“I am ready to oblata arripe as it were.”
“Oblatta a ripe what, Twi? Cause if mah apples are involved in this-”
“It means seize the offer, Applejack. I was suppressing my misgivings about this whole thing by quoting High Lingua. For instance, I am ‘raptus regaliter’’.”
“I presume that’s delightful, darling. Fluttershy, do be a dear and fetch us a pot of tea, Applejack has some rather wonderful ideas for distribution of labour and Pinkie Pie has been a most excellent liaison, going through your old contacts, don’t ask me how, and come up with some rather promising leads.”
“And Rainbow Dash?”
Rarity sighs heavily, rolling her eyes, which I note that Rainbow Dash is finding particularly amusing.
“She has volunteered for... public relations.”
“Aww yeah, nopony knows how to work a crowd like the R to the Dash.” She seems to consider this. “Except maybe Pinkie Pie.” The pair share an approving nod of some sort of mutual respect.
“I... what?” Flummoxed is a good word. Let's go with 'flummoxed'.
Applejack sniggers as Rarity’s hoof firmly met face. “Yes, normally, under other circumstances, I might have done so myself, but I tend to specialize in more intimate, higher-class-”
Applejack interrupts by stepping forward with a ruthless grin, much to Rarity’s chagrin. “What Rarity is trying to say, sugarcube, is that crowds don’t take to her as well as they do to fast and feathery over yonder.”
I need to get this sorted out. “So let me get this straight: Rainbow Dash is going to help me with my public image because Rarity is going to be too busy flirting with what few friends I made in Canterlot both of whom will be aided and abetted by Pinkie Pie, whilst Applejack is, with my blessing, given total administrative control of Ponyville’s infrastructure.”
“Well, darling, it’s not that simple-”
She’s interrupted by several voices at once.
“Yeppers!” Pinkie nods so rapidly I have the overwhelming urge to check the consistency of her vertebrae. Perhaps a calcium deficiency? No, not with all those milkshakes...
“That about sums it up, pardner, yep.” Applejack steps back into line, shooting Rarity an ‘I win’ wink.
“Yeah, sounds ‘bout right.” Rainbow shrugs amiably.
“I uhh, made some tea?” Fluttershy reappeared, tea tray balanced on an outstretched wing.
“I’ve noticed a distinct lack of Fluttershy in this plan."
“Ah. Well, Fluttershy has a very special job. Fluttershy, would you kindly?”
“I’d rather not say...”
“Oh, come on, darling.”
She looks at me timidly, then away. After a few moments of panicked indecision she forces eye contact. She twitches a little, breaking eye contact. Finally, with a deep breath, she looks me in the not-quite-eye-but-close-enough and forces out, in a tumble of words: “It’s, well, it’s my job, sorry, to stop you from stressing out too much.”
“That-” I start, at a loss for words (plural).
“Sorry,” She says again, staring at the floor, hiding behind a curtain of mane.
“No that, considering these circumstances, is probably a very good idea.” Oh look, I found the words, they were hiding under common sense, the last place anyone ever looks.
Fluttershy looks up again, smiling gently, in obvious relief and gratitude.
“You aren’t mad?”
“Well, it does insinuate that I’m going to be far too mentally unstable to handle this on my own without making terrible, rash judgements.” I hum, tapping my chin in thought, “Though, admittedly, that’s an incredibly fair insinuation to make, and your intentions are kind.” Flash winning smile! “As always, Fluttershy.”
Her smile flickers briefly to something much wider, much warmer, before defaulting back to its muted nervousness. Rarity is already beside her, congratulating Fluttershy for her bravery.
The heartwarming moment is lost on me when I realize just how scary I can be, even to my friends, again.
Want-it-need-it
I’m not that scary, am I?
Build an exact replica of Ponyville right over there!
I can be trusted! I would never hurt my friends!
Applejack screaming “Real me! Real me!”
Oh come on, that one’s not even fair! Changelings don’t count!
“Err, Twi? You all right there?” Applejack. The real one.
“Hmm?”
“You’ve been staring at Fluttershy, collecting flies.” Rarity raises an eyebrow speculatively as Fluttershy puts Rarity between the two of us, like a barrier, like a shield.
“Yeah!” Pinkie adds cheerfully, “You’ve been all like bluh.” She pantomimes the action and - hey! - I do not look like that!
Do I?
Terrified, mortified, overwhelmed, incompetent, mentally unsound, unstable, scared, nervous, frustrated, frantic, frit, “ - exhausted. It’s been a really long day.” Well, it’s still a truth, if not the truth. “Do you girls mind if I... sleep on this? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of plans to discuss, but you don’t need me for all of them, right?”
“Well, it’s true we haven’t hammered out the fine details-” Rarity starts.
“Excellent.” It wouldn’t do to let Rarity finish that, it inevitably has a ‘but’ lurking in there, so I don’t. “I’m going to bed.”
“It’s four in the afternoon.” Rainbow deadpans.
“I’m sorry, but did you wake up, have a nauseating level of panic, get dragged to Canterlot, fly back to Ponyville using unstable, untested methods with no brakes" -wait, why the heck didn’t I realize that until just now? Move on before you can dwell on it, Twilight, move on before the mental image of being pancaked overwhelms you - GAH! - “be reminded painfully of your own incompetence, criss-cross the entire town several times at similar speeds, address a crowd of ponies that were probably terrified of you- ” wait, how many were bowing out of respect and how many just thought I’d shoot them with a laser beam if they didn’t? That’s... probably worth looking into, actually. “ -then crash through a window, still dealing with the fact that you unintentionally enslaved a whole town!”
I take a deep breath.
Then another.
Then another.
In. Out. In. Out. Just like Cadance showed me. In. Out - Yeah, okay, this isn’t working.
Oh, to Tartarus with it. In the words of Marked Twine: When frustrated, take ten deep breaths. When very frustrated, swear.”
I can’t bring myself to outright profanity, though, so I settle for stamping my hoof down.
I open my eyes. My friends have all taken a few large steps back... with the exception of Applejack, who simply looks thoroughly impressed.
Rainbow Dash, however, appears to be hiding behind Fluttershy.
I look down. The hard wooden floor of my precious library has splintered and my hoof appears to be stuck in a tomb of fractured boards.
Good job not being scary.
“Well, shoot.” I admit, genuinely calm, flavoured with sprinklings of remorse and guilt to taste, “I guess I don’t really know my own strength anymore.”
“Pard’ner, you buck as well as you stomp, you’re welcome ‘round the acres come harvest season like you wouldn’t believe.”
Rarity sighs as two trembling ponies crouch behind her, massaging the bridge of her nose with a hoof. “How utterly pragmatic of you, Applejack.”
“Look, Dash-” Address directly, maintain eye contact, flash winning smile, pray to Celestia it doesn’t look forced or like I want to eat her or something, “- I’m really sorry. That wasn’t at you and you didn’t deserve that.” Rainbow Dash chuckles nervously and proceeds to pretend she hadn’t just used Fluttershy as a meat-shield. The results were... mixed, at best. “I know it’s early but it’s probably going to take at least an hour to sort all the paperwork off my bed, so I’d better start now.”
“Err... right, okay Twilight.” She agrees unsteadily.
Pinkie Pie looks at me quizzically, a puzzled and thoughtful expression that doesn’t quite suit her. Frankly, it’s like watching a child try to understand why a parent goes to a job they hate, “I think,” she declares, “Twilight would like some peace and quiet time right now. Come on, girls, we’ll keep the party going at Sugarcube Corner.” She flashes me a warm, reassuring smile.
It’s times like this that prove Pinkie Pie is more than just what she appears, she’s also empathetic, observant and-
“I’ll bake cupcakes and we can stay up all night and have a sleepover and play truth-or-dare and-”
It’s times like this that shows why ponies think Pinkie Pie isn’t more than she appears.
“Yes, dear, that sounds like a very wise move. Shall we abscond, then?” Rarity nudged the pink pony.
“I wouldn’t mind scones.” Fluttershy admits, trailing the rest of the group as they follow the ever exuberant Pinkie Pie out the door.
She closes the door ever-so-gently behind her, giving me one last sympathetic nod as she goes.
Just how many ponies were bowing out of fear, anyway?
I shuffle up to my bedroom. It’s a march, a battle, up the stairs, against pure apathy and depression, a depression that’s quickly becoming a physical barrier as real as any of my brother’s shields.
“Hey, Spike.” I say weakly as I open the door to the paper blizzard that is my room.
“Is Rarity gone yet?”
“Yeah... yeah, she and the others went over to Sugarcube Corner.”
“Oh, good.”
Good? Good?
He notes my surprise, even though I don’t say anything. I guess I don’t need to, Spike can read me pretty well when he wants to. Well, that and my expression probably wasn’t exactly subtle.
“I really didn’t want her to see me like this.” He shrugs by way of explanation. Ah.
“It’s okay, Spike. It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not yours, either.” Spike hugs back, squeezing gently with his claws.
Yeah. Yeah, I guess it’s not.
But it’s still my responsibility. I can’t just give it off onto the next pony, because-
Wait.
Oh, Celestia, I’m an idiot!
“Spike!” I whisper excitedly, "Why don’t we just-”
“Wait!” Spike cuts me off, pressing a claw to my lips momentarily before diving into a pile of documents at the foot of my bed. He emerges with a scroll that appears to be in his handwriting.
“I might have already put it on the list.”
List?
Well... I do like lists. I love lists. Particularly one with check boxes on them.
Heaven is a well-organized list with no flaws or mistakes.
“Reasons why ______ won’t work.”
My stomach falls into the approximate location of the hole downstairs left by my hoof.
“1. ‘Sell Ponyville to itself’” sits proudly at the top of the list. I’ll admit, it’s exactly what I was thinking.
In neat, organized bullet points - aptly named as each one is viciously shooting the idea down - are reasons why this is impossible or impractical.
It turns out I would have to make every single citizen of Ponyville a noble if I wanted to sell it to the citizens themselves, which is some combination of impossible and impractical. I could sell it back to the local council... if this weren’t designated as a Royal demesne and I would still hold the title and power anyway, only now I’d have taken a bunch of tax payer’s bits. Impractical. I could give the title to the elected representative but they’d have no obligation to do so when they were voted out or they retired.
Too easy to corrupt. I choose my own, known, level of incompetence over the possibility and unknown potential for corruption hooves down.
Selling it back to Celestia or Luna is next on the list? Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but that idea has already been neatly shot down by some inconvenient laws about separation of court and crown, and since a demesne is - by which I mean was at the time these laws were enforced, because this is stupid and ridiculous - an important tribute and link, a show of trust between the royals and the nobles...
So I could sell it to the nobles then? That idea is next, and shot down by a bullet point consisting of two very, very powerful words.
“Like Blueblood?”
Yeah. No.
Why don’t I just dissolve the darned thing then?!
“Reasons why we can’t just dissolve the demesne:”
I really, really hate this eye tic.
As it turns out this point is the most fascinating: No demesnes were ever truly dissolved. In fact, they’re still around today, owned by noble’s who have - or, until Luna, had - no idea of the significance of their titles, truly.
So, that brought me back to selling the demesne or transferring the title...
Okay, okay, so I can’t sell it. I can’t give it back. I can’t abdicate. I can’t dissolve it. I can’t just ignore it.
Can I?
“Reasons why ignoring the problem won’t make it go away:”
Darn.
Okay, you know what? Fine.
I really, really hate this well-organized list with no flaws or mistakes.
I look up at Spike, who’s staring back at me expectantly.
“Yeah, well, is ‘good’ really the word for it? I mean, if anything, it sucks.” He grumbles, playing idly with his hands and looking almost ashamed.
Yes. Yes, it does indeed suck, Spike.
“You aren’t going to go mad with power, are you, Twilight?”
I lied about how long it would take to sort the papers on my bed. I levitate them all into several large, precarious, stacks, and dump them unceremoniously onto the floor.
“I think, if anything, I’m going to go mad from power, Spike.”
“Oh.”
There’s an awkward silence. The little drake really does care for me, and he is really - justifiably - worried. He’s just an innocent bystander in this. Well, that’s something I can fix!
“Spike?”
“Yeah?”
“Are any of these pages in there for granting titles?”
Spike plods over to one of the stacks by my bed. With one eye closed and tongue stuck out in concentration he reaches for a sheaf in the middle and-
Whoosh!
Pulls it out without disturbing the rest of the tower, handing it to me wordlessly. It’s skills like that which make me know I’m doing the right thing.
“This looks pretty boilerplate. Alright, quill, ink? Thank you, Spike, now-” With a flourish of my magic the quill dances along the page, filling out the relevant details, and the certificate floats into Spike’s hands.
He reads it.
His eyes grow wide.
Oh dear, have I done something wrong?
“I know I don’t technically have a court, yet, but-”
“Scrivener Spike? You made me a scrivener now?”
“Well, you fit all the requirements, and I do have the authority now...” Wow, great job, Twilight, this is your way to make up for having a lot of responsibility forced on you? Do it to somebody else? Why did this seem like a good idea thirty seconds ago?
He lunges for me, wrapping his scaly arms around my neck and chokes me.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s not throttling me, but hugging me very, very tightly... though there doesn’t seem to be much distinction between the two.
“Urk... ack...?”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“An’t... eathe...”
“Sorry, Twilight, what was that?” He lets go. I go back to my regular shade of purple.
“Doesn’t matter.” I sigh, well, pant, choke even, but it’s meant to be a relieved sigh, “I’m glad you like it.”
“You think Rarity will be impressed?” he says as he picks up a pile of paper, scanning it as seriously as possible. It’s... well, it’s adorable.
“Titles are given to ponies with a lot of responsibility, you’ll look very mature.” I answer as diplomatically as possible. He doesn’t notice I’ve dodged the question... good. Let him find out when he’s no longer this cute.
“You think I’m responsible?”
“Well, unless it involves ice-cream. Which it won’t, because you are not allowed ice-cream near official forms, mister.”
“Aww. Celestia eats cake next to her stuff all the time, though!”
“Is any of it ice-cream cake?”
“No...” Spike kicks at nothing, arms crossed. He’s adorable when he pouts, too.
“There’s your answer then. Now, I’m going to go to sleep. It’s been a very, very long day, my little scribe, and I would like nothing more than to end it.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want me to, like, organize this, or?” We really need to get him a little pair of spectacles for him to sternly gaze over the top of when he asks questions like this. Actually, it is a good question.
Hrrrm.
“How about you just sort a clear path to the door. I’ll help you with the rest tomorrow.”
He salutes, just like Shining Armour taught him - it just looks weird with hands, actually - and I collapse into bed, asleep seconds after my head hits the pillow, the shuffling of paper like a soothing lullaby.
I’m in a void of mists and darkness that seem to stretch on for eternity all around. It’s actually a lot more soothing than you’d expect it to be; The only exception is a bright pink spectre approaching me from the mists... a spectre that almost looks like...
“Pinkie Pie? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, hi Twilight! You’re dreaming, see?” she says as she turns her head a full three hundred and sixty degrees, smiling as wide as possible.
“Two things. One, that was a lot more terrifying than it was reassuring, and two, I’m not entirely unsure you can’t do that when I’m awake.”
“He he, oh yeah!” she pulls out - oh dear, really? - her chicken costume from Nightmare Night.
“Oh, no, please don’t tell me you’re going to make this one of those dreams.” I groan, “I swore I wouldn’t think about what Rainbow said. Please don’t make a liar of me, Pinkie.”
“Oh! But I’m not! I’m not the one you have deep-seated Froodian issues with!”
“Well, that’s... wait, what?”
“Yeah, I’m just here to give this to somepony else!”
With that she throws the costume up into the air, back into the mists, and runs off giggling like a little filly. This is very not reassuring.
The mists part again as -
Oh, Celestia.
No, really, oh Celestia.
The mists start to part, the shadowy void brightening into what I recognize as the Canterlot throne room. I am not coming to associate this room with dignified moments.
Celestia sits atop her throne, eyes half lidded, smoky and sultry, wearing what appears to be a very form-fitting equivalent of Pinkie Pie’s costume.
“Hello, Twilight.” she says, voice of velvet and honey that caresses the ears and warms the... tips of my ears. “Bacawk.”
What in Equestria is wrong with my brain that this is what I’m dreaming. At least no-one else is here to see this.
“Am I, perchance, interrupting something?” A smooth imperious voice whispers into my ear behind me, making me jump.
“I really hope so, yes.” I reply, mortified, eyes never leaving Celestia. Out of embarassment, of course, not for... other reasons.
“Do you wish to explain,” Luna gestures with a hoof at her ‘sister’, “this?”
I think about it for all of a moment.
“No.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Ah, dear sister.” Celestia’ greets in that same tone, “Bacawk to you too.”
Luna stares. I can hear the strangest sound gurgling from her throat, a staccato hiss of air from her nostrils. Her mouth twitches at the corners, a flicker.
Finally her legs give way underneath her as she collapses into laughter, her legs now wiggling in the air above her uselessly.
“Oh! Oh! Cease this, cease this, thou art killing us of merriment! Oh, I must show her, I must!”
There’s a ‘pop’ beside me, and a rather irritated Celestia glares at her sister in earnest. Oh, dear.
Oh, dear.
Why did I have to tempt fate? “At least no one else is here to see this?” I might as well have said ‘things couldn’t possibly get worse’!
“Luna, please, I was in the middle of that torte... dream... again...” she pauses, studying Luna squirming on the ground, tears in her eyes, and me, of course, flat on my rump and covering my face with both my hooves, moaning for sweet, merciful death. Death that would not come.
I mean, it’d probably just wake me up, but that’s pretty ideal right now, too.
Finally, Celestia turns and sees ‘herself’. She turns back with an impossible expression slathered across her face, obviously not quite sure how to feel, or what parts of what she’s feeling to hide yet, which causes Luna to start redoubling her laughter.
“Twilight, do you care to explain?”
I raise a hoof. I lower my hoof. It was fine where it was, protecting my face from shame.
Words do not come.
“I don’t think I could, Princess.”
Her doppelganger chooses this moment to address us, because my subconscious is cruel and I hate myself so much. “Ah, Celestia, care to join us? What is it that you said, Luna, to the mare who had donned this costume? Ah, yes...”
Oh, no.
“The fun shall be doubled, I believe.”
Celestia shoots me an aside glance, her face probably flushed with more embarrassment than mine, a feat only possible because she has the larger face and thus more surface area to work with.
There are tears in Luna’s eyes, who has resorted to pounding the marble with a hoof.
“Why are you here, Luna?” I growl before I have a chance to catch myself. Mouth, this is why we wait for brain. You’re an idiot.
“That’s a very good question, sister.” Celestia gazes seriously down at the princess rolling on the marble floor of the ‘throne room’ at her hooves. Unlike this morning it isn’t me!
“T’was merely the fastest way to contact you. We did not anticipate such unique entertainment.” She pauses, glancing at the faux-lestia. “Why a chicken, of all things?”
“Something Rainbow said about ‘the egghead needing to get laid’. Her choice of words, not mine. Somehow Pinkie Pie got involved and, next thing I know, eggs, laid, double in both meaning and entendre.”
Celestia seems to have walked over to inspect faux-lestia, scanning her with what looked like rather conflicted amusement..
“Ah, so it is merely the manifestation of an unwelcome mental image planted in thy psyche by merry pranksters.” We both pretend to not notice the flash of disappointment across the real Celestia’s face. Process that later. “We could bleach thy mind of this blemish, if you so wished?”
“Why does erasing parts of my memory sound like an incredibly bad idea?”
“Bah! Do you not trust me? Screw thy courage to the sticking place.”
I turn to Princ- no, I turn to Celestia for support. She appears to be suffering enough on her own. The two white alicorns are staring each other down, appraising each other. Celestia appears to be overwhelmed with morbid fascination, the other... staring back seductively?
Oh, ew. Memory spell officially looks pretty good right now. Well, actually, there is still one thing.
“Luna if you erased this memory, which you have witnessed, you’re probably going to giggle or snicker or something at me and I’ll have no idea what it’s about.”
“I would not, and I am most irked that thou wouldst think that of us. Certainly, I should be mature enough to-” It is at this point that Faux-lestia glances at ‘her’ sister and...
“Bacawk.”
Luna’s down on the floor again.
“Real mature, Luna.”
“Oh,” she says, between gasps for air, “how wonderful. You’re certainly getting better at addressing us as equals.”
“Well, it’s hard not to when I’m looking down on you like this. Literally, I mean, not figuratively.” Yet. Okay, maybe a little figurative looking-down-upon.
“Still, we see the wisdom of your words.” Luna admitted, nodding as sagely and with as much wisdom as possible for a thousands-year-old monarch currently flopped on their back tittering like a foal.
“We were having that wonderful cake dream again, weren’t we?” Fauxlestia purrs. “Well, I know a very intriguing place to put all that icing, if you-”
“No.” I declared, stamping my hoof into the dreamarble floor. My puns and portmanteaus don’t have to be good; I’m dreaming (dreamable, dreamarble, though, gosh I’m clever). Still, the world itself shudders with the impact.
Oh, geeze, did I just punch my brain? So help me if I wake up with a nosebleed.
“Ow.” Luna moans.
“Oh, shush, sister, it was your own fault for being down there in the first place.”
“How were we supposed to know she’d-”
“Luna.” I interrupt before I have two royal princesses squabbling whilst a sexy-chicken doppelganger leaps onto every double entendre and pun possible. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”
“Ah! Important news, Twilight Sparkle! I...” Luna frowned, eyebrows furrowing slightly, as she righted herself. “have completely forgotten.”
Twitchy eye, we are in complete agreement on this.
“What?” Celestia growls then blinks, seemingly surprised at herself. Wow, confronting a sexy-chicken version of yourself must be really off-putting.
“I concur. T’is so unlike me to be forgetful. It must surely have been the wonderfully entertaining banter.” Luna apologized in a way that distinctly did not feel apologetic.
“This is my dream, right?”
“Hrmm? Oh, of course, though I don’t see how-”
‘Lucid Dreaming Techniques volumes one to four’. ‘Dream manipulation; Everything you Wanted to Know and More Things you Probably Didn’t’. ‘Dozy Dreamer’s Dream Dominion For Dummies’. Fantastic books, all of them.
A very large, very heavy piano appears above Luna. Trust me on this; it hurts.
I flick my ear appreciatively as the distinctive Klong! of a very grand piano hitting its target drifts melodically past.
“B Flat.” Celestia muses dryly. “Whilst I do not endorse violence as a solution, Twilight, particularly against my own sister, I must admit that was a rather nice touch.”
“It’s the little things.” I agree.
Luna explodes triumphantly from the lid of the smashed piano, hoof pointed skyward and smiling like a lunatic.
Oh. So that’s where that word comes from, I guess.
“Thank you, Twilight, my good friend, this has jogged my memory. T’was most courteous!”
“Thank you?”
“I apologize, my sister and I can do no more with the Ponyville situation. Though my sister did not handle removing the laws as she should have.”
“It was a light touch sister, and it had almost worked if you hadn’t-”
“Nevertheless!” Luna continued, surreptitiously sliding Fauxlestia up against Celestia’s flanks to momentarily distract her with a most diabolical plot. The plan kind, not the anatomical kind, though I guess that was kind of diabolical if- “Whilst we cannot undo the actions, we are responsible.”
“Royal ‘we’ or ‘we’ as in “I’m blaming Celestia too”?” I point out on Celestia’s behalf.
“Now is not the time to allocate blame! We must focus on moving forward!” She declares, hoof still raised vaguely triumphantly skyward, now sitting on the remains of the ruined piano.
“Luna-”
“So we have decided to give you access to what resources we have at our disposal. Bits, really.”
That gave me pause. “Bits as in bits of your resources or-”
“Bits as in the currency, yes.”
“Oh.” Well. Huh, okay. “So, what, you think you can just buy my forgiveness?”
“Yes.” Luna nods eagerly.
“Well. Okay then. How many bits are we talking about?”
Luna writes a sum and shows it to me. My eyes widen.
“That’s... that’s a lot of bits.” I breathe.
“Not really.” Luna shrugged, glancing at Celestia. “My sister has led an age of prosperity for hundreds of years in my absence and has neglected to spend it. What good are bits if they lie with their brethren collecting dust in vaults? Feh. Gold may be soft as a metal, too soft to forge into anything useful, and yet it’s not soft enough to swim in, so why must we let it pool so?”
Celestia turns and fixes her sister a stony glare. Fauxlestia takes the opportunity to nibble her ear, which is...
Look, a pony can only be mortified for so long, and Celestia’s expression is sort of priceless. Unlike, apparently, my forgiveness. That price is in my hooves. The whole thing is so bizarre I can’t help but laugh. Laugh. Luna joins in.
Celestia looks at me with a rather odd expression and then-
Argh. Light.
I am not a morning pony. Never have been, never- Wait.
Okay, sometimes I’m a morning pony, but that’s only when I stay up all the previous night reading or studying or messing with the laws of thermodynamics. Then I’m a morning pony.
A few haunting words are left with me, called from very far away, drifting to me from the last vestiges of sleep: “Oh, and we've also sent for some assistance”.
Now. What could that possibly mean, beyond the obvious? Or perhaps it was the obvious – but if it were obvious why would they think to mention it when they’d already mentioned the bits, so what if they were talking about literal assistance, which-
Eugh. Thinking before coffee. Dangerous for one’s mental health.
I trot downstairs my eyes mostly shut, lest the stabby stabby rays of sun burn them more than necessary, and flop down at the breakfast table – butt flopped on chair, head flopped on table (safe from the stabby stabby burny burny sun).
“Spike.” I moan. “Coffee.”
“Err...” a rather more girlish voice replies. My head snaps up from the desk, eyes willing to accept momentary blindness to see the intruder. Yes this is a dumb oxymoron, I am not a morning pony.
Whilst it was technically true Ponyville was a public library it was widely accepted that nopony would, or should, ever visit it unannounced. It didn't do to be impolite. The exception seemed limited to my friend Rainbow Dash, but her voice wasn't that feminine. I had an intruder on my hooves.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my home?!” I declare with deadly precision... inside my own head. What I actually say is closer to; “Whothewazzahapphuh?”
“Err...” The intruder repeats, “what?”
My eyes are starting to adjust to daylight and I can finally, finally, see the mare standing in my kitchen.
No wings, no horn - earth pony, then. She's a stormy grey mare with an extraordinarily crisply cut mane and tail, very old-fashioned and professional looking pale-gold. She almost looks like the mail mare, in the same way Maude almost looks like Pinkie Pie.
She’s petite, a bit shorter than most of my friends. Okay, petite is a bit of a generous word for it, she's compact, like she never quite grew out of her teenage body. For all that, though, the flanks that bear her winged-scroll cutie mark have the lean, toned look of the permanently stressed; deadlines have a way of burning calories.
It's sort of probably maybe how I'm still so adequately figured (in spite of what Rainbow says) in spite of my own remarkably sedentary lifestyle and fondness for junk food. I like junk food, okay?
Junk food is specifically engineered to be the best. It's food made to taste good with science and rampant abuse of what we know of biology, like how fats, sugars and salts cause the brain to overload with bliss. What is there possibly not to love?
“I'm sorry I like junk food so much, please don't judge me because I'm not as fit as you so obviously are!” I snap. She blinks uneasily at me through huge, dorky spectacles which are, frankly, too horribly, horribly attractive for me to deal with this early in the morning.
“I'm sorry?” she says.
It's okay, she's sorry and – why did she say that in a confused tone of voice? Probably because that was a non-sequitur and she can't read my mind.
Coffee.
“Okay, now I'm sorry for not-crazy reasons. Could you fetch me a cup of coffee?”
Her gaze narrowed at me, hardening into a glare, which I noticed even in my sleep deprived state. “Fetch?”
“Oh, don't make me beg.” I moan, head flopping back onto the table.
“Fine!” She snaps, making me raise my head again, “I thought we could work together with some semblance of mutual respect, but if you're going to be like that, I suppose I should just tell you to deal with... whatever's going on outside and start off on my own, then.” She storms off into a corner of the library where she's already set up a delightfully rustic workstation, leaving me groggy and confused.
Well, that was... unusual.
Right. Deal with that after I deal with 'whatever's going on outside'. That sounds... horribly ambiguous.
I open the door. There's the loud yelling of a mob. I close the door. I walk over to the kitchen, grab some of the coffee beans from the machine and some of Spike's chocolate syrup, then pour and stir them in the best mixing bowl available: My mouth. Surprisingly delicious, though I'll have to use... more... chocolate...
Woah. Instant energy hit.
Neurons – firing! Synapses are synapsing! Brain cells sparking off electrical impulses and thought returning to its usual brilliance!
Percolated Princess perkiness achieved! Let's go solve problems.
I all but kick the front door open and march out, stomping in as Princessly a glory as I can muster in the circumstances. It appears most of the crowd is merely here for the spectacle and not for, as I feared, my head.
Once more I wonder how many ponies bowed out of respect yesterday and how many out of fear, or not wanting to be singled out by the crazy mare who nearly destroyed the town with a stuffed animal before she achieved demi-god status.
Crisis now, worry later.
“Citizens of Ponyville!” I declare, “What the heck is going on?” Okay, not the most royal of proclamations, but it gets to the heart of the issue.
One of the stallions in the crowd in front of me snickers, and a few point at the tree house. No good can come of this. The only thing left for it is for me to turn around and prove that it can't possibly be as bad as my imagination could make it.
Which is a good thing because my imagination is making it seem pretty awful. I don't smell smoke, though, so... alright. Turning around now. Any second now. Just going to confirm my worst fears about my home right...
Oh to heck with it.
I spin around and am confronted with... graffiti? Really? Is that all? That's not so-
Oh. Oh, be still my quivering heart, we will find the fiends who did this.
“Bad things to tire ants!” and “Poneyvil wants freedum!” and “Their is no justess!” are scrawled all over the library in spray paint. What vile fiend would misspell the name of their own town? Who would use the wrong their so unabashadly?! Who would- Wait.
I levitate a raincloud over and scrub a bit of the graffiti with it, like a giant sponge. Bits of the paint come off.
Okay, so, at least it's water soluble. That's good.
I sigh, loudly. I spot Cheerilee in the crowd nodding with approval. I tap into my inner school marm.
“Alright, everypony, who did this?”
“It was I!” A familiar, raspy voice declares from the treetop. There's a heavy rustle of branches and an orange pegasus filly's head pops out of a pile of leaves. “Scootaloo! Head of the Ponyville Kivil Rights Movement!”
“Scootaloo, get down from there!” Sweetie Belle yells at her. “You're going to get us all in trouble!”
“Nah, I got, like, freedom of speech laws and stuff protecting me.” Scootaloo shrugs, making me cringe as she loosens her grip on the branch to give the flippant gesture. Please don't fall, please don't fall...
“If you've got freedom of whatsits then Twilight's not a tire ant.” Applebloom points out with the infallible logic of the concerned friend. Her sister would be proud. Sweetie Belle nudges her in the ribs.
“Actually, I think she means 'tyrant'. And 'civil'.” She points out with attention to detail that would make her sister proud too. Scootaloo, meanwhile, is just sticking to the kind of rebellious behaviour and reckless self-endangerment that would probably make Rainbow Dash proud, herself, not that she'd admit it out loud.
“Scootaloo, did you perhaps mean civil rights?” I ask as I surreptitiously scrub more graffiti from the treehouse.
“Yeah, well, I've only seen the word written down.” She grumbles slash yells back at me.
“That's wonderful!” I yell back, turning the cloud a stained pink from the paint used on 'their', “I didn't know you've been reading. I'll see if I can find you a book you like next Twilight Time.” I pause, dramatically, glancing around the crowd. “Unless you don't want to have Twilight Time anymore because I'm a tyrant now?”
“What? No! I mean... I guess? But-” Scootaloo throws her hooves up in the air just as I finish 'justess!' “I don't know!” Unfortunately, if somewhat predictably, this causes her to lose her somewhat delicate and precarious balance and fall out of the tree. The crowd gasps.
I, being somewhat far, far too cynical to think that this wouldn't happen, catch her on the sponge-cloud with a soft pmpht!
The little filly looks up at me gratefully. “Thanks Twilight.” Her friends rush forward from the cloud and hug her. Sweetie Belle glares at Scootaloo and Applebloom, not being one for something so subtle, clocks her one on the shoulder, which Scootaloo proceeds to try not to rub too hard in front of the grownups.
She might have just fallen out of a tree after starting a failed coup but she still had her dignity. Rainbow would be proud.
“I'm sorry for calling you a tyrant.” Scootaloo mumbled. The crowd 'd'awed' in synch and then, aided by a stern glare on my part, decided to find much better places to be.
Show's over everypony.
Now I lean down to Scootaloo, making sure to get to her level but still give her a bit of space, “Now, where did you get that idea in your head, anyway?”
“My Dad said the stallions down at the pub were talking about it and... he's not going to be in trouble is he?” the filly interrupts herself.
“Probably not.” I admit. “You, on the other hoof.” I say, trying to hide a smile.
“Me? What did I do?” She cries indignantly but is silenced by a glare from her two friends. “Oh.” She rubs the back of her and chuckles awkwardly, “Right.”
“Now, the graffiti I can forgive, and I think you learned your lesson about climbing my tree.” I intone seriously, “But your spelling and grammar was atrocious. For your own sake, if not the sake of the Equestrian language, I'm going to be talking to Cheerilee about assigning you extra spelling homework for a few weeks.
Scootaloo just kicked her hooves in the dirt and grumbled something. Her friends start dragging her away before she says anything they regret, and I can’t help but smile and wave after them, suppressing a giggle. I should probably be more mad than I am but... really, that could have gone so much worse than it did.
At least Spike’s on my side. He took down the despot ruler of a kingdom before, he’d know how to best take me out. Using all his guile, skill, wit and insider knowledge we all know to what lengths he would go to crush my regime...
He’d hide the coffee. A fate truly worse than death.
My love of coffee is not something to sneeze at. Heh, get it? Cause cough-... okay, no more puns.
Oh! Oh! I like my romantic partners how I like my coffee; steaming hot and bitter, with just a little bit of sweetness to them.
Okay, obviously at this point I’m just procrastinating from dealing with the super cute nerdy girl back in the library who I have majorly ticked off. That’s not going to be fun.
Wait, did I just think of her as super cute? I did, didn’t I?
Oh, this is going to be majorly hoof-in-mouth isn’t it?
What a stupid question. Of course I'm going to put my hoof so far in my mouth Pinkie Pie could use me as a pogo stick. Rarity is going to need to use a flashlight if she ever considers giving me a hooficure again. Rainbow Dash would make some sort of horrible innuendo, I'm sure-
Twilight you are a big girl. The angry, cute mare – no! The angry, professional looking mare inside is just going to percolate in her anger like my coffee. Wait...
Oh Celestia, if I can't brave this now I'll never get myself a proper coffee! Now, when I have so many experiments to try with chocolate syrup ratios!
Okay, that thought was enough to get me back through the door. No backing out now.
I glance back at my nervously twitching back leg, the cowardly left one, and glare it into submission.
I look back up, into the nook of the library (or was it a cranny?) that this strange mare has appeared to set up as her office. With her back to the wall and a beautiful old writing desk in front of her (a beautiful mahogany one, old and immense!) covered in piles of papers and ink pots and quills. I check my stockpile surreptitiously – seven, eight, nine – and nothing's missing. She brought her own stationary! And are those papers from my bedroom?
There's a click, a snap, in my head when I realize that they, in fact, are the papers I had dumped beside my bed last night.
Luna wasn't sending assistance. She was sending assistants.
This one is glaring at me with the force of an angry sun.
“You handled that well.” She grunts at me. “So, what, you're all nice for the public but you insult your employees as soon as you're alone?”
“Insult?”
“You asked me to 'fetch' you a cup of coffee!”
“Yes. The most important task I could possibly bestow a pony, or dragon, in the morning.” I say with the utmost sincerity.
“No, no you-” she starts, then trails off and stares at me dubiously. “You then said 'don't make me beg'!'”
“I did?” I blush a bit, now that I'm more awake and aware of how embarrassing that is, “I'm sorry. I mean, I don't know how that offends you, miss,” Now it's my turn to trail off. I've been thinking of her as 'that cute mare'! I don't even know her name! No wonder she's mad at me. “I'm sorry, I never did get your name.”
That stuns her. She's rendered speechless by that simple admission. I fear I've broken her brain with indignance when she falls flat on her face on the desk. Then she starts pounding on it with a hoof and – laughing? She's laughing! Why is she laughing?
“You don't know?” she chokes out. “You never did, did you.” She says it as a statement, not as a question. “I've just snapped and snarled at a princess for absolutely no reason, haven't I?” She asks, somewhat less rhetorically. “My name, Doctor Princess Twilight Sparkle, is Golden Retriever.”
“Golden Retriever? Well, I don’t know what that-” Oh. Fetch? Beg? Oh.
She finally stop laughing, but her face doesn’t rise an inch from the desk, obscured by her neat, crisply cropped pale-gold mane succumbing to gravity. “I am so fired aren’t I?”
What? Why? I think, before realizing I can use my words. “What? Why?” I ask.
She glances up at me in miserable defeat, adjusting her adorable little pair of brass rimmed spectacles, chin still resting on her desk.
“Besides the wonderful first impression I’ve made, exploding at you for what turned out to be no reason, and not getting you a cup of coffee when you asked, you mean”
I pause to consider this. “You’re right.” I agree, deadpan. “Completely unforgivable.” She slumps back down, which is good for me, because it means I don’t have to hide how much I’m smiling. “You never did get me that cup of coffee. I think I’d still rather like one, though.”
She doesn’t rise, but one of her ear flicks up like a periscope, keying in on me, as if she doesn’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Soon, the other ear flicked up, and the whole head followed. When I nod at her, still smiling, she smiles back gratefully and almost vaults herself around that desk, right for the kitchen. She appears to be familiar with the intricacies of the machine, so I decide to glance over her flanks- work! I mean, work.
Yep, not blushing, not blushing, just looking over some boring money figures dum de dum, Celestia what is wrong with me?
I intently stare at the myriad of paperwork, hoping that if I stare at it hard enough I might come to understand some of it. Any of it.
No dice; It’s all in legaleze, and I never was good at learning other languages - High Lingua just sounds good to me, language of science and all. My eyes betray me and wander back over to the very, very cute mare now currently bringing me my coffee.
“Doctor Princess Sparkle, your coffee.” She delicately puts it down on the table in that earth pony way.
“Thank you, Miss Golden.” I reply, lifting the coffee with magic to my muzzle and taking a hearty waft of it in with a breath, “It smells wonder... wonder...” Oh dear. It smells like ground happiness brewed in the laughter of small children. I start suckling it like a young babe at its mother’s teat. It tastes like it too. After burning my tongue on it and simply not caring I come up for air. “Quaff! Oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget the morn that came before.”
“From ‘The Raven’, Doctor Princess Sparkle?” she asks with a tone half of curiosity, half amusement.
“Most poetry is just whiny, preachy or self-indulgent dreck.” I admit, returning to the desperate sipping of the liquid nirvana between my shaking hooves - I’d stopped relying on magic at some point in the experience, it seemed, to have as much of my body as close as physically possible to the sheer bliss of this beverage, “but sometimes it’s really powerful stuff.”
Golden Retriever’s deep, pale yellow eyes with the beautiful opalescent shimmers in the iris - swoon! - widen in shock, then narrow again, grinning conspiratorially at me. “You aren’t supposed to admit that out loud you know. The Intellectual Bookish Society for Bookworms might revoke your egghead license.”
I gasp, fortunately getting a deep breath of delicious coffee aroma for my troubles, clasping a hoof to my chest - magic holding the mug for the moment - in faux shock. “Oh, dear, then Rainbow Dash would have to come up with a whole new term of vaguely insulting endearment!”
“The element of...” She looks up at the ceiling for a moment, lips tightening in concentration, “Loyalty, right?”
I nod, since that is a thing I can do whilst still sipping what’s left of the coffee. Multitasking efficiency!
“I read all about you when I got the assignment.” She smirked, taking the unfortunately empty mug off me. I admit, I’m not too proud of the sad grabby motions I made as she took it back to the kitchen, but there was still a little bit at the bottom that was all nice and concentrated and I wanted that inside me so badly...
That... probably didn’t come out well either.
“Does that mean I have a professional stalker, then?” I grin.
She pauses to consider that, which stops me for a moment. “Actually, I’m your new personal assistant, which is far, far more intimate. I’m like a stalker that you willingly just hand all the information. Much less work, much better pay.” She flashes me a winning smile. Was that... did she just snark cheerfully? Whilst... she’s making me more coffee. The best coffee.
Be still, my caffeinated beating heart.
“Miss Doctor Princess Sparkle, you’re drooling a little.” She blushes, and it is so darned cute I swear, what is wrong with me today, “Is my coffee really that good?”
“Yes.” I answer immediately. It’s not the whole reason, but she doesn’t need to know that, and it sort of kind of truly really is that good. “Yes it is.”
The mental image of her wearing a certain tight, form fitting chicken costume is all I can think of right now. It’s a surprisingly pleasant image. I may have a problem.
“And Spike’s not jealous?” I ask instead, floating the fresh cup over.
“Not at all.” She sighs, genuinely. “It appears somepony promoted him over me yesterday. Technically, by which I mean legally and officially and in every way that actually matters, he’s my employer just as much as you are, Doctor Princess.”
I gag on the coffee momentarily. Now, there’s a funny thought. No need to do a spit-take over the lovely lady’s paperwork though.
“Oh, and Luna sent me with this cheque. Are there any banks around here that would carry this amount?” She proffered me a cheque with a number I had literally only seen in my dreams.
I made sure to aim away from the paperwork.