//------------------------------// // Act 1 | Lunch at Sugarcube Corner // Story: To Cure Deception // by LegionPothIX //------------------------------// “Good morning,” the changeling announced with the Doctor’s face and accent to the proprietor. “Good morning, Doctor. I’m sorry we don’t have any gummy fillies today,” Mrs. Cake sweetly responded with an apologetic smile as she loaded a fresh batch of bran muffins into the display case. “Can I get you something else? A puddle of soup perhaps?” The gracious offer came with a hoof directing the eye to a newly expanded “tooth friendly” menu that added to what the sign assured was their classic repertoire. After a quick inspection of the bubbly pink font, offset by an equally pink bubbly mare holding on high a comically large tooth, Lacus shook his head. “Pinkie Pie sure does look happy though,” he noted, referencing the adage scrawled across the bottom that began with You’ll love it or my name isn’t. “Yep! So, what can I getcha?” Mrs. Cake inquired as she leaned on the display case. Knowing she couldn’t give him what he needed, Lacus took the opportunity to dismiss himself from the conversation. “I’m sorry, I’m just meeting someone here today.” Mrs. Cake nodded and Lacus forced a friendly chuckle at the sign, before turning to find a booth by a loving couple celebrating some special occasion. Was it an anniversary? Perhaps a birthday? He assessed, while trying to gauge the vintage of the love that was all but visibly hanging in the air. Mrs. Cake added from the counter when he left, “That’s alright, it’ll still be here later if you change your mind.” In sitting down behind the loving couple, it took every ounce of restraint not to just drain them dry. Instinct, or intuition, either way it was easy to imagine how easily feeding covertly, in public, and as a third party could go wrong if not handled with discretion. He focused intently on the pang of hunger striking through his being, and let it serve as a void to draw in their ambient love. The process was delicate, because if he didn't draw from each equally, steadily, and slowly, they would become suspicious. Though they may not be able to link it to him directly, that suspicion could very well alter their mood thereby causing the well to be capped, and he would have to try again elsewhere. Even though this earth pony’s form had no horn, he could still feel that it was a part of him. He closed his eyes and imagined his horn serving as both a lightning rod and anchor. The positive energy of love moved invisibly through the air, channeling into it, and filtered down into the void, slowly sating it– if only temporarily. During the minutes that rolled on as he fed, the conversation took a slow and sour turn. It was becoming one of those moments that simply ruins an entire day, and one such day that strings into an entire week of misfortune. Everyone has had at least one of those moments. A moment where all the joy from their very being was drained away, from what they thought was a negative situation, and it was Lacus who was at the center of this one. As the couple began quarreling, he considered simply slipping out unnoticed. However, before he could get up to leave the vision of that crazy pony whose form he borrowed filled his mind. With the image came the realization that she was probably still waiting in that closet for the treat he promised her. If I am going to be a changeling then I had better be the best that I can. He resolutely stood up to confront what he had done and found himself rationalizing that, After all, if their relationship ends, food will just become all that much harder to come by. Lacus slid into their booth, sitting across the table from the unhappy couple, and said nothing while waiting to be acknowledged. The conversation quickly ground to a halt at his appearance. Awkward was the silence accompanying mental-gears grinding against the spanner that was this stallion. A stallion who clearly hadn't an ounce of shame in his body. “Who do you–” began the candy cutiemarked mare as her sapphire eyes fixed on interloper. To which Lacus quickly cut her off with a fictitious introduction. “I am a professor of history from Canterlot,” Lacus began; mirroring the accent he heard in the alley. “But you may call me Doctor,” he curtly offered. He wasn't sure why the "Doctor" it was just what he had heard. “What do you want? We’re trying to have a conversation here!” interrupted the mare, her magenta and purple hair bobbed with frustration. Lacus smiled as he put his fore-hooves on the table and anxiously clicked his hooves together. He could feel in his bones that he had a knack for this sort of thing, even if why was still a mystery. After clearing his throat he narrowed his gaze at the pair. “I’m glad you asked!” he said. Giving no pause for interruption he explained, “You see, as a historian, it is my job to point out the relevant bits of history that can help future generations so they do not repeat the mistakes of the past.” As he spoke, his gaze became less intense and turned to a look of introspection. “This may seem like ancient history to you right now, but not more than ten minutes ago a loving couple walked into this place to celebrate a special day,” Lacus added as he thoughtfully tapped a free hoof on his chin. As for the other mare: her mint colored coat flushed red with rage that she was so visibly bursting with, and was quite dying to express. She had no sooner opened her mouth to do so when it was filled with a caramel colored hoof of the impostor. “Your anger is certainly understandable, and don’t let anyone tell you that you’re wrong for having such feelings… just try to remember why you came here in the first place.” Lacus finished his lecture while eyeing her intently, and doing his best to offer a warm, fatherly smile. Smiles were something he felt was the most draining part of the whole song and dance, but the finale was the most important bit. “But she–” stammered the mint mare mouth still full of hoof. Lacus flatly said: “I would hate to see you relive my mistakes.” His eyes narrowed sharply as if to communicate an underlying threat. A threat, not of physical harm, but the regret associated with the inability to unring a bell. Though it felt right, or ‘wrong’ as it troubled his soul, it felt natural to say. Embarrassment filled their eyes, and the ‘Doctor’ withdrew his hooves to allow them to perform their respective walks of shame unhindered. Lacus expected this type of thing wouldn't normally work if they weren't stunned by the sheer audacity of his actions and the dominating way in which they were executed. “Aww~ That was so sweet and kinda sad!” The words were delivered in a candy-coated voice that was as pink as the blob that bounded over the barrier and landed in the recently-vacated seat. Lacus was so startled he nearly lost form. After regaining his composure, he thought about how foolish he was to walk into the lion’s den and not expect to be confronted by the queen of the pride. He was left no alternative when he spoke, other than to trust his gut. “Hello, Pinkie… You heard that huh?” he asked, while hoping that he didn't sound too shocked. “I didn't know you came back! I heard your box go vorp vorp vorp woosh~ and thought that you had left with your friend and I got all sad because I didn't get to say hello but I was on my way to the hospital to cheer up this new pony but he wasn't there and the doctors didn't know what happened and…” The more Pinkie talked, the faster her words ran together, and the more unbearable her pitch became. It was good that she needed to take this deep breath since, if she wasn't talking about him, then he would have been completely lost by this random outburst. “Ahh!” She continued breathing in before an odd hesitation. “Wait did you sort-of-say that you and your special somepony had a fight?” she asked with genuine concern. The more she spoke the more he was able to get a sense of whom she was, but was caught off guard by the question, because he didn't peg concern as the mainstay of this air-headed mare. Lacus had simply assumed she would be willfully oblivious to such depressing things. “Yeah, I guess I kind of implied that, didn't I?” Lacus sheepishly admitted. He considered blowing her off, but thought that may attract even more unwanted attention. He figured that if he could placate her interest with a story, then she may leave him be. He gave some consideration to the mares in his life that he could craft a believable narrative about, but the list was incredibly short. Just one and he felt guilty for even going there. “What happened?” The question came with a once-over visual inspection. “And why do you have Poison Joke?” Lacus grimaced uncomfortably and glanced to the blue spots on his caramel coat. He hadn't realized, or considered, what he implied with what he said and because of this it was plain to see that Pinkie Pie’s powers of perception were dangerous. He could tell right away that she had unprecedented social aptitude, despite her eccentricities, which would make her exceedingly difficult to fool. Without a doubt if anyone could spot an impostor it would be her. Blowing her off would be too dangerous because it would arouse further suspicion. He would have to rely on context to twist her interpretations while trusting his gut to deliver something convincing. Only that would only be enough to get past her. “It’s a sad kind of story. You sure you’re up for it?” he asked hoping that she’d take the bait and opt out. Clearly he was mistaken as she responded: “Anything to turn that frown upside down!” Lacus thought carefully about which details he could embellish, which needed trivializing, and which he could emphasize as to keep Pinkie from getting too suspicious; but he needed more time to think so he suggested the irresistible. “Pinkie, why don’t you get yourself a milkshake while I clear this table?” A shrill squeal with delight preceded her response. “That sounds great! A milkshake is sure to make you feel better!” Lacus nearly hemorrhaged at the sound and could only offer a weak, “No, that’s alright, I've already had one.” It was a bald-faced lie that he immediately regretted because Pinkie pressed the issue. “Really? What flavor?” she asked. He didn't think that she was suspicious, just curious, but he still considered it strike one. He hesitantly responded choosing his words very carefully: “I think that, deep down, they’re all really just sugar flavored–” Another shriek as Pinkie exclaimed: “Sugar flavored? That’s my favorite!” Lacus cleared the dishes left by the previous occupants as Pinkie returned with what would be—for any other pony—a comically large portion, generously described as a barrel, of ice cream blend. Sadly, Lacus suspected that Pinkie was showing restraint in view of the perceived severity of circumstances. Though one might accuse the changeling of irony, he felt it best to let his heart do the talking since his mind wasn't exactly up to the task. Talking about himself with other ponies felt difficult, no matter how honest he might want to be, he could never connect with another pony so long as he was forced to live a lie. Now more than ever, since he knew so little about himself due to the Poison Joke. One thing he did know was that every believable lie had a kernel of truth, even if he couldn't exactly say how he knew it. “I don’t remember all of the details,” he began as they sat down and verbally underlined that part as attention to these little details was important, “Because it happened a while ago.” Pinkie pulled the spoon from her mouth, having only shoveled in a few bites worth of whipped cream, so she could speak. “I don’t understand,” she began, “I didn't even know you had a special somepony and I know just about everypony in Ponyville. Who’d keep such party-worthy news like that from me?” A short pause of masked frustration knowing that if she was stuck here then there was no way he could get her to the end of the story in the way he wanted. “It happened before I came to Ponyville, and she didn't come with me, so there’d have been no way you could have…" an awkward pause preceded the awkward conclusion, "helped us celebrate our togetherness...” His statement ended in a tone that said it’s complicated on social media. “Ohhh…” Pinkie responded acknowledging but not interrupting. “You see. We weren't exactly together anyway,” Lacus began again but quickly continued anticipating Pinkie’s confusion, “but I worshiped her. There wasn't anything that I wouldn't do for her, and that made her a special somepony to me—even if I wasn't special to her.” To that, Pinkie’s eyes widened between spoonfuls, or was that a ladle? Between mouthfuls of ice cream she asked: “So what happened? Did she shoot you down?” Lacus grinned. Intentional or not, he felt that this was a trap; that the easy answer would be yes and let it be. But his gut told a different story, and Pinkie might unwittingly call him in the obvious paradox of personality vs history. His personality, or at the very least the "Doctor’s" personality, probably didn't lend well to self-pity given that others could count on him in an emergency. Wryly he continued, “It really is tempting to say yes, but no, I never got up the nerve to talk to her about it.” He tapped his hooves nervously trying to decide how to proceed in the story. There was no way he could tell Pinkie Pie he was actually talking about Queen Chrysalis, and it was almost too strange putting his nebulous feelings into words without knowing for certain what was real. Pinkie saw the nonverbal cues, and interpreted them appropriately for the context she was in: talking to her earth pony friend about a special somepony. “It’s alright, Doctor, not everyone is good at talking to mares, especially not ones like–” she started to say. Lacus cut her off with gusto. He knew she was going to reference the female companion, and the nature of their relationship; both of which he knew literally nothing about. “No,” his voice was authoritative in the singularly short word before returning to a more peaceable tone, “For once, this kind of story isn't about the mare.” Pinkie was shocked, but intrigued. The kind of look filled her face that said If I had a mustache I’d be twirling it right now! Hurriedly, Lacus explained: “Well this is kind of about her. You see, I haven’t always been the stallion you witnessed today.” Lacus mentally cringed at the multiple-entendre combo points that statement was sure to have racked up. Thanks to the Poison Joke, he couldn't even clearly remember the stallion he was this morning, let alone the one he really was, and thought not to dwell on it. Impersonating an impression of himself impersonating others was almost too much to bear; let alone questioning his own reality. The question that he had inadvertently unleashed upon himself inevitably came as Pinkie cleared her throat. “Who... Doctor, who were you?” Lacus narrowed his eyes as every façade, with exception of his appearance and accent, simply evaporated. “Not was, Pinkie. Am. A pony carries their mistakes with them forever. The memory of what we were defines what we are. What we are drives what we will become.” Pinkie was on the edge of her seat, her dairy-filled belly flush against the table; her eyes wide as if he had just struck a chord deep inside her. An accord that plays a dull note she is still coming to terms with. Similarly the absence of his memory raised a quandary in his own heart. Lacus took the opportunity to lean in close in preparation. He felt, in his gut, the most adequate term to use was "monster" but felt that would be extremely melodramatic for being so far out of context as a disguised changeling. With a gentle rotation of his hoof he beckoned for her to lean closer before whispering into her ear. “Cold.” A chill visibly went through Pinkie's spine as she realized that she too was cold, while not realizing at first that it was in a fantastically different way. She issued another shriek, and with it spilled what remained of her milkshake on the floor, before realizing it was a practical joke. Lacus continued while giving her a coy look. “Like I said: I don’t remember much about the details,” he confessed, “But I know her, and I don’t know if she is somepony I want to be like.” To any ears of his own brood even the mentioning the concept would be treason; let alone trying to convince another that it were true. Pinkie’s confusion was again written all over her face. Lacus didn't need to hear the question though he knew she had to ask. “But you said you love her…” she stammered. His retort must have seemed absolutely vapid. “I still do,” he said while reminding Pinkie that tenses are irrelevant to a constant being. “But I, as a pony who can change, recognize a pony who can’t when I see one, and I feel guilty for even wanting her to.” Sorrow filled his eyes as he delivered another entendre combo. He then leaned back in his bitter-sweet victory, knowing how dangerously close his statements came to exposing him. He didn't care. He now knew at least one thing about himself and that was that he missed his Queen. Pinkie muttered frustrated confusions since he clearly was smiling despite the sad story. Part of him wanted to thank her for forcing him to tell her, and another part wanted to drain her to an empty husk, then stage a baking accident with Pie flavored cupcakes. “But… how’d you get the poison joke? You had to know that stuff's dangerous!” Pinkie’s exclamation was one of exasperation as that detail was conspicuously missing from his story. Lacus’s reply was almost whimsical. “The usual way,” he said knowing full well that it didn't explain anything, but he behaved as if it explained everything. To which Pinkie’s head looked as if it were going to explode. Even though Lacus wanted to clarify, he didn't have anything further to add to that story, so instead he appended the conversation with a simple: “Where would I go to get this cured anyway?” Similar to that of a theatrical performer, Pinkie’s countenance changed in but only a moment before she took a deep breath in preparation for another hyper-explanation that Lacus wasn't having any of. He popped his hoof in her mouth at the start of her exhalation, he added: “I seem to be the victim of time here. I know I’m supposed to be doing something important, but I can’t remember exactly what, so please keep this one a least a little shorter okay?” Pinkie nodded in compliance. “Zecora,” she said as she deflated. “What?” Lacus’s confusion was evident. “Zecora’s the only pony in town with the skill to brew an antidote for poison joke,” Pinkie clarified, “I tried to get some at Lotus and Aloe’s spa but they’re all out. I was going to go to the Everfree Forest to get some when I–” The changeling was shocked by the abridged nature of the explanation, and in an attempt to keep it as such, he cut off the pink mare once more. “Thanks, Miss Pie.” His curt civility was offered with a nod as he made his way to the exit. Pinkie perked up and called after him, “Wait! I’ll come with you!” To which Lacus paused grasping for an excuse—any excuse—for that to not happen. He locked eyes with Mrs. Cake who was putting out another batch of muffins; lemon this time. Though left unspoken her face immediately read Oh no you don’t! Lacus responded by flashing a brief devious grin that gleamed, Oh, yes. I do. He turned to Pinkie Pie and announced: “Pinkie! Don’t you think it is unfair that Mrs. Cake should have to clean up that mess?” A sigh of relief could be heard coming from Mrs. Cake at the unexpected turn of events. Lacus let his grin re-emerge briefly, though slightly wider than before, as to say But wait, there's more! before continuing to Pinkie, “What if some poor scared pony comes in while you’re out?” That wasn't going to happen but it was no longer his concern. Mrs. Cake’s eyes narrowed shooting him daggers forged of buck-yous, smelted in the hell fires that he so rightly deserved, as Pinkie’s excitement cranked up to eleven. “Oh my gosh you’re right! What if he thinks Ponyville is full of jerks? I’m like Ponyville's unofficial ambassador and that would make me a jerk–” Pinkie began as Lacus made his exit.