The quiet, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor set the tempo for the busy pace that the hospital’s corridors maintained. Medical practitioners rushed about and a near-choir of hoof-beats that were tapped out on the tile floors. A sudden spike in blood pressure caused a corresponding surge in beats as a shout rang out from a bedridden stallion, “Lucas!”
It was an echo into the waking world. The word came with a sudden lurch from the changeling, as his eyes burst open wider than the glass-paned oculus that let the morning light filter into the room. The taunts from the mare in his dreams couldn't be heard in this small room, but that didn't stop the changeling from scanning it just to be sure.
His eyes made a quick pass over his fore-legs, as he sat up, while his mane grazed his forehead. After which he flopped back onto the bed with a sigh of relief. No holes: he was solid. No jagged horn disrupted the movements of his mane. Nor did he feel his insect wings crunch beneath him. His coat wasn't the tell-tale Canterlot Black but instead a muddy brackish-brown, with blue splotches, that he could deal with later. Finally, he was relieved that he saw no sign of other changelings, but for what reason he couldn't readily identify.
A clipboard came levitating into view, enshrouded by a faint aura. The magic was a shade of dark blue that matched the eyes of the caramel colored doctor standing at the foot of his bed. “Lucas?” he asked, “Is that somepony you know?”
The changeling quickly pulled the covers up to his shoulders before replying, “Uhm… that’s how I pronounced my name when I was a ha-foal!” The changeling found himself sweating bullets, at having almost blown his cover with the word hatchling, while trying to explain away the identity crisis. “How did I get here?” he counter-queried.
A few pages magically flipped on the chart before a dry recitation was given, “A yellow pegasus found you near a pond that her chickens frequently play in.” He peered over the chart before continuing, “You’re quite lucky; you nearly drowned. When you’re fit to do so, you should express your gratitude to the mare who brought you in.”
After forcing a weak smile the changeling replied: “I don’t really remember any of that.” He thought that drowning is not the kind of thing that anypony should feel thankful for, but those thoughts were interrupted by the grinding pain of hunger.
“Huh. Nothing at all?” the doctor asked. He was seemingly oblivious to the changeling’s plight as he continued flipping through the file, and added: “She’s down in the lobby now; filling out paperwork.” The doctor paused to add a note regarding the patient's improved condition to the chart. “You said your name was Lucas? We didn't have one to put on your chart.”
Two names rattled about in his head. He couldn't be sure which was the alias, and which was real. When he heard one of the two from his attending physician, the changeling grimaced at the filly-phonetic-foul, and committed to the other. Though, he was unsure as to why neither name sat right with him.
“It’s Lacus, actually,” he matter-of-factly corrected.
“Pools?” The doctor raised his eyebrow with the question.
“What?” Lacus responded. He was both irritated and slightly relieved that this was what his attending physician decided to focus on, rather than the gross discoloration in his coat.
The unicorn doctor magically pulled a quill from his jacket to amend the chart. “Your name, it’s Latin, it means pools. Your parents must have been either very clever, or very cruel, to name an infant pools–” Doctor Horse stopped briefly before thoughtfully adding, “or puddles, if you prefer. Is it a first or last name?”
Trying to find an answer for even himself, Lacus’s mind raced through the question of how a changeling could get into Ponyville without there being a record of it, but the names Lucas Greymane and Lacus Sceleratus were all he could retrieve.
“First,” Lacus replied in a succinctly annoyed tone despite, or perhaps because of, an attachment to frank and hurtful things.
“Cruel then. What is your last name, if any?” the doctor quipped as he amended the chart again.
“I can’t really recall,” Lacus lied. Until he knew what was going on, he thought it best not to fully commit to either one or the other.
"Does 'HoH&HD' or 'HSB:HK' mean anything to you? They were scrawled on a note found in your possession." The final question before the doctor launched into his diagnosis was met with a vacant stare from the apparent earth-stallion, so the doctor shrugged and went on, “The amnesia is likely a side effect of the drowning so it should be temporary.”
At the statement of amnesia, Lacus felt inexplicably compelled to try to salvage his dignity. “No. It’s not that,” he blurted out. “I know that I know who I am, but I just can’t seem to... get at those memories…” His train of thought drifted off the rails as he realized what he was describing.
The embarrassment of the realization was compounded when the doctor interjected with, “Interesting...” while he added 'confusion' to the clipboard. “Since this is the second case this week of Poison Joke related amnesia, we need to notify the authorities for safety reasons; there may be a new strain.”
The delivery of the statement was as sterile as the hospital they were in but it still perturbed Lacus. Something about the phrase "notify the authorities" triggered a primal fear in the changeling. He had to get out before they did, but he needed an opening. His apprehension was impossible to hide completely so he attempted to mask it with a question. “You think my memory problems are related to this… Poison Joke?”
In a tone that suggested what he was about to say was common knowledge, he explained: “If it is a side effect of the Poison Joke, then there is a remedy. However– we don’t carry it. For some reason being poisoned is not something that the ponies of this town feel they need to see a doctor about.”
This exasperated Lacus, and it took all his focus to limit his response to mere aggravation rather than directed rage as he asked: “You don’t carry an antitoxin for—oh just using my imagination here—this exact type of scenario?”
With a stiff upper lip the doctor revealed the struck nerve but resisted responding in kind, “It isn't life threatening and, as I have told you, nopony comes to us for the cure. So even if we had some it would simply expire on the shelves.” He ended with a sigh, rather than a scowl, and it was apparent that the frustration in his voice was due to his inability to provide any more aid.
Great, Lacus thought, H.K. would have a field day if she ever found out, though I really should try to get a sample for her anyway. Well later– his mind stopped dead on the rails. He wanted to ask himself who, what, and how, but it would have to wait until he wasn't under the threat of going under knife since he couldn't afford to be distracted just yet.
Trying not to sound too eager he took a breath to calm himself before attempting to create a reason to leave. “If I have Poison Joke, something you don’t normally treat—and something that isn't life threatening—then why am I here?” Lacus asked with genuine confusion.
The way the doctor’s eyes narrowed suggested that he was starting to suspect that Lacus had suffered brain damage after all. “Apart from the almost dying in a pool of your own filth;” the doctor explained, “you have other symptoms we can’t yet identify.”
Lacus returned to an agitated state at again being so nearly discovered. Changelings have a very different anatomy than regular ponies, and he didn't want be the one to give up those ghosts. His nervousness transformed back to embarrassment when the precocious rumbling of his stomach drowned out the other sounds of life in the hospital.
Acknowledging the biological need the doctor turned to leave while ending with: “I’ll send an orderly to fetch you some food.”
Deciding to play along till he could make his escape Lacus waited a moment or two for the doctor to get down the hallway before quietly cantering out of his room. Whereupon he was comedically tackled by a very large dog. No. Wait, he questioned his senses, that’s a pony. Is… is it barking?
Before he could think on it any further she scrambled up and dashed off in a two-tone blur of blues with an orderly, and guard, hot on her tail. This is it! he thought, while recognizing that the distraction that he needed was galloping away. He stared intently at her jostling hindquarters as her gown whipped back and forth—obscuring the treasure he so desperately desired to see.
Cutiemark-cutiemark-cutiemark-CUTIEMARK! he chanted in his mind and as she rounded the corner it came into view for but a moment. A screw? He thought to himself how strange that was as if her special talent was some form of clinical insanity; as if that was somehow acceptable in pony society. Regardless, he reasoned while mentally shrugging, it shouldn't be difficult to duplicate her to get out of this hospital more-or-less undetected.
He scrambled up and bolted after them full tilt. After rounding the corner he slid to a stop near the first door that was left ajar in the confusion: a maintenance storage closet. Inside the light was on so he figured that it should be able to transform without attracting too much attention since the green flair would diffuse in the soft yellow glow.
"Fwoosh!"
It was convenient that he was now blue, since the poison joke now blended in with his new coat. "She was barking," he asked himself, "how did it sound?"
“Bark. Bark. Bark!”
Yeah, like that—wait a minute, that came from… Lacus’s about-face turn put the doppelganger mirror to the genuine article and he knew that this was the biggest kind of screw-up possible for a changeling.
She happily barked again, and quickly followed up the strange “statement” by dragging the broad flat of her tongue across his face.
But… she’s crazy right? He desperately tried to rationalize the mistake, Who’d believe her? He could tell that her barking had given them away and that he had to come up with a plan; and fast. Everyone was treating her like a crazy pony, even though she seemed to identify as canine. He could relate to being treated as something that he’s not and considered that it might be best to oblige her.
In what could only be a best approximation of what should be her mannerisms he begged the question: “Who’s a good dog? You are. You are!”
She cocked her head to the side and panted happily.
Lacus could barely believe this was working. “Now sit,” he pleadingly whispered with her voice, which she did without hesitation. Lacus grinned anxiously. She may be crazy but at least she’s crazy good at what she’s crazy for. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of trotting coming toward them from down the hall. “If you be a good girl, and stay here, you’ll get a treat! You’d like that wouldn't you? Yes you would! Because you’re a good girl!” he, now she, hurriedly whispered. She licked his, being her, face again and smiled warmly before resuming her panting.
Lacus pulled some towels off a shelf and draped them over her– the real her. The sound of the twisting doorknob indicated that he was not a moment too soon. In response he reared up on his hind legs and brung his fore hooves down on the door; which allowed him to burst out of the closet in a full gallop.
While barking madly he bull-rush past the orderly at its handle. Then, after leaping over the guard, he dashed down the hall. To round a corner without losing momentum, he kicked off the wall, where a sign engraved with ‘Psychiatric Ward’ hung.
He wasn't familiar enough with the hospital’s layout to find an easy exit and, from the windows he passed while running about like a loon, he gauged that he was on the second floor. A strategy came to him in a flash when he considered what that meant. It wasn't inconceivable that the pony he was pretending to be might jump from one of these windows, and he figured that he should be okay if he tucked in his legs, and rolled with the fall.
He knew that his room would be empty, but he didn't want to draw attention to that fact. Seeing another empty room at the end of the hall, he pushed himself into a high sprint and hit the empty bed like the Friendship Express. Bouncing into a spin, he grabbed a pillow with her teeth and hurled it at the window.
A crack in the frame spread from where his hind hooves came down, as he shoulder tackled through the pane while using the pillow as a shield to deflect broken glass. Having damaged the frame with his hooves before the full impact of her body caused the shards to fly out at an angle. As to not risk landing in any sharp fragments, he pushed off the windowsill into a rolling dive in the opposite direction, and when he tumbled out of the bushes two guards stormed out of the lobby in pursuit.
It would seem this wasn't the first time this pony had tried to break out of the hospital. In the midst of the commotion the only other thing on the changeling’s mind was how hungry he was. He knew that he had to find a new face before he could lose his tail and, while there were plenty to choose from on the way, he was also certain that the guards would also see them in the pursuit. Out of sight, in one of the many coming alleyways, he heard a conversation playing out.
“Doctor, look! It’s glowing! Is it supposed to do that!?” a mare frantically questioned.
“Well don’t touch it!” shouted the stallion in a thick accent.
“Doctor, come quick! It’s making the noise,” the mare exclaimed in a panic.
It was at this point that Lacus passed the alley they were in and his eyes darted over his form’s feminine shoulder to assess the events therein. He saw a tan stallion poking his head into a large blue box labeled: Pony Public Call Box. His nut-brown hair slightly occluded by a sign that read “PULL TO OPEN” further detailing instructions to distant to read.
Lacus also took note of the stallion’s hourglass cutiemark.
The ruckus outside of the box briefly caught the stallion’s attention. His big brown eyes locked with the magenta eyes of the Screwy-formed changeling for the last fleeting moment that she passed by the alleyways mouth. That was, before the impending catastrophe inside the box reclaimed the stallion’s attention.
Though now out of sight to him Lacus figured that, if the duo were drawn inside before they were observed by his pursuers, then that form would be as good as any to take. Though he didn't know the stallion’s name he could simply insist on being called “doctor” if necessary.
As to not risk exposing their presence, the apparently barking-mad mare continued on for a short while longer before hearing the distinctive wail of a dying engine whirring behind him. He wasn't sure what it meant, but the conversation stopped in-spite of the panic they were in, so he reasoned that they were also out of sight.
Lacus found herself power-sliding through the turn into an adjacent alleyway. Rather than the traditional “hooves up” lateral transformation, since the circumstances could not accommodate its ease, a shimmer moved vertically about his feminine form; as if he had passed through a magical barrier that lie just out of sight to those pursuant to him.
A cramp in his left foreleg sent the renewed stallion headlong into some refuse bins, which spilled garbage out everywhere, and made quite a racket. Panic was all that he could feel as he lay in the leftover party decorations; his light-brown coat smeared with frosting. He was just struggling to stand up again when the guards rushed in.
Immediately he blurted out: “Thank Luna you’re here!” The estranged sentiment rusted his silver tongue, which forced the subsequent truths as he stumbled over the idea. “Some crazy pony just knocked me into the trash!” The exasperating exclamation came whilst he tried to hide just how out of breath that he was. “She’s a danger to herself, and everypony around her, you should get after her right now!” he added in a huff.
They reached down to offer him a helping hoof but Lacus waved them off to signify the bigger danger was getting away. With no reason to suspect him the guards resumed their pursuit of what was now an even more imaginary mare. While the changeling limped back out of the alleyway he remained oblivious to the prophetic nature of his statements; as it was masked in the dialectical ambiguity of the word “she”.
Though exhausted, but uplifted by the scent of love in the air, he still managed a smirk on his way to the entrance to Sugarcube Corner. In hindsight it was a kiss of serendipity that he fell into the garbage. The assorted colors of the unfavored party-favors had masked the blue spots that surely should have given him away. He shook from his mane what confetti and confections that he could before trotting into the bakery. While he needed to figure out who he was, he couldn't do that on an empty stomach.
He held the door for a sandy-tan unicorn who was exiting as he entered. A look of recognition despoiled the tranquility of her expression, and a single letter slipped from her lips, "...D?"
Before Lacus could make introductions as 'the doctor' she grimaced and quickly brushed past him with a tear in her eye. A strange case of mistaken identity? Lacus noted as his hoof hesitantly wavered. After quick consideration of his present priorities the stallion stepped into the establishment.