The inexplicable sensation of fearless purpose stayed with little Cabbage Patch as she left the infirmary in the company of Trixie’s Thespians, down the castle halls in Princess Luna’s wake, and into the guest suite the Princess had optimistically had prepared for the troupe earlier. Once the doors were closed, the energy disappeared and Cabbage promptly fainted.
It took a minute for Barnacle Salt to rouse Cabbage. Everypony was hovering around her with concerned looks as her eyes blinked open. All except Harlequin, who quipped, “Who are you and what have you down with Cabbage Patch?” Barnacle slugged him in the shoulder and he retreated to a corner, not looking all that apologetic.
“What he means,” Trixie said, giving Harlequin a pointed look, “that was quite the show you put on, Cabbage. What in Equestria brought that on?”
“I… I have no idea,” Cabbage said, slowing getting to her hooves. “I mean, Queen Chrysalis didn’t say anything I haven’t heard before but… I just don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize, little one,” Princess Luna, a very pleased light twinkling in her eyes and mane, “for you accomplished precisely what I hoped would happen, and with a much more impassioned argument that I could have made myself.” She reached a hoof out to raise Cabbage’s chin up. “By the way,” she added, “your chitin is showing.”
The irises of Cabbage’s eyes shrank to pinpricks as she looked down at her hooves and saw that, indeed, her pony disguise was absent. “Aiiiii!” she shrieked as she hastily summoned the sea-green earth pony shape, and then redid it more carefully when her tail came out red. “Oh no, I’ve completely blown it now! I walked through Canterlot Castle… Why didn’t anypony tell me?!”
“I, uh, didn’t even notice,” Barnacle said, trading shamefaced looks with Maggie and Trixie.
“Do not worry,” Luna said lightly, “Everypony on the castle staff has at least heard that I’m keeping Changelings in the infirmary by now, and Cabbage was walking in my company with such superb confidence that no one looked at her twice. And besides, the secret has to come out sooner or later if the Changelings are to be saved from themselves.”
“Sure,” Cabbage mumbled.
“Speaking of the Changelings,” Trixie said, “now that we’ve apparently got a… volunteer, what should we do with him, Princess Luna?”
Luna nodded at Cabbage Patch. “I will leave that up to you,” she said, “so long as you report on his progress, or lack thereof, in a timely manner. Good night, my little ponies, and best of luck.” She left the suite, and awkward silence hung over the troupe.
“Well,” Trixie said at last, “I guess this is your show Cabbage. What’s the plan?”
“I don’t know,” Cabbage sighed, “this is all happening so fast. I need time to think.” She dragged her hooves into one of the bedrooms and started stripping one of the beds. Barnacle watched her from the doorway until she’d made a little nest out of the bedclothes and buried herself inside.
“She’ll not be running off,” Barnacle said when he went back to the group. “She’s nested down, so she’s probably actually thinkin’ about this. Or just tryin’ to hide from it all.”
“I can’t say I’d blame her,” Trixie said.
The troupe began to settle in for the night, and the question of what do about the new Changeling weighed heavy on all their minds. Several minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Maggie went to open it, and then backed away quickly when a pair of Night Guards walked the Changeling inside. It was unbound except for an inhibitor ring around its horn and a metal collar with a lead, which the leading Night Guard passed to Trixie before the two ponies took their leave. Not a single word was exchanged the entire time.
In the awkward silence the continued past the Guard’s departure, the Changeling looked around the room with a sneer that put his fangs on full display. “Where’s the half-breed then?” he asked at last.
“She’s in the other room,” Trixie said. “Cabbage! Come out; our new… guest is here.” There was no immediate response from the bedroom. Barnacle walked over to check on the little Changeling, but just before he reached the door she stepped out. She was still in her pony form and had her usual nervous expression. She then caught sight of the Changeling and gasped in horror.
“Oh no, we can’t have this!” she declared. “Get those binding off him right now.” Everyone, new Changeling included, looked at her with wordless confusion. “If we’re going to teach him anything,” Cabbage explained with almost no hesitation, “we can’t treat him like a prisoner. He has to be as much a part of the troupe as I am.” The others continued to hesitate, so Cabbage walked over to the Changeling and started to undo the catch on the collar. “Of course,” she said, pausing in the act to look him square in the eye, “that also depends on you not trying to escape.”
“I’m not a half-wit,” the Changeling retorted. “I barely have the strength for a disguise right now and I know I won’t get out of here on my own.” Nodding, Cabbage removed the collar and had Trixie remove the inhibitor ring.
“That’s better,” Cabbage said, throwing the collar away with a satisfied expression. “Now, for introductions: you can call me-”
“Cabbage Patch,” the Changeling interrupted snidely. He then pointed to each of the other troupe members in turn and named them. “She’s Maggie, that’s Barnacle Salt, that’s Harlequin, and she’s the Great and Powerful Trixie. I remember from your lecture earlier, and Trixie’s name is one I’ve heard more than once.”
“You have a good memory for names then,” Trixie said appreciatively. “And what should we call you?”
The Changeling glowered in silent thought. “I suppose an appropriately ‘pony’ name is necessary,” he said at last, “so you can call me… Turnip.”
“Nice to meet you, Turnip,” Cabbage said with a smile. That smile quickly faded into disappointed look when the ambient mood of the suite didn’t rise to match her attitude. Every pony in the room was filled with doubt and distrust toward the new Changeling, which soured the usual concern and affection directed at her. Turnip didn’t help matters with the proud predator thoughts he wasn’t bothering to keep out of the Voice of the Hive.
“Save the platitudes, freak,” Turnip spat. “Just tell me what you expect me to do.”
“Ye can start by speakin’ to her a mite more respectfully,” Barnacle replied, anger flaring.
“It’s late,” Cabbage cut in, pointing a hoof toward the stallions’ side of the suite. “Turnip, go make yourself up a bed and get some sleep. We’ll start tomorrow.” Turnip obliged with only a slight sneer. Cabbage turned to face the troupe, a mild rebuke on the tip of her tongue, but then the confidence she’d been running on faded suddenly and the words failed her. All she could muster was a quiet, “Um.”
Trixie claimed the room’s attention with a deep sigh. “Well, I can tell this is going to go well,” she said sarcastically. “No offense to the Princess,” she continued, “or to you, Cabbage, but I think taking that Changeling in now was too hasty.”
“You’re not trying,” Cabbage mumbled.
“Come again?” Trixie asked.
Cabbage bit her lip, wishing desperately for the inexplicable surge of confidence to return. Her anxiety persisted, but what she had to say was of vital importance, so she took a deep breath and forced her tongue to obey. “I know this is asking for a lot from you,” she said quickly, “but if I’m going to convince Turnip that he can get by in Equestria without stealing love, all of you need to try and have good feelings about him. Try to be his friend. He could easily get more emotional food from a single successful show than he’s probably had since after Princess Cadance’s wedding, but that’s not different enough from draining a duped target. I could explain the advantages of my feeding style until the stars burn out, but if Turnip doesn’t have a constant, freely given supply of friendship and affection to absorb like you all give me he’ll never believe.” She caught her breath, lowered her head, and continued more slowly, “You don’t have to like him right away, but try to make it soon. I’m depending on you.” She then returned to her little nest in the bedroom, leaving the rest of the troupe to consider her speech. Cabbage could sense embarrassment radiating off all of them, and felt a little surprised that that gave her a satisfied feeling.
In the dead of night, the Changeling crept out into the main room of the suite on quiet hooves. The outcast’s earnestness and naivety amused him, but years of conditioning for stealth kept him from letting out even a whispered chuckle. Cabbage Patch had clearly grown so accustomed to pony life that she honestly trusted that he would go along with her attempt to justify her deviance. She underestimated the endurance of the Changelings, just as the Moon Princess did. He was free of his chains now, so nothing could stop him from sneaking out and finding some dreaming pony to feed on. A few well-chosen words would draw his chosen victim into a half-waking and highly suggestable state, an easy source of love for even the most energy-starved of Changelings. As tempting as it would be to drain the pony completely, Turnip would only take enough to allow him to safely shapeshift again and sneak out of the castle. From there, he’d have more freedom and time to form a plan to free his Queen and fellow Changelings.
There were no lights on in the room and no windows to let in direct moonlight, but Changeling eyes were built for low light, and so he crossed the room and reached the hallway door without incident. He lifted a hoof toward the latch, and suddenly a heavy weight dropped onto his back and wrestled him to the floor. He was flipped onto his back with a hoof pressing on his throat before he managed to make out his assailant’s identity. It was the mustard-yellow earth pony acrobat.
“You wouldn’t be trying to sneak away, would you?” he asked with false cheer. “I can’t allow that.”
“Wh- what do you care if I leave?” Turnip gasped out. “You hate being around me. I can tell. Let me go; we’ll both be happier.”
Harlequin removed his hoof from the Changeling’s throat but remained straddling him. “You’re right that I don’t like you,” he said, “but this ain’t about me, it’s about Cabbage Patch. I’m her least favorite pony in the troupe, but I don’t really blame her. I love to tease ponies smaller than me and I don’t always say the smartest things, but I’ve been trusted with her true nature and I take that very seriously. Now, for some reason this challenge to reform you horrible Changelings seems to have brought out a confidence and self-esteem that she’s never had before, so if you do anything to deliberately ruin that for her, I will separate you from your exoskeleton, understand?”
He meant it. Turnip was familiar with the “taste” of almost every possible emotion, positive and negative, and even though he believed ponies to be soft-hearted, there was no mistaking the sharp, yet restrained, fury that underscored Harlequin’s last words. Here was a pony who would go to any length to make good on his threats and believed he had the means to do so. Despite that, Turnip refused to give him the dignity of a response and simply remained still.
Harlequin evidently took the silence as a sign of submission, because his anger vanished in a blink, replaced by a kind of smug camaraderie. “Well now that we’ve cleared the air,” he said, pulling the Changeling to his feet, “let’s get some shut-eye, shall we?” Turnip grunted noncommittally as Harlequin herded him back to the bedroom.
When Cabbage Patch entered the main room of the suite the next morning, she saw that she was the last to have woken up that morning, and that there was already a Cabbage Patch hanging around the breakfast sideboard with the rest of the troupe. Nopony had spotted her yet and none of them seemed to notice anything unusual, so Cabbage decided to hide behind her bedroom door and watch. Turnip was obviously testing the ponies’ gullibility, something that Cabbage only now realized the importance of now.
Trixie, Maggie, and Barnacle were chatting among themselves, thinking nothing of the silent, seemingly withdrawn little earth pony near them. Harlequin sat a little ways off, focused wholly on his oatmeal. The fake Cabbage made no move toward the sideboard; instead it simply followed Trixie as she carried her food to the table. The doppelganger looked increasingly irritated, and as Cabbage opened her senses to the emotional energy in the room she smirked in understanding. Trixie was suspicious and, professional actor that she was, was doing an adequate job of keeping her feelings in check at a bland, almost neutral level. A Changeling could glean some energy from it, but hardly more than a “taste” and certainly not enough to latch onto and drain. Maggie was actually radiating annoyance, but no outward sign showed on her face. Barnacle Salt was his usual loving self, which made Turnip’s fixation on Trixie seem particularly odd to Cabbage. Misunderstanding the normal group dynamic and Cabbage’s own habits was one thing, but a half-starved Changeling not gravitating toward the best emotions made no sense.
Finally, Trixie lost patience with ignoring the fake Cabbage. “Not hungry this morning?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at the sea-green earth pony.
“Oh, I am,” the fake Cabbage replied, “I just don’t see anything I like, yet.”
“Oh?” Maggie asked. “You’ve always enjoyed oatmeal with honey before. Or should I say, Cabbage always did, Turnip.”
“Honey and butter,” Cabbage corrected as she entered the room. She gave Turnip a disapproving glare as she approached the sideboard and starting filling two bowls with oatmeal.
“But, I am Cabbage Patch,” Turnip insisted, crocodile tears forming in his altered eyes. Everypony looked from him to the real Cabbage, who paused in her breakfast preparation and turned around to face her double, and then dropped her pony guise. She stared Turnip down until he gave up and dropped his own disguise.
“Please don’t try that again,” Cabbage said, transforming back and turning to dollop butter on both oatmeal bowls. “I hate having to revert to my old shape, even if it is necessary.” She picked one bowl up, set it down in front of Turnip, and then went back for the other while the Changeling sniffed the oatmeal suspiciously.
“You expect me to eat this?” Turnip asked. “You should know pony food won’t nourish the two of us.”
Cabbage carried her oatmeal to the table and mixed the butter in before answering. “I’ve found that sugar and grains are pretty good at keeping the body alive when love is scarce,” she said. “You can’t deny that it helps keep up appearances, either,” she added after a couple thoughtful bites.
“You’re not lacking for love,” Turnip pointed out. “Why not share some with poor starving me?”
“Eat your breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” Cabbage said. “Please.”
Turnip resisted complying for a solid minute, but as Cabbage and the others continued to ignore him and enjoy their breakfast around him, he finally gave in and ate a bite of oatmeal. The flavor was surprisingly good, and he felt some of the precious energy he’d burned disguising himself as Cabbage return. He wolfed down the rest of the oatmeal and then stared expectantly at Cabbage.
“Thank you,” the smaller Changeling said. “Look, Turnip, I don’t think this is going to be any more difficult than you make it. You’re a part of the Great and Powerful Trixie’s Traveling Thespians, where success depends on your acting ability. Be nice, play the roles we give to you, and most importantly do not forcibly feed on anypony, and you should find you get more than enough adoration and admiration to live on.”
“What sort of roles do you have in mind?” Turnip asked, looking genuinely interested at last.
Harlequin cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention. “I think I have a couple of ideas,” he said with a wry smile.