[PAGE 0905 - CHAPTER 6]
It's a kind of magic, I told her. Something different from what everypony possesses. Unicorns can't synthesize it, nor can Earth Ponies nor the Pegasi. I don't know where it came from, what it wants- or even if this force is even sentient. What is it, a mutation of magic?
How can magic 'mutate', anyway? Overloaded energy? Unforeseen consequences? Surges? Environmental conditions?
Now overloaded is more an overabundance of energy, not a mutation. It often leads to an explosion to dissipate the energy to safer levels. Unforeseen consequences just sounds stupid. Surges... Nah, that sounds like a dumb concept for a board game.
The only thing that makes any remote sense to me is environmental conditions, like how the Queen was born. She began her life under the flames of that symbol of harmony. I had a feeling that thing had something to do with it.
You know, no parent should have to bury their children. I was with my niece on her death bed. She wondered how I outlived my sister, my brother-in-law, and herself. Later on, I'd outlive her children, and so on and so forth.
It's like a kind of magic. Something different from what everypony possesses- Wait, I wrote this already...
You ever wonder why some ponies prefer taking the path for a pony who you cannot have children with? Like a mare with a mare, a stallion with a stallion? I've visited a society that finds that kind of choice, or "non-choice" as some of those kinds of characters told me, aren't accepted, or tolerated.
I, personally, was forced to ask: "Why care?"
When I asked one such person who supported this intolerance, he replied, "It was written."
I asked where, and he directed me to a dusty old book that appeared to be only half as old as me. Just paper and a cardboard cover. A lowly biodegradable pile of organized processed wood held the secrets and guidelines to a perfect society. The words themselves were poorly written, and the grammar was awful. I'm not even a writer and I figured that out!
I've seen B-movie adaptations of the Daring Do Adventures that made more sense than that! Luna's socks almighty!
I am aware of the irony in the previous paragraphs, dear reader. I'm just not a fan of tradition. Tradition is what brought the Windegos around. Tradition is what the Rhinos still enforce. Tradition to cannibals is still cannibalism.
Huh... Modern cannibalism... I wonder if there's a difference. Maybe with modern cannibalism, they develop more complex recipes complete with vegetables and garnish. Maybe they figured out how to make duplicates so they don't starve...
Wait... my organs regenerate... what if they found out about me and used me as a farm... Oh Celestia, why did I write this in quill and ink?
Anyway, I watched that tradition-bound society burn in what I've called 2390ACB, After Celestia's Birth. At that time, I've been alive for two and a half thousand years. That society burned. I watched it. I watched those who despised the intolerance become violent.
Nopony even knew that society existed. I don't want them to... Then why the heck did I write it down he-
Celestia grew up slowly. Galaxia still ruled for a few thousand years... I watched it all happen.
She grew old... but she remained beautiful. I grew old, I remained young.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Where was I? I was talking about same-sex marriage... I'm not sure why...
Oh yes... My niece died... I miss my family. They had either spread out too much, or they don't even know me.
It wasn't long before I was officially alone. There's a concept that had been engrained into my brain since I was first captured by the Rhinos that one time. They called it "Solitary confinement."
I miss it. At least with that cell, it was all so simple. There was just the four walls, the ceiling, the floor that was never long enough to lay down flat, the giant steel door you always think is locked, but probably isn't locked because no living thing that thinks would ever think to try the imposing door that by all means should be locked.
I should have tried the door... see where that could've gotten me.
Check that: I shouldn't have joined the war effort.
No... I shouldn't have been born.
Alas, we should never have come to Equestria.
So why did we? Fate? Well, your beloved play says you came here to escape the windigos. That doesn't sound like fate. That doesn't sound like the hand of some higher power doing the work. We found Equestria through our resilience, and because we were being menaced by a power we didn't understand at the time.
Sure the windigos would be considered a "higher power" but we overcame them and became a higher power than them. We're Ponies, damnit! We bloody adapt!!
I don't believe in fate. Fate is for lazy ponies. Fate is for egotistical rhinos! Fate is for those who don't want to think too much! I like thinking! It gets my mind off the horrible things in life! It's what's kept me in the spirit of things for the hundreds- nay, thousands of years where I was well and truly alone.
I spat in the face of fate when I left Equestria soon after the last niece who knew me died. It was a simple jaunt... but it was not short. I had all the time in the world. Might as well make the most of it.
---
"What is wrong with you?" Trixie repeated her shouted question a good mile out of Dodge Junction.
Mitts had finally stopped, giving the scriptwriter and street magician a chance to catch up. Silver knew perfectly well what the answer really was, but he was waiting for an answer from Mitts all the same.
"Nothing, really," Mitts replied.
"Nothing?" Trixie spat, "You just killed those ponies!"
"Incapacitated," Mitts corrected, "But I can understand the confusion."
Silver looked at Trixie, who looked all the more offended at that admittedly beautiful display of physical prowess, however unforgivable it may be.
"Who are they, anyway?" The street magician asked.
"They serve the Queen," Silver replied, "Not either Princess, but the Queen."
"How'd you figure that?" Mitts asked.
"Highness refers to a member of royalty. Majesty refers to the highest level: The King or Queen."
Mitts gave the scriptwriter a bemused look. "Okay, Mister Dictionary."
"They also mentioned the Queen directly by her title," Silver said, adding emphasis on the correct word for Trixie to hear, "Regardless, where do we go now?"
Trixie pouted in response.
"Ponyville," Mitts replied, "I know a few ponies who can help us."
"Ponyville?" Trixie asked.
"Is there a problem?" Mitts questioned as he turned his head back to the other two. The party had stopped entirely while waiting for the answer.
Trixie displayed nervousness. Silver's curiosity was piqued. What exactly did this 'Great and Powerful' Trixie have against Ponyville? It was a harmless little town full of ridiculously expensive-looking buildings. There wasn't anything to be afraid of.
He then remembered the story of the Ursa Major, and getting up-staged. Maybe something more happened. Judging by the look on the street magician's face, it seemed like something Silver shouldn't probe into.
Trixie reluctantly shook her head.
Mitts flattened his eyes in suspicion, but continued onward with the other two trotting behind.
"Isn't Ponyville right on the edge of the Everfree Forest?" Silver asked.
"That's right," Mitts replied, "Appleloosa is a few hours trot. We can take a train and lay low."
"Wouldn't they find us?" Trixie asked.
"Them in a closed space with this guy?" Silver asked to Trixie.
The street magician nodded. At that, Silver continued reading. Time was of the essence. Knowledge needs to be acquired.
---
Appleloosa looked brand-new. Ponies everywhere were only starting to apply finishing touches on the clock tower, and... well, every building.
"Isn't this in the middle of buffalo territory?" Silver asked to nopony in particular. In fact, nopony really heard him at all.
"We'll need to disguise ourselves, or at least lay low until the next train to Ponyville arrives," Mitts muttered as he moved closer to the other two.
"Or take a carriage," Trixie added.
"Or take a carriage," Mitts repeated. "But a train is faster."
Silver assumed the burgundy giant already knew the risks of taking a train. He also knew that Mitts was a force to be reckoned with even in an open area. The scriptwriter didn't want to imagine the annihilation in a train car.
The trio arrived on the train platform. Trixie bought some tickets, using Silver's relative abundance of spare bits, and they all awaited the train.
It looked rather rushed. The earth ponies that pulled it looked beaten, as if rammed in the sides repeatedly.
The public transport stopped rather quickly. Almost immediately making a full and complete stop, four mares barged out of a cabin, only to be met by a young, yet energetic stallion.
Silver hopped on the train, followed by the street magician. The scriptwriter looked back to see Mitts caught in a trance.
"Mitts," Silver called.
"Hm?" The giant asked as he shook his head.
"Something wrong?" Silver asked.
Mitts glanced back at the mares being shoved throughout the town, and then boarded the train.
"You know those ponies, don't you?" Silver asked as he followed Mitts through the passenger car.
Mitts didn't shake, nor nod his head, "Let's just find some empty cots."
Silver decided against prodding further, for obvious reasons. To minimize the chance of ponies randomly wandering through, they trio found a passenger car near the back.
Trixie slept like a log in her bottom-level cot. Silver clambered into the above bed and continued reading. Mitts, however, took the upper cot on the opposite side. The scriptwriter read, while the powerhouse watched out the window. Silver assumed the giant was trying to spot those mares he obviously knew.
Eventually, Silver yawned, marked the eight hundredth page, and slipped into the subconscious theatre.
He dreamed of the Broncos. He dreamed of those fancy fabric-covered circular tables, surrounded by fancy ponies in their best formal attire they would normally save for the Grand Galloping Gala. The golden statue of the great filmmaker Bronco Shooter hovered next to the scriptwriter as he stood in the dead center of the stage. The crowd was applauding.
He had no speech. He couldn't speak. He collapsed, unable to breathe. The crowd didn't notice.
The crowd did not care. They were applauding for the nominations for Best Picture.
Sydney... that pompous hack who didn't know a good story if it rend through his hide. He got that statue several times. For the Wonderbolt, the Last Earth Pony, and even lesser scripts Silver had written.
Silver lay helpless as Sydney made yet another acceptance speech that served as a veil to hide his distaste of risk-taking projects. He lied about how he always wanted to try something new.
A single pony stood from his chair and shouted back. Silver could see his older brother, Gold, shouting back, deconstructing the lies and pointing out how everything Sydney said was completely wrong. Every other pony turned to the gold-maned critic, and they all gave a disgusted look. Even in the face of reason, they shove it away to celebrate the ego-boosting of a hack.
Suddenly, tuxedo-clad ponies erupted from under the tables and began to swarm Gold.
Silver couldn't scream.