//------------------------------//
// Speech Prep 
// Story: Living in Equestria 
// by Blazewing 
//------------------------------//

It wasn’t until I woke up the next day, at 8 o’clock, that I realized that Lyra and Bon Bon hadn’t come for me this morning. A feeling of uneasy disquiet came over me. I wondered if the scene at the party had done more damage than Lyra anticipated... 

In the meantime, I was finally ready to start painting on the words for the Brimstone Lounge sign. With a mug of hot cocoa from the brew-maker at my side, and with a paper stencil at the ready, I took slow, deliberate strokes in painting out each word letter by letter. It was a good thing I’d planned ahead with using the stencil, or I would have had to go even slower and be extra careful about the paint bleeding down and ruining the appearance. This was the final project, so I couldn’t afford any mistakes. The thought of that made me slightly edgy, half-expecting some loud noise or sudden appearance to mess me up. Particularly, I half-fancied Pinkie would come bursting in with an idea for what we could do together.

But no, I proceeded uninterrupted until around midday. I had just managed to finish the word ‘Lounge’, when there came a knock at the door. Setting my brush aside, I went over to answer it, and found myself face-to-face with Minister Ironmane.

“Minister!” I blurted in surprise. 

What brought him here? My mind was blank for a few seconds, but then it came to me.

“Is it Sunday already?”

“It is indeed,” said Ironmane. “Have you lost track of the days with the week we’ve all had?”

His tone wasn’t snide or critical. It sounded politely amused, quite a change.

“Er, yeah, kinda,” I said, sheepishly.

“No matter. I have two deliveries for you this week, David. First is your dues, including those from last Sunday, which I regretfully was unable to dole out, due to the circumstances.”

He handed me a sack of bits that was quite a bit heavier than usual. I’d almost forgotten I hadn’t been paid last week.

“And the second is this.”

He levitated a manilla envelope over to me. Puzzled, I flipped it over to look it over. The address said it came from the Canterlot Castle, and was even bearing an official-looking wax seal on the flap.

“Your speech,” explained Ironmane. “The princesses have looked it over, and have deemed it satisfactory. You are free to address Ponyville about the return of the Crystal Empire, at your earliest convenience.”

My puzzlement turned to delight.

“Awesome!” I said. “I can only hope I’ll do it justice.”

“You will,” said Ironmane, with the ghost of a grin on his face. “It would not do to embarrass the crowns with a poorly delivered speech.” 

(Well, no pressure, then…)

“Incidentally,” he went on, “if Dolly Tribune or anypony else from the Ponyville Express is part of your audience, as they most likely will be, and want to ask a few questions, you have my permission to let them interview you. I daresay the other council members may experience the same from reporters in their hometowns. An inevitability, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Er, right. Thank you, Minister.”

“I trust everything else is going well?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve just gotten started on painting on the words for the Brimstone Lounge sign.”

“Excellent. Construction for the Lounge itself is progressing smoothly as well. We have a taskforce of our finest craftsponies at work on it as we speak. It shouldn't be too long before it's complete.”

“Sounds great!” I said.

“Quite. Well, that should be all. I shall see you again next week, David, if nothing else crops up.”

I nodded in appreciation.

“See you then, Minister.”

In his usual way, Ironmane turned sharply around and made his way back towards Ponyville. Heading back inside, I opened up the envelope to look at my script. Only on the very back did I find writing that wasn’t my own. In very elegant cursive was written,

“A true friend speaks with his heart as well as his mind. You’ve shown you’re capable of just that. Excellent work, David. -Princess Celestia and Princess Luna”

A grin spread across my face. That was more or less what Cornelius had said, while I was still struggling to write this thing. It felt wonderful to know the council had this level of confidence in me, even though I was still one of its newest members.

I glanced down at my watch. If I hurried, I could ask the mayor to arrange a meeting as soon as possible for me to make this speech, then rush over to Lyra and Bon Bon’s for piano practice. This in mind, I went back inside to get changed. The rest of the sign could wait until afterwards.


***


It was a good thing I’d left when I did. Getting to town hall and gaining an audience with the mayor took a while. She was, as her secretary told me when I stated my business, in a conference, but should be finished in due time. I was therefore left to sit in the main hall, twiddling my thumbs like someone waiting to be called into the doctor’s office. Stately and important-looking ponies passed by me while I waited, going about their business, the unicorns with their snouts buried in documents held magically before them.

When I was finally allowed in to see her, several more ostentatious ponies were filing out of a conference room. A few glanced my way, but they kept to themselves. The mayor was the only pony inside, sitting at the table in a high-backed chair. She smiled as she caught sight of me.

“Hello, Dave. You wished to see me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, stepping uncertainly inside. “I only wanted to ask if...if you could arrange a town meeting for Ponyville as soon as possible.”

The mayor raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Because,” I went on, “I have a speech to give, by order of the princesses.”

The mayor’s eyes widened in surprise.

“The princesses?” she asked. “What sort of speech is this?”

There was the very faintest trace of trepidation in her voice. She must have thought it was bad news.

“Nothing to worry about,” I assured her. “It’s actually good news. Very good news. The Crystal Empire’s returned after 1,000 years of being away!”

The mayor looked dumbstruck. It was clear that, whatever she thought I had come to tell her, it wasn’t something like this.

“A...Crystal Empire?” she asked. “Returned, you say? From where? And after 1,000...my goodness!”

“It might be better if I elaborate a bit, mayor,” I said.

As briefly as I could, I explained to the mayor about the Empire, King Sombra, and the disappearance of both, with their sudden reappearance today. She looked utterly flabbergasted by such news.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in,” I said. “But I’ve been tasked with telling Ponyville the good news.”

The mayor stared at me for a few seconds, then her dumbfounded expression relaxed back into a gracious smile.

“All right, then, Dave,” she said. “It will take a little time to alert the press, prepare a venue, get flyers done, et cetera, but we’ll arrange a town meeting where you can give your speech. At most, I’d give it, oh, 2 days. How does that sound?”

“It sounds great!” I said. “Better than I expected! Thanks, mayor.”

“Oh, no, Dave, thank you,” said the mayor, beaming. “Make sure you have this speech down pat by then.”

“No need to fret about that, mayor,” I said, then added, remembering Ironmane’s words, “After all, it wouldn’t do to embarrass the crowns with a poorly delivered speech.”

I bowed myself out, leaving the mayor to herself. I felt a mixture of excitement and nerves battling it out inside me as I took my leave. Enthusiastic as I was to get the news out at last, it was still a fact that I’d be speaking to a big crowd all by myself. Twilight had fantasized about something like months ago, and at that time, the thought of such an idea made me faint. However, over my disconcertion, Cornelius’s voice rang out loud and clear:

“Write as if you were addressing all of them. They will understand. A good friend knows you speak from the heart about important matters, and a good speech is not just a product of the mind, but of the heart, as well…”

He was right. I knew these ponies. I’d spent more than 3 months among them, after all. They’d be more accepting of what I had to say than a crowd of complete strangers, and that was an enormous source of comfort. Soon, Ponyville would be graced with the good news I’d been empowered to deliver, and had spent the last week fine-tuning for their ears.


***


I felt I should have asked Lyra her definition of ‘not staying mad for long’. Bon Bon was sitting on the living room couch, and she did look up as I entered, but she made no verbal greeting. She had her forelegs crossed, and her brow was furrowed.

“Hi, Bon Bon,” I said, with a weak smile.

She said nothing.

“Aw, come on, Grumpy Buns,” said Lyra. “Dave didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t shut him out.”

“I’m not saying he did anything wrong,” said Bon Bon, through gritted teeth. “Nopony’s done anything wrong except me. I’ve already accepted that.”

I exchanged a look with Lyra, who rolled her eyes.

“She’s been acting like this ever since we got home yesterday,” she said. “All huffy that she couldn’t follow her own diet.”

Bon Bon turned her head away from us.

“If a pony who sets a diet can’t follow it themselves, what does that say about them?!” she muttered. “No integrity! No follow-through! No sense of responsibility!”

“Bonnie, you know you don’t mean that,” said Lyra, patiently. “Everypony makes mistakes. Nopony’s perfect.”

“I know,” said Bon Bon, moodily. 

Lyra and I looked at each other again, awkwardly, not sure what to say. This had to be a bizarre dream. Since when was my unicorn friend more sensible than Bon Bon?

“Well, then,” said Lyra, after some time, clapping her hooves together in a business-like way, “shall we get going?”

“Huh? Oh! Right! Practice.”

Lyra and I sat down at the piano, and I started to play. Over the sound of the notes, Lyra began to talk loudly.

“So, did you hear about the last time I went to the hospital? I told the doctor, ‘Doc, it hurts when I do this!’ And you know what he said? ‘Then don’t do that!’”

I had to fight back a snicker. That was one of those ‘as old as your grandparents’ jokes you’d have to have unbelievable nerve to utter in this day and age. I wasn’t sure what Lyra was trying to accomplish, but she wasn’t done yet.

“If a dog has no nose, how does it smell?” 

Silence, and then,

“Terrible! ...Hey, keep practicing, Dave! Why’d you stop?”

(Because that was worthy of a facepalm, that’s why.)

A slight noise caught my attention as I went back to it. Was it my imagination, or was Bon Bon fighting hard not to laugh, either? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the corners of her mouth twitching, but she crossed her forelegs even harder still.

“What do you call a boomerang that won’t come back?” Lyra asked, louder than before. “A stick!”

This time I kept practicing, despite how terrible the joke was. I heard another stifled snicker from Bon Bon, and now, I was beginning to understand Lyra’s game. The only question was, how many more bad jokes would it take for Bon Bon to finally crack?

“Why did the turkey cross the road? To prove it wasn’t chicken!”

“What do you call cheese that isn’t yours? Nacho cheese!”

“Why did the tomato blush? It saw the salad dressing!”

This was just getting unbearable now, but Bon Bon seemed to be in even more anguish. Her face had turned bright red, and her mouth was clamped as tightly shut as if she had swallowed a glass of lemon juice. She looked like she might explode if she didn’t vent the burst of hilarity she was keeping back. Lyra seemed to recognize this, as a sly grin came across her face as she made one last joke.

“Why don’t eggs tell each other jokes?”

(Oh, boy. Here it comes…)

“Because they crack each other up!”

It was a lost cause. Bon Bon bolted from the room and up the stairs. A few seconds later, we heard a door slam. I looked over at Lyra, who shrugged, though with a pleased grin on her face.

“She’ll be ok,” she said. “Trust me. Keep playing, buddy.”

So I did. By the end of the lesson, Lyra declared that I was ‘making loads of improvement’, which was pretty high praise by this point. I therefore took my leave in quite a good mood, while Lyra went upstairs to ‘check on Bonnie’. As I was heading off, however, I thought I could hear laughter from the second floor, and it sounded like it came from Bon Bon.


***


“Calling all ponies! Town meeting in 2 days time! News of the utmost importance! Town meeting in 2 days time!”

A pegasus with a loud, strident voice was circling the streets of Ponyville overheard, booming out this message as he went and sending flyers fluttering down for ponies to catch and read. He must have been Mayor Mare’s method of getting news out fast. Ponies all over looked up at him as he passed, grabbing up flyers with puzzled looks on their faces. I could hear them muttering amongst themselves as I walked home.

“Town meeting in 2 days?”

“What could it be about?”

“Not another monster attack, I hope.”

I picked up a flier to take a look, marvelling at how little time it took to make these and send these out. It read: ‘TOWN MEETING! When: Tuesday, January 19. Where: Town Hall.”

(Short, sweet, and to the point, I’d say. It ought to keep them guessing, anyway.)

By the time I returned home, Moonlight didn’t seem to be up and about (probably working on her story), so I decided to finish working on the sign. With paintbrush in hand, I set to work slowly and deliberately painting out the subtitle for the Brimstone Lounge, using another homemade stencil with smaller letters. I must have made a comical sight, sitting hunched over the easel, tongue between my teeth, making tiny strokes with my brush.

At long last, back aching, and hands dotted with paint, I stepped back to admire my work. Sitting before me was exactly how I’d envisioned the sign when I first made the prototype. In bold, red letters: ‘The Brimstone Lounge’, and in smaller, blue letters: ‘Diamond Quality Dragon Delectables’.

“Voila,” I muttered, gratefully, to myself. “That should add a nice personal touch for those dragons.”

Tenderly, as if the sign was made of glass, I set it carefully to the side for it to dry, then went to wash up and get ready for dinner.


***


I had just finished a nice broccoli and cheese soup of Bon Appetit’s, with a side of bread and butter, when there came a knock at the door. When I opened it up, there, to my surprise, stood Twilight, smiling genially up at me. She was wearing her saddlebags about her hips, meaning she’d brought something with her.

“Oh! Hey, Twi.”

“Hello, Dave. Mind if I come in?”

“No, not at all! Please, come in! Make yourself at home!”

Twilight stepped inside, and I shut the door behind her. She sniffed the air with interest.

“Mmmm! Is that broccoli and cheese soup I smell?”

“Bon Appetit’s recipe,” I said, proudly. “There’s still some left if you want any.”

“Oh, no thanks, Dave,” said Twilight, sitting down on the couch. “I’m really glad you’ve been sticking to your diet plan, though.”

“As best I can,” I said, sitting beside her. “I mostly agreed to it so Lyra wouldn’t suffer alone, but I could honestly stand to slim down a bit, and really, it’s not so bad.”

“That’s the spirit. Anyway, I came by to give you some advice.”

“Of what kind?”

“About your speech.”

The crisper, more matter-of-fact tone she said this with gave me a slight feeling of foreboding. I felt I could sense something tedious and schoolwork-ish in the making.

“Would you mind if I take a look at it?”

“Er, no,” I said. “Let me go grab it.”

I didn’t see why I shouldn’t show her. She had been in the thick of the action, after all, and knew what happened. I got the envelope containing my speech and handed it to her. She slipped it out with her magic and scrutinized it closely. I could see her purple eyes roving from line to line, her lips pursing as she read. I even saw her smile or heard her giggle at some points. At last, she put it back inside, giving an approving nod.

“Very nice,” she said. “Have you been rehearsing?”

“Of course I have been,” I said, glad that she liked it. “I practically know it by heart, the number of times I’ve read and reread it.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Twilight. “However, I think it would be a more prudent action to put that speech onto…”

She prolonged the final syllable as she magically opened one of her saddlebags and produced a stack of…

“Note cards!” she finished, eagerly.

I knew that feeling hadn’t been mistaken. Not to mention, I felt a twinge in my writing hand.

“You think so?” I asked, trying to sound polite.

“Absolutely!” said Twilight. “It’s nice to feel like you know it by heart, but it never hurts to be prepared. That’s why I think you should write up some note cards relating to your speech. You don’t have to reproduce it verbatim,” she added, seeming to sense what I was thinking, 
“but jot down the essential points, things that will help remind you of what to say.”

When she put it like that, it didn’t sound nearly as bad. In fact, I wondered why I hadn’t thought of that before. It’d be much less of a hassle to handle note cards than a speech written on sheets of paper.

“Ok, Twi,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she said, patting my hand. “I’ll leave it to you. I think I’ve taught you enough that you can handle this one.”

“Ohh, you have that much confidence in me, teacher?” I asked, wryly.

“Let’s just say this is a ‘test’, my intrepid student,” said Twilight, in a bantering tone. “Every student ought to expect a test every now and then.”

“Like you,” I said, smirking.

“Yes, like me,” said Twilight, smirking back.

Soon after that, Twilight took her leave, bidding me good night. When she had left, I set my speech to one side, note cards on the other, and began thinking about how I should properly paraphrase. I had to say, it was a lucky happenstance to have a teacher who was also still a student. It was like having both perspectives at play at once, which was quite beneficial.

Sunday, January 17