Act 2, Part 1: Of Luck and Letters-of-Notice
The sun drifted low in the sky, casting an orange tinge over the city of Canterlot. The cooling summer air lent a sense of calm to the mountain, more so as one moved up to the higher Quarters, where affluent ponies had already retired for the night.
It was there, high in the reaches of the Upper Quarter, in the aged Smiles mansion, that a robed figured stalked the halls. She kept to the darkness away from windows with a thick cloth draped over her eyes, muttering beneath her breath. Her path seemed aimless, meandering through the twisting halls. As long as she was away from the light, it seemed, she was content. Despite this she wandered to the windows often, peering out before flinching away from the evening glare.
Eventually the sun dipped below the horizon, and the figure seemed to breath a sigh of relief. Once more she set off, but this time with a sense of purpose. She headed into the wing where the bedrooms were located, counting off the doors one by one, before stopping. All at once she threw open the door, resulting in a loud hiss.
"Ow ow ow," Erin muttered once she was finished with her hiss, pulling the sheet further down over her eyes. "Why is it so bucking bright in this room? You two are supposed to be nocturnal."
Meadowlark and Nightingale started at her from the bed. Both held a book, though a careful glance revealed Meadowlark's book to be one of sheet music. Nightingale barely glanced at her before returning to his own book, another volume from some long-dead philosopher.
"We used to be," Meadowlark replied, closing his book. "But you started waking us up during the day, remember? We've been awake all day, waiting for you."
Erin frowned from beneath her sheet. "Oh," she said, shrugging. "Well, fine, I guess. I'm turning the light off anyways."
"Okay," Meadowlark said. Nightingale grunted and shrugged.
Erin switched off the light, sighing happily as she shrugged the sheet off and rubbed her face. Her eyes were bloodshot, and ringed by thick purple bags. "Thank gods," she said, closing the door behind herself. "I wish I'd remembered you two were up. I could have slept all day..." she grunted and rubbed her eyes again. "I haven't been this hung over in... ten years oh god I'm getting old." She groaned again, louder this time.
Meadowlark tilted his head in confusion. "What's hung over?" he asked.
"Something you should never, ever be," Erin said. "It's basically terrible. It's like being sick, except it's your fault, so on top of being sick you also hate yourself."
"If it's your fault, then why did you do it?" Nightingale asked, flipping a page.
Erin shrugged. "To celebrate. It's complicated."
"It sounds stupid," Nightingale replied.
"It is," Erin said. "But it's been long enough that I forgot why I stopped. Now I remember." She winced again, and added, "Gods, do I remember. So what have you two been doing in here all day?"
"Um," Meadowlark said, "Mostly just this."
"What, reading?" Erin asked. She stopped rubbing her eyes momentarily to pull one open and stare at Meadowlark. "Just reading? You aren't even bothering to celebrate?"
"You mean like you did?" Nightingale asked.
Erin stuck her tongue out at him. "Quiet, you. Seriously, though! The world knows about you now, you're gonna be famous. That's awesome! Live a little!"
"Okay," Meadowlark said. He peered over his shoulder and shuffled his wings. "So, uh... what should we do to celebrate?"
"You... uh..." Erin paused, tapping her chin. She grumbled and waved a hoof dismissively. "Well, okay, maybe there's not much that constitutes celebration for you two. Tell you what! Why don't I let you into the forest out back, and you can hunt for some rabbits?"
Meadowlark perked up instantly, hopping to his hooves on the bed. Even Nightingale seemed to perk up a bit, gently closing his book and setting it on the bedside table.
"Rabbit sounds good," Nightingale said with a nod. "Griffon food is getting salty."
"And boring," Meadowlark added, flicking his ears happily. "How long has it been since we hunted something?"
"Months, I'd imagine," Erin said as she opened the door again. "I don't think you two have hunted anything since I let you out into the forest to observe you last fall. Not unless you've been sneaking out of the house behind my back." She paused, and peered back at them sidelong. "Have you?" she asked sharply.
"No," Nightingale said with a shake of his head. He turned back to look at Meadowlark. "Did you?"
"Nn, well..." Meadowlark shuffled his wings. "I did stalk a delivery colt once. Just to watch him. Does that... count?"
Erin sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Well, we haven't heard any reports of a murder in the neighborhood lately, so I'm gonna say no, it doesn't." She shrugged. "Not that we'd hear about it if it happened up here, anyways." She waved a hoof. "Oh well, it doesn't matter. You'll get your chance now! Come on, let's go to the lab."
The trio set off down the halls, chattering idly as they walked. At least, they did so long as they avoided the windows. Erin still shied away from them, covering her eyes even from the pale moonlight. Meadowlark and Nightingale however roamed closer to the windows, peering out. They lingered for a while, watching the moon as it crept up over the horizon when they could. Little by little, inch by inch, Meadowlark grew more anxious as it rose. He had thought for a while, perhaps it was all the excitement last night that had made him see things. He thought he had been wrong about the moon somehow changing, but as it rose his fears were confirmed. The Mare in the Moon was indeed gone, and in her place was simply a plain silver orb.
Eventually their path turned away from the windows, however, and their thoughts turned away from the moon. Erin seemed to be feeling better, or at least she no longer felt as sick judging from her more chipper demeanor. They found themselves in the laboratory.
Meadowlark peered around the lab. It seemed like it had been forever since he had been in the tall, vaguely wild-smelling room. Most of their lessons had taken place in lounge rooms and dens around the mansion, lingering close to the bedrooms. Now this place seemed strange to Meadowlark. Not that it hadn't always, he thought to himself as he plodded between blinking machines. Last time though it had been strange to him for a very different reason. All of the decorations still hung to the walls, obviously a fake forest to him even then, but time had made it all sag and seem listless.
Erin grunted as she threw herself into her high chair, levitating a glass of water off the desk and taking a sip out of it. "I've still got a bit to do in here," she said as she set it back down. "I mean, aside from nursing a hangover of course." She smirked. "So anyways, I'll just let you two to do your thing and hang out in here. I'll leave the door open and you two can come in anytime you like, okay?"
"Sure," Meadowlark said, nodding. He peered at the cage. The door hung open, but aside from that very little had changed. Even their old mattresses were still laid down. He took a step towards it, and paused.
"Something wrong?" Erin asked.
Meadowlark started, and looked over his shoulder to nod. "Oh, uh, no no," he said. "Just... thinking about the cage, I guess?"
"Well, I'm not going to lock it behind you if that's what you're thinking," Erin said with a wave of her hoof.
"No, that's not it." Meadowlark shook his head and shuffled his wings. "Just... remembering, I guess."
"Not much to remember," Nightingale remarked as he walked past Meadowlark. He plodded up to the door and gave it a prod. The door swung weakly, creaking on it's hinges. "We were only in here for a few days, and not much happened..."
"Not that you'd remember," Meadowlark said. He bunched in his shoulders, trotting up beside his brother and giving the door a poke himself. "You were asleep for most of it."
"Exactly," Nightingale said. "I don't remember it, so it doesn't count."
Meadowlark rolled his eyes, but he smiled. If nothing else, Nightingale had found a way for him to avoid admitting to... what did he feel about the cage? Apprehension, perhaps, but something else too. A sense of regret, almost. He shook his head and swung it the rest of the way open, as though doing so would put it out of his mind, and exchanged a glance with Nightingale. His brother smiled faintly, and nodded. Meadowlark smiled a bit wider back.
"So," Meadowlark said, beating his wings once, "Ready to hunt?"
Nightingale turned his faint smile into a smirk and plodded past Meadowlark through the cage, into the open forest beyond. "Of course," he said. "As I recall, I'm usually the one to ask you that."
Meadowlark snorted and dashed after his brother. "Well you're obviously remembering wrong!" he said, laughing. Nightingale grinned and dashed after, spreading his wings and leaping up into the treetops.
"Prove it, then!" He shouted down at Meadowlark. The two dashed off into the trees, Nightingale along the branches and Meadowlark darting from bush to bush, hiding almost instinctively in the undergrowth.
Meadowlark's heart pounded in his chest as he ran, thudding and thumping against his ribs and echoing in his ears. It beat so hard he could even see it in his eyes, the dark colours of the night flashing vividly with each beat. His lungs burned and filled with the scent of the forest. Decaying leaves and rushing water, and in the distance the faint tinge of flesh and musk. He closed his eyes and breathed deeper, but there was no need. Even months later, the smell of a rabbit was unmistakable. Meadowlark changed his course slightly, and pushed off even faster. He knew that Nightingale had caught the scent as well. All there was left to see was who would catch it first.
Meadowlark vaulted over a thick root. He savored the burning sensation of effort in his legs as he kicked off, as well as the cool wind across his wings as he unfurled them slightly, just enough to glide silently above the forest floor. A faint glimpse of a shadow flickered over his head, and he pushed off harder the next time he touched ground. A wide grin was plastered across his face.
On through the forest Meadowlark and Nightingale raced. Meadowlark could smell a twinge of adrenaline in the trail now; the rabbit had heard them coming and set off on a run. It didn't matter. In spite of the dull ache beginning to form in his shoulders his body felt light and full of energy. The rabbit smelled stronger now, closer. A quick look up told Meadowlark that his brother had gained some ground as well. He would have to dive down before he could catch the rabbit though, and his path would be different, whereas Meadowlark only had to catch up. There was only a small amount of ground to cover now, at that. Meadowlark tucked his ears back and tucked himself in. With one powerful kick he thrust off a high root, launching himself with wings spread wide. All at once the smell of fur and fear hit his mouth and nose as he rounded a tight corner. The rabbit was inches away from his open jaws. Then, centimeters.
Meadowlark snapped his jaws shut, and heat washed over him. Warm blood washed across his teeth and through his mouth as he skidded to a stop. Before long he felt his shoulders sag and his whole body relax. Even his teeth felt as though they had been aching, a pain too dull to notice until it was gone. He breathed heavily and took a few tired steps, the limp rabbit in his mouth, until Nightingale landed in front of him.
Nightingale was smiling faintly. He seemed tired as well, but content. "Good job," he said, panting slightly. "I think I'm out of practice..."
Meadowlark set the rabbit down and grinned. "I think we both are," he said. He chuckled. "You were always slow."
"Maybe," Nightingale said. He laid down with a grunt and nosed at the rabbit idly. "Though I seem to recall you and I getting a fairly even share of first bites. Speaking of, leg?"
"Sure," Meadowlark said. He settled down as well, taking a leg in his mouth. Nightingale bit down on the head, and together they pulled apart, savoring the crunch and crackle as the rabbit was pulled into two halves. For a while they were silent as they ate, ripping chunks out of the rabbit's hide and gnawing idly.
"So," Meadowlark said eventually, "what do you think happens now?"
"Hmm?" Nightingale asked as he chewed a piece of fat. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Meadowlark said, shuffling his wings, "we weren't supposed to be seen, right? But now we have been. So... something is supposed to happen, right? But, what?"
"I... don't know," Nightingale said. He chewed at his fat more and rubbed his chin. "I hadn't thought of it like that I suppose... but I think I know what you mean. It feels like... something has happened? Like things should be different now." He prodded at his half of the rabbit. "I read once that ponies give themselves symbols. They want things to mean something, so they ascribe meaning to things they think should mean something, even if they don't actually. Maybe we're doing that?"
"Maybe," Meadowlark said, nodding. "Are we that, though? I mean, ponies? I know Erin says we are, but..."
"I don't know," Nightingale said with a shrug. "But I don't think it's just limited to ponies. I read another book that said the author of that first one was something called species-ist. I asked Stage about that, and he told it means they don't recognize things that aren't ponies matter... so I think maybe everything is like that, but he just said ponies specifically."
Meadowlark frowned, taking another chunk out of the rabbit. Once he swallowed, he hummed faintly. "Well, maybe then," he said. "But, I don't think that's it. I mean... didn't Erin say things would be different? And things did happen, after all... sort of..." He looked up and sighed.
The trees were thinner here than in the forest closer to the mansion, allowing a view of the sky. The moon had lifted higher now, it's face still bereft of the familiar figure. Meadowlark sighed again, and Nightingale looked up as well.
"She's really gone, isn't she?" Meadowlark asked. "The Mare in the Moon, Erin called her?"
"That's right," Nightingale said. "It does seem... important, doesn't it? But perhaps it's just weather?"
"I dunno," Meadowlark said with a shrug. "I don't remember anything like it before."
Nightingale was quiet for a while. "I don't remember a lot of things," he said. "It might have happened when we were young. Or perhaps there's a cycle. Like with season, but longer."
Meadowlark grunted, and narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Maybe it is," he said. "Does it matter?"
"No," Nightingale said. "That's the point. It doesn't matter, but you're trying to make it matter." He shoved aside a bone, reaching down to pick at a scrap of meat. "You're not thinking about the Mare in the Moon. You're thinking about the conference last night, aren't you? You want it to have meant something."
Meadowlark opened his mouth to object, but he didn't say anything. He shuffled his wings. It felt as though there was an itch between them, but no matter how much he scrunched his shoulders the itch persisted, creeping down his back and side. "I... don't know," he said. "Maybe? I guess. I mean... what does it mean for us? I wasn't avoiding talking about that. Will we be going out and seeing ponies now? Will they expect things of us? I just don't know... what the point of the conference was. When Erin was talking she said that we were another kind of pony, just like them, but I'm not even sure we are. I don't feel like them."
"Well, how do you know what they feel like?" Nightingale asked. He cracked open a bone and sucked out the marrow before continuing. "Even you and I don't feel the same. I doubt all of them would."
"They all looked at us the same, though," Meadowlark said. He folded his forelegs and laid his head down on them. "Like they were weird. Different. And I guess we are... but Erin was trying to teach us to be like ponies, so are we supposed to be like them?"
Nightingale didn't respond. He chewed on the rabbit bone idly, his eyes taking on a far-away quality as he hummed to himself. "Everypony is a different pony," he said simply. "I'm not sure how we can be like them."
"Yeah," Meadowlark said. He rolled his shoulders again. The itch still hadn't subsided. "Yeah, I suppose so." He sighed, and stared up at the moon.
***
Erin jolted in her chair, sitting up and blinking quickly. Soon enough she realized she had simply snored herself back awake, and she settled back into her chair with a sigh. It was a contented sigh, though. The impromptu nap, caused less by intent and more by relaxation and exhaustion had wiped out the last of her hangover and left her feeling refreshed, as though her muscles had been replaced by cotton balls. She stretched, cricking her back loudly and turned to her desk.
It was, as ever, littered with papers and hastily scribbled notes. Another onlooker might have thought they were written in some sort of code for how rushed it was. Most were far too pointless to be encoded though, simple observations that never made it into the final report on Meadowlark and Nightingale. The rest of the desk was covered with idle things Erin had carried with her and never bothered to take away. A few glasses of water in various states of fullness, discarded candy wrappers and a desk calendar that had appeared some time in the past year.
Erin reached for the calendar and pulled off the current page. "Close enough to midnight anyways," she muttered to herself. The calendar listed famous scientists and their accomplishments from that particular day. A Hearth Warming present from Singsong. A nice enough thought, though Erin already had most of the dates and names memorized.
"On this day in history," she said in an almost mocking tone, "Summer Smiles discovered an entire new subspecies of pony, finally becoming noteable for something aside from being the most closely-related pony to some dusty, long-dead quarry owner!" She dropped the calendar on the desk and sighed happily again. "Maybe I'll finally start using my real name," said said. She rubbed her neck. "Well, not if 'Erin' Smiles discovered them, I guess." She shrugged. "Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." She turned back to the desk, leafing through her notes and papers, Somewhere down there was a second essay she had written, different from the one she had handed out at the conference. A victory speech of sorts. Self-indulgent perhaps, she supposed, that was what the idle rich did, wasn't it? She smirked to herself as she recovered it, and began to skim over the first few lines to occupy herself.
A loud buzz sounded from beside her desk, loud enough that she started and dropped the essay from her magic.
"Cripes!" She shouted, slapping her chest as though the restart her heart. "Buck me!" It was the intercom she had had installed several years ago. She leaned over, tapping the button to speak. "What is it?" she snapped. "Do you have any idea what time of night it is?"
There was a low hum of static on the other end, speaking of an awkward, or perhaps simply unimpressed, pause. "Erin," the voice said, "it's only nine o'clock. Are you hungover?"
Erin's ears pinned back. "Stage? No! Not... anymore. Why are you here?" She grinned. "Gonna help me celebrate?"
Once again there was silence on the other end of the line. "Uh," Stage said, "Yeah... maybe you better let me in. I've got a couple of things you might like to see."
"Sure," Erin said. Between her excitement - at least by her standards - and her lingering embarrassment, she missed something in Stage's voice. She hit the second button and a loud click sounded. After a pause, Stage's voice came over the intercom once again.
"Thanks," he said. "I'll be there soon. You're in your lab?"
"Yeah," Erin said. "Get in here already!"
Erin turned back to her desk as the intercom buzzed off. A few glasses lit up with her magic and arranged themselves in at least a slight semblance of order, and she found herself shuffling and stacking her paper. She scowled and berated herself. She was too old to be shy about her habits, even if Stage didn't seem to think so.
He didn't, Erin judged from his entrance. He strode into the lab with a package of papers floating behind him, and he set them down on Erin's desk. "I thought you stopped drinking," he said. Though clearly unimpressed, concern was also present in his voice. "For that matter, I thought you stopped drinking almost ten years ago, now. You know how Mom felt about it."
"I did stop drinking ten years ago," Erin grunted, hunching her shoulders. "I had an occasion to celebrate, and a cellar full of wine from five generations ago. I wanted to celebrate. Besides, I don't think a mare who smoked herself to death is the best source of health advice."
Stage raised an eyebrow at her. Any trace of his usual humour had drained from his face. "Nopony forced you to get drunk, Erin," he said. "Don't talk like that just because you're embarrassed about it."
"I'm not -" Erin said, stopping herself halfway through the sentence. "Well... maybe a bit. But it was just a celebration. I think I earned that, don't you? That was a big night for all three of us."
Stage sighed. "I suppose so," he said. He glanced at the bundle of papers. His horn lit up and the string trying them together untied itself. "As long as it was just tonight. I don't want you slipping back into it just because things didn't turn out exactly how you expected, okay?"
Erin waved a hoof dismissively. "Of course not," she said. "I mean, I know the excitement will fade eventually. By this point I'm used to being a recluse anyways, so I'm hardly gonna mind."
"I'm serious, Erin," Stage said. "I worry about what you're up to in this giant house alone at the best of times. You need more ponies around. At least now you have Meadowlark and Nightingale..." he shrugged. "If things don't go well here, you and the twins will come and live with me and Singsong, okay? At least until we can make sure that you're alright. At least promise me that much."
Erin paused, peering sidelong at Stage. Her eyes flicked down to the stack of papers.
"Promise me," Stage said, putting his hoof over the top paper."
"Alright," Erin said. "I promise. What is it?"
Stage took his hoof off the paper, and Erin levitated it off the stack. It was a newspaper from the previous day. Erin studied it, reading aloud. "Longest Day and Night of the Year: Princess Luna returns." She looked up at Stage. "The buck is this? Did the Canterlot Daily change owners and become a tabloid?"
"Not unless every other paper did at the same time," Stage said, tossing out a few more papers from the stack. All them had some variety of that title. "Including a royal decree from Canterlot Palace. Looks like it's official: We have two princesses now."
"Huh," Erin said, leaning back in her chair. "Well... dang. Still, I don't really know why you expected this to upset me that much... I mean it's cool, kinda." She waved a hoof. "I know how these things go, you know. Meadowlark and Nightingale might be big, but they're not front page of the Canterlot Daily big, at least not until we find a whole colony of their tribe. This is only gonna be big in the scientific community for now, and that's what matters."
"Yeah," Stage said. "Except, I think you're underestimating just how big a new princess is. A princess who, from the looks of things, came from the moon. The civilian press isn't the only ones big on this. I've checked around. Three different aristocrats have commissioned plays based on the legend today, and nopony even knows the details yet."
"Well, they're trying to get in her good books, I guess" Erin said with a shrug.
"Maybe," Stage said. "Well, probably. Any chance to move up in the world. But it got me wondering how widespread this is, and I happened to know a stallion in the Equestrian Scientific Journal. They don't have anything done yet, but I managed to get my hooves on a list of planned articles for next month's release..."
His horn lit up and he pulled another sheet of paper out of the stack. He levitated it to Erin, who stared at it suspiciously. She took it from him slowly and began to read.
"New Princess Special," she muttered aloud. "Investigations on the change in lunar cycles... sociological impact of a change in governmental styles... investigation of the mechanics of being locked in the moon... secrets of our legends..." Erin scowled. "The buck is all this!?" She snapped, throwing the paper down. She stared at it for a moment as it drifted limply, before slapping it out of the air. "Half of these don't have nearly enough time to be considered legitimate studies, and the other half are barely science! I'm pretty sure the article on myths and legends is gonna be written by that mare who's always claiming El'bia was founded by ghosts..." She turned around to her desk and slammed down her hoof. "Buck! And by next month enough new stuff will have come up that I'll be lucky if they bother to consider anything that happened at the conference... buck. Buck!" She slammed her hoof down again.
"Erin!" Stage shouted. "Remember what you promised."
"I promised not to get drunk you prick, not that I wouldn't get upset!" She barked. She grit her teeth and ran a hoof through her mane. Her eyes burned from the forming tears. She felt sick to her stomach. "I mean, you expected this to happen, didn't you?" she asked Stage. "That's why you made me promise, isn't it?"
"It is," Stage admitted. "But that doesn't mean I want to see you get worked up like this. He put a hoof on her shoulder, but Erin shrugged away from him.
"Gods, my bucking timing," she groaned. "Or that princess's timing... what the hell... what about Meadowlark and Nightingale? I promised them that they'd be getting out in the world, and..." she rubbed her shoulders. "If this had gotten big, you know, we could have gotten an expedition going... we still could, I mean, but who the hell is gonna follow it?"
"Erin, look..." Stage said, putting his hoof back on her shoulder. "Come and stay with me and Singsong for a while, okay?"
"I'm not that bad," Erin said, waving a hoof. "I'm not gonna get drunk again... that never really worked the first time I tried it."
"Yeah, maybe," Stage said. "But I still wanna see you while you're working through this... and besides, in this state you're not gonna look that great at any formal events. Singsong will want to help with that. He's never actually been to anything but my show openings, which aren't really the biggest events out there."
"Formal events?" Erin asked, peering up at him. "Why would I be going to any formal events? The twins got passed over. That's what you came here to tell me, right?"
"Well, it was, actually," Stage said. "But I found something else on the way here." He reached into his mane, pulling out a small, crisply white envelope. "I found this in the mailbox. Delivered pretty recently from the looks of it. I... may have opened it..."
Erin sniffed, and smiled weakly at him. "Snoop," she said. "Old habits, huh?" Her horn lit up, and she took the envelope from him. She gave it a shake, sliding out the letter within. "It's from the... Dean of the university?" she asked as she unfolded it. "It's too fancy to be a pink slip. It's... an invite?" Her ears perked up, and she sat up straighter in her chair. "A cordial invite! I'm invited to... wait..." she quieted down, her eyes darting back and forth across the letter. "We? It's... for me, Meadowlark and Nightingale! We're all invited to the Dean's Summer Ball!?" She looked up. "Stage, you usually get these things. They're for like, huge socialites and family heads, and department seats. What the hell?"
Stage smiled faintly, and shrugged. "I guess Meadowlark and Nightingale made an impact on somepony after all," he said. "Go figure. But like you said... department seats, and socialites. Maybe there's a chance to get those two out there after all?"
Erin leaned back in her chair, breathing out slowly. She turned the letter over, and back again, inspecting every inch of it. “I... I mean, wow. Yeah.” She rubbed her face. “This... could be big. I mean... we could talk to geneticists, maybe some paleontologists... we could get interest in an actual expedition, but...”
“But?” Stage asked, tilting his head. “But what?”
Erin shrugged. “Well, you know more about those kinds of parties than me,” she said. “I mean, you always get invited to them. And you were always better at the social crap anyways. But the way I remember them from way back when, Ponies generally went there to look impressive, talk about how great they're doing, and get just drunk enough that they can still function on expensive wines. They're not exactly there to talk about that kinda thing...”
“Well, these aren't all rich ponies after all,” Stage said. “The Department Head of Theatre lives in a loft apartment in the Lower Quarter.”
Erin rolled her eyes. “I've met the Department Head of Theatre,” she said. “He makes over one hundred thousand bits per year. If he lives in a loft apartment, it's because he never got a chance to be the starving artist he was always meant to be.”
Stage laughed. “Well, okay,” he said. “The point is, there will still be scientists, there. Even if they don't want to talk about it there, you can still introduce them to Meadowlark and Nightingale, and then approach them afterwords.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Erin said with a shrug. “I guess... I'm just worried about how Meadowlark and Nightingale will react. I mean, that's not really their world.”
“Well, neither was this,” Stage said with a shrug. “They adapted, right? As far as they'll know, it'll just be the next step.”
“The next step?” a voice asked from the back of the lab. Both Erin and Stage turned to see Nightingale plod into the lab with Meadowlark on his heels. Once they were in the lab Meadowlark moved around Nightingale and trotted up to Erin's desk, while Nightingale kept up his meandering pace.
Both Bat Ponies had blood still fresh on their muzzled and mud on their hooves, and judging from the bulge in Nightingale's cheeks swapping back and forth, he had a piece of bone or cartilage to chew on.
Stage grimaced and leaned away from them as they approached. “Hi, guy... eurgh. What's that smell?”
“Rabbit,” Nightingale said simply.
“Well, scared rabbit anyways,” Meadowlark added, taking a seat on the floor beside the desk. “They only smell like that if they notice you before you kill them. Otherwise they don't smell that, um...”
“Pungent?” Stage suggested, waving a hoof in front of his nose.
“Delicious,” Nightingale responded with a shrug.
Meadowlark looked back and forth between the two, but shrugged. “What were you two talking about?” he asked.
“Um,” Erin said, peering at the letter in her hooves. “Well, we were just talking about a party, actually.”
Meadowlark tilted is head. “A party?” he asked. “I... think I've heard of those? Stage, didn't you mention something about that, once?”
“Hmm?” Stage asked, shaking his head and shuffling away from the offending smell. “Oh, yeah. When I told you about how I got into music, seeing a pianist at a party my parents took me too when I was young.”
“Will there be a pianist there?” Meadowlark asked, leaning forward and perking his ears up.
“Maybe,” Erin said. She folded the letter, and a small smile passed across her lips. “They could have a full band, even. It's hard to tell with these sorts of things, but... it might be interesting to see, don't you think?”
Meadowlark paused, and hunkered down a little. “Well... maybe,” he said. “I mean, I think... I've never heard live music played by anypony aside from Stage and myself, and Stage is always saying the library has bad acoustics... it might be nice to hear music somewhere better... but there are a lot of ponies at parties, aren't there?”
“There would be,” Erin said, nodding. “There would be a lot of scientists there, but a lot of ponies more like... um... well, not like me, but like Stage and Singsong. Normal Ponies. You wouldn't have to show off, or anything,” she added as Meadowlark hunkered a bit lower. “You'd be able to just talk to ponies, and hang around like that.”
It was Nightingale's turn to perk up now, though he still gazed coolly at the letter in Erin's hooves. “Just like at the conference?” he asked. “I... enjoyed the conference, I think.”
“Well, sorta,” Erin said, smiling a bit wider now. “You wouldn't be speaking to the whole crowd – ponies would come and go from conversation. At least, unless you were really interesting. But it would just be a casual situation. You could just meet some ponies.”
“Just... talking?” Meadowlark asked. He lifted his head a bit, and his ears twitched with interest. “Do you think.... the ponies there would be okay with that? I mean... do you think they'd be okay with us?”
“See for yourself,” Erin said, holding out the letter. “They invited you by name.”
Meadowlark took the letter and began to read over it. He squinted intensely at the paper, reading it over and over. “They invited me and Nightingale, too?” he asked. “Why would they invite us?”
“They're excited about a new kind of pony I guess,” Erin said. She leaned in, putting a hoof on Meadowlark's shoulder and rubbing. “They want to meet you. Want to talk to you, maybe even make friends with you.”
“As a pony?” Meadowlark asked, perking up more.
“Why not? That's what you are, after all,” Erin replied. “But, hey – it's your choice, you know. An invite is optional. You don't have to go if you don't want to.”
“I think I'd like to,” Nightingale said. He peered at his brother, who was still staring at the letter.
Meadowlark shuffled his wings and rubbed his chin, scratching at the drying blood stains in his fur. “Mmmm,” he said softly. “I think... um...” he peered up. “I think I might like that? I mean... I think I'd like to get to know ponies... as a pony. I think that'd be nice.”
Erin grinned, patting him on the shoulder. “That's great!” she said. “I'm sure you'll like it. Although,” she added, settling back into her chair and smirking a bit, “we may need to update you on etiquette. It probably wouldn't do for you to show up covered in rabbit blood.”
“It wouldn't?” Meadowlark asked, looking down at himself.
Erin chuckled. “No, you wouldn't,” she said. “And if you couldn't figure that out from Stage, we might need to teach you how to pick up on body language in general, at that.”
“It's not the blood I have a problem with,” Stage said, “so much as the smell. Not that I like the blood, mind you. But I agree with Erin. You two could probably use a lesson on the kind of manners that ponies use at parties like those.”
Nightingale sighed. “More rules?” he asked.
“Yes, more rules,” Stage responded, smirking if a tad indignant sounding. “But not that many, really. Not that there'd be much time for it anyways, the party is in a couple of weeks...” his smirk turned warm. “I was telling Erin, but you know, you can all come and stay with me and Singsong for the time being. It would make things easier.”
Nightingale shrugged. “I suppose,” he said.
Erin snorted. “If you're gonna keep pushing for that, I suppose we will,” Erin said. “I still say I'm fine, but... hey, these two are gonna need to get used to being around ponies, right?”