trying not to snicker, “you know the feeling when a storm's brewing, and you're standing out in the middle of the whipping wind and lashing rain? All of that power? And when you stand by a window in a cold room on a sunny day, and the sunlight feels like it's seeping into your skin and bones?” I asked, waxing poetic and laying it on thick. His eyes widened with surprise. “Y-yeah?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Yeah... doesn't feel like any of that,” I snickered, and dodged away before he could hit me. “Douche,” he grumbled, sticking his tongue out even as he grinned a bit. We would have continued on like that for a good while if the pastor hadn't interrupted. “Gentlemen, we're supposed to be working,” he said patiently. While we were technically off-duty, we still had an artifact to find. Well, that was fine with me; that just meant more horn-practice, and I was itching to get better with magic. The more stuff I could do with my new skills, the better, I thought. My brother and the pastor started looking around the shop for stuff to bring me, stuff that my brother had handled and the pastor hadn't (and still wisely wouldn't). Meanwhile, I got to work 'scanning' stuff directly. Now, I say I 'scanned' for magic, but... well, you don't 'scan' with your eyes, you look. Likewise, I didn't really 'scan' with my horn, I just held it close to what I wanted to examine and tried to feel for magic. It usually wasn't very much beyond a small whiff, like background noise, something I could only detect because I was actively 'listening'. I did start noticing some patterns, though; wooden things gave me a slight tingle down the horn, and I couldn't figure out why. It was only after my brother brushed past it and sent a similar but stronger tingle that I realized what was causing it. Living things, it seemed, must contain magic, and even things that used to be alive must retain some residual power. I shook my head. It was interesting, of course, but not very useful for finding what we were looking for. I continued on. I slowly walked through the shop, trying to ignore the ache in my back as I kept a wary eye – err, horn – out for anything strange. It didn't take long; my horn tingled as I walked past the antique's hutch. I frowned and peered inside – I thought that the pastor handled everything in there? - but kept looking anyway. Nothing really jumped out at me as strange or suspicious... Ah well. I slowly working my horn from side to side as if it were a metal detector and soon realized that the disturbance was coming from a large, well-formed quartz crystal. It was one of the few that escaped my collection; I already had several beautiful chunks of quartz, and I couldn't afford it even with the pastor's generous employee discount. I opened the hutch and tilted my horn towards the crystal, and felt my very teeth buzz with magic. My horn practically vibrated with the strange energy, and I thought I could hear a faint sound coming from both the stone and my horn – there was definitely something unusual about that thing. “Hey guys?” I called out nervously, “I think I found something...” I continued scrutinizing the enigmatic stone. Had it been manufactured, or did it occur naturally? If it was physically natural, what about the magic? So many questions, and I couldn't even speculate on the answers. Still, it... It felt good. Despite all of the oddness, it felt good, natural even. I thought back to earlier, when felt right to use magic, too, but this was different. Using magic felt natural for my body. Whatever was special about the crystal seemed like it was special for me, too – something special not just to my changing body, but to me. Like it was a quality I shared, an aspect we had in common... My eyes drifted down to the base of the crystal, and what I saw disquieted me. While the upper parts were whole and pure and clear, the bottom was fractured and marred. The crystals had not formed well there, as is usual for quartz crystals, probably because it formed too quickly and with too many impurities in the solution. For some reason the sight of the... the disorder... made my skin crawl. As natural and right the upper part of the crystal felt, the lower areas felt wrong to an equal degree. I let my magic flow without a thought, my horn glowing as I cast a spell, power flowing as naturally as my breath as I set the crystal to rights. I didn't know why I was doing it, it just felt like the right thing to do. Like I was meant to do it. The base of the crystal, cracked and milky from poor formation and imperfections, started to glow. It slowly turned translucent as the impurities were purged from it, particulates of matter migrating to the surface falling onto the shelf as fine dust, while the cracks sealed and filled with tiny crackles and pops. The hexagonal surface of the perfect upper crystal cascaded downwards, spreading its uniformity down across the bottom, bumps sinking and gaps filling as the crystal seemed to flow like water. “What was that?” my brother whispered, breaking me out of my reverie. I hadn't heard him approach, so absorbed I was in my work, and he was looking over my shoulder as I, quite literally, worked my magic. I looked up at him and then back at the crystal, and my eyes widened as I saw the changes I had wrought in it. The chunk of quartz was slightly smaller, but it was a clear, pure crystal. It no longer sat on a foundation of base and bastard rock, but on a perfectly smooth hexagonal bottom. I picked it up carefully and looked it over... Not a single imperfection marred its surface or its inner material. It was... perfected. The thought sent an odd thrill of joy down my back, and I couldn't help but grin. “I.... I dunno,” I finally answered. “I just... I think I fixed it?” I awkwardly rolled it between my hands, enjoying the sharp, cool smoothness on my transitional hands. He looked disappointed. “So that's not what we're looking for?” he asked, frowning and poking the quartz. I winced and snatched it away, grasping it protectively. “No,” I muttered, frowning at his disparagement of my work. “But... Look, it's better now. I made it a pure crystal.” I held it up for him to look at, giving him another chance, but he just rolled his eyes. He never appreciated my crystals... “Look, we have to focus here – you can look at pretty crystals AFTER we're back to normal,” he said shortly, and trotted off again. I glared after him. Yes, finding the mystery item was important, but he could at least acknowledge my work... I shook my head. Some people just couldn't appreciate beauty. I wiped the purged impurities from the shelf and set the crystal back in its rightful place, my eyes lingering on it for a moment before I closed the hutch. *** The rest of the search was uneventful. We found nothing. Some of the gemstones we came across held the same allure as the quartz, but nothing spoke of hidden enchantments or sorceries. As far as I could tell, all crystals had the same 'feeling' to a greater or lesser extent, but it was a simple, natural 'feeling' – a curse, I surmised, would feel unnatural and more complex, perhaps with a whiff of will or intent. I sighed, giving up after our third sweep, and leaned against the counter. “I'm not sure there ever was a magic doodad,” I mumbled to myself, idly prodding at random things without any real hope. “Maybe it wasn't something in the shop – maybe someone did this to us, somehow?” I idly floated a t-shirt, giving it a futile scan before bending and folding it with just my mind. Apparently my magical prowess grew with my horn, the latter looking fully grown at that point. “I mean, if I can use magic, why can't someone else?” I continued, musing. A cold trickle of intuition led me to pursue that thought. I probably wasn't the only person who could use magic; others almost certainly had that ability. And if someone had cast a spell on us, why couldn't they cast it on anyone else? What if we weren't the only ones being transformed into ponies? But who would do something like this – there was no benefit to them, as far as I could see. If they was making a pony army, well, that plan backfired rather spectacularly; if I ever caught whoever did this (if indeed it was a person, and there wasn't a third option I had missed) my only thanks would be a hard buck to his or her head. No, a pony army was almost certainly out of the question. Maybe they just did it for shits and giggles? It was possible, but unless someone really loved chaos for the sake of chaos... My mind turned to the character from the show, Discord. He would certainly love all this chaos, and if he had the power to turn 3 people into ponies he would certainly do it to others. And then... Well, he'd sit back and watch the show. Discord wasn't real, of course... but then, neither was the Joker, nor was Soarin or Cadance or Sombra – but that didn't stop impersonators. An image started to form in my head as I built upon this train of thought, crystallizing what I knew into a cohesive theory, and I grinned to myself. It was a plausible theory; others probably had magical powers, and a small subset were probably criminals, and a subset of those were criminally insane and fancied themselves to really be fictional villains. Given what we knew, how unlikely would it be that someone had magical powers, and was unhinged enough to believe that they were the 'Spirit of Chaos'? Indeed, it would be a self-reinforcing delusion; his magic would only cement the idea in his mind. He would believe himself to truly be the Spirit of Chaos encarnate. What would he do from there? Well, he would have probably started small, of course, but Discord didn't torment humans; he'd need ponies if he was to be Discord 'properly', if his psychosis was to be sated. So, he would turn people into ponies – and isolate them, of course, half the fun would be in letting them think they were going mad – and then sit back and watch the fireworks. It all made perfect sense – at least, as much sense as could be expected under the circumstances. It fit the evidence, at the least I trotted on all fours to the other two. “Guys!” I said excitedly, “I think I figured it out! Some magical guy went crazy and thought he was Discord, and so he went around turning everyone into ponies! Because, you know, Discord likes to mess with ponies, and... Ummm...” I blushed at their nonplussed expressions. I swear, that sounded better in my head. “Err... Let me try again,” I said, forcing myself to calm down and speak sense. I explained my theory about how there must be others who could do magic, and how someone powerfully magical and mentally unstable might think themselves a god of chaos, and how it logically followed that a madman with magic might think he was Discord. From there, the 'turn people into ponies' conclusion seemed to be a given. My brother looked at me dubiously. “It works,” he said after a moment's hesitation, “but... something's missing. It seems too simple, like it doesn't account for everything...” He furrowed his brow, contemplating. I just shrugged. “Look, it's the best I got. We can modify the theory as we find more evidence, but at least it's not contradictory to the evidence. Shoot, some of it is probably true.” I turned to the pastor for his opinion. The pastor was silent through all of that, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. “Who's Discord?” he asked, puzzled. I sighed and turned to my brother. “You wanna take this one?”