The show was over when Cabbage and Turnip returned to the stage, which the troupe was breaking down. “Welcome back,” Trixie said, making no attempt to mask the annoyance she felt toward Turnip. The Changeling returned her withering look with one of his own and slipped into the wagon. Trixie sighed and turned her attention to Cabbage, her expression softening slightly as annoyance gave way to concern. “So,” Trixie asked, “what happened?”
“Turnip’s… not happy that I’m winning our challenge so far,” Cabbage said. “And he’s upset about my place in the troupe, for some reason.” Trixie quirked an eyebrow up and glanced at the stage-wagon. “He said I’m just a living prop to you and Barnacle,” Cabbage pressed on, and a sarcastic smirk teased the corners of her mouth. “He’s not exactly wrong.”
“Cabbage!” Trixie protested, “I assure you-”
“You don’t need to reassure me, Trixie,” Cabbage said. “The only thing keeping me in that position is myself; it’s my comfort zone.” She sighed and gave the stage-wagon a hooded look. “Turnip just declared his compliance with my challenge is conditional: I need an act of my own or he bolts, and I’m pretty sure he’s got enough strength now to give us the slip if he wants.”
Barnacle Salt growled loudly from his perch on the roof, where he’d been putting the glowing wire signs back into their hidden compartments, catching both Trixie and Cabbage’s attention. “And if he does, so what?” Barnacle said. “If ye’ve already proven your point lass, then every pony in this troupe’ll back ye when ye tell the Queen Bug so. So what’s the point of keeping him and his bad attitude around any longer?”
“I highly doubt Chrysalis is going to trust the testimony of anyone except Turnip,” Trixie retorted dryly.
Cabbage nodded. “And if we go back to Canterlot with one less Changeling than we left with, the Queen will just take that as a victory.”
“Ah… I see yer point,” Barnacle admitted, though he still looked sour.
“So, Cabbage Patch needs a solo act,” Trixie said, looking thoughtful. “After so many years of trying to talk you into it, I suddenly find myself drawing a blank as to what you could do. Any ideas, Quin?” she asked as the acrobat pony walked by.
“My only idea for a Changeling act has already been taken,” Harlequin responded, but then gave Trixie and Cabbage a charming, sparkly-eyed smile. “However, I do seem to recall how a few years ago a certain magician tried to talk a painfully shy little filly into doing celebrity impressions.”
Cabbage felt embarrassment and the echoes of old fear rise through her body as Harlequin’s words called up memories of that Summer Sun Celebration two years ago. Trixie has gone to Twilight Sparkle for advice, and upon finding the library closed and locked for the day had somehow talked Cabbage into imitating Princess Celestia’s voice in order to trick Twilight into opening the door. Twilight’s annoyance at the trick was not something Cabbage liked to recall, although it had been one of the mildest reactions Cabbage had ever received. In fact, Cabbage recalled, Twilight had actually complimented her skill in the end. Just as Scootaloo and the Cutie Mark Crusaders had a couple weeks ago, Cabbage’s fellow performers did frequently and - Cabbage had to admit to herself - as did almost everypony who was forewarned of her ability. The precision in tone and timbre her shapeshifting ability allowed her was uncanny from a pony perspective, but not in a bad way.
Cabbage had known all of this logically for a long time, but accepting it emotionally was a whole other problem, even now. Her first attempt to integrate into pony society after being cast out of the hive still stuck in her memory like a fresh wound. The Changelings has dropped her on the doorstep of a stallion they claimed was her father after, in a suspicious show of generosity, providing her with enough information about the stallion’s “missing” wife to create a believable story, including a demonstration of the mare’s appearance and voice. The pony had taken Cabbage Patch in and tried to treat her right, at first. To this day, Cabbage still wasn’t sure if she’d overplayed some part of the story, been too overzealous in feeding on his emotions, or if it was just her mere presence in his home that had driven the poor stallion into dark grief over his lost love. In a desperate attempt to snap her father out of his funk, Cabbage had sneaked up on him one day and spoke to him in the voice the Changelings had shown her. The stallion went into a rage on hearing that voice, revealing to a terror-stricken Cabbage Patch that he was well aware what Changelings were and that they’d replaced his wife. He’d chased Cabbage out of the house and through the small village, proclaiming her nature to all witnesses and throwing whatever came to hoof until she finally dropped her disguise and took to the air to escape.
Cabbage had then wandered the world, searching for new homes only to lose those she found due to her own inexperience in passing as a pony. Eventually she’d wound up in an alley behind a tavern in the seaside town of Clydesport, starving but too scared to try to charm anypony into loving her or even to try and feed surreptitiously on the emotions surrounding her, until Barnacle Salt came along and gave her unconditional compassion. Roughly five years under the former sailor’s care, and the last two of those with Trixie and Harlequin and eventually Maggie Pie, had done a lot to mend Cabbage’s emotional wounds, but the thought of speaking in other voices in front of other ponies still scared her stiff.
In fact, Cabbage felt a panic attack coming on right at that moment. Her knees locked up, her whole frame started to quiver, and Barnacle Salt was by her side in a flash, wrapping her in a comforting embrace and doing his best to radiate calmness into her. “There, there,” the pegasus murmured, “deep breathes, lass. Ye don’t have to force yourself into anything if ye don’t want to, so just take your mind off it.”
Cabbage took a deep breath and leaned into Barnacle’s chest, and the panic began to fade away. He’s right, she thought, I don’t want to. Why am I even trying so hard to save the Changelings from themselves anyway? I don’t owe them anything. A sour feeling rose in her gut as that thought crossed her mind. I don’t owe them anything! she repeated to herself, but… I care anyway. Unbidden, she recalled the Changelings in the Canterlot Castle infirmary, all trying to match their Queen’s defiant attitude despite being so sickly and drained of love, happiness, hope. Chrysalis, the guiding voice of the hive-mind, had been angry, but beneath that Cabbage had sensed mostly despair from the Changelings, and she realized now that that had pricked her heart more than anything else in her life. Oh, this pony’s heart of mine, she thought with a mental sigh, too soft to let me ignore anyone’s plight. So be it.
Cabbage slowly stepped away from Barnacle and looked at the other members of the troupe. Her heart was still beating fast, but she forced herself to speak and hoped desperately for one of those still-mysterious bursts of confidence. “I-I’m going to try,” she said. “I’m tired of being scared all the time, so I’m going to face my biggest… no, second-biggest fear. I’m not revealing myself to strangers any time soon.” Harlequin chuckled and Maggie smiled. Cabbage smiled back in gratitude for their support, but then grew thoughtful. “But I can’t just go out on stage without a plan,” she said. “I… Oh dear, I don’t know if I even know the voices of enough famous ponies to fill a whole act. I can do the Princesses, maybe Sapphire Shores, but that’s it.”
Trixie came up and wrapped a foreleg around Cabbage’s shoulders. “That can be fixed, if you’re willing to go out to Manehatten,” she said. “We’ll take in some of the biggest shows there, maybe I can arrange for us to meet some of the best performers, and you can build your act around Bridleway satire. In the meantime,” she cast a sidelong glance at the stage wagon, “if our guest tries to insist on you starting right away, I have a couple of ideas on how to integrate your voice tricks into our present framework.”
Turnip was lying down, undisguised, on the dismantled prop cage when Cabbage climbed inside the wagon. The two Changelings stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before Cabbage broke away with a shake of her head and turned her attention to her personal corner. Still can’t believe you can actually sleep on that, Cabbage thought at Turnip.
“Sorry, I’m still not as soft as you,” Turnip sneered. Cabbage ignored him and dug into her nest of fabric, searching for the box with the costume the CMC had made for her. “What are you doing?” Turnip asked, letting curiosity get the better of him.
Cabbage pulled out the box, opened it, and then laid the costume and mask out on the floor before answering. “You wanted me to create my own independent act, right? Well, here’s how it’s going to work: I have a strong talent for voice alteration which I can pass off as impressions. We’re going to head to Manehatten so I can study the sounds and personalities of famous performers, then I’ll make an act from that.” She shot Turnip another, hard look. “I know that’s a long time to wait for me to make good on my side of the deal, so while we’re en route I’ll do some of the emceeing for the show, mimicking Princess Luna or Trixie to draw in crowds. Is that satisfactory?”
Turnip looked at Cabbage with an appraising eye for a long moment. “So you do have a backbone,” he said at last. He stood up, stretched, and said, “Fine then, I’ll try and play nice with the annoying acrobat, after the next show.” He walked over and looked down at the costume, and his lip curled. “Don’t tell me you plan to wear this ugly thing.”
Cabbage nodded firmly. “It’s gaudy, bold, and has no regard for proper color theory,” she said, meeting Turnip’s eyes without any hesitancy, “and three good friends of mine made it to help me feel more comfortable on stage. I’m going to use it, and I don’t need your approval.”
The ghost of a smile flickered across Turnip’s mouth, and Cabbage sensed guarded positivity in the tiny Hive Mind the pair shared. Cabbage couldn’t make sense of the emotion because Turnip was trying to keep it to himself. Rather than pry and risk ruining the other Changeling’s slightly improved attitude, Cabbage just added a horn to her pony guise so she could use telekinesis to put her costume on. She levitated the costume up, keeping the skirt spread wide, and then put one foreleg through at a time into tops of the sleeves before slipping her head into the outfit. As she pulled the costume on, however, she felt the fabric start to strain across her shoulders and the sleeves ended farther up her legs than she remembered them doing at the fitting.
“What the hay?” she said as she finished pulling the costume on and saw that the skirt was riding a little too far up her back. “This fit perfectly a couple weeks ago, and I haven’t washed it so it can’t have shrunk.”
“I’d say you’ve grown a little, then,” Turnip said.
Cabbage scoffed. “No way; I haven’t grown an inch since I was exiled, and I was well past my fourth year by then. No, there has to be some other explanation.” She wriggled out of the costume and went over to the troupe’s sewing box. She pulled out a small notebook and then started digging around for the measuring tape when she heard the wagon door open and close. Cabbage and Turnip both turned to see Maggie making her way toward them.
“I just wanted to check on you,” the earth pony said. She looked at the costume Cabbage had left on the floor and asked, “Is something wrong with your costume?”
“Maybe, I dunno,” Cabbage said. She went back to the sewing box, pulled the measuring tape out, and tossed it to Maggie. “It doesn’t it quite right, and Turnip here thinks it’s because I’ve gotten bigger. Could you please check my measurements?”
“Sure,” Maggie said. She glanced at Cabbage’s forehead and smirked. “With or without the horn?” she asked. Cabbage blushed and dispelled the unicorn horn from her pony guise, and then assumed a proper, stiff pose for being measured. Maggie worked quickly, measuring the little pony’s shoulder height, shoulder width, her girth, length, and even rear legs and head size just to be thorough. She found a pencil and jotted down numbers in the notebook as she worked, and when she was finished she rolled the measuring tape up and announced, “Congratulations Cabbage Patch, you’re a full inch taller than your last measurement and bit longer and wider as well. You’ve grown.”
Cabbage shook her head in disbelief. “Impossible,” she said, “it only takes three or four years for a Changeling to reach their full growth; I’m too old to get bigger!”
“My numbers don’t lie, Cabbage,” Maggie said. She showed Cabbage the notebook, and as the little Changeling’s eyes traced down the page her ears drooped. “Hey, stop worrying,” Maggie said. “This is a good thing.”
“Yeah,” Cabbage said dully, “but… now my costume doesn’t fit. I’ll have to figure out how to make it a little bigger or-”
“Or you could just shrink yourself a bit,” Turnip cut in with an exasperated tone.
Cabbage gave him a sideways look. “I’ve never been able to change my size,” she said.
Turnip rolled his eyes. “That’s wing rot,” he said. “You do it all the time without thinking. That rainbow-colored zebra form you use in Trixie’s act is a hair taller than what you’re using now. Let me guess, you’ve tried looking like a full-sized pony in the past?” Cabbage nodded, and Turnip continued, “Well let me tell you, even the best shapeshifters in the hive have difficulty appearing significantly larger than they actually are. Being significantly smaller is a different matter – the Queen’s a lot taller than Princess Cadance, but she had no trouble maintaining that pink pony’s appearance for days on end. But an inch one way or the other is the easiest thing in the world. Even an underdeveloped runt like you could do that if you really wanted to.”
Cabbage looked dubiously at the other Changeling, and then down at the costume. It would make things easier if he was right, she thought. Can’t hurt to try at least. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself shrinking, but her mind refused to settle on a coherent image. Come on body, she thought, gritting her teeth, work with me. Just drop the extra inch. I need to be the size of… Her eyes flew open as she hit upon the memory of the day she’d received the costume. Sweetie Bell had said the CMC has used Apple Bloom’s measurements for the costume, and it had fit Cabbage just fine. Maybe if I become Apple Bloom first, then just change my coat and mane to my own colors… A burst of green fire raced across her body twice as she applied her will to the idea, first altering her body slightly and then restoring her preferred coloring. Once the transformation was complete, Cabbage put the costume back on and grinned when it fit perfectly. “It worked.”
“Of course it did,” Turnip said, failing to hide a tiny smile. “You’ll want to practice doing that without an intermediate step, of course.”
“Of course,” Cabbage echoed, returning the smile.