//------------------------------//
// Act 1, Part 7: Of Exits and Entrances 
// Story: Our Eminence 
// by Kegisak 
//------------------------------//


Act 1, Part 7: Of Exits and Entrances


 

“Get get get!” Erin muttered, shoving her way through a small crowd of ponies with a few sharp flicks of her hoof. In truth it was more her glare that sent the ponies scattering than her strikes, looking even more bedraggled than usual as she did. Not surprising, considering she had been awake for several days, running herself ragged in preparation. Now that everything was close to the end her eyes were filled with a mad, wild sort of determination.
            She strode out of the conference hall, sending the delivery ponies dodging this way and that as she circled around the large carriage that had just arrived. Shooing away a large stallion that came attempting to help her, she unhooked the heavy bolt lock on the back door and flung them open.
            Seated in the back were Stage and two other ponies, both of them wearing heavy cloaks with hoof that hung over their eyes, and most of their noses at that. One of the figures was shifting in his seat almost nervously. The other sat completely still, save for occasionally flipping a page in the book he held.
Erin scowled at Stage. “Cloaks?” she asked as Stage jumped down from the carriage. “In the middle of June? You couldn’t try something a little more conspicuous maybe? Maybe have them wear makeup and leather with spikes?”
            Stage merely shrugged. “I’m a rich, gay director,” he said. “I’m allowed to be eccentric in the company I keep. If anypony wants to make assumptions they’ll guess I’m trying to hide their identity from Singsong. Or that I’m trying them on for a role or something.” He stretched out his hind legs, beckoning for the hooded figures to follow after him. “Not like it matters. I mean, rumours are going to be spreading fast enough after tonight.”
            “Information is going to be spreading fast after tonight,” Erin said, waggling a hoof at him. She hooked a hoof around one of the hooded ponies, pulling them both back into the conference hall as she continued. “And I’d like it to be the right information, on my terms,” she said. She shook her head. “Singsong and his friends are already here. There’ll be a dozen or so presentations before ours, but we should still probably be ready well ahead of time.”
            She lead the trio of stallions into the halls, full up with ponies looking every bit as bedraggled and wild as she – some even more so – and directed them through the pack to a large room just behind the auditorium. Once they were inside Erin sighed so heavily she seemed to deflate. She flopped into a nearby chair and sighed again.
            “May we take these off now?” one of the cloaked figures asked, tugging at the cloak.
            “What?” Erin asked, looking up. “Yes, yes, go ahead.”
            The figure tossed off his cloak, flicking his shaggy mane out of his eyes and unfurling his dark, leathery wings. He gave them a few almost experimental flaps. Meadowlark’s brother was not nearly so showy, merely depositing his cloak on the floor and continuing to read his book.
            “Nightingale,” Stage chided, “You shouldn’t just leave that on the floor.
            “Hmm?” Nightingale asked, as if only just realizing where he was. He looked down at the cloak. “Why?” he asked.
            “Be-“ Stage began, stopping suddenly. He stared, dumbfounded, and snorted. “Because Somepony might trip over it,” he said.
            Meadowlark turned to Erin, ignoring the other two stallions. “Nopony saw us get into the carriage,” Meadowlark said. “You won’t have to worry about rumour.”
            “Rumours,” Erin said, pulling herself up in the chair. “Or a rumour.” She shrugged, rolling her shoulders. “Anyways, thank you. I’ve been a bit… antsy tonight, as you may have noticed.”
            “I did,” Meadowlark said with a nod.
Erin stared sidelong at him, but carried on. “Anyways,” she said, “Stage is mostly right. There won’t be much worry about rumours after tonight; the only thing we have to worry about is how you’ll be received.”
            “So you really will be revealing us tonight?” Meadowlark asked, taking a seat on the floor in front of her. “Showing us off like you said?”
            “Of course,” Erin said. “Or, well…” she winced as Meadowlark’s face fell. “No no,” she said quickly. “Meadowlark, showing you off would be a bad thing. For you.” She leaned forward, putting a hoof on his shoulder. “Showing off is something you do with… objects or ponies you don’t care about. We’re not going to be showing you off, but we will be revealing you here. I promise.” She smiled at him.
            Meadowlark rubbed his foreleg, and rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, okay,” he said, smiling back after a while. “Just making sure.”
            Erin smirked. “Have I ever lied to you before?” she asked.
            “Yes,” Meadowlark replied. “Several times. About this actually.” He frowned at her. “Did you forget?”
            “I could have sworn I’d gotten around to teaching you about figures of speech,” Erin said with a grunt. “Or maybe you’ve just been cooped up in the library too long and have started backsliding. Though surrounded by the language I don’t know how.”
            “Well, I don’t actually read… that much,” Meadowlark said, lowering his head ever so slightly. “Nightingale reads a lot… I mostly play the piano. I guess I read music books, but they don’t really have… words.”
            “That would explain it,” Erin said. She smiled suddenly, an oddly nostalgic sort of smile, and she peered over at Stage. It seemed he had finally convinced Nightingale to pick up his cloak, as the bat pony and cloak had both gone off somewhere. Nightingale had been replaced, in fact, by Singsong, who was stretching up to kiss Stage. Erin sat up higher in her chair and called out to them.
            “Oh good!” she said. “Singsong, you’re back!”
            Singsong held up a hoof, shushing her while he finished kissing Stage, and smiled at her when he broke it off.
            “Of course,” he said, and Meadowlark instantly understood why he was called singsong. His voice sounded like a jingling bell. Singsong fluttered his wings and trotted over. “We were just taking stock of all the outfits.”
            “All?” Erin asked, cocking her head. “We only need two. What’s this ‘all’, here?”
            “Oh, I couldn’t quite decide what we were looking for,” Singsong said. “And I figured you know, maybe a costume designer would be a better choice to pick out outfits than a tenor?” He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Anyways, we ordered in a few different outfits so we could see what colours they looked good in, try on some different sizes, some styles…” His eyes drifted to Meadowlark, and gave a start.
            “Oh!” he said, recovering himself somewhat. “Wow, I… hadn’t been expecting their eyes to be so… wow.”
            “Um,” Meadowlark said, leaning away from Singsong a bit. He cast his eyes around for a moment, but eventually they drifted back to Singsong. “I’m sorry?”
            “No no,” Singsong said, shaking his head. “You just surprised me as all. They’re… striking.” Singsong rubbed his chin. What had been a startled expression quickly became an intent one, flicking up and down Meadowlark’s body. Meadowlark swallowed and shifted in his seat. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. “I wonder if we could… well, they probably emphasize themselves. You’re… I’m sorry, which one are you?”
            “Meadowlark,” Meadowlark answered.
            Singsong smiled, extending his hoof. “Singsong Smiles,” he said, giving the name itself a bit of a tune. “Pleasure to meet you, Meadowlark.”
            Meadowlark took his hoof carefully, and shook it. A bit too hard apparently, as it threw Singsong off his balance a bit.
            “Sorry,” Meadowlark said, tucking his ears back. “Sorry, shaking hooves is… weird.”
            Singsong managed to steady himself, flapping his wings. “Wow,” he said, straightening up. “You’re just about as strong as you look… hopefully we have something sturdy enough to keep you from popping the seams… I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re not used to wearing clothing?”
            “What’s clothing?” Meadowlark asked, tilting his head.
            “Right,” Singsong said, giving his wings a short, sharp snap. He hummed, turning around suddenly and trotting away from Meadowlark and Erin. “I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder. “I‘ve gotta talk to Inseam!”
            Erin slumped back down into her chair as Singsong left, sighing heavily. “Right,” she said, rubbing her face. “Where was I?”
            “Revealing us?” Meadowlark asked, tilting his head slightly. Erin peered at him oddly for a moment, but blinked suddenly.
            “Actually,” She said, “you’re right. That is where I was – or where I should have been.” She managed to push herself out of the chair, straining her neck to look around the cluttered room. “Now where’s that brother of yours?” She started to trot towards a small closet before Meadowlark cleared his throat.
            “He’s over there actually,” Meadowlark said. Erin turned around.
            “What?” she asked. “How do you – oh, right, noses.” She grunted, tapping her hoof against the floor. “Did I mention the noses?” she asked, almost to herself, tapping a bit faster. “Must have. Whatever, I can check my notes when we find him.” With that she was off again, walking so fast Meadowlark had to canter for a moment to catch up with her as she passed. He had to nudge and prod every so often to weave her properly through the piles of notes and various pieces of equipment and clothes racks that had been left haphazardly. Eventually he managed to steer her to where Nightingale had meandered off to, sitting on his folded up cloak in a corner behind a clothes rack with his nose still tucked in him book.
            “Nightingale,” Erin said, beckoning the stallion to stand. “I’m glad I found you. I need to talk to you two. I want to run through everything that’s going to happen tonight.”
            Nightingale looked up, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought we knew what was going to happen tonight?” he said. “You were going to show us off.”
            “She is,” Meadowlark said with a nod, then paused and looked over at Erin. “Or at least I think she is?”
            Erin sighed, waving a hoof. “Yes, yes,” she said. “We’ve been over this, Meadowlark, don’t worry. I won’t break my promise. I just have a specific plan that we need to go through – the way I’ll be talking about you. Since you two aren’t like a normal animal, where I could just point out certain features and leave everypony with an essay to read through for details, I thought we could do something a bit more… in-depth.”
            This, it seemed, had captured Nightingale’s attention. He laid his book down gently, folding his hooves and shuffling his wings. Meadowlark recognized the bunch of Nightingale’s shoulders, as if he were preparing to pounce on something.
            “In-depth,” Nightingale repeated. “I recognize that. It comes before something complicated. Detailed, I think? What is your idea?”
            Erin tapped her hoof on the floor, and motion for Nightingale to rise again. “Come with me,” she said. “I need to check on my notes, see that I’ve got everything… I can tell you once I’ve got it all settled.”
            Nightingale nodded silently and got to his hooves, and once again the three were off. This time Erin actually managed to lead with confidence, striding forward while Meadowlark and Nightingale trailed behind. Nightingale stared silently at Meadowlark. There was a hint of concern in his eyes, or perhaps something else. Meadowlark tilted his head slightly, peering back. It wasn’t something he had ever seen in Nightingale’s eyes before, but it was familiar, perhaps.  A hint of fear, like when they had fought the bear when they were young, with a splash of the satisfaction that had come after the bear was dead and they were alive. Nightingale gave a small, terse smile, and Meadowlark blinked. He opened his mouth, but Erin cut him off.
            “Right,” she said sharply, and Meadowlark realized that they had arrived at a makeshift desk – a large folding table, no less littered with papers and books than her desk in the lab at home. She shuffled through the papers for a moment before producing a battered binder. Clearing a space on the table she laid it down and flipped it open. “Noses, noses,” she muttered as her horn lit up, sending the pages flipping. “Right! I mention the noses. Good. Noses, ears, eyes, wings…” She flipped a couple more pages, and turned around to face Meadowlark and Nightingale.
            “…In-depth?” Nightingale asked.
            “In-depth,” Erin said with a smile. “I have no choice but to talk about your genetics and your habitat, but how would you feel about showing off your senses and bodies?”
            Nightingale’s smile, faint as it was, faded almost instantly. His eyes seemed to turn cold as he spoke. “Oh,” he said. “That’s what you meant. Just showing off.”
            Erin’s smile faltered as well. “Is that a problem?” she asked. She looked between the two. “I thought you wanted the chance to show off a bit?”
            “We did,” Meadowlark said, nodding. He looked back at his brother, whose eyes had gone straight from cold to icy. “Didn’t we?” he pawed at the ground.
            “…Yes,” Nightingale said quietly. “I suppose we did. Show what we’re good at.”
            Erin stared at Nightingale for a moment, oddly still compared to the jitters from mere moments ago, but nodded slowly. “Well, right,” she said, turning back to the table. She fished through some more papers, eventually retrieving a round, flat disk. “Do you know what this is?”
            Meadowlark opened his mouth, but Nightingale cut him off with a sharp, “No,”.
            Meadowlark frowned at his brother, but continued. “It’s a discus, isn’t it? I read about those once. They were mentioned in a play. Old Pegasus thing?”
            “Eh, close enough,” Erin said with a shrug. “It’s called a Frisbee. It’s just a bit easier to throw than a discus. It’s a toy, basically. Ponies stand a ways apart and toss it back and forth. I want to do something a bit more creative with it, though. I’d like to throw it in the dark and have you two catch it. Demonstrate your night vision and agility.”
            “You want to show them how we hunt,” Nightingale said. Erin nodded.
            “Pretty much the long and short of it, yeah,” she said. Nightingale simply grunted, and turned away. Once again Erin paused, looking almost hurt. “Is something wrong?” she asked. Nightingale didn’t answer, simply sighing.
            Meadowlark frowned. Among other things today, sulking was not exactly something he was used to seeing Nightingale do. “Nightingale?” he asked. Nightingale stared up at him, still not speaking. Meadowlark nodded his head sharply away. Nightingale nodded, and turned to leave.
            “We’ll be a minute,” Meadowlark said to Erin, moving to walk after Nightingale. To his surprise Erin looked neither impatient nor annoyed with this. She simply looked a bit sad. That was confusing too, but Meadowlark shook his head to chase the thought away. He only had time for one worried pony right now.
            He followed Nightingale back to the nest he had made of his cloak. Nightingale laid down on it again, touching his book. He didn’t pick it up, but he stared at it. Meadowlark tilted his head to stare as well and squinted as he attempted to make out the words. “The pen…p-henol…”
            “Phenomenology,” Nightingale corrected. “The Phenomenology of the Spirit. By Seagel. He was a Griffon, I think.” He shrugged.
            Meadowlark frowned. “Huh,” he said. “I’ve never heard that word before. What does it mean?”
            “I’m not sure,” Nightingale said. “The book is about… things happening. And how we see things, and… ourselves.” He sighed, looking away.
            “Is that why you’re upset?” Meadowlark asked.
            Nightingale didn’t respond for a while. When he finally did speak, his voice was soft and rung with a hint of frustration. “No,” he said. “Or, yes… it’s not the book. It’s the ideas. I’ve been… thinking about things. About the way we are.” He ran his hoof across the book again. “About how we’re… other.” She shook his head, growling. “It’s stupid. I know what we are. We’re not like them. Not like Erin and Stage and Singsong.”
            “Aren’t we, though?” Meadowlark asked. “I mean, Erin says that we’re like her – and we walk and talk the same. I even read about pegasuses – they can fly like us. So we’re like them.”
            “Pegasi don’t eat meat,” Nightingale said, sitting up. “They don’t hunt like we do, or see in the dark or smell and hear like we do.”
            “But unicorns don’t fly, and pegas…si don’t do magic,” Meadowlark replied. He shuffled his hooves, watching Nightingale. “But even if we are different, does it matter? I mean, we’re not any different from what we were.”
            “I know,” Nightingale said. “But I think… I think…” He turned away, and for just a moment Meadowlark thought he heard Nightingale’s voice choke. Just a moment, and then Nightingale’s shoulders tensed, and his back straightened. He breathed deep, and sighed. Meadowlark stared at his back, and they were silent. At least, silent until Singsong rounded the corner, and jumped with a shout as both Meadowlark and Nightingale’s heads snapped to stare at him at once.
            “Gods alive!” Singsong shouted, patting his chest. “You two scared the life out of me!” He breathed deep, fluttering his wings. “I’m glad I found you, though.” He trotted over to the pair, and a stocky mare came around the corner after him, with a measuring tape slung around her neck. Singsong turned to her. “What do you think?” he asked.
            The mare rubbed her chin, her eyes flicking up and down the pair. “That one,” she said, pointing at Meadowlark, “will do with a warm colour, as long as it isn’t anything too intense. And the other one something cool, a purple, maybe.”
            “Um?” Meadowlark asked.
            “Oh, sorry,” Singsong said with a wave of his hoof. “We were just talking about your costumes – did Erin not tell you she wanted you two to dress up for this? It’s as close to a fancy event as she goes to anymore, after all.” He gave a smile that made Meadowlark swallow, and Nightingale seemed to bristle a bit as Singsong continued, “At first I thought she meant like a Nightmare Night costume – I voted a wild stallion style of loincloth, personally… I think you two could make it work, but it wouldn’t be ‘appropriate’.” He grinned and gave an exaggerated shrug, trotting to the clothes rack and beginning to fish through it.
            “So we’re going to be wearing clothes?” Nightingale asked.
            “That’s right,” Singsong said absentmindedly, pausing at a white shirt for a moment before carrying on.
            “Fancy clothes?” Nightingale asked again, shuffling his wings.
            “Thaaaaat’s the plan,” Singsong replied.
            “I want this one,” Nightingale said, reaching into the rack and pulling out a dark royal purple coat. It was made from velvet, with broad cuffs and wide, v-shaped lapels that widened on their way up to the chest, before narrowing sharply at the collar.
Singsong blinked at him, staring at the coat, and then Nightingale, and then the coat again. “That… actually looks very nice,” he said. He turned to the mare. “What do you think?”
            “The colour suits him,” the mare said with a nod. “He’ll need a shirt. Maybe a tie to go with it… yes, a nice tie.” She smiled. “I’m sure we can do something about that mane, as well… make you look downright noble.”
            “Maybe we shouldn’t go too far just yet,” Singsong said. “We want to show off that they’re civil, but we still need to show… you know.” He waved his hoof vaguely.
            “I know, I know,” The mare said. “We’ll just get his mane out of his eyes so the scientists will be able to see them. That’ll be reminder enough. Now,” she added, turning to Meadowlark, “let’s see what we can do for you…”


***

 
            “There,” the mare, who Meadowlark had learned was named Inseam, said as she smoothed the jacket on his shoulders and tugged at his sleeves. “That fits nicely. How does it feel?”
            “It feels… weird,” Meadowlark said, tugging at his collar. Inseam and Singsong had managed to stuff him into a silk, yellow-green jacket stitched with gold. It hung long and loose, draping over his flanks and flaring wide at the sleeves, revealing a ruffled white shirt beneath. The image was completed with a short white scarf, wrapped tight around his neck and draping down over his chest. Inseam slapped idly at his hoof, and he grunted at her. “It’s tight,” he said. “Around the shoulders and chest especially…”
            “Move your forelegs a bit,” Singsong said. “If you’re not used to clothes it’ll feel like that even if it fits.”
            Meadowlark did as he was asked, lifting his forelegs and rotating them as much as he could manage. The fabric tugging against his coat tingled where he touched, almost prickling and itching. He could feel the fabric pulling against itself in fact, restricting his movements slightly.
            Singsong didn’t seem to notice or care however. “You’re fine,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hoof. “You’re just not used to wearing something. You’ll have plenty of time to get used, however.” He rubbed his chin, looking back and forth between Meadowlark and Nightingale, who Inseam had made good on her promise to get into a tie matching his jacket. “You two cut a fairly dashing figure in those outfits,” Singsong said. “If it weren’t for your wings we’d have a hard time convincing ponies that you weren’t just wearing some kind of makeup.”
Nightingale flexed his wings, peering at the leathery flaps pulled tight across bone. “Is that so?” he asked, almost to himself. “Hmm.”
            Meadowlark simply shrugged, tugging at his jacket again. “I’m not sure I want to get used to it,” he said. “It itches, and it’s harder to move…” He shifted again, eliciting another slap at his hoof from Inseam. He snorted. He was beginning to dislike that mare.
            “Can you move well enough to catch the Frisbee?”  Erin said. Meadowlark turned around to see her striding around the corner. Somehow she managed to look even more disheveled, despite having switched out her old lab coat for a fresh, sterling white one and apparently having brushed her mane into a semblance of tidiness. There was a sort of near-panic in her eyes though, and a she spoke around a well-chewed pencil.
            Meadowlark blinked at her, and looked down at himself. He rolled his shoulders, stretching experimentally. The jacket was tight, but not so tight he wouldn’t be able to move. Or so he imagined, at least. “I think so, yeah,” he said. He turned to his brother, whose face had darkened once again. “What do you think, Nightingale?” he asked.
            “I’ll be fine,” Nightingale said with a shrug. “Do we both need to catch one?”
            Erin shrugged. “Only one is necessary to get the point across,” she said. “Half the point is the audience not seeing that well anyways.” Her head snapped towards the wall clock suddenly, and she tapped her hoof against the ground. “Anyways, are you two ready? We start soon. Very soon. Like a minute.”
            “Wait, already?” Meadowlark asked. He felt his heart clutch suddenly, and his stomach churned as though it had been kicked. It straightened after a moment, but still felt tight, and he realized his heart was beating faster. “I thought we had more time. Didn’t you want to go over things?”
            “I did,” Erin said, a barely-contained edge to her voice. “Then you two ran off to do… this.” She waved a hoof at them both in a broad, vague motion, and grunted again. “Still,” she added after a while, “we would have had to get you dressed anyways. You look good.” Her eyes trailed up and down both of them, and Meadowlark noticed her gaze paused when it met Nightingale’s. “Very good.” She looked up at the clock again, and nearly jumped. “Blast,” she said. “They’ll be in to get us any minute. Here!” she shouted curtly at Meadowlark and Nightingale, waving her hoof. “Here, here, follow me.” She gestured at a door on the far side of the room.
            Meadowlark stood up and walked to her, stopping when she put a hoof over his chest. They waited until Nightingale trailed past them towards the door. Once he was a short distance away Erin leaned in close to Meadowlark and whispered, “Nightingale… how is he doing?”
            Meadowlark blinked, staring at Erin. There was that tint of guilt in her eyes again hidden among the panic. After a moment he nodded. “He’s… doing okay, I think,” he said. “I think he’s worried about how they’re going to think about us.” He furrowed a brow. “He said he didn’t want to be an Other. Do you know what that is?”
            “Seagel,” Erin said with a nod. She fell silent, before sighing and shaking her head. “Well!” she said sharply. “He’s doing alright, that’s enough for now.” She took her hoof off of Meadowlark’s chest, moving it to his back and giving him a shove. “Now, get get get! We have to go. We’ll be expected backstage any minute.”
            “Uh,” Meadowlark said, taking a few quick strides forward so he was no longer being pushed and skipping to the side or Erin. The churning in his stomach returned again, and he shuffled his wings. “Who’s expecting us?”
            He peered back just long enough to see Erin grin wide. “Nopony, she said.” Meadowlark swallowed.
            Nightingale fell in beside Meadowlark as they passed, following Erin out the door. She led them into a darkened back hallway, the vague sounds of speech echoing down from somewhere nearby. Meadowlark and Nightingale exchanged wary glances as they walked, but Nightingale’s eye had a hint of excitement in it as well.
            The speech got louder as they traveled, until Meadowlark could detect excitement, if not specific words. It was possible he was hearing specific words, in fact, but they were simply so long that he could not decipher them. The darkness began to fade just slightly, and upon a final turn Meadowlark spotted a lit at the edge of a large room. The speech was clear now, though the words were still strange. He could understand perhaps every other word. Erin stopped, holding up a hoof to signal Meadowlark and Nightingale to do the same.
            Whoever was speaking seemed to be drawing to a close. Somepony came darting out from the shadows in the room, running to Erin and muttering something even Meadowlark couldn’t hear to her. Erin simply nodded, waving a hoof. The pony peered over her shoulder at Meadowlark, and tucked his ears back. Meadowlark’s stomach churned again, so much so that he had to lower himself to keep steady. Erin peered over her shoulder as well, waving the pony away and walking up to Meadowlark.
            “Are you alright?” she asked. “They’re going to introduce us… well, me, right now. I’ll give a bit of a speech, and then give the signal for you two to come on.” She looked between the pair. “Will you two be alright to slink in the shadows until then?”
            Meadowlark nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Just feel… weird. Like sick, but not really?”
            Erin nodded. “You’re nervous,” she said. “Don’t be. Everything will be fine.” She breathed deep, and he imagined she might not believe that as much as she wanted to. “Anyways,” she said, looking at the sliver of light. A new speaker had begun to speak, talking about a “Sunshine Smiles” and calling her a word he didn’t recognize. “I’m up,” Erin said. She patted Meadowlark and Nightingale on the shoulder once each, and then cantered out into the light. Meadowlark crept after her, peering out through the sliver.
            The light stung at his eyes, but through the glare he managed to make out Erin. She was standing next to a large screen that hung down from the ceiling, on an elevated platform in front of a mass of ponies. Meadowlark held back a gasp. There were more ponies in that crowd than he had ever seen – not that that meant much, of course, but he had never expected there to be so many ponies at all, let alone in a single place. There had to be hundreds of them, in all shapes and sizes. He could barely make them out through the light, but from the way they all focused on Erin, intent and still, he felt a strange sort of judgment. He swallowed hard, crouching lower. He looked back at Erin, watching her as she breathed deep and straightened.
            “Fillies and Gentlecolts of the academia,” she began. Her voice boomed over the crowd, making even her tiny frame appear larger than life. “I do beg your pardon, as for a moment I feel that I must resort to an amount of egotism.
            “I know that throughout the night, you’ve all seen some amazing things. I imagine a few of you even had a part in discovering those amazing things, in fact. But tonight, I will present to you something… truly remarkable. Perhaps one of the most remarkable things you, or I, or indeed anypony will ever see in our lifetimes.”
            A faint image appeared on the screen behind Erin, too light for Meadowlark to make out completely, but it appeared to be some sort of bug. Erin gestured to it as she continued. “The discovery of a new species of animal is always something for occasion,” she said. “Generally speaking the discovery is an insect, however, defined by minute features. For more variety we generally look to new fish, or other aquatic lifeforms. Nevertheless, it’s always an interesting day.”
            The image on the screen changed suddenly, now showing what looked vaguely like a cross between a bear and a rat. “More rarely,” Erin continued, “We find a new species of Mammal. This is rare enough in itself to send ripples through the scientific community even today. Rarer still is the discovery of a sapient species, with the last recorded sapient species discovered being the Minotaurs, a meeting which occurred several hundred years ago now. In recorded Equestrian history, however, there has never been a single case of a newly discovered subspecies of pony… until today.”
            A low rumble rippled through the crowd. The ponies in the crowd shifted and looked around, some even seeming to recoil. Erin seemed to grin, raising herself even more. “Oh yes,” she said. “I know, of course, what you’re thinking. You can’t believe me just because I say it – we’re scientists, after all. You need evidence. Well…” Her horn lit up, and a Frisbee hovered into the air. “I have your evidence with me here.” She looked over her shoulder, grinning at Meadowlark. His stomach felt as though it was doing flips, but in spite of that he found himself grinning back. “Ready, Meadowlark?” she asked. Meadowlark nodded.
            The spotlight on Erin went out suddenly, leaving on the glow of her magical grip on the Frisbee – at least, until she flicked it sharply into the air, releasing it and letting it fly. To a normal pony it must have disappeared in the dark, but Meadowlark saw it more clearly than ever, trailing the slight curve to the right as it flew. His muscles bunched for an instant, and he exploded across the stage.
            Erin had thrown it high, higher than he could get with his wings alone before it left the edge of the stage. He ran away from it at first, bolting for a wall along one side of the stage. He crouched for an instant before leaping upwards and slamming his forehooves into the wall a full two meters up. He took a moment to curse the long jacket as it tugged around his shoulders. In the space of a moment he shifted his hind legs beneath himself and unfurled his wings. Then he leapt once more, beating his wings powerfully after the Frisbee, jaws open wide. Then just as fast, it was over. The Frisbee was caught in his jaws with a heavy snap, his teeth digging into what he discovered was soft plastic. He tucked in his wings, twisting himself around to land once more on the edge of the stage with a heavy thud.
            The lights came on. The ponies, their faces now clear mere feet away from his, gasped and recoiled backwards in shock. He realized his fangs were bared around the Frisbee, and that his pupils must have dilated into slits when the lights came on, judging from the harsh sting. He straightened up slowly, closing his wings, and looked around the stage. Nightingale had come on stage as well, though he held back from Meadowlark. He had returned to his usual cool, watching expression, his eyes flicking from pony to pony in the crowd. Erin trotted up to the front of the stage, holding out her hoof.                    
            “The Frisbee, if you please?” she asked. Meadowlark dropped it into her hoof, and rolled his shoulders. Erin tossed it somewhere behind the screen before turning back to the audience smiling at them.
            “Fillies and gentlecolts,” she said, “I assure that these two are not some predator that happens to look vaguely pony shaped, as I myself believed when I first discovered them almost a year ago. They are not simply an animal that has been put in a suit and trained to behave – at least, no more than the rest of us.” She put a hoof on Meadowlark’s shoulder, rubbing his back gently. “Allow me to introduce you to Meadowlark and Nightingale – the first ever recorded specimens of what I am calling the Nocturne Tribe – or if you prefer to be colloquial, Bat Ponies.”
Meadowlark smiled, turning back out to the audience. The title of ‘Nocturne’ was a bit new to him, but he supposed that Erin knew what she was talking about when she decided on it. She probably chose it to help the other ponies accept himself and Nightingale.
            If that was the case though, Meadowlark thought as his stomach twisted painfully, it didn’t seem to be working. The ponies closest to him still stared in shock and fear. Worse yet, the horrified look had begun to spread, with even those ponies far in the back shifting uncomfortably. A nervous murmur rumbled through the crowd. Ponies turned to each other as if they expected something, some sort of revelation. Meadowlark swiveled his ears, picking up random snatches of the conversations.
            “…Must be some kind of joke…”
            “Surely can’t be ponies…”
            “Did you see his teeth?”
                   Meadowlark swallowed, taking a step back. A glance at Nightingale told him his brother felt much the same. Hollow. Cold. Sick. He felt almost as close to panic as the ponies in the crowd. He remembered the night in the park, the first time he had ever seen another pony. The memories came back as sharp and crisp as a photograph. The mare, she had had that horrified expression as well. The last time he had seen that expression… he took another step back, letting his wings unfurl slightly.
            Erin took a sharp step forward, clearing her throat with a sharp cough. The murmuring quieted, and she spoke over the rest. Her tone had taken on an element of fierceness, an almost defensive bite. “I assure you,” she said, “there is nothing to be concerned about here. I understand that their appearance is… unsettling.”
            Meadowlark felt a pang of sadness over that. Erin gave a sympathetic look over her shoulder, but continued. “But Meadowlark and Nightingale both are kind, intelligent stallions. They’re a tad different… culturally, but no different from the rest of us.”
            This seemed to have finally calmed the crowd, at least a bit. Erin took a step back, beside Meadowlark, and put her hoof on his shoulder again. Meadowlark still felt a bit sick, but he managed to return her smile before she breathed deep, returning to her practiced speech.
            “Meadowlark and Nightingale first came to me nine months ago,” she said. “They came from the forest in Upper Canterlot, and when they first arrived they were wild and feral. They were captured by a local guard when they attacked a young couple walking through the park. Through him they came to me. Needless to say, I was ecstatic at first. As I said, the discovery of a new mammal is more than worthy of note in the scientific community, especially one living so close to us.
            “I began performing fairly routine tests on them at first,” Erin said, gesturing to the screen behind her. The image changed again, displaying an image of one of the brothers’ profile – most likely Nightingale, judging from the lack of scar on the nose, and the narrow-eyed glance Nightingale shot Erin confirmed it – next to several other animals. “By comparing their features to known animals I was able to determine many of their characteristics. They rely primarily on scent and hearing for hunting, but they also have Tapetum Lucidum, speaking of a nocturnal nature, which is supported by their dark coats. Judging from their teeth which… some of you had a closer view of than others, I was able to predict, correctly, a predatory omnivorous diet. Most interestingly, I was able to take a DNA sample to be tested by an expert.”
            The image changed again to a long, jumbled series of letters than didn’t seem to spell anything in particular. Looking closer Meadowlark realized that there were actually two columns of the jumble, with a section of each bolded to stand out.
            “The DNA from the two of them was identical,” Erin continued. “This was my first hint that they were perhaps not simply animals – they looked similar because they were identical twins. I was not able to confirm until an expert had looked over the results much later, but sections of their DNA are consistent with pony DNA. The non-pony DNA, however, is completely incomprehensible. According to the expert, it does not match with any known creature.” She paused for a moment, peering around the silent room as if expecting a question or objecting. Hearing nothing, she added, “Of course that means very little – DNA testing is a very new science, and there are many animals that we do not have recorded DNA patterns for yet. And, by the time I had the results back from the expert, I had already realized their true natures. Early after meeting them… as it were, I performed a rudimentary mirror test. Not only did Meadowlark, the first participant, pass it with flying colours, he then proceeded to introduce and explain it to his brother. Next, I observed their hunting patterns, and realized they hunted through traps and tricks, and that they communicated with one another using a very basic cryptophasia – a language invented and shared by twins – to do so.
            “After this point, and with… difficulties I won’t go into, I began attempting to communicate with them. It took some time, but I was able to open communication, and begin introducing them to Equestrian concepts.” At this point Erin seemed to swell again, but Meadowlark realized that it was not simply breathing deep, but rather that she was swelling with pride. “This was when I first truly realized the extent of their intelligence. I do not believe that Meadowlark and Nightingale are as intelligent as any pony. I believe they are more intelligent than an average pony. In a mere nine months they have both not only developed a near-expert grasp of the Equestrian language, but have also demonstrated aptitude for music and advanced concepts.” She turned around then, gesturing to somepony behind the stage, and an earth pony skittered out with a microphone stand, setting down In the middle of the stage.
            “I could speak about Meadowlark and Nightingale for hours,” Erin said. “I could tell you probably a thousand stories of how they’ve amazed me with their cleverness, or awed me with their agility and flying ability. I could, but I won’t. Copies of the essay and examination of them both are available to anypony who requests them. Showing, however, is more powerful than telling, so now I’m going to let them show you just how intelligent they are. Nightingale?”
            Nightingale almost jumped, turning to stare at Erin. “…Yes?” he asked. His voice was quiet, and nervous beneath the usual coolness. Erin gestured for him to join her by the microphone.
            “Why don’t you say a few things for the audience? Just speak into the microphone, here.” She pointed to the mic, and Nightingale approached it slowly, staring at it like it might bite.
            “What… would you like me to say?” he asked. His ears flicked back as his voice was projected out through the auditorium, but he managed to keep his composure. Meadowlark pawed at the ground and found himself wishing he had his brother’s calm.
            “Anything you like,” Erin said reassuringly. “Why don’t you tell them about what you’ve been reading lately? Neightzche, wasn’t it?”
            “Ah, no,” Nightingale said, swallowing. His eyes flicked from pony to pony in the crowd, watching them all like prey – or perhaps like predators. “No, Neightzche was a few months ago… his ideas interested me. The idea of developing your own morals and staying dedicated to them is interesting, and I think I’d like it to be possible, but… but… you see, where Meadowlark and I grew up, that wasn’t a possibility. There were rules in the wilderness. Not rules like laws, but… I couldn’t decide I didn’t want to hurt anything, otherwise I would die. I had to live by the rules nature set. So I found it difficult to relate to many of his philosophies.
            “He did, ah, however mention a concept; I had to look it up, called Amor Fati. It’s the idea that anything that happens in life is good, even the bad things. Like being hungry, or losing somepony you care about. I felt I could relate to that, actually. I sort of liked it. You see for me, suffering meant that I was alive. It wasn’t much, of course, but when it’s all you have, it’s a big thing. I followed that line of thinking back to stoicism, which… I also didn’t truly care for. It had many of the same ideas – that misfortune or unhappiness was a result of doing things wrong, but the idea that being unhappy was a result of being immoral was just as foreign to me as Neightzche’s work. I was unhappy many times In the forest, whether or not I considered it good I was alive, but I had never considered myself to be immoral in any way. I still do not: I did what was necessary to live. I do not believe that there is anything immoral about the course of nature.”
            Meadowlark blinked. He became aware very suddenly that Nightingale no longer seemed nervous, or afraid. He had lost his usual sulking posture, as well. He stood straight, staring out into the audience in much the same way as Erin had. His voice was still cool, but it was calm and strong, as well.
            “After a while,” Nightingale continued, “I began to realize that a great many of the books I had read didn’t… speak to me in any real way. There always felt like there was some kind disconnect, as though it was being written for somepony else. It struck me then that in a way, they had: they were being written for Equestrians. They were written from the perspectives of ponies that were born and raised in societies, rather than in the wild as I had been. It… struck me very powerfully, in fact. I found myself broadening my reading. I looked into more existentialism, and that seemed to help. It was still written from the perspective of society, as I suppose was inevitable, but it had a wider range. At the very least, it helped me to frame what I had read of Neightzche. I’m still reading everything that I can, but at the moment I’m working my way through the works of Seagel. I believe I can actually say that his idea that an object is in part defined by how we define ourselves is definitely true – not just because my understanding of philosophy changed as I learned more, but… my understanding of the world changed as I learned Equestrian. To the degree where I’m not certain if I am the same creature I was in the forest.”
            Meadowlark gaped. Nightingale had stepped away from the microphone, letting the auditorium fall into silence – and indeed, it fell into silence. The scientists in the crowd stared at Nightingale in awe. Even Erin was staring at him wide-eyed, surprised that he had done so much reading in such short a time. In spite of the sheer shock Nightingale’s final words had given him, in spite of how they still echoed in his mind, Meadowlark found himself smiling at that. For some reason he was glad that they could still surprise Erin, even after she had spoken so highly of their abilities. Erin shook her head however, and took a step forward.
            “Fillies and Gentlecolts,” he said, setting off a wave of ponies who realized they were still at a conference, “There are still more presentations tonight. As I said before however, anypony who wishes it can request a copy of the essay and report on my s – the stallions. Fillies and gentlecolts… Meadowlark and Nightingale.” She gestured one final time to the pair of stallions as the audience erupted into applause. The sound was thunderous, ripping through Meadowlark and Nightingale as well from the look of him, but Erin managed to get them both moving with a gentle tug.
            She led them away from the stage, barely stopping as ponies approached them with shouts and questions that were drowned out by the noise of the applause. She led them through the winding hallways, passing their room and carrying on until the applause was no longer audible. Finally, she took them to the door where they had first entered the building, bringing them outside.
            The night air seemed cool after the heat of so many ponies shoved into a single building. It nipped at Meadowlark’s skin, making his outside feel just as prickling and cold as his inside. The emotions were coming too hard and too fast for him to be able to pick them out. Confusion, giddiness, fear, excitement, loss and satisfaction all crowded against one another, vying for superiority. He had to breath deep just to keep his mind steady. Amid the noise, he imagined Erin must be feeling the same from the way she trembled.
            Eventually he managed to calm himself, and Erin turned around. An enormous smile was plastered across her tiny face, and her eyes were rimmed with tears. “You did it,” she breathed, giggling in a distinctly un-Erin-like manner. “We did it!” She flung herself at Meadowlark and Nightingale, wrapping her forelegs around their necks and hugging them close as she laughed. “That was incredible! You were both fantastic!”
            Meadowlark felt an emotion win out. There was still fear, yes. There was still confusion, a sense of lingering doubt and a far-off echo of Nightingale words, but as he looked at his brother he could see he and Nightingale felt the same thing, now: Pride. He wrapped his foreleg around Erin’s middle, hugging her back and laughing as well, tilting his head up to the sky with eyes closed. All three laughed as the cold breeze washed over them. It seemed as though they laughed for ages, before Erin gave them a final squeeze and relaxed.
            “You two,” she said quietly. “I’m so glad I found you.”
            Meadowlark smiled, slowly letting his eyes drift open. He stared up at the moon, looking into the eyes of the only mare he had known longer than Erin.
            His heart froze.
            The Mare in the Moon was gone.
 


End of Act 1.