//------------------------------// // 6: Legacy // Story: Chaotic Emergence // by Gambit Prawn //------------------------------// Delvaux regarded the man opposite him through borrowed eyes. In between sips of wine, the uniformed, silver haired man politely laughed at the jokes of the overseer’s vessel while catching up with his old friend. The sunny sitting room belied the corrupt truth of their meeting. It was the sort of backroom politics the Frenchman was well-accustomed to, tolerable at the best. While Lucca’s exquisite taste in wine was a bonus, sitting through such meandering matters was unbelievably dull when he could only passively observe. However, Don Lucca knew such matters better than he, but the mion overseer still had to supervise. He certainly could not afford another oversight so soon after the previous evening’s fiasco. “No, Lucca,” the police commissioner said, sinking back into the antique, olive couch. “I’m afraid my wife would have a word or two to say about that. The old nag is always pressuring me to retire. Then again, if our partnership continues to to prove lucrative, that day may come sooner than expected.” Delvaux felt Lucca’s smile.“We’re all clear then, old friend?” The don-turned-mion asked. “Not quite. While your ‘patronage’ is as generous as always, you’re going to have to give me something concrete before I can look the other way. After all, a firefight in a commercial district in the dead of night doesn’t not have criminal ties. Besides, many of us old guys are curious who got to Raimondo the Raconteur before we did.” So he really doesn't know anything, Delvaux thought to himself. After Salacina’s son had fled, armed reinforcements had swarmed the scene. Thankfully, he had prepared more than enough mions to rout them, but it was still a miracle the traitorous police dog sitting across from him hadn’t realized the real scale of the conflict. “In that case, I can point you to Rico family's nearby distribution headquarters. I’m sure you’ll have no problem fabricating a trail between it and the incident. After all, their hatred of Salacina is well-known.” The commissioner was clearly interested. “A bit juicier than your usual tips. Something you really need hidden I take it?” “Consider it an investment in our relationship.” “You flatter me. If anything, this criminal umbrella business should mean me kissing your ass.” After a few more platitudes, the two men shook hands and bid each other farewell. Delvaux felt a burden lift from his shoulders. He had been scrambling even since that pony boy had made a mess of last night. He didn’t know how Salicina had known of them or their immunity to the mion plague, but it had made a mess of what would have been a surefire infiltration of his crime group into a panicked opera of quick cover-ups. Now there’s only one thing left to do, he thought. “Diego, attend me,” he said, commandeering Lucca’s body fully for himself. The brown-coated mion rushed to his overseer’s side. Diego’s streamlined conversion process had left him with just enough competence to serve, but not much in the way of independent thought—just as Delvaux liked them. The ex-president led his former adversary through a maze of velvet-carpeted, rooms to a storage closet of cold stone flooring. Responding to a psychic command, Diego lifted the trapdoor, and they descended to the cellar together. After losing his main mion attendants in the massacre of Lucca’s inner circle, Diego had seemed an easy choice for a replacement. Despite his dulled eyes, his lean build, smartly-combed hair and rough features practically radiated confident masculinity. And now, he would know only servitude. Breaking such a man had brought the mion overseer a primal satisfaction.   Reaching Don Lucca’s repurposed basement, Delvaux flipped on the lights and motioned for Diego to stay put.  He rounded the corner to see a suit-wearing gorilla of a man. His legs chained to the wall, he writhed in agony, trying in vain to ward off the perverted inner-voices commanding him to be assimilated as they wielded twisted rationalizations against him. It would take more time than usual to turn the man this way, but if he was good as rumored, his competencies needed to be kept intact. “Well, well, how’s our criminal genius faring now?” Delvaux taunted, maintaining character while stepping closer to his prisoner. Salacina’s eyes snapped open to glare at him. He seemed to search for a fitting verbalization of his rage before giving up a second later and simply throwing his entire upper-body weight into a brutal right hook. Delvaux easily stepped out of range with the body’s enhanced reflexes and gave a faux-smile. “Surely you’ve some idea of why I insisted you pay me a visit at my private abode?” “Like hell it’s yours!” “Hmm?” “You sure as hell aren’t Lucca. That fucker may be the scum of the Earth, but he would never throw away his men's lives like you did with that cowardly stunt. So what do you want, whatever the hell you are?” Delvaux gave a real smile this time. “We can get to the point, then: What were you doing with that pony-eared boy? What do you know of them and us, and how?” “I urrrghh will tell you nothing, monster! Torture me a—ahhhll you like,” he screamed as his agony multiplied on Delvaux’s command. The prisoner strained his chains to their limit and swung wildly, barely missing the mion overseer several more times. “Oh, but you hardly have a choice. Let me show you: Diego, come here.” Vincenzo Salacina watched, horrified, as his former subordinate approached him with emotionless eyes and a robotic gait. “You see,” Delvaux explained, “Diego here is now more than willing to do anything I ask of him. His insecurities with regard to his brother made him quite easy to turn, actually.  " "Diego! Wake up! This isn't funny!" Delvaux chuckled at his uncharacteristic naïveté. "Leave us, Diego. Go prepare lunch or something." Diego showed no outward reaction but immediately left to do as commanded, never looking back The remotely-controlled mion turned back to face the don. "The same awaits you. The question is how much of yourself will be left when that time comes. Tell me what I want to know, and I may be more… generous.” The last bit wasn’t entirely true, but if Don Salacina relaxed his resistance, the assimilation could proceed faster. Salacina cupped his hand in his chin and feigned deep-thought before abruptly thrusting his face as close to other man’s as he could manage. “Fuck. You,” he spat. Delvaux shrugged his shoulders. It was worth a try, but it a trifling matter in any case—he could just take the information he needed by force. He touched Salacina’s forehead and the man let out a bellowing scream as his mental defenses crumbled from the psychic assault. Fragments of memory zipped by as the mion filtered through to reach the salient knowledge which would help him plan his invasion of the Italian mainland. Nothing. He tried once more, this time to glean something about the ponies from him.                                      Nothing. What did he know about the mions? Only the vaguest of speculation. Why? A familiar face rushed to the front of their tethered consciousnesses. Vincenzo Salacina laughed, his still-proud, booming voice bouncing off the narrow walls of the narrow chamber. “So you’ve found our greatest secret, have you, monster? Yes, it's true—I am merely the face of Sagrada Famiglia, the charisma and the muscle. I'd be nothing without my son, the brains of the operation!” Delvaux froze in fear. Both Lucca’s jaw and his own, hundreds of miles away in the appropriated chateau, dropped. The name Domenico Salacina had been a punchline in mafia circles. He had seen memories from various perspectives of Vincenzo Salacina himself trying to play down or apologize for his do-nothing son, who could barely manage a single front restaurant. The chained don gave the mion a cocky grin. “Let me tell you another well-kept secret: I am damn proud of my only son. He probably had it all figured out. He—“ Salacina choked as Delvaux retaliated by putting the assimilation process into overdrive. The mion plague now rapidly coursed through Salacina, rapidly erasing his sense of self and higher-tier mental functions. If this bastard wasn’t the great criminal mastermind, then all they’d need out of him was a puppet to keep up appearances. The man’s thoughts slowed as he spasmed in pain, fighting an unwinnable battle against the encroaching reprogramming. Suddenly, Delvaux heard a disruption of the mental link akin to static on an older tv. He heard the herald’s voice funnel into his head, and his link to Don Lucca’s body suddenly evaporated: I see you have been bested once more, Overseer. “Nobody knew! I couldn’t have anticipated this!” Be that as it may, I only see yet another failure. “The plan itself is fine, everything important. We can take the mainland without Salacina. We just need to be more cautious.” Where was this caution when you let crucial information slip through the cracks? Twice. “If you’re referring to the hick who was selling those unicorns last week, then I am pleased to inform you that his capture is now imminent; besides, I doubt he was even conscious for my duel with the pegasus, which, if I may remind you, provided us with crucial information regarding the capabilities and origins of these so-called ponies.” It seems even your political acumen has been waned by apathy. An all-seeing judge shall not be distracted by a consolation prize when you lay the fact of your failure in plain view. I tire of this. I have discovered it was Amata Gaspari, mion. Under your watch, she let young Domencio know just enough to jeopardize this entire operation. “His fiancée? That’s impossible… I ordered her to keep our secrets, as I do will all mions, and to act natural. There must be a glitch in the—“ There is no defect in the plague; you were too vague with your instructions. Under her interpretation of your orders, she kept her secrets no better than she normally would have. As you should gather from your own example, thinking mions will make mistakes unless properly managed. I warned you about this. Delvaux was shaking. He had not felt this anxious since that humiliating debate loss as a young city councilman. The Herald knew everything! What could he possibly say? Would honesty work? Probably not, since the Herald would feel his doubt—No! He had to try. “Great One, I accept the reprimand, but if I may be so bold, I have to remind you that these setbacks are minor in the face of the overwhelming success I have brought you in Sicily. At worst we have a few boys loose that know a little too much; however we have an army hidden in the darkness, ready to take all of Europe,” Delvaux said, belting out an impassioned speech. It nearly convinced himself; it had to work. You conflate the success of the plan with your own success, the herald articulated slowly. I suffer no such delusions. The architect of the plan shall thus be rewarded in your stead, and in your stead he shall stand. Delvaux considered a half-dozen ways of pleading, but restrained himself, convinced any attempt could only make matters worse. The Herald seemed to appreciate this and continued: Indeed, he has already proven himself to be superior. It was not mere luck that only a few stragglers reached the rendezvous point: your replacement successfully took out dozens of hidden reinforcements from Sagrada Famiglia. He has shown a forte for micromanagement which you lack.  Utter helplessness washed over Delvaux. What could be said? The original error is mine. With the data I have now your failure seems inevitable. I equated your status with ability, a safe assumption in more advanced societies. However you have proven indolent and reactionary, competent at best with only a talent for saving your skin. And now you will know your place. Since I have already endowed you with energetically expensive bio-enhancements, you will stay where you are and make yourself useful to the overseer of the nascent French campaign. However, there will be no second chances. Without decorum or giving Delvaux any attempt to respond, the Herald’s presence vanished from his mind. In its place, Don Salacina’s thoughts resumed their final broadcast: Rosa, I’ll be joining you soon. Your son turned out all right. Quiet and thoughtful, he takes after you quite a bit. He was never meant to live in my world, but I regret to say that it’s all I could offer him as his father. It may be selfish ego, but part of me can’t help but wish for him to avenge me, but for your sake and his, I pray he’ll think better of it. Live, Domenico...   Delvaux was irate. With minimal help from Taylor, they unloaded groceries onto the raised deck. When finished, the young mafia heir gestured to the already-open door.   “Should I show you around, then? Can you even get up here like this?”   The earth pony bit his lip before answering, “Yeah, I’ve kind of got the walking down. Stairs are just the next step up. Heh...”   Naturally, the mare fell three times on just as many steps before angrily charging up the weathered stairs. Looking upon his triumph in disbelief, Taylor then turned in place and pumped a hoof.   “Now just don’t ask me to go back down, and I’ll be fine,” he said, stumbling once more before recovering.   “Right. You can take the room on the left. I kept the door open.”   “Such a gentleman. Though, I can’t say I wouldn’t mind trying to go to sleep again. If I keep trying, I might be able to wake up from this,” Taylor said, gesturing to his dark, rounded muzzle. ”I don’t suppose you got my bag?”   “Yes, it’s in the room. If you need water, I’ll bring some to you. The faucets don’t work yet.”   “All right, nice talking to you,” the pony said sarcastically, entering the large den through the front door, managing only to face-plant once on the way to his room.   Taylor confirmed the presence of his bag before giving the room a once-over: It was relatively large given the cabin’s external appearance. The green-striped wallpaper was peeling off in places to reveal aged wood. A lamp twice his current height stood beside the bed, conveniently equipped with a sliding on/off switch at its foot. The queen bed took up most of the back wall, leaving the rest of the space free save for an antique dresser that perfectly matched the summer home’s ancient feel.   Taylor wondered a moment how he would even reach the high bed before quickly reasoning that if his sister’s Yorkie could do it, so could he.   Then again, Rosie could walk ten paces without tripping over her own feet, he deadpanned to himself.   Judging the bed to be currently insurmountable to him, he approached the bag. The latches gave him some difficulty, but creative use of his teeth got the bag open. With uncomfortable acceptance at his methodology, he stuck his snout in the bag to go fishing, quickly coming upon a dusty taste. The rectangular object dropped from his mouth, and he paused for a few seconds before remembering.   Oh yeah, that dime store adventure novel. This thing was frustratingly accurate about the whole talking pony thing. Why couldn’t it have been right about ponies having wings? Flying would have been some consolation for what I lost—and for the two other things that I lost.    He could only vaguely recall the book’s plot, which had proven unfriendly to new readers, and blamed it on his frayed mental state at the time. He considered giving the book a second chance before remembering something even more puzzling.   That’s right, I couldn’t get anything about this book online. No ISBN, no information on this A.K. Yearling, and nothing for the title…   Taylor had spent a couple hours in the hotel room trying to make sense of his only clue. He tried searching for the names of the characters, plot summaries and even his best description of the cover, but nothing had come up. He had come up with the idea of copying excerpts of the book directly into a search engine, but his tired mind had refused to hold even the simplest of sentences in memory at the time.    Well not this time. Book, you will be googled! After a minute of muzzle rummaging Taylor found his laptop and mouth-lifted the heavy device out with surprising ease. With a flash of creativity, Taylor wedged a corner of the book under the lid to pry it open. He followed this up with the retrieval of a pencil that had fallen from the bag and used it to push the power button.   Man, I’m glad I’m not a tablet guy. Touch screens tend to be strictly fingers only. Racist… It took some practice, but the earth pony eventually managed to log-on. The mouse had proved difficult for his hoof, but he adapted to the motions with surprising speed. He came to a halt, however, upon clicking the address bar of his custom browser.   How to do this? I can’t use these sorry excuses for hands without pressing nine keys at once, so I’ll have to… Taylor sighed. Hunt and peck typing, we meet again. He briefly pondered how he would use upper case before realizing the obvious solution and holding shift with the edge of his left hoof, using his pencil to type open and closed quotation marks. He then pulled over the book, which had fallen to a page near the end.   The Mad Jackal King stood triumphantly over Daring Do and gave a deep chortle of laughter. “Foolish mortal, I thank you for solving the pyramid’s riddle for me. Now that the crystal chalice is mine, I will drink from the nectar of the gods!”   “No!” Daring Do wailed, reaching for her trusty lasso a second too late, as the ancient jackal had already set the chalice on the 3 o’clock pedestal.   No sooner had he placed it than had the whole structure begun to shake with unfathomable power. The pyramid’s roof tore open brick-by-brick and an armada of spacepony ships loomed over them. “So it is true,” Daring Do said, gawking. “Equestria really was visited by ancient aliens.”   I only skimmed the book, Taylor thought, and even I could tell this ending sucked. Actual aliens seem a bit out of place for the setting. Also, Daring Do’s daughter was a real buzzkill.   Regaining focus, Taylor settled on a simple line to use for his test.   Last time, he hadn't even managed to remember the simplest of sentences. Now, with it in his short-term memory, he refused to let it go. He hunched in front of his computer, ready to start tugging on the strings of the great mystery of his situation.   And he couldn’t remember the sentence.   Fuck! I can’t be that dumb, can I? What was it again? The Mad Jackal King stood triumphant over Daring Do, chortling? No, that’s not it. Whatever, I don’t need to memorize it. I’ll copy this word by word if I have to. Taylor looked back over to the book.   All right, the first word after “the” is mad. He turned back to the computer. He stared down the search box.   He blanked.   He looked again.   And failed to transfer it   Fuck! Why can’t I remember it? I know perfectly well the word is some sort of lunacy, but no synonyms ever fit! Taylor’s ears drooped and his curly orange mane tangled into a mess. He slammed the laptop shut with his chin and rolled his head to the side. Multi-hued colors of sunset rolled into the room to remind him of his shattered circadian rhythm.   Well fuck this day anyway; I’m tired. I have the rest of my life to be an ugly pony bitch anyhow. With a sprig of unconscious agility, he bounded onto the naked mattress. The rest of my life… He lay motionless for the half hour the sun took to set, rogue thoughts lacerating the inside of his skull, drawing from still-untapped wells of grief.   This is no dream—I never believed that. I really am stuck like this, Taylor thought, blinking back tears.   He tossed himself onto his other side. My entire childhood, a college education—all of it just to become some dumb animal. Hell, I can’t even keep one word in my memory for two seconds. How long will it be before I’m just neighing stupidly, living only to eat and breed. Breeding… that’s right, I’d be the one to give birth now. It’s the most obvious thing to realize about being female, but it’s still so weird. The thought chilled him, but he couldn’t help continue his downward spiral. If it did happen, would the kids even be sentient, or normal, dumb ponies. If I’m young enough to… wait, how old do these ponies live to be? If my age transfers over, do I even have ten years to live? How would I begin to explain to my friends and family? I… I Cracking under the unrelenting pressure, the mare burst into silent tears, succumbing to sleep after an hour of emotional agony. Domenico’s legs were revolting. Everywhere felt sore; he definitely wasn’t used to this. Squatting down to get at the primitive waterline, he had to wedge his back to get into position. Midday sun beating down on him, his body rattled as a decades-old power drill tore through the pipe joint. It was proceeding better than he had hoped. He had found a replacement section in town with a radius slightly smaller than the main body of the plumbing. It looked like a frankensteinesque mixing of parts amidst an otherwise uniform stretch of pipe, but at least it had fit. Putting the drill down, he balanced the female bolt cap on top and reached for its mate. So far so good. He had seen his father do quick fixes like this before, but he had feared he hadn’t retained enough of what he had seen. Back then, when their group was struggling, there hadn’t been anyone else to rely on, as was the case now. His overconfidence had cost him his father, Raimondo, Giovanni and all the others. No, he thought, there will be time for that later. Now, it’s up to me to pick up the pieces… to avenge them. I have to depend on myself now, and it starts here! The bolt fit perfectly through the hole he drilled. He led it through the gap and into the receiving end. Now all that remained was to tighten it. Dom gripped the bolt with his wrench and turned; he heard a satisfying clicking. It was slow, but he was making progress. Until it stopped. The bolt was still loose. He wrapped both hands around the end of the wrench and turned, but it wouldn’t budge. Before he could even ask why, it hit him—his flawed drilling forced the bolt to pass through an odd angle that wasn’t properly aligned to the exit. What to do? He couldn’t possibly widen the holes, since a leak would defeat the whole purpose. He could only really force it. He selected a comically oversized wrench for maximum leverage, locked it and stood up. Pushing with all of his might, he heard a pleasant friction, and his arms felt a tension akin to mild vibration. Unfortunately, despite his efforts, it was still loose enough to partially fall out, but Dom refused to be defeated. With a deep breath, the don’s son threw his entire body weight onto the wrench and pushed. Before he could register the brittle snapping sound of the damaged bolt, he was tumbling face-first into the mud, his chest slamming down onto the plastic piping. "Dammit," he swore, wallowing for a few painful seconds in the mud before pushing himself up. This would have been an easy fix for Dad. His motivation gone, he sluggishly retrieved a backup replacement part and began measuring once more. At this point, only the absolute necessity of the task at hand kept him moving at all. He couldn’t comprehend why this was so difficult for him when he could regularly helm an entire crime organization. With a tired exhale, he took the measurement once more. The sun had set well before he at last was able to triumphantly wash his face in the kitchen sink. It had taken him another botched attempt at drilling, but his third try had lined up perfectly. To call it crude would be an understatement, but the two of them would be needing clean water, even if their stay was to be a short one. The pony. He had almost forgotten about him. As he thoroughly scrubbed his hands in the slightly rusted kitchen sink, Dom found himself wondering why he had brought him (or was it her?) along at all. Upon second examination, he found his reasoning shaky. While it was true that the elusive nature of whatever it was that had changed the American into a pony mare could hold a clue to how best pursue his vendetta, it could also backfire spectacularly. He had no way to control Taylor. He didn’t even know if he himself believed he could deliver on his promise of financial incentive. It would be difficult to inspire loyalty in the pony. He would need it for his cooperation; after all, he doubted Taylor would be afraid of him for much longer. Dom had neither his father’s height and bulk, nor his commanding presence. He wanted some leverage, because no matter how he looked at it, the pony was a risk to him. With little else to do besides chores, he found himself wandering to the guest bedroom. The ebony mare was somehow curled into a fetal position in spite of presumably possessing a more rigid equine spine. He lay on a bed denuded of sheets. Dom was grateful for this, since in spite of a hoseless hose-down from the outdoor spigot, Taylor’s coat seemed to jealously hoard residual mud. Looking around the room, the exiled mob heir was rocked by nostalgia. It’s been ten years… hard to believe its new owner sold it back to me without even touching it. Only Taylor’s scattered things departed from his nostalgic mental image. The pony’s bag was unzipped, with an opened hardback book and a laptop nearby, clothes flung haphazardly around the room. Dom found himself second-guessing his choice of roommate, but he couldn’t blame the American for paying little mind to clothes he could no longer wear. Nevertheless, the mess did bother him. As he leaned down to close the book, he was baffled by the mass of indecipherable text and symbols. It didn’t resemble any language he had ever seen; rather, it looked like a mockery of one that might be found in occult circles. Even the formatting on the page seemed wrong. In any case, this was none of Dom’s business, so he rolled his eyes at the pencil scratches, which sloppily underlined an apparent key word before giving up halfway through, and closed the book, setting the pencil neatly against the book’s spine. He had only taken two steps out of the room when he realized it—the cover had a pony on it. He briefly flirted with anger and suspicion at Taylor’s apparent concealment of something else relating to the ponies, but it quickly melted away. Many things could be excused by the last hectic twenty-four hours. Still, he would need to act soon, while the mare was still frightened enough of him to confess everything. With so little making sense, any information at all could be a loose thread to pull on. Still, optimism felt like an insult to the dead at this point. Realizing this, Dom started dragging his feet. No, this is not the time. I have to keep moving, he thought. Although it wouldn’t solve the bigger problem, the state of Taylor’s room had suggested a long checklist of chores for him to occupy himself with. He found the bedsheets in the closet and washed them, swept away a decade’s worth of cobwebs and polished the wood furniture. He had to sweep the floor by hand, since the dinosaur of a vacuum cleaner had finally succumbed to old age; though he supposed that would wake Taylor anyway. Whereas the waterline was hard work, he was firmly comfortable with household chores. After all, he had to be, since his mother had passed so early on. Four hours passed in no time, and the list of chores shrunk down at a relaxing pace. Finally, the sheets he was washing were finished, and he carried the pile into Taylor’s room. The pony had rolled over in his sleep and was now immodestly sprawled out on his back. Dom didn’t consider moving him but felt his guest deserved more than an empty mattress. At the same time, he also didn’t want him to overheat considering the dense coat of fur his new form allotted him. Compromising, he picked out a familiar, navy-blue blanket that he had used as a child and draped it over the sleeping pony. It was perfect for the miniature equine. I suppose I owe you this much, he thought. You really didn’t deserve any of this. The strange inkling of guilt momentarily assuaged, he proceeded to shower and ritualistically floss, brush and use his mouthwash. It was only now that he realized he had forgotten to eat, but his appetite had been poor all day anyway. He exited the newly cleaned bathroom and walked barefoot to the master bedroom, his feet creaking the cool wood. Despite his exhaustion, the freshly made double-king-sized bed hardly seemed inviting. It had belong to his father, who had enjoyed the extra room, but it just made Domenico feel tiny. Lying down, he felt adrift in its rigid warmth envelop him. Alone, he could no longer suppress his bottled anguish: All of them were gone. They would all still be here if he hadn’t been so reckless. He had been a complete idiot. Under normal circumstances, Lucca, the most wanted man in Italy, would never put his own neck on the line by starting a close-quarters firefight. However with ponies, and aliens or whatever, the rules had changed beyond recognition. They could have just fled, but he just had to get smart and think he could fight an unknown foe blindly, just because he had made a few lucky guesses.                  It was all his fault. He felt the weight of the locket around his neck, gripped the bedsheets tightly and brought both fists down, sobbing. Giovi, Raimondo, Father, please… I don’t know what I’m up against, but they’re powerful… I can’t do this alone. As they continued to gallop into the sunset, Xavier panted heavily, his legs pleading with him to rest. The extra effort of dodging verdant branches and bushes made it all the more difficult on him. Lynne wasn’t faring much better. He was honestly surprised he could move this damned mare body so well already, but even so he still hated to lose to her like this. With a desperate burst of speed, he managed to push his muzzle ahead of the other unicorn briefly before finally relenting to his fatigue and letting his legs buckle under him and skid to a stop on the uneven, grassy underbrush. Seeing him stop to rest, Lynne happily slowed down and joined him. Exhaling hard, she sat on her haunches and gave him a wild smile. “Exhilarating isn’t it? It’s the rush of horseback riding, with all the more … freedom,” she said through quick breaths. While Xavier’s body agreed that the exercise was great, the cocky ease at which the emerald stallion rushed back to them made him all the more agitated. “Yes, but why is this so hard,” he panted, “are the males so much stronger than the females?” “Not always,” Lynne replied. “Sometimes mares can compete with stallions in the races, but I don’t know if that applies to us.” Xavier was still unconvinced, but before he could formulate his response in English, their “savior” was back at their side. “Be at ease to rest when it pleases you, miladies,” he said, as if overhearing them. “Your pedigrees being what they are, the two of you have probably known prisons of a different sort than that barbaric encampment. I understand if the two of you aren’t well-acquainted with marathon gallops. Under better circumstances I’d gladly pull your carriage for you, so don’t feel bad if you can’t keep up with a trained elite. Besides, I will need to periodically scout ahead, so take your time.” And now he’s coddling us again. That’s just great, Xavier mentally grumbled. “Thank you, Sir Chaser,” Lynne said, “but I’m actually quite happy to feel the wind in my hair for once. But I have to ask: how far away is Equestria?” “You flatter me, Princess,” the pegasus said, “but you need only call me Storm. I must confess that the lay of these strange lands remains unfamiliar to me. I understand you are in a hurry to get home, but if we aren’t careful, losing our way in these parts could cost us more than just time. Not to say I don’t feel the urgency of your curse, was it?” “Yes…” Lynne said. It was the lie she and Xavier had agreed upon. “What exactly does it entail?” Storm asked. This was a new turn. Storm had hardly scrutinized them at all thus far. Xavier had to think fast. What was wrong with them compared to a normal pony that he could believe? In a flash Xavier had it. “It’s our magic,” Xavier lied. “We can use it only a little. Neither I nor she neither can use something as simple as levitation anymore.” He prayed the stallion would fill in the gaps for him. Storm looked away in thought for a moment, observing a climbing squirrel. “Then there truly is no time to waste. I’ve even heard rumors that your father, Princess, has started to accuse our own Princess Celestia of foul play regarding your foalnapping. As the last independent kingdom of pegasi, there are still many there who sadly see Equestria’s core values of unity of the three tribes as a threat to their autonomy. Err—forgive my insolence, Princess Ocean Breeze. I have no place speaking of such matters.” “No. That’s quite all right,” Lynne said, stifling a giggle. “But please call me Ly—Ocean. Call me Ocean.” “I couldn’t possibly.” “Well then I may not ‘forgive your insolence,’ Mr. Knight in shining armor,” she say playfully with a toss of her mane and an adoring smile. “Very well… Ocean.” Lynne was actually buying into this game? Why? Xavier understood that his mistaking their identity for upper class ladies was a lucky break, but she seemed to be enjoying the insanity far too much. Didn’t she understand that this stallion was much stronger than them? With no law to protect them, he could rape the both of them with impunity if he wanted. In fact, they were so dependent on his protection at this point, that he could go even further and demand their love as his price, winning two mares for his herd. “Is that acceptable for you as well, Lady Warm Spirits?” “Oh, uhhh… yes,” Xavier stammered. “Call me Warm, I guess.” If nothing else, his dark line of thinking reinforced the importance of Storm continuing to believe in their mistaken identities. Besides, at least this way he won’t keep calling me ‘lady,’ Xavier thought. “Very well, Warm and Ocean it is. Are you hungry?” he asked, pointing to the oversized travel pack he had stuffed full of anything conceivably useful from the stable’s adjacent farmhouse. The two mares shook their heads. “Well then, shall we be off?” he asked with his trademark broad smile. “Not quite,” Lynne said, beating Xavier to the punch. She turned her head away from the stallion and looked down and away. “The truth is that I’m still afraid of the dark, and it’s getting late, so—“ Her eyes didn’t even try to disguise the fact—she was lying. Somehow he could read the emotional nuances of the unicorn’s face as easily as he could with his own children, despite the difference in species. What he saw next was delight when the gray-maned stallion massaged her neck and withers with a dark-green wing. “I will protect you. I give you my word,” he said, extending his other wing to Xavier. The maroon pony flinched at this, and fortunately, he retracted the half-extended wing. Half a minute later he removed his other wing from a very content Lynne. “Well, if we’re all rested now, we can try and make more progress before it gets too dark. If it pleases you we could take a more leisurely trot while I regale you the tale of the time I singlehoofedly saved the griffon dynasty.” “No thanks, we are—“ “I’d love to hear it!” Lynne said, interrupting the other unicorn. Xavier sighed. Great, another ego-stroking tall tale. I doubt it can top him winning a duel with a toothpick, though. “So shall it be!” the stallion proclaimed. “Onward everpony!” He took off at a steady clip that Lynne could reasonably keep up with, and Xavier was left with no choice but to follow. “As you’re probably aware,” he began, “Queen Hilda of the griffins recently signed the first treaty between young Griffonia and Equestria. However, what many don’t remember is that Hilda was quite a looker back in the day. Now more than a few of us pegasi are captivated by griffin females. While I don’t count myself among them, I can appreciate a stunningly perfect pair of wings when I see it. But I’m getting ahead of myself. It started when I was a young private. I was only a strapping colt of—“ And that was all Xavier heard before deliberately falling behind and allowing himself to tune it out. He tried his best to appreciate the autumn beauty surrounding him as his hooves constantly crunched through bright leaves. They shook and fell the ground as the ponies ran by, as if the trees were showering them with confetti. Still, it couldn’t distract him from the constant dull pain of loss. Even if he escaped this mare body, what did he have left? Dolors had taken almost everything from him, his heart included. Had he wronged her? He was a failure—she never let him forget that—but where specifically had he messed up to make her divorce him out of the blue? True, a real man would have been able to provide her with everything she wanted while keeping his business afloat, but he didn’t think he had done anything to hurt her. While, she didn’t like him going to football rallies in Barna, he figured he at least deserved his one hobby. No, that was where he went wrong. She was right. As she always said, she suffered through childbirth for children he had wanted. It was only fair that he be willing to make sacrifices too. It was decided: when he was a man again, he would win her back. After all, like she said, she was the only person that believed in him even a little, the only person that could care about him. It was dark now. While in thought, Xavier had just automatically followed Lynne’s tail without realizing it. Storm now had a powerful flashlight tucked in his wing as they galloped along in the wilderness. “And to this day, I am always welcome at the queen’s dinner table. Though Griffonian gastronomy is partial to a pure predator’s palate, never have I found such magnificent beef elsewhere. Sadly, this is true of Private Puff too—I’ve had the pleasure of entertaining many a mare, but nopony since has ever come close to that spark we shared together. No pony,” he finished solemnly.                                                                                                           “That’s so romantic,” Lynne said, fascinated, “I—I don’t suppose you are still looking, are you?” Is she serious? Is she really doing this? Lynne’s tail slowly started to rise as she leaned even closer to him. Shit! Is she in heat?! If it affected him so strongly, when he had been male a few days prior, there was no telling how it would affect an actual woman, who would have far fewer qualms with being with a man. He had to stop her before she made a mistake! “Well, I’m—uhh, actually already retired, so I’m no longer actively looking, and a decade-past—“ “I wouldn’t have noticed,” Lynne said. “Besides, I think that would only enhance your appeal with younger w—mares.” She moved to his opposite side and rested her head on his back, letting her wavy, blue mane drape over him. “Well, I—“ “Ocean!” Xavier said, barely managing to rein in his automatic use of his ‘reprimanding parent tone.’ What actually came out sounded more like a squeak of pain thanks to his new, glass shatteringly high, feminine voice. “Excuse us, Storm, we must talk about mare problems. Could you wait a moment please?”   “Yes, of course. I will set up camp. I have spotted a fortuitous clearing that is more than suited to our needs. I shall make way preparing our camp. Uhh—take your time,” he stuttered, making an awkward retreat. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lynne turned to give Xavier the stink-eye. “Why on Earth did you use that excuse? Couldn’t you think of something else?” “What do you mean?” Did he pick the wrong words? Should he have said mare issues instead? mare stuff? “Nevermind. What did you want to talk about?” “Well,” Xavier said, shuffling his hooves nervously, “don’t you think that you are already too friendly with him.” Lynne was slightly taken aback. “What do you mean? He saved us, don’t you trust him?” “No, no I don’t. We were both people before. Maybe he is the same. He can be anyone and lying.” “How does he know so much about Equestria then? There was a magazine in the cell—it just appeared when I arrived, it was really weird—and it talked about the same Equestria. A lot of what he said matches up. It also mentioned the Princess Celestia he brought up. And it’s clear he knows a lot more, but you weren’t listening, were you?” “Yes, I know. It happened to me, but it was a book, not a magazine. But I think that—“ “Wait, you had a book?” “Yes, I hid it, but it doesn’t matter. I—“ “Doesn’t matter? We need to learn as much as possible. You didn’t leave it back at the stable, did you?” she accused. “No, I hid it in the bag when you weren’t looking,” Xavier fibbed, leaving out the part about the book’s invisibility charm. “You never told me you had gotten a book. Were you trying to hide it from me?” “You didn’t tell me about yours neither.” “I was mad at you, so I was waiting for you to ask! I tried to make it as obvious as possible that it was a pony magazine. The perfume advertisement on the back is hardly subtle. Besides, isn’t a brand-new trade magazine out of place in a filthy stable anyway?” “Look,” Xavier said, desperately trying to steer the conversation back on track, “it seems strange to you that he can speak perfect English, doesn’t it?” “That’s your proof?” Lynne said, scoffing. “Something impossible as us turning into unicorn ponies happens, and it’s a pegasus learning English you can’t wrap your head around?” “Where can he learn it!?” Xavier asserted. “With who does he practice when nobody’s never seen no pony!” At this point the conversation was faster than he could keep up with, but he still berated himself for letting an emphatic triple negative slip in from his native tongue. “Well at least he’s pleasant company! If anyone, I should mistrust you. Why, I don’t think I even know your name, ‘Warm Spirits.’” Lynne stormed off, ducking below some branches as a shortcut to the campsite, now illuminated by a fire. “Lynne, wait…” “Storm! It looks delightfully cozy! You’ve got a cute little tent set-up and everything!” “Lynne!” Xavier followed her, but had to stop when his irritatingly long red and yellow mane got caught on a sticker bush. “Your gratitude humbles me, dearest Ocean,” Storm said, slightly bowing his elongated masculine muzzle. After a minute of frustrated untangling—hooves were nearly useless for this purpose—Xavier took a seat on the third of a trio of smooth logs Storm had located. He imitated Storm’s sitting position as Lynne had done. Somehow, it didn’t completely disagree with his spine. Lynne huffed when he did manage to make eye-contact, but before Xavier could apologize to her, the pegasus had a jar of roasted nuts open, and Lynne took a large, avoidant mouthful. Or maybe it wasn’t avoidant: Xavier was starving after all. In no time at all, the entire jar had been scarfed down. He had been worried that as a pony everything would taste as disgusting as those dried oats, but thankfully mixed nuts still tasted mostly the same in his new form. Nutritionally speaking, it was a shallow meal, but he found himself relatively full and content. Surprisingly, they only had minimal help from the stallion in polishing off the jar. He hoped Storm had eaten a larger meal earlier. Although by no means a chef, Xavier was a part of the food industry; he had a right to be a little fussy about nutrition. More worrying, however, was the status of their remaining rations. The maroon pony was afraid to ask, but it didn't seem like the backpack could hold that much food considering all the other junk they had thrown inside. Xavier tried repeatedly to get through to Lynne, but clearly other things were on her mind as she studied the pegasus, plainly fascinated, and let him tell her more and more of Equestria. He knew that the pegasi had some way of controlling weather—hence the lightning—but his credibility further took a nosedive when he described the old fashioned days of painting rainbows by hand. The maroon pony practically struggled to stay awake at the obviously fantastical ramblings. That is, until Lynne made her move. “Storm, would you mind telling me a bit about Puff? What kind of mare was she?” “Oh she was a gorgeous pegasus really—perfect tail, mane, and umm… flank. Her wings were slightly asymmetrical, and she was a bit clumsy, but those only added to her charm. She could hardly resist me; though it took her a while to finally catch my eye,” he said with a wavering grin. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but was there something else about her that captivated you? It just sounds like you really loved her. Again, sorry if I’m out of line,” Lynne said, blushing and shifting her back hooves around. The stallion cleared his throat and seemed completely caught off guard. “Umm—no, it’s fine. Uh, where to begin. Well, she was a high-achieving guard like me to even make the Wonderbolts, but I hardly saw her as a mare then. She was stubborn, driven and seemed out to get me. We were friends of a strange sort, but she never liked that I was able to coast through practice. Everypony said I had a natural advantage because both my parents were professional racers—I had the body for it, so I never had to work that hard. She, on the other hand, had to fight every step of the way, since her left wing had grown in a bit crooked. Even then, many saw her as the charity project of our squad. Then, one day, after hundreds of attempts she passed me while doing laps. I thought it a fluke, until it happened again. And then again. From then on, I started to appreciate that I could learn a bit from her work ethic. I also started to appreciate her more, and well, you know the rest.” The campfire crackled, briefly brightening everyone’s face. Lynne had oversized tears hanging in her eyes, while Storm was locked in thoughtful contemplation. Somehow, his delivery had felt so much more immediate and personal that Xavier hadn’t been able to help but hang onto every word. “That’s beautiful,” Lynne said. “So romantic!” “Yes… I suppose,” Storm mumbled. It stirred Xavier a bit too. He couldn’t help but compare his own story: popular football player dates and eventually marries the school beauty. Somehow, it didn’t measure up—but he loved her the same for sure. The moon now hung directly overhead. As if on cue, he suddenly felt the dying embers of the tiny campfire clash with the chill of the night. Huddled in a small circle, they felt like defenseless bunnies in the face of the gargantuan wooden jaws of the wilderness all around them. “Well, it’s getting rather late. You fillies can take the tent. I’ll bring down a cloud to sleep on.” “Wait. Umm… Storm, I know I’m not her, but I was enchanted by you risking your life against that monster for our sakes. I know this will probably come out wrong, but will you allow me to—umm, show my gratitude? I can at least give you a good time.” The last part came out as a squeak. Jesus, she’s bad at this! Xavier thought. What are you? a cheap whore?  With a line like that… The stallion did a double-take. “Princess Ocean, I don’t think that would be appropriate for—“ “Please. I’ve never felt this strongly before—about anything.” She was now practically giving him full-on puppy dog eyes. And now you’re going the pity route? Have some self-respect! If you want him to ravish you, just say so. No man will say no twice, which makes this a VERY BAD IDEA! “... All right,” Storm said following a ponderous pause. He turned and slowly started walking away, gesturing Lynne to follow. There was no choice: Xavier had to intervene now. “Ocean,” he said, “wait.” “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you go to bed now.” “This is a bad idea. Believe me.” “Give me one good reason.” Her face was firm with determination. “Or are you just jealous, since all you can do is mope,” she said childishly. The slight stung, but Xavier, too refused to be swayed. He would only have one chance. He needed the right words to warn her about estrus. If this weren’t difficult enough already, he had no idea how to express this in English, but he had to try. He leaned close to whisper to her. “Lynne, you aren’t thinking clearly. You’re just—horny, because your pony body is fertile right now.” It was blunt, but he tried to soften it as much as he could. She seemed knowledgeable about horses; hopefully she would get his intended message. Lynne lowered her head momentarily, apparently thinking. Chirping of crickets and the natural movement of the forest flooded into the vacuum of silence. Then, Lynne’s head snapped back up, her young pony features angled in sheer disgust. “Do you think you’re my fucking mother!?” She hissed in a seething whisper. “You think I can’t even be left alone with a boy for five minutes without spreading my legs for him? That even a coed school is too much of a threat to my precious virginity? Well I’m living now! I’m making my own decisions, and I’m not about to go back on the pedestal without a fight. I can decide what I want for myself now, and I’m not going to let you or anyone else tell me otherwise. GOOD NIGHT!” She cantered off towards the pegasus’s flashlight, about ten meters away. Xavier limped to the tent, disgusted with himself. If she was going to do this, he at least owed her privacy. Groping for the tent, he felt something hard and lumpy. Recognizing the overstuffed backpack, Xavier realized that he could still save her the brunt of a lifetime of regret; he just needed to find his book. He located the straps of the pack and undid them with his teeth. How Storm had managed to open and close these so easily with clumsy hooves remained a mystery. Hooves were so useless for Xavier’s task at hand that he soon decided he needed to upturn the whole bag unless he wanted to spend all night in search of Heartbound’s book on herding. He chanced upon an extra flashlight in the pile and took it in his mouth. His hoof then met with a hardcover that had to be it. It was so dark that the invisibility spell was completely redundant. Pushing it into the barely-visible yellow compact tent, he touched the spine once with his horn and flipped the flashlight on with a hoof while its counterpart held the object in place. Storm Chaser: Mito i Llegenda de Eqüestria                                                                   What on Earth? His jaw was slowly dropping as he wedged the book open to the earliest page he could get his horn under. While some of the hyperbole is obvious—I doubt anypony believes he actually won a duel with only a toothpick—other instances contain a kernel of truth. For instance, the legend that his first mate, Cloudy Puff, actually bore him six sons in a row is rooted in antiquated pegasus superstition that real “stallions among stallions” can buck probability and sir mostly colts. In truth he did have six sons, as tradition tells us, but new evidence now overwhelming supports the commonly held belief that it was six sons total—two from Cloudy Puff, one from Ocean Breeze and three from Warm Spirits—with at least twice as many fillies in between. (See Appendix: Genealogy for more information) What’s truly impressive, however, is how all six survived to adulthood in an era lacking modern advances in healing magic. At any rate, it is abundantly clear that in spite of the tall tales mixed in, my ancestor is more than deserving of his place as the greatest of the third century’s heroes. When asked, Princess Celestia herself had only one thing to say about Storm: “He was an entertaining pony, to say the least.” I hope you will find the same as I take you on a journey through fact and fiction alike. —Cork Pop, 88th Duchess of Cantermore Canterlot C.E 1000 Xavier slammed the book shut, hooves shaking. Shit! We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with a total loon! I have to warn her! He then heard a low moan in the distance and pressed a front hoof against his horn, the pain allowing him some freedom from the enormous stress. It was too late. If he told her now, there’d be no telling how the stallion would react to being exposed. In the worst case scenario “Storm” might even see him as dessert.     Disgusted with everything, he turned off the light and sunk into a sleeping position, contemplating his failure of her. Half-an-hour later, Lynne snuck into the tent, lay down opposite him and quietly whimpered. “Are you ready?” Ocean asked nervously. “I’m fine,” Storm replied. “Just trying to get into the mood.” It wasn’t a total lie after all, but with him it was much easier said than done. He wanted this, there was no question of that. The mare in front of him was lovely. Well-proportioned hips, strong legs, a pleasant melody of a mane shade that was perfect for her coat—he knew instinctively these were all attractive qualities in a mare. Objectively, he also loved her smile and her incredible ability to be optimistic in spite of being turned into a unicorn by whatever unknown force was doing this. And if that were not enough, his nose was screaming at him that she was in heat. And yet, he felt nothing carnal towards her. Even under these circumstances, he couldn’t come close to the Casanova his reputation pegged him as. But even if he could, it would be completely unfair to Lynne. How selfish would it be to use her that way just to assure himself there’s nothing wrong with him. What the hell was he thinking? It was only ever you, “Puff”... “Storm?” “Right—uhh, Milady, I’m afraid I’ve had second thoughts regarding this ‘arrangement.’” “What do you mean?” “I must confess that your words reminded me of the day I proposed to Puff. Everything felt cherry-red, pristine and beautiful about it. Everything felt right. You struck a chord with me, and I didn’t want you to feel the same disappointment. Alas, my reason has returned, and one of such high-borne blood couldn’t possibly be with a common pony; it could start a war. Forgive me.” “But—“ He tenderly petted her head, with both wings running along the top of her head and over her horn. Her disappointment abruptly turned to surprise as she suddenly flinched back. “I’m sorry,” he said, flying high above to a cloud perch—his first act of cowardice in a month. Taylor awoke, feeling truly refreshed for the first time in days. This time, his miniscule hope that it was all just a dream was sidelined in less than three seconds. The feeling of the dark-fur covering his entire body and the weight of his poofy mane were starting to become familiar to him. Would he accept it in time? Whatever being a three-foot tall black and orange pony entailed? He considered various ways of breaking it to his friends and parents. He couldn’t imagine his dad or mom reacting well to a girly pony telling them he’s their son—honestly, the thought was kind of funny. Hell, Grandma Goldstein would probably start swinging her cane to chase the devil horse out of the house. If he could wait until Halloween, he might be a hit, though. Humor aside, his sister would probably be the most likely to accept the gender change. For everyone else, though, the voice change would make it difficult to disguise his current sex. He could use the whole laryngitis excuse, but who knew if that would work in real life. But texting might work. If we're talking about text-only, I can also say goodbye to my youtube followers. Good to know I have my priorities straight! The whole room around him looked cleaner, the furniture polished and his things stacked neatly in the corner. The only thing out of place was a child-sized blue-blanket strewn along the floor. Yesterday was mostly a frustrating blur to him. Though he had no reason to trust Dom, it didn’t seem like his “benefactor” would harm him, and he did feel some gratitude for the semblance of safety. Or was that the Stockholm Syndrome setting in? Nevertheless there was a spring in his step, albeit reserved, as he trotted into the main den. A sizzling sound could be heard from the kitchen, which was indistinct from the rest of the room and made up of only a few square feet near the wall by the entrance. Dom was already up and dressed. He sat in a rocking chair next to a low coffee table. His suit freshly pressed, the mafia heir was chewing on an orange, gnawing it down evenly with menacing precision. He eyed Taylor with what the pony hoped was indifference, but could very well be ill-intent. “You’re awake,” he said simply. “Yeah.” He still had to watch his words around Dom; though a strong, fishy smell from the kitchen kitchen distracted him. “I don’t suppose that you can still eat bacon?” That was bacon? Did he buy some sort of vegan soy bacon or something? “I don’t know if ponies can eat it, but I’ll be damned if I give up bacon without a fight,” Taylor declared. “So,” Dom said, eyeing the earth pony even more closely, turning his entire body towards the miniature equine. “You don’t know anything about what you are?” Taylor almost said no because of how useless his limited knowledge on ponies turned out to be, but he figured it best to try and give him something. “Well, I guessed that I was not the only one, but you already figured that out. I did find a weird book in the hotel dresser, where I was staying. It was about the talking pony pictured on the cover but otherwise read like a cheap adventure novel. Maybe it cursed me?” Dom didn’t seem surprised by the revelation and paused to think for a moment before relaxing his stern expression a bit. “Did it say anything useful about what you are?” “The pony could talk; that’s about it. Otherwise, it read like a script for a B-movie—ancient tombs, traps, magic, a forced romantic subplot. The main character even had wings to fly with. I could show you now.” Taylor did a full turn and trotted a few paces away. “Wait!” Dom ordered. Taylor stopped and craned his head around. Hey, there’s a perk—longer neck helps turn head. Dom looked as if the wind had been taken from his sail. “I—uhh, have it here.” He pulled the copy of Daring Do and the Mirage beneath the Oasis out from beneath the table. He stared at it for a moment, hardened his expression and looked suspiciously towards the mare. “You said that you can read this, but how can you explain that when the contents are all written like this?” He pointed to the title along the top of the hardcover, with a predatory look on his face. “Huh? What do you mean.” “Don’t play dumb!” the Sicilian exclaimed, leering at him. “These runes on the cover and inside—it’s a pony language, isn’t it?” “What are you talking about?” The pony moved closer to the young man, who now seemed warier of him. Taylor looked over the cover but could only see the title, the cover art, and the name A.K. Yearling. “I don’t see anything.” “You idiot, on the top and on the bottom!” Dom shouted at him with forced vitriol. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Here, let me see." Taylor grabbed the book with his front hooves and pulled it out of the man’s hands. It landed face-down and Taylor flipped it back up with his mouth. Lacking his glasses, he habitually squeezed his face as close as possible and squinted. “I still don’t see what you mean. Where are the runes in the inside?” His interrogator was now gaping in seeming disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to escape breathlessly before he shut it once more. “Hello, Dom?” “Oh, sorry.” He almost whispered the apology. “That book really might be cursed. Th—there’s no other explanation.” His palm was shaking as he cupped his chin. Taylor took his black hoof off the book. “You’re still not making any sense!” “Wait, now I can’t understand it anymore.” The human-turned-mare rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and calmly asked, “You speak English don’t you, what’s the problem?” Dom finally regained his composure and let his arms fall on the rocking chair’s rests. “Just now I could hear the meaning of the words in my head, like I could read it. Try putting your hoof back on it.” “I’m the talking orange and black pony here. It’s a pretty bad sign when you’re the weird one,” Taylor snarked, but he reluctantly obeyed. “See? It’s English?! What?” The illusion shimmered and faded, letters twisting and rearranging themselves before his eyes. When it was done, words of an alien alphabet were now visible on the cover. However, he was able to comprehend it and felt he could even pronounce it if called upon. He opened the book. “I… can read this I don’t know how, but…” Wait a minute! Taylor placed the book on its spine and let it fall open to the page he had had it open to for so long the night before. He flipped a few pages with his hooves until he located the pencil mark he had made in desperation. How had he not seen it before? The whole scene he had tried to copy had been in a different language the entire time! No wonder he hadn’t been able to transcribe it! Now all he had to do was spend the next few months lobbying unicode to support pony fonts so he could finish his research on the book! He basked in his amazing comprehension of the funny-looking words and felt his tail start wagging. That thing really does whatever it wants, doesn’t it?  Still, he was undeniably happy. If ponies had their own written language, he wasn’t regressing to a dumb animal after all! He felt like jumping to his feet and cantering around in giddy circles. In fact, that’s exactly what he did as Dom watched, dumbfounded. Clearly, he had lost control of the conversation. After a half dozen laps, Taylor sidled up to the rocking chair, asking, “So when’s bacon?” Dom shrugged. His lust for answers apparently dissipating completely with the reversal of atmosphere. “You know, you can run pretty well for someone who was falling on his face yesterday,” he said, getting up and walking into the small kitchen. He was right. This whole time, he had been moving around as if he had been doing it all his life. Without realizing it, he had effortlessly imprinted perfect muscle memory upon his two pairs of legs. Now that he was conscious of it he could only mess it up! Pressing his luck, he walked to his bedroom and back with no mistakes. He ran back into the den, with his hooves landing on the wood flooring in perfect rhythm. Even jumping was a breeze now, and he relished the feeling of strength it gave him. He even managed to briefly to stand on two legs, but quickly dropped to the ground when he realized he was exposing more than he should. “If you want to risk the bacon, it’s ready,” Dom said. “And you can have whatever vegetables you like. I didn’t get much else.”   All right, stomach, Taylor thought. Bacon is good. I’ll eat whatever grass, oats or vegetables you want, but bacon is non-negotiable. The pony licked his lips as he turned his neck to eye his target in the sizzling pan. Brimming with confidence from his successes, he simply couldn’t resist showing off. He took one step in reverse and then another as he shuffled his legs and started to speed up. The thought of a moonwalking pony flashed through his head, but pain and a pulling sensation on his rear yanked his attention away as he registered his left back-hoof slipping. He waved the remainder of his hooves, but this only made his muzzle’s dozenth reunion with the ground all the more inevitable. At this point, the pain of humiliation was the worst part. With a groan, he realized that his bushy, orange dust mop of a tail had bested him once more. It had grown in to be floor-length—probably just to to spite him. He resolved to trim the spiteful appendage down, but with his luck, he’d probably grow two more tails in some sort of bizarre tail-hydra.   Domenico, clearly struggling to stifle a laugh, put a plate of bacon in front of him. “You deserved that one.”