//------------------------------// // Chapter 18 - Rise and Shine // Story: Changelings, Love and Lollipops // by Georg //------------------------------// Changelings, Love and Lollipops Chapter 18 Rise And Shine Go home… The changeling shifted uncomfortably under the full-body entwining of pinkus dianus pieus, the only known pony python in existence. He managed to open one eye, the only voluntary muscle movement he was capable of at the moment. Speaking would have been impossible without gaining an entire mouthful of pink, and he was exceedingly happy that all of the confetti had been soaked out of his nose last night, or he certainly would have suffocated in this position. That would have been far too ironic. The faint glow of morning was filtering in through the windows, far later than Pinkie normally slept in. It had been a stressful evening last night, and the Cakes had each peeked into Pinkie’s room twice this morning before slipping away while radiating various degrees of confusion. Even the alarm clocks had been neglected, each of them slowly ticking away until they reached the end of their springs and stopping at various times. There was no danger of the changeling running out of spring. If he had been a clock, he had enough love in him to tell time until Celestia was old and grey, and more love poured in by the minute. Eventually, he would reach his limit again and would be forced to flee before exploding like an overblown balloon. The little voice inside his head constantly whispered it with increasing insistence. Home is changelings. Home is not ponies. Go home. Give the love that fills your body to the hive. You are needed at home. He was needed here far more, and not just in a physical fashion, although that was part of it, he supposed. Throughout the night, they had experimented somewhat awkwardly with each other. She had been a clumsy kisser, despite a burning desire to learn and an enthusiasm for the activity that bordered on terrifying. In other regards, she had been almost timid, filled with fear of rejection and afraid of hurting him. It was… different than before, almost as if he had been with another changeling who could not decide who she was going to be at any one moment. He had followed, at first, then led for a while as they determined each other’s pace. For a time, they had even tried to lead each other, but that didn’t work at all, and in the end they returned the bridle to Pinkie’s bottom drawer and returned to bed with the mutual understanding that the use of the device was not nearly as pleasant as rumor had claimed, or that perhaps there was a trick to it that neither of them understood. They had even spoken of foals, in hushed whispered words under the covers as if Pinkie were afraid that the Cakes would hear. Neither of them had the most pleasant of memories from that time, but much like him, she still viewed the simple rock farm where she grew up to be the center of her world, and held her family in the highest regard. In that regard too, she was torn. The Cakes were her family as much as the Pies, and she worried that to love one to the extent she desired would somehow reduce the love poured out onto the other. The odd thought that he was sucking away what was rightfully the property of others bothered the changeling far more than he was willing to admit. The fountain of love that poured out of Pinkie only seemed endless. No one pony could possibly be this filled with life and determined to spray it all around wherever she went without eventually running dry. It stuck with him while they were brushing their teeth, side-by-side, and as they bumped flanks while walking down the stairs. She deserved to fall in love with a real pony, one who could return that love, one who could give her the foals she wanted, grow old with her, and eventually die with her after wringing every single drop out of life that the two of them could squeeze. As they strolled into the kitchen, they saw Mister and Missus Cake taking a brief morning break with Cup resting her pregnant bulk on a flattened cushion and mopping her brow while Carrot brewed her up a quick cup of tea and kept an eye on the front counter. The two of them looked both exhausted and elated, with the symphony of married love between them that made the changeling pause just to take a deep breath and appreciate the fine aroma. Even the faint taste of the growing foals flavored the air with undercurrents of so many kinds of love that the changeling could not consider matching them with the bland tags he had learned during his long months of training. Like the many ingredients of a cake, when properly mixed and treated produced a delectable treat, this was a dessert he would never be able to create on his own, and he muffled a sniff by excusing himself to go cover the front counter while Pinkie dove into the baking with a vengeance. For some reason, his flank felt cold at the front counter as he served up the waiting line of customers. Perhaps it was a draft from the ice machine, or a welcome absence of hormone-inflamed customers. It certainly was not from the ponies, who all greeted him with smiling faces and outstretched hooves, insisting on a hoof-shake or a quick kiss on the cheek ‘as a snack’ before giving him their bits and taking away their baked goods. After about the tenth “So glad you decided to stay,” he decided that it was futile to explain that he had not really voluntarily remained in town when the Royal Guard wagon departed. After all, the lumps on his head had subsided and Pinkie Pie continued to dance into the room every so often to replenish the shelves and steal a kiss of her own, so it would be rather difficult to explain last night. Or, as he was beginning to dread, they would understand far too well, and possibly offer more encouragement. He was just transitioning his worry into concern about the Royal Guard wagon returning this afternoon, when a young earth pony mare entered Sugarcube Corner. No, ‘entered’ was the wrong word. She used a sinuous movement somewhat similar to a sashay, with small segments of a slink, or a sway, and even a strut tossed in there somewhere as strong muscles rippled under her tan coat and polished hooves clicked along the floor. Most of her body and in particular her gently flowing amber mane swung along in a delightful counterpoint to her measured pace and to the musical accompaniment of small bits of jingling chain that draped all around her shapely shape. She paused at the counter, ignoring the line of stunned customers she had passed on her way in, and studied the changeling as if he were some sort of chocolate dessert, and she was determining just where to insert the spoon. “So you’re a changeling,” she whispered in a husky contralto that brought a shiver up the changeling’s neck. Her questioning gaze swept up and down his body until she leaned forward and gently nipped the apron off of his unresisting body in one slow motion. “Interesting,” she added. “Change.” “Whay?” he managed to stammer out of a suddenly dry throat. “If you’re really a changeling, show me,” she added with a sultry sweep of her eyelashes that jingled a few nearby metallic links on her face. It took several false starts for the changeling to actually drop his disguise, feeling oddly self-conscious about the whole activity much like the brief time he had spent as a male dresser⁽*⁾. Finally, a wave of green changeling magic swept over his body and he stood in place, trying not to feel as if the observing mare were evaluating him like a bundle of carrots in the marketplace. After an uncomfortably long time, she nodded and pulled a small card out of her mane. Placing it on the counter, she put the apron back onto the changeling and delicately lipped a pencil out of his pocket, using it to draw through the ‘By Appointment Only’ line on the business card. The changeling stood frozen as the young mare picked up the card from the counter with her lips and delicately placed it behind one of his ears, brushing the thin chitin as she returned to her position with a soft whisper of, “Later.” And with the soft jingle of her metallic jewelry and a sultry swaying of her shapely hips, she made her way back out the front door of the store and vanished from sight. “Whips and Chains,” read Pinkie Pie just inches from his twitching ear as she examined the business card. “Professional Therapists. I didn’t know Chains and her sister both were Psych-it-rists, Pops.” “Psychiatrists,” corrected the changeling automatically, trying not to think about what her couch would look like, or the possible accessories that it would contain. (*) Although most of the dressing clubs cater to young stallions who drink oversalted drinks and watch young mares strut back and forth on stage while putting on clothes to loud music, there are a few more ‘select’ establishments in which the genders of the participants were reversed. Most changelings considered both types to be the equivalent of candy stores: tasty but not very nutritious. However, on occasion, the queen prefers a little bit of candy mixed in with the harvested love. * * * It was far more comfortable to remain back in the kitchen and deal with the end of the baking day as Pinkie Pie covered the front counter and the Cakes retreated for a well-deserved break. Maybe staying was an option after all, if he could avoid Ponyville’s ‘Psychiatrists.’ Perhaps even Twilight Sparkle could find some way of collecting the excess love he was accumulating for shipment back to the hive. * * * The delivery changeling dressed in the milkcolt’s uniform paused at Sugarcube Corner’s doorstep to look at the collection of glass bottles that had been arrayed for his daily pickup. It was a little more than the usual pickup, but the deep ‘chug, chug, chug’ of the milking machine could still be heard from somewhere inside Sugarcube Corner. “So, that’s four bottles of Affection, two of Passion, six of Gastronomic Glee, and one of Lust,” he said over the sound of the milker. He looked up at Pinkie Pie, who had been checking off a list as he read. “Seems a little high for Glee this morning, Ma’am. Isn’t he done yet?” “We had a sale on Applejack’s Apple Fritters yesterday and he’s still in the milker until it all comes out,” chirped Pinkie while producing a paper bag. “I saved a couple of fritters for you and Queen Meanie.” * * * It was a very busy day in the bakery that kept him either mixing, cooking or cleaning in one long line of baking pans that fortunately kept his mind busy enough to avoid thinking, but as the lunch rush slowed and the end of the baking day approached, his rebellious mind insisted on bringing up more reasons both why he needed to go home and why he should stay. He had just finished washing the long-handled skillets and was polishing a somewhat shallow dent out of the bottom of one, when a gentle touch on his shoulder alerted him to the fact that somepony had managed to slip up on him while he was lost in thought. “Excuse me,” whispered The Fluttershy as every single voluntary muscle in the changeling froze up solid. “The girls are out collecting grasshoppers again today so the trout have enough food for their long trip upstream to… you know. They wanted to know if you wanted to help them again. You know. If you want to.” * * * The cheerful pegasus fluttered down to the group of small ponies at the edge of the trout pond and hefted the large bag from her back. “Hello, girls. The nice changeling didn’t want to come help us collect grasshoppers to feed the fishies today, so I had to bring a bag of food instead.” “Gee, that’s too bad,” said Apple Bloom, scooping up a hoof-full of the dark pellets inside the bag. “He was so much fun, and I know he liked feeding the fish. What is this stuff, anyway?” “It’s a high-protein fish food made by drying and grinding up… things,” said Fluttershy, scooping up a cup full of the little granules and spreading them out on the water to the trout’s obvious approval. * * * “Yes?” volunteered the changeling, ever so slowly removing his hoof from the kitchen coffee grinder and trying not to look at The Fluttershy. “Thank you,” she whispered. “And… Um… I wanted to thank you for… the other thing too.” “Other thing?” asked the changeling as his mind went totally blank except for an irrational need to flee. “Oh, yes,” breathed The Fluttershy. “I mean, I never would have gotten the courage to ask Big Macintosh, even though he’s so handsome and kind, and so helpful around the house whenever Angel Bunny breaks something that needs fixed, which happens a lot. I hope I wasn’t too rough on you. Please tell me I wasn’t too rough.” “You weren’t too rough,” he repeated automatically. “Thank you.” She touched his shoulder and ran one hoof up the smooth chitin to his neck as cold prickles darted up and down his spine. “Maybe next month during my heat, I can stay at my house and you can come over—” “It really was Big Macintosh,” he blurted out in a panic. There was a faint squeak. He decided not to mention Cheerilee’s hormone-driven pursuit of Big Mac too. There was a quiet thud. He decided not to mention any of the other mares who had gotten a dose of pheramones either. There was a very long silence. He really did not want to look. But he had to. And after he looked, he wished he had gone with his first instinct. I’ve killed The Fluttershy * * * Despite being torn between an irrational urge to hide The Fluttershy’s unconscious body and an overwhelming urge to flee out the back door and fly home, the changeling managed to settle on a third option that did not involve either physical or magical contact, or a facefull of confetti: Summoning Pinkie Pie out of the other room. Once she had woken Fluttershy up and the changeling was fairly sure there was not going to be any vengeful retaliation, he slipped out into the front room to clean. It was very difficult to think after such a shock, but the taste of the mop handle in his teeth was somewhat reassuring. It was a physical reminder of his placement in the world, part of the four points that a changeling needed to cover when they first arrived in a location: Cover, Food, Residence and Employment, although if possible Residence and Food could be lumped together by seducing some cute young thing into a few nights lodging, and frequently Employment could be acquired from that relationship too. Oddly enough, that was roughly the sequence he had taken upon his dramatic arrival in Ponyville, although Cover was so nonexistent as to be laughable, and Food had nearly killed him multiple times. So what really is preventing me from staying? Other than the daily near-death experiences. A consideration of his recent brushes with death and an honest evaluation of their causes nearly all pointed back to himself, from breaking Pinkie Promises to irrational fear of perfectly ordinary ponies. He took another look back through the kitchen doorway to where Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy were talking, with Pinkie holding her front hooves a very particular distance apart and Fluttershy looking suitably embarrassed before returning to his mopping. Well, maybe they weren’t perfectly ordinary ponies, but none of them had really attacked him without suitable cause. Even Twilight Sparkle had done nothing more than hold him up against the wall. Oh, and accidentally made the barrier spell on the jail cell entirely too effective. And fed him that horrible glop. He suppressed a shudder and tried to imagine what a changeling would have to do in Ponyville in order to not distress the ordinary townsfolk other than the nametag he wore at the bakery. Hello. My name is Pops the Changeling Changelings changed. Just because noling had ever been accepted as themselves in pony society before did not mean it would never happen. If he were going to try, it would take some changes to himself, which he started by bursting into a blaze of green fire and appearing in his familiar unicorn disguise. That would calm the nervous flower-themed ponies of the town, and if he kept in the same form for a long time, they might even eventually forget he had another form. After all, the town was used to a fire-breathing dragon and his fire-breathing owner, so maybe a changeling would actually be easier for them to accept. He already had the Employment covered, as he shifted his grip on the mop to his much more convenient unicorn magic and plunged the watery scrubbing tool into the harder to reach corners of the bakery main room. Sleeping with Pinkie Pie provided both Food and Residence, although he probably should buy his own toothbrush sometime soon. That only left the hardest question: How would Queen Chrysalis react? * * * What?” Queen Chrysalis grasped the unfortunate messenger drone in her magic and slammed him against the wall of the hive, putting her sharp teeth inches away from his cringing face as she snarled, “How can there be one changeling left in Equestria? I ordered them all home!” “P-p-princess Celestia says there’s one left who hasn’t come home yet, Your Majesty,” stammered the drone. “Well go get him!” she snapped. “Get a couple dozen of my finest warriors and bring him here, in as many pieces as possible!” “W-we’d be breaking the t-treaty,” stammered the drone. “A-a-and the drone is in P-p-p-ponyville.” The magic supporting the drone against the wall cut off and the unfortunate changeling slid down to the floor. “Ponyville,” she growled. “I’m not sending my soldiers into that pestilent pit of depravity. All of my changelings the Equestrians have returned smell like cake and tea. It’s disgusting. Send a letter to Princess Luna instead. She can deal with him, as long as she sends the body back to us after she’s done with him.” Queen Chrysalis abruptly turned and looked right at Pops. “Or he could just come home right now!” * * * “Excuse me, Mister Tolliver?” Sweetie Belle waved a hoof in front of his face as Pops blinked his way out of the daydream. “I asked if you want to come hunt grasshoppers with us again right now.” “Uh… Yes?” It seemed to be the safest answer, and the only one that sprang to mind while he waited for his heart to quit hammering away in his chest. He still did not quite feel as calm as before, even after collecting Pinkie Pie and several ‘practice kisses’ from her, but he soon settled back into the same comfortable routine as they galloped out to the meadow like before and happily trounced through the tall grass to scare up the insects. After an hour or two of sincere sweating and an inhaled mosquito or two from his high-speed towing of Scootaloo and her battered kite, Pinkie Pie actually grew comfortable enough with him out of hoof’s reach to take the little ponies swimming while he prepared to relax under the same spreading tree as before. With a little modification. The saw tasted of wood and sweat as he ran it back and forth across the base of the badly-placed tree branch, making a nice stream of sawdust filter down even as he tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head. Where did you get the saw? “Shaddup,” he muttered from around the saw’s handle as the last of the stubborn wood gave way and the soft patch of ground was now noggin-knocker free. He tossed the limb to one side and arranged a tuft of dry grass for a comfortable spot to lie down and watch the ongoing water fight that threatened to send several trout up onto the banks of the pond. Where did the saw go? “Shaddup, shaddup,” he muttered, settling down on the sun-warmed grass and trying to just absorb the moment without irrational fears or anything else interfering. The decision had been made, or at least if he could treat the decision as being made, he would not have to think about how terrified he was to be making such a large leap of faith on his own instead of being told how to act or what to do by the hivemind. Still, little niggling doubts assailed his confidence with the assurance that returning to the hive would be the right thing to do, the action that he had been exhaustively trained to do, what a changeling would do without thinking and what he had been spending entirely too much time rejecting. Putting the worries behind him, he tried to consider just exactly how he was going to tell Pinkie Pie that he was staying. That is, without being crushed in the inevitable hug that would follow, or some other possibly fatal reaction to his decision. Despite his initial worries, a disguised changeling unable to connect to the hivemind should be able to go unnoticed in the larger pony scheme of things without being dragged back to the hive to be executed. After all, the amount of love that the hive would gain by his execution would be fairly miniscule compared to the free love provided by all of the other changelings who had already returned, and Ponyville was still a double-proscribed town, so there should not be any changelings blundering into him by accident. That still left a few dozen changelings who had seen him in town, but for now, he was going to avidly not-think about what could happen if they thought about it too much and Queen Chrysalis noticed. Ponyville? Why in the swarm would anyling want to stay in Ponyville? In response to his thoughts, the changeling looked over to the pond where Pinkie Pie was currently launching little ponies up into the air in order for them to make impressive splashes when they landed in the cool water. He may not have been able to love her in return, but she certainly seemed to be comforted by his presence… well, far more than comforted. She led a life of endless joy, and if she wanted to splash a little of that on him for as long as she wanted, that was fine with him, even if he couldn’t splash back. It couldn’t last, of course, but if it went on a year or two, that would be far, far more time that he had expected to live over the last week. It felt a little like his own hive of two, a very changeling-like sensation of finding his place in a vast organization where his own talents would be best applied to the needs of the Queen, who in this case reigned over a very tasty kingdom and had room for a hivemindless drone at her side for as long as it lasted. Breaking his train of thought, a cool shadow swept over the sun as a tall dark alicorn strode into his view and towered over him. The Nightmare looked furious, with little wisps of star-swept mane curling and snapping in the nonexistent breeze and her eyes narrowed to thin slits in the bright sunlight. Before he could even react, strands of indigo magic bound his legs, and a thick magical gag slapped over his face, although she mercifully left his nose free so he could pant in panic. “Hello, changeling,” growled The Nightmare.