The local grocery store wasn't much bigger than where Mag worked. It carried fresh fruits and vegetables, canned goods, milk, eggs, and other basic food staples, along with junk food, cheap alcohol, cigarettes, candy, chewing tobacco, and an aisle in the back devoted to inedibles, mostly camping gear and cleaning products.
Mag walked in. “I am starving and I need a smoke. Let's just eat on the curb.”
Celestia followed, shutting the door behind her. “Do you walk to this store often?”
“No, only when I fly home on a magical pony queen and leave my car at work like a moron.” Mag pulled a basket from the stack, and put her purse inside it. “Now then. Shopping list: olives. Wine. Bread. Cigarettes. You get those, and I guess I'll get food for the week.”
Celestia nodded and took her own basket.
Mag had never shopped vegetarian before. Perhaps it was the size of the store, but vegetarian meals seemed to require a certain amount of actual cooking, rather than microwaves. You could nuke beans and the like, yes, but pasta and rice required work, and Mag normally preferred to save that sort of thing for special occasions. She supposed visiting royalty counted as a special occasion. But there was no vegetarian spaghetti sauce. She wouldn't have to make her own, would she? Mag pulled out her phone to look up recipes, feeling unpleasantly domestic. Surely there were simple sauce recipes.
Mag tapped the first recipe she saw that said “fast” in the title and frowned. What on earth was a shallot?
She kept searching until she found something reasonable, at least in comparison to the others, which all seemed to involve lots of preparation time, arcane ingredients, or both. Bottle of oil, jar of garlic, one onion, can of tomatoes, salt, pepper, Italian spices, bag of hard pasta. She grabbed another pot as well, as it appeared you couldn't cook elaborate meals with only one unless you wanted to cook each component of the meal one at a time.
She was just reading the back of a can of all-bean chili when Mag heard Celestia's delicate footsteps behind her.
“Problem?” said Mag.
“Mag,” said Celestia.
“Hold on.”
Celestia waited while Mag finished reading. She put the can back (beef for flavoring) and turned to see Celestia holding up a flashlight.
“Mag, look. A Mag-Light.”
Mag snort-laughed. A startled grunt sounded from the other end of the store and the manager looked around the corner to stare at the two of them. The old man saw Mag's shadow of a smile and stared.
“What?” said Mag.
He broke eye contact, shrugged, and walked away.
She looked at Celestia and saw that she'd raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, Spock?”
“Did he offend you?”
“Not really.”
“But enough that you stared him down,” said Celestia.
“If he'd be less nosy when I'm trying to shop, we'd get along fine.” Mag picked out two cans of pinto beans and walked to the dairy aisle.
Celestia trailed after her. “Has he been a problem before?”
“Not exactly. Although he's asked me questions before, 'What's your name' and all that, and I'm not really up for a conversation after work, you know?”
“I see,” said Celestia.
“I don't really want to carry a thing of milk, so that one can wait until after we get my car. Maybe we can swing by here again. Am I buying that flashlight? I may as well.” Mag plucked it out of Celestia's hands and put it in her basket. She noticed Celestia had nothing in her own basket. She further noticed that Celestia was still giving her a look.
“What?” said Mag.
“When I said 'I see,' I had assumed you'd have something more to say,” said Celestia.
“Like what? And what about the rest of the groceries?”
“Hm?” Celestia glanced down at her basket. “Oh. I apologize; I was distracted. I noticed most of the foods available here are very tightly packaged, perhaps because they must be shipped great distances—I know they must be because many of these products can't be easily grown in this climate. I also noticed how ornate the packaging is, and how each product has enough fine print to resemble a legal document. Most of the packages have elaborate labels on them, all very carefully designed. I was just beginning to consider possible connections between the complexity of human food packaging and the tendency for humans to wear clothes at all times, as if humans were packaging themselves or as if you were clothing your foodstuffs, when I noticed this interesting device with your name on it. Then I brought it to you to see what you'd say.”
“Oh,” said Mag. “Did you see any bread or olives?”
Celestia continued as if she hadn't heard. “You also asked, 'Like what?' This surprised me, as most people, when I say 'I see' in that way, tend to stop whatever they're doing and reconsider their actions.”
“What actions?”
“In this case? Evading smalltalk,” said Celestia.
“Is that seriously a big deal?” Mag headed for the canned goods aisle in search of olives.
“Yes,” said Celestia without elaborating.
Mag found herself getting annoyed. “Smalltalk? Why would I? What's in it for me?”
“You'd like to bargain, then?” Celestia smiled as if she'd won. “Very well. I can't claim to be any great cook, but I've learned to make a few recipes you may enjoy, and I see the ingredients to several of them on these shelves. I'll make one of them tonight if you go and have a civil conversation with the shopkeep.”
A vegetarian dinner made in Mag's kitchen with Mag's things wasn't as appealing as Celestia seemed to believe. Mag wasn't a vegetarian, wasn't wild about people touching her things, and would probably be in the kitchen right alongside Celestia, at first just to hang around awkwardly but, inevitably, to help cook, defeating the purpose of the deal. The only reason Mag didn't immediately refuse was because she didn't actually know how to say “no” to Celestia, and if she did manage to refuse, what then? Celestia might strike up a conversation of her own with the store manager and then draw Mag in anyway—Celestia was wily like that. Or she might let it pass, then be primly angry about it and give Mag the silent treatment. Or she might just leave. Would she be upset enough to leave? She'd only just arrived.
Mag glowered, but handed her basket to Celestia and said, “I'll get cigarettes and wine, and I'll talk to him for a bit. A little bit. You can handle the olives and bread, right?”
“Certainly,” said Celestia. “And Mag? Relax.”
“Come get me if there's a problem,” said Mag, trudging to the register.
“Hi,” she said.
“Good morning,” said the man. “Pall Mall, right?”
“Yeah, and your finest box of wine,” said Mag.
The man laughed. He was pushing 60 and bald as an egg. “Finest box. I like that. Well, I've got Franzia. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” said Mag.
The man palmed a pack of Pall Malls, set it on the glass counter, leaned over, grabbed the box in both hands, and set it next to the pack. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, my friend should be along with some groceries.”
“Hey, you know, earlier, that was the first time I've heard you laugh,” he said.
“It's a grocery store, dude,” said Mag. “Not that funny by nature. Wait. Do people laugh in here a lot?”
“Sometimes,” said the man. “They'll smile, anyway. All I'm saying is, I've never seen you without an annoyed look on your face, and then suddenly you're shopping in the morning with a beautiful woman who can make you laugh.” He gave her a sly look. “I met my husband in this grocery store, you know. It's a charmed place.” Then he looked self conscious. “Not that it's any of my business.”
“Wow, okay. First of all, I know something you don't know,” said Mag.
“What's that?”
“The real answer to that question is hilarious, but for now let's just say she's not my type.”
“Ah, I see. Fair enough.” He scratched his jaw with the heel of his hand and looked embarrassed. “Listen, I don't mean to—”
“Don't worry about it,” said Mag.
Celestia set her basket down next to the box of Franzia. “Good morning! I'm with her.”
“Good morning,” said the manager, clearly relieved. “We were just talking about you.”
“We were?” said Mag.
“Nothing too horrible, I hope,” said Celestia.
“Naw,” said the manager.
“Regardless, introductions are in order. Mag?”
“What?” said Mag.
“Introductions.”
“Sure. Uh, manager guy, what's your name?”
“Jorge,” said the man. “I run this little place. You need anything, I've got the best prices in town—no disrespect meant to any local convenience stores, of course, ha ha ha!”
“Ha ha,” said Mag. “Jorge, this is Celeste. Celeste, this is Jorge. My name is Mag. I'm behind the counter at the convenience store down the road, the one that doesn't sell gas but does have a broken slushy machine.” I have no social skills. I'm actively dying of hunger and I need a cigarette. I will eat you and smoke your bones if you don't let us get out of here soon. “Celeste is...”
Celestia interrupted. “Celeste is short for 'Celestia,' and I represent a foreign nation seeking international aid. Unfortunately I can't tell you much else for political, practical and personal reasons, but I can say I'm a friend of Mag's and I'm currently staying with her.”
Jorge gawked for a moment, closed his mouth with an effort, and turned to Mag. “Well, that wasn't my first guess.”
“Yeah, your first guess was that she was my new girlfriend,” said Mag, watching Celestia's face.
Celestia smiled wryly. “I don't think I'm her type.”
Jorge nodded. “Yeah, she said the same thing.”
Mag pulled her wallet out of her purse, glanced at Celestia's now surprisingly full basket, and put three 20s on the box of wine. Jorge seemed to take the hint and started to manually input prices into the register. Celestia leaned over to study the bills, then noticed the plastic Humane Society donation box, picked it up, read the text, flipped it over and read the back. Jorge stopped to watch her from under his eyelashes.
Celestia sighed, kissed the coin slot, set the box back down and walked out, shutting the door with care.
Jorge handed Mag her change and loaded the cans, tubs, and bottles into paper bags. “That country she says she represents. She's not really a diplomat, right? She has to be in charge.”
“Honestly? Yep,” said Mag. “Don't tell nobody.”
“No one would believe me. What country is she from?”
“Can't tell you and you wouldn't have heard of it anyway. Hey, can I borrow one of these baskets? I had to walk here because I left—”
“Left your car at work,” said Jorge. “Do you want me to drive you two over to your store? It's too cold to be walking.”
The last thing Mag wanted to do at this moment was spend more time with another human being, even one who'd turned out to be more or less inoffensive, but she didn't have any good reason to refuse. Now what?
Mag looked at the door to make sure Celestia wasn't listening in and said, “Celeste wanted to look around town a bit, so I was planning to walk us over to where my car is. That way she can take in the sights.” There. Barely even a lie.
“No? You sure?”
“Yeah, I'm sure.”
“All right, well, good luck and have a nice day. I hope everything works out for your friend.”
“So do I, and thanks,” said Mag. Then she stopped. “Seriously. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“I don't know,” said Mag. “I just felt like saying it.”
“Huh. Well, you're welcome.” Jorge waved. Mag walked out, closed the door behind her, and then realized you were supposed to wave back. She considered going back in to wave but decided not to. She'd barely gotten away.
Celestia was standing in a handicap parking space examining the sign. A nearby homeless man sat against the wall with a bottle in a crumpled paper bag, watching her. Mag maneuvered her basket of groceries to the crook of her arm and fished the receipt out of her change from the twenties, then handed the change to the homeless man along with the half a pack of menthols. She walked up to Celestia and lit a cigarette. She drew deeply and breathed the smoke out slowly, savoring the bite of the tobacco and the way the cold turned her smoke so thick.
She took another slow drag, let it out and said, “So. That kiss you gave the donation box. Did that do anything?”
“Almost nothing,” said Celestia.
“Almost nothing,” said Mag.
“Almost nothing,” confirmed Celestia.
“But not nothing.”
Celestia watched the plume of smoke and said, “You know, I'm increasingly tempted to present myself to your governments immediately. As I examine your world, I become more interested in doing what I can to help.”
“You'd be less dependent on me, at least,” said Mag. “Make a flashy entrance on the world stage and you'd be everyone's darling, at least until you start talking about changing things. I could see them giving you a limo and driver, and a monthly allowance. Not that I mind buying you things. Can I drive your limo?”
“What is a limo?” said Celestia.
“It's a car for rich people. Someone drives you where you want to go while you drink champagne in the back seat.”
Celestia gave Mag an appraising look. “What is your work history?”
Mag took the cigarette out of her mouth and tapped ash into the snow. “Are we being serious?”
“Yes,” said Celestia. “I know little about you, but I'm beginning to suspect I know more than most, and as the local Mag expert I judge you to be a woman of potential. What are your ambitions, Mag?”
“I don't really have any. I just wanted to coast through life, honestly.”
“Many have lived worthwhile lives with no goal but to be happy,” said Celestia.
“Right,” said Mag.
Celestia took Mag's hands. “Mag?”
“Yeah?”
Celestia leaned forward and said, “If you like your life as it is, why are you so unhappy?”
Mag took her hands back with as much tact as she could manage. “Unhappy?”
Celestia let go of Mag's hands but didn't move away. “Yes, I'd say so. I... know people, you see. I understand them. It may be a power given to me for the sake of fulfilling my responsibilities, or maybe it's a skill I've picked up by caring very much for very many people over a very long time. I've spoken with you and listened to the things you've said, and I've to a few conclusions. You are not shaped like my people, and as a human, you think differently and see the world differently than nearly anyone I've ever met. But you have the same look in your eyes that my sister once did, and our mutual friend Jorge wonders why you never laugh, and so do I.” Celestia lifted her chin and her tone grew imperious. “Write a resume. Submit it to me. I need to know more about your work history and existing skills, but I have a job opening and I want you to fill it.”
“Uh, wow,” said Mag. “What's the job? Not limo driving?”
“The human world is endlessly intricate and you understand it. I am also not used to working without help, frankly. I need both a guide and an aide-de-camp. We can put your restlessness to work, and as you work you can think on what you really want out of life.”
“I'd have to quit my other job, of course,” said Mag thoughtfully.
“If you do then my advice is to be polite, give adequate notice, and don't cut ties,” said Celestia.
“Because you won't be here forever and I'll need my old job back?”
“Because it's the proper way to do things,” said Celestia, wagging a finger playfully.
“What's an aide-de-camp?”
“You're asking questions. Good. An aide-de-camp is a personal assistant for a political or military figure. Different aides will have different responsibilities according to whom they assist. In your case, you would keep track of my schedule and contacts, prepare me for social events, and solve all the little problems that could undermine my efforts if not addressed by a competent person. You would arrange for meals, and for appropriate clothes for both of us. You'd maintain cordial working relationships, note the emphasis, with the servants and representatives of the mighty, and you yourself would be my representative when I'm not available. You'd follow me as I go about my day, especially at parties and the like, and take notes on future engagements or any promises I make. You may also have to read my mind sometimes, which is to say anticipating my wishes and acting accordingly. I wouldn't worry about that part, however, as you already do that very well, such as when you knew I would prefer to see more of the town than be taken directly to our next stop.”
Mag flushed. “You caught that, then.”
“I have excellent hearing,” said Celestia.
“So that was all right, then, the thing I said?”
“Arguably,” said Celestia, “but be careful. When my aide speaks, she speaks for me whether she intends to or not. I once had an aide who accidentally started a war because she thought she was speaking off the record, off the clock and purely on her own behalf, when in fact there is no such thing. Don't lie under any circumstances. Don't mislead unless lives are in immediate danger and you are perfectly certain I can't deal with the problem myself.”
Mag raised a finger. “Another question. What if it's a choice between lying and starting a war?”
“Tell the truth, fetch me, and let me talk them out of it.”
“And another. You realize this is the one job in the whole world I'm the least qualified for?”
“Just trust me,” said Celestia.
Celestia was turning out to be a smiler. Mag supposed it was a kind of political defense mechanism. People saw the smile and believed she was in control, that nothing was wrong. This time, Celestia was giving Mag the smile of a stage magician asking her volunteer to lie down in a box.
Mag had always wanted to be sawn in half. “Sure, but only because I'd like to see what a human tailor does when you ask one to fit a pony princess for a pants suit. You did say I'm in charge of wardrobe, right?”
Celestia's smile widened. “We can talk about that later. For now, I need your resume. Oh, and an application for dual citizenship as soon as Equestria is recognized as a sovereign nation, with the help of an attorney if possible. Your country allows this, yes?”
“America? Yeah, I think so. So I'm going to be an Equestrian?”
“America is a graceful name for a country. And yes, if you'd like. It's not completely necessary, but I think it could be very helpful.”
“If this turns into Dances With Wolves then I'm going to go home and stay there. Just saying. Also: I'm hungry and we're doing nothing about it. Let's eat on the curb and see if that homeless guy wants any olives.”
Celestia looked confused. “'Homeless guy?'”
“That guy,” said Mag, pointing. The man was still watching them. “Hey, dude. Want some bread, olives and boxed wine? We'll all have to drink right out of the box without touching the spigot, but we can make it work if we believe in ourselves enough. The other problem, though, is that I don't have a can opener for these olives. Maybe Jorge does. Let me... what? What is it?”
Celestia had grasped Mag's hand, and this time Mag didn't think she could have pried Celestia loose without a crowbar and a gob of lotion. The smile was gone and now Celestia wore a mask of calm. She approached the homeless man, pulling Mag behind her.
“My name is Princess Celestia, regent of Equis.” Her voice didn't shake, but her hand did. “What is your proper title, cousin?”
The homeless man got up. He was easily taller than Celestia, with a craggy face and wiry gray beard.
“Eldest,” he said, in a voice like sharkskin.