Trixie slumped against a door, anger completely spent. She’d been wandering in these endless white corridors for hours. There was nothing to tell any of the doors or hallways apart even the slightest bit, and after spending the last hour or so ranting at the building, even her vitriol was spent.
That was when fate reignited her rage by having the door slide open. She fell backwards heavily, knocking against somepony’s legs on her way down.
Of course, she spat mentally, it had to be the stuck-up prince. There wasn’t really another way the universe would have it, was there?
Prince Blueblood, for his part, reared back in surprise and also fell over. “What the buck are you doing at my door?” he sputtered. “Are you some kind of stalker?”
“As if Trixie would ever stalk such a plothole as you,” she sniffed in disdain. “You are not worthy of Trixie’s attention.”
“Then what the hay are you doing here?” he yelled, flailing his hooves wildly in the air.
“Simple chance, nothing more! Trixie has been wandering these hallways for hours and took a break at this door.” She stabbed a hoof at him. “Why were you in this room?”
“Why? It’s my room!”
“Trixie doubts that.”
“How can you say that?! You haven’t even seen the room because you’re still lying on your fat flank and yelling at me!”
“Trixie’s flank is not fat! And you are also lying on your fat flank and yelling!”
Upside down, their eyes met in a death glare, each’s mouth locked in a rictus of hatred. Blueblood’s eyes drifted off once, to a curse of, “Dratted menu!” but though Trixie blinked, her attention wasn’t broken by the non sequitur.
Time Turner trotted around the corner, humming to himself. “Prince Blueblood!” he called. “Time to head over to the cafeteria—“ he came into view of the door, where two ponies lay in ridiculous positions, snarling at each other. “I’ll just come back later,” he muttered, quickly backpedaling.
This did manage to break the glare, as Trixie bolted upright. “Wait!” As Time Turner froze momentarily, then continued inching backwards ‘sneakily,’ she demanded, “Do you know your way around these halls?”
“Yes?” he ventured cautiously.
“Oh, thank Celestia!” Trixie cried out to the heavens. “Do you know how long Trixie has been wandering around these halls? Hours! Hours!” she screamed. “She demands you tell her how to navigate!”
The Trottingham stallion shrank in on himself under the onslaught. “Just ask Central where to go to get to a destination,” he mumbled.
“Central?” The two others queried.
“Did... did I forget to tell you about Central?” he asked. At their nods, his ears flattened even more, almost plastered to his head. “Whoops. Central is the controlling node of the complex—a bunch of computers and some operators. Ask it where to go, and someone will connect you to it. They can give verbal directions or light up the floor tiles to show you the way.”
He cleared his throat. “Central, directions to the cafeteria, lights.”
“Acknowledged, Doctor Turner.” The floor tiles lit up on the right side of the hall, forming an arrow pointing around the corner.
“Nothing to it!” Turner chirped, regaining his cheery demeanor. “Now, it’s off to the cafeteria for breakfast and then the Neural Simulation Center.” Seeing Blueblood about to ask what it was, (he knew that was what they were going to ask, of course he’d left out all these important things in yesterday’s presentation) he cut him off. “Don’t worry; it’s just VR with neural connections. It’s perfectly safe. Or, at least, nopony’s been seriously injured using it. Now, come on! Food waits for nopony!” He trotted off, with the two volunteers trailing nervously behind, competing to see who looked the least nervous. Mostly they just looked increasingly angry.
Luckily for Turner’s delicate sensibilities, he noticed none of this as his stomach led him onwards to the divine creations known to ponykind as hashbrowns.