De Stijl
The cruelty of when.
The cruelty of now.
And then there was the somewhat lesser cruelty of knowing that he would soon be standing in his personal library for the very last time.
It was strange, just how much that aspect hurt.
Quiet's parents... they really hadn't done much with the original collection. The vast majority of that had been gathered by his ancestors. It could be argued that most of the dead branches on his family tree had truly believed in the species superiority of unicorns, but only if you didn't want to point to all the trotting egos who'd felt they could put themselves forth into the world as examples. As a youth, it had left him reading some things he really hadn't understood, and asking for parental clarification had mostly sent the discussion into the endless temporal abyss of 'When you're older.' And by the time they'd felt they were ready to tell him (while perhaps not quite believing it, at least as such applied to their lone colt), he hadn't been in the mood to listen.
Not that they'd talked to him all that much, after a certain point in all of their lives. Not that they usually remembered he was there.
Book upon book of what could, in some ways, be termed as 'unicorn history'. The fact that so many of those texts could never be brought out under Sun said a lot about what the writers considered to be proper history, not to mention an ideal future. And with a number of those books... well, get that many fanatics together in one place and eventually, some of the words would turn into nonsense as belief became faith, which then intensified into monomania: the resulting insanity generally flashed into existence around Page Four. Some of the more extreme tracts were proof of that, including that mindless ramble about how unicorns had to beware of those with no true power at all...
(There hadn't been any real details in that tract, and Quiet had generally assumed the sudden ending had been produced by the final tail-clamped drag to the asylum.)
Books hadn't been a passion for his parents, and it took the right kind of book to get Quiet's attention. Yes, there had been occasions when the doctor's research had needed some rather rare documents, theories which had to be published via private printing presses because even with Equestria's freedom of expression laws, the Princess supposedly didn't take well to anypony trying to figure out alicorn ascension in print: Quiet had done whatever he could to help there. Others, including some which had taken place while he was too young to understand what was going on, when just allowing the midwife to browse through the lower level had given him the next step of the journey.
But on the whole, while he'd added some tomes to that part of the collection, doing so from both necessity and devotion -- he'd been rather more interested in things which he might enjoy reading. The generational desires from a family of shopaholic hoarders had ultimately sent him towards the comforting scent of binding glue (at least in those times when he wasn't investing in bound notes), and so a number of mostly-new acquisitions had been placed upstairs. Brought into the light.
There were still publications in that group which concerned themselves with various aspects of unicorn history: it was hard not to have a little interest there, and he never knew when he might find something that could potentially assist with the Great Work. But for the most part, they were things he wanted to read. Things a pony could truly enjoy reading...
...stories you could tell your children.
He was in his bedroom, packing. (His spouse had not been there, and it hadn't surprised him.) Keepsakes had been left alone. He'd managed not to bother with any of the bedside books, because books possessed a considerable amount of mass and they already had to take a number on the journey, things which had to be removed from the hidden room where Doctor Gentle had started his recovery. (Most of those were the doctor's notes, and Quiet had done the binding himself. It had been surprisingly fun.) Things like the Sacred Leg Bands had no meaning for him whatsoever, and he doubted they could be sold on the road. All he'd really been concerned with was the medication.
The pills were small, and so tended to work their way into corners. Careful scavenging of everything he could locate around the nightstand provided him with a two moon supply.
It'll be enough. If it came down to a crisis, there were herbs which the doctor could use for lesser episodes: a way to stretch things out. Beyond that, prescriptions were easy to fake and even if they wound up leaving Equestria entirely -- something which seemed rather likely -- all they needed to acquire suitable medicine was an area with a significant pony population. Two moons' worth was, frankly, overkill. But they barely weighed anything, didn't take up any real room, wouldn't slow them down...
However, those who needed to run still had to be careful about just how much they took. No single chaos pearl weighed that much, but all of them were coming. Books... nothing accumulated weight faster than stacking books. They wouldn't be carrying much in the way of food: most of that had to be found along the way. (There was always grass and once you got away from Trotter's Falls, some of it might even be tasty.) She would need her own form of medicine, and he didn't know how much they had to bring...
Three ponies to haul the lot. One on the border of his senior years, and the other two in something less than the best of health. Total pulling capacity was going to be an issue.
Admittedly, she could probably haul quite a lot while in earth pony form. But that was intermittent, and he'd now seen the muscle spasms. He wouldn't (couldn't) ask her.
Well, he told himself as he put the last pill into the box, at least there's one thing I won't be carrying...
And stopped.
Stood stock-still in what would soon no longer be his bedroom. The general direction of his gaze rested upon the headboard, and very little of the metalwork was actually seen.
He'd said it, over and over again, if mostly to himself. That if put against his dream, his title could go hang. And now, on the precipice of truly dropping it into the mud of the road... he was still willing to do it. To become an ordinary pony, and that was in the future tense as the best case. He would be spending some intermediary time as a fugitive.
But when it was an hour or so away from actually talking place...
I've been keeping a group of servants in happy employment for years. They'll need new jobs. And who will take them in? If my new reputation stains them...
...well, normally, he could almost count on that problem to take care of itself. But he wouldn't be in the area any more, and distance was certainly a factor in magic. He didn't think any old memories would return after his departure, but he was certain he couldn't do anything about regional new ones from the heart of another nation.
I don't know if I left enough bits for them to get through any dark times. I don't know what's going to happen to them.
In so many ways, his part in the Great Work had never been about him. It didn't prevent a number of the consequences from being his. And he had no way to limit those to himself.
He thought about the servants who were in their last night of employment, worried about them. It was something he felt he should have thought about more and at that moment, it was also a way not to think about other things.
Quiet might go up to his library one last time, if he was the one to fetch her before departure. Or... the doctor could wind up doing it. He might have already spent those last moments among the books, without even the chance to breathe in their subtle scent one final time.
There were so many things he would be seeing for the last time. Things... and ponies. He had watched as six of them were removed from his view. Mares he would never see again.
One mare...
His horn ignited, and colorless energy which was indicated only by its sparkles fetched both paper and quill. He wrote carefully, for the words had to be precise. He also had the benefit of painful experience provided by years of forcing himself not to outright charge down Coordinator, and so they would hold.
I keep counting it as three...
Coordinator had to run, had to know that. But for some reason, Quiet couldn't make himself include the bureaucrat among their numbers. Perhaps that was simply taste.
(It turned out to be something closer to foresight.)
I didn't get to talk to her. Not after it all happened. Not after she learned so much, and still doesn't know enough.
There's... no point in going down there. Even within his inner voice, he was having trouble making the words dry. I don't think she's in the mood to listen. And writing her a letter... I can send that from anywhere, do it moons from now, as long as we're in a place we're about to leave, or I get somepony -- someone? -- else to send it. But she may not want to read that any more than she wants to hear me.
(There were hoofsteps in the distance, and that distance was shrinking quickly. Fast-moving ones. He didn't pay much attention to them, for there were always servants shifting through the castle, plus the hunt for Spike was still ongoing -- and so much of his hearing had turned inwards.)
He might try a letter anyway, in time, if only because he would hate himself all the more for not having tried. But the current words had to be written now. And so he created his final set of instructions, made them airtight and waterproof. It was something he could still do, something which had to be done. Something which felt like the last thing he could ever truly do for --
"-- Lord Presence!"
It was, perhaps, a measure of just how lost he'd been in his thoughts, busy with placing the last coda of the legal dance onto the paper and finishing it off with his signature at the exact moment the words reached him. That there was a moment when all he heard was the words. The fear, the panic, the utter desperation, the sounds of a pony whose entire world had just fallen apart -- they were a split-second behind. And so he smiled as he moved his gaze from the finished paper, began to look up at his favorite servant, and his response felt like the natural one.
"I think, Softtread," he gently said, "it's finally time to call me Quiet --"
-- which was when he saw.
The rumpled uniform. The little rips in a few places. Dirt stains. And because it was Softtread, forever immaculate while in his duties, all of that hit before he took in the heaving rib cage, the low-slung tail, the dangers of froth appearing in the coat of a senior who never should have been racing so fast for so long, not at his age --
"-- Sun and Moon!" He closed the distance between them, moving faster than he should have, and felt the first twinge. "What happened, Softtread? What's --"
He was ready to run, right then and there. Ready to be told that there were Guards at the gate, Princesses at the door, and magic about to slam into the entire castle. Ready for anything except what Softtread managed to gasp out.
"The Princess... the Bearers... there were unicorns in the Princess' cell, they were going to kill her --"
The first twinge was about to lead into pain, for it always had. Always up until that moment, when ice coated his soul.
The servant's front knees sagged. His spine threatened to collapse. "-- the dragon found me, made me take him down to them, I was going to try and lock him in, but there were three unicorns, three of the guests, and they were going to kill... Lord Presence, the Bearers..."
The back knees went.
"...they may be dead..."
And then all Quiet could hear was that inner voice. The scream.
He pushed it back.
"Spike's down there?" Trying not to hope. Preparing for the moment when he might see what failure would have created.
"He... jumped off my back, ran inside, and I... Lord Presence, I am sorry, there is no apology I can ever offer which would be sufficient, but... I saw them, I was afraid and then I -- I couldn't think, I just ran and I couldn't think..."
Quiet had never seen Softtread so shaken, so bereft of control, and...
...it's too late.
If Spike couldn't do something, it's already too late.
Or --
No. To the best of his knowledge, the guard shifts would soon be under way: somepony had gone for Chief Copper, and one of the more skilled pegasus guests had even offered to partially recharge the desaturator on the way out, allowing the overnight shift to begin their watch in the dry. So it was possible that the first of those ponies (and the first probably would have been the chief himself) had already gone down there. But... not in time, not for doing anything more than discovering seven bodies...
Maybe not seven. Maybe if we get down there fast enough... maybe they've only had time to kill Twilight and --
-- to kill...
"You look for something you can do. Then you do it. You see what happens from that, and then you do the next thing."
The pegasus might be dead too.
Which means somepony has to write those words down --
-- he focused. Somehow, he focused. He didn't know how it happened: he only knew the price -- all of the dues which would be extracted from his pained form -- had just been postponed.
"How long did it take you to find me?" For in his way, he loved the old servant, and so Softtread could just about always find him.
It got him a weak "...don't know..."
He understood that: in the panic of a fear response, time could slip, and so he nudged body and field against the aged body, helped Softtread get up. "Trot slowly, in a circle. Try to go into a cooldown. The first pony I pass, I'm sending in to help you." And then he moved for the door.
"Lord Presence?" his favorite barely managed. "...you can't go down there... there are killers..."
"The second pony I pass," Quiet grimly said, "is the first recruit."
With one exception.
He had already packed the pills into the saddlebags: those came with him. The letter, completed and now almost completely forgotten, was field-flung onto the bed. (He never saw Softtread spot it, aim that unsteady trot towards the final order from his Lord.) He stopped thinking about getting ready for departure, about anything but the next thing which had to be done.
Quiet left his bedroom, and did so for the last time.
The brown-and-white speckled unicorn was waiting, and had been using some of the time to decide just what he was waiting for.
It had taken some time to find a place he could wait in, and even more to reach it. And at that, it wasn't even a place he could stay in for very long. Coordinator had made sure to give all of his orders in full privacy, but after that... well, it had quickly become obvious that possessing some small portion of personal alibi couldn't hurt. To go home not only would have left him soaked, but after he'd gotten clear from the masses departing the castle (and past those who might still be watching from the perimeter), it would have left him alone. To have ponies with very distinct, direct memories of just where he'd been -- and that said place had been somewhere other than the cells -- was obviously a very important part of any competent plan.
So he'd wound up doing more circulation after the gathering than he had during it -- but it had left him with a dwindling number of ponies to circulate among. After a while, he'd been forced to switch things up, and an extremely temporary lowering of standards had found him assisting the servants with their cleanup: they were there, they would continue to be there for some time -- in fact, thanks to his actions, that time was on the verge of being extended -- and as nearly all of them were unicorns, they surely had enough intellect to recall his name.
Menial labor. Well, it was true that he took some pleasure in organizing, and certainly directing his lessers towards the largest messes -- the 'modified' near-monster cuisine had not gone over well, hadn't come up any better, and he had been considering ways to revoke that caterer's license -- had provided a brief distraction. But to do any of that cleanup himself... he'd avoided nearly all of it, but there was a rather frustrating key word in that statement.
It seemed as if being present at the arguable greatest moment of his life came with a small price to pay. He'd given it over, and would eventually figure out just who to extract the payback from. But...
...he'd been giving the servants direct orders. He'd been making them move under his direction, and any frustrated side glances created by his having taken charge had been mostly ignored: Coordinator had been too busy thinking about something else. Direct orders, and...
(He'd needed a moment to himself, and the birthing room had been available. In some ways, he wasn't really sure what to make of the place. Coordinator's view of marriage was that ideally, it gave you somepony close at hoof to control, who would then begin producing a number of equally-unpaid servants -- ones who would require far too much in the way of initial training, and he vaguely suspected that he would need to do some of that in order to make sure it came out properly. It had made him reluctant to date anypony other than the right one, so there hadn't been many approaches on his part, the number of vengeances created after rejection had naturally matched... and for some reason, nopony ever approached him. So his primary view of the birthing room was that it was a place where the paper trail of a life ultimately began, and he supposed it could be accorded some respect for that. However, when it came to the biology of the process...)
Of course, he'd had to plan for the results. For starters, his plan would reinforce the status quo, and there were only limited ways in which that was a positive. The uninterrupted maintenance of his own life: that had been the goal, and that would be achieved. Skimming from the funds which had been offered to the Great Work -- that would not only continue, but even Coordinator had recognized that some of those donations might be on the verge of becoming voluntary. And for those who had always possessed the falsehood of hope, somehow tricked themselves into following the lie of belief... the money would never stop coming. They had seen what they felt to be a miracle, and to see one miracle was apparently to give just about everything over in the hopes of purchasing a second. And when it came to the current definition of 'everything', 'rationality' was very much included.
(He might be able to raise the extraction rate. Some future office time was dedicated to drawing up the charts.)
So he would remain at the center of his web. But the midwife (it seemed more belittling than 'doctor,' which didn't even really apply anyway) and the so-called Lord... with all need to run removed, they would remain in Trotter's Falls. And in some ways, that was to Coordinator's benefit -- at least in the short-term. The Great Work had brought forth something, if only in the form of a new kind of taint. But still... that could potentially be refined, and if foals were to be sent on anyway, let them be sent to the buried halls. If that led to another kind of burial, it was no concern of his. He would only partake in the finished product.
But still... was it worth having them remain there indefinitely? If he could get them to move a little further away, he would have more freedom to work. Perhaps he could speak with those who now truly believed, make them see that... well, that the Great Work (he would practice saying that until it sounded sincere) was being led by a fool. That Gentle Arrival could certainly continue to do the research, run the experiments, and take the risks, but when it came to leadership...
It was a cost-benefits analysis of sorts. Having them at a distance might help him. But that would also relocate the taint which Gentle Arrival's corrupted blood (or that of his dead spouse: it hardly mattered, for one had slipped in marrying the other and so both were equally guilty) had brought into the world. Taint which had in fact been changed, rendered into the ever-shifting form of a freak.
A freak who'd never had a friend in her life.
(He remembered his time with her. He was already rewriting it so that she was not only somehow more at fault than she'd ever been, but could be convinced of it to the point where she offered the first apology.)
A freak with the raw power of a Princess.
A freak who, if a pony of intellect could keep his perfectly natural bile down, might require a rather basic approach in order to ultimately control her...
...directly.
It had been -- interesting, giving the orders in person. (He'd had to lie about not being the pony behind their blackmail, of course. He was sure he'd gotten away with it, not that it really mattered now. At any rate, he knew where all the bodies were buried and in the case of those three... well, some of the digging had been literal.) It had felt...
He had approached Twilight directly. (He still hadn't thought about why.) And what had happened... well, it hadn't exactly been the desired result, because the former Princess -- it made him smile -- had been insane. But in the end, it was all about control. It always was, because control was the most important thing. Control was its own Element, the strongest of them, and...
Obviously Coordinator wasn't waiting for the killers to come back, because that would have been the results of a lesser plan. (He knew so much about the so-called Lord's castle, had found blueprints and paperwork from centuries before, and of course it was so easy to sneak off with unused keys during a visit and make duplicates. He generally, almost automatically carried a few during visits, because you never knew where the best evidence might have been imprisoned.) There was only one place where his trio would be going next, and he imagined that their trip to the shadowlands would take place in never-fading surprise.
However...
...he'd given that trio orders. And the insanity of the undeserving alicorn (he deserved that, and now he could truly envision the day when it might be his) had kept him from initially controlling her life --
-- but there were many forms of control.
And really, when one truly thought about it, as a pony of intellect and sanity... what greater form of control was there over a life than the ability to end it?
He had given that order. Personally. But the actual murders would be committed by others --
(It had felt so good to act directly. To know that his desires would be expressed as corpses.)
-- and so he was staying in the castle.
He needed, on some level, to have an alibi for where he'd been, and so he would have to leave the birthing room soon.
He needed to plan for what would be a very lucrative future.
He needed to hear the cry when the discovery was made.
He needed to see the bodies.
(He wondered what it would feel like to personally create one.)
And then there was a cry.
It should have been another one of the great moments for his life and for a single heartbeat, it was, for all he initially heard was volume and words suggesting a direction. But then there were more words.
He thought about those words: he couldn't help it. His mind turned against him, just long enough for an emotion to get through. A concept. And one of those thoughts would come back to him later, not too far in the future, presenting itself for final review.
The last thought.
She'd given up on the book, at least for now. (There was a faint hope of taking it with them.) The pain was still increasing: all but the last vestiges of the drugs had worn off. And the change continued, with no way to stop it. Only to accelerate, and to do that now...
Approaching the oversized variant of what had been her original form. The body of the broken. The incarnation of failure.
I failed. My failure. Not his. Never his...
Was it possible for her to be fixed? She didn't know. She wasn't sure she deserved it.
But he'll learn from my failure. He'll do better the --
-- the next time.
There would be a next time. She'd always known that: she would blaze the trail, and others would follow. And she'd stumbled onto a path, one which led into thorns and spikes and razorwhips tearing at her skin from the inside, but that failure would keep others from going down it, perhaps lead to something which would work...
There's going to be children.
She'd never had siblings. (For a child who'd killed her mother, that void could be expected, and was equally deserved.) She didn't know what it was like to have foals around, any more than she was truly familiar with the company of anypony other than him. But now the broken, those who would have been sent on... they would be sent to him.
Perhaps they wouldn't be afraid of her, at least not after they'd been around her for some time. She could teach them how not to be like her. And he would educate them in still more things, continue the Great Work, learn how to change them --
-- I'm scared.
The thought seemed to have come from nowhere. The emotion certainly had. Nothing felt as if it had led into the feeling, and there seemed to be a complete lack of paths away from the sudden surge of sheer terror.
"If he ever loved you at all..."
And given any chance, some intruding thoughts simply went around her mind in an ever-shrinking spiral.
She made an effort, tried to wrench her shaken focus away from the pink one's horrible words, and found herself back at the children. Found that the words had followed.
Will he love them?
Of course he would love them. He had to love them. He had spent his life in trying to make a world where they could be fixed. Nopony ever would have done that out of anything other than love...
The pain was building, and so much of it assaulted her from within. Burning within her bones, twisting in the muscles, organs which felt as if they were collapsing in on themselves. But there was a different kind of pain added to that cacophony. The pain of being scared. She didn't understand why she felt that way, why it wouldn't leave. She had thought about children, and then she had been scared --
There was a cry then, a distant one which just barely echoed its way through the halls, with the tiniest portion making its way past the door. Nothing in her was capable of hearing it.
-- I'm scared for them.
Twilight supposed the concluding words of the short speech had been spoken before, but... not by Rarity. The individual components of the sentence, yes, but... not with this purpose, and perhaps never in the current order. In a way, they provided a tiny moment of purely internal humor, a single heartbeat in which she found some level of relief. And at the same time, they told her just how serious everything still was, how close they had come and how much more there might still be to do.
"Very well," the designer said, and then swallowed. Hard, accompanied by a single jolting head shake and a lone lash of the purple tail. "We are not particularly well-equipped with resources. Additionally, there is a chance we may find ourselves outside, and the storm was scheduled to continue for some time. We cannot move at our best speed while draped in soaked cloth, and the few gems which adorn them will find better use as fuel for Spike's fire. So, everypony..." Another hard gulp. "...drop your dresses."
The Bearers scrambled, and ornate garments found themselves flung to the hallway's stone floor. (They were just outside the cell which Applejack and Pinkie had occupied: in the event of sudden arrivals, they all wanted extra directions to move.) This was quickly joined by the joyfully-shredded remnants of a tuxedo, and Spike quickly moved in.
"Yes," Rarity declared from the middle of what was quickly threatening to become a permanent wince. "Don't worry about leaving the cradles intact, Spike. Just... tear them loose... we do not have time to be... careful -- oh, dear -- no, just rip that one free, I wasn't particularly happy with the drape anyway..."
A certain degree of style revision took place.
"So what's the plan, Twi?" Applejack asked. "I'm hoping you've got one. A lot."
She did. Unfortunately, it wasn't much of a plan. "We get out of the castle."
Pinkie thought about that. "So you're just going to teleport us back to the ravine? Rainbow said you took her there for flight training, so --"
Twilight quickly shook her head. "No."
"...Twilight," Fluttershy carefully began, "...I know you're only licensed to take three ponies with you, and that means two trips, but we have a little time right now and if something happens in a few seconds, I trust you to --"
Another fast movement. "That's not it. We're getting out of the castle, but we're doing that by going through it, for as long as we can. If I have to try an emergency evacuation -- if I can even break through the lockdown -- I can try to get us into the ravine. But there's a chance that Doctor Gentle --" she no longer felt comfortable using the honorary (and that, in itself, was now an odious word) title, but didn't want to put him on a first-name basis either, and the pronoun currently felt too generic "-- and Quiet are still in the castle. With her. If they're here, we have to try and intercept. Catch them."
Applejack's reply was a single hard nod.
Rainbow was a little more dubious. "I hate to say this --" and her face showed it "-- but... I can't fly faster than a teleport. Not even short-range, not when I don't know where the other pony is coming out. And we know the dumb --" frowned "-- stupid --" discarded that "-- that he can teleport. If he sees us coming, we're all outside, and he gets a chance to cast..."
The farmer's head came back up, and her expression echoed Rarity's ongoing wince. "Oh -- yeah. Twi, y'mentioned a spell which would let you follow...?"
Twilight miserably shook her head. "I know it exists, Applejack. I don't know how to cast it. I've never had any need for it."
"But he can't escort!" Pinkie piped up. "He couldn't when she was born, because... it might have changed everything, if he'd just been able to. And he still couldn't when he found me after I ran away, because he said so! Maybe he still hasn't learned. So that would mean he can only teleport himself..."
Spike froze in mid-sapphire-grab, looked up from his low crouch to Pinkie. "You ran away?"
And now there were three matching winces. "Later," Pinkie said. "We can talk about that stuff later. We might not have much time to talk about the things we do need to talk about, which means I should probably stop talking about talking and just talk. Twilight, if he still doesn't know how to do it, he's the only one who can get away in a hurry. Well, she could, but I don't think she knows how to follow him or take him with her, because she hasn't been doing it for too long. And maybe Quiet can't do it at all. So if it's just him..."
"She cannot," Rarity said. "Not currently, not without accelerating the change. Based on my rough estimate for the time we have been below... she has likely departed from the unicorn state, at least beyond the point where she could still cast."
"Which leaves her," Applejack groaned, "as an earth pony. Sun and Moon, we've gotta be careful there. She gets scared once, or just tries something without knowin' just what she's saying..."
They all thought about that, and then mostly managed to stop.
Twilight refocused. "So he might try to get away," she concluded, "but he still might not be able to take them along. And I'm sure Quiet can't teleport --" paused. "-- I hope. And I'll be watching for it. But if Doctor Gentle is the only one who can do it..."
"...he still might not," Fluttershy softly broke in. "I don't know if he'll leave her..."
It was possible -- but Twilight wasn't going to risk treating it as a certainty. "Even if he tries, don't forget: we have one potential resource there. But we'll still need to get a shot at using it."
They had used some seconds in briefing each other. There hadn't been much of that: there was very little need to tell Spike all the details about what had happened while the mares had been the guests of the conference. But they had counted what few resources they did possess...
"As long," Rainbow groaned, "as we can remember we're supposed to be looking for somepony."
...including the fresh knowledge which had to be passed along immediately. The nature of Quiet's talent.
"Just try to think about him every so often, Rainbow," Twilight cautioned her. "More if you see him. Don't give him a chance to slip your mind."
"But what if he can make the whole nation forget? What if everypony just forgets there was a Great Work at all, or that we were even here?" And now it was possible to hear the fast-rising panic moving up through the emotional stratosphere. "What if ponies forget us because he wants them to --"
"-- it's not that strong," Twilight desperately cut her off. "It can't be. And I'm sure he has to be fairly close to make it start working. He's not going to make the Princess forget there's a search when he's never met her." She could try to feel for the talent's operation and directly counter it, but mark magic was so subtle... "We're getting into the main castle and we're searching for him. Them. Her. He probably can't hide all of them."
I hope.
"And if we find them," Rarity said, "we attempt to...?" Tilted her head to the right, waited for Twilight to finish it.
"Capture." Two had to be jailed, and one still needed any help Twilight could give.
Cautiously, "And if she resists?"
"Whatever we can. Whatever we have to. I'll teleport her if I can. Worst-case, I'll put her in the ravine and just hope we can find her later: it'll at least get us out of her range. But with the rest of the castle..."
The words hurt. They were words she had never said before, not in that order. But they were words which had to be said, and they took a little more of her innocence away.
"...we've already had one attempt to kill us. There could be more. I don't want to kill anypony, and if there's any chance of it, we need to take Doctor Gentle and Quiet alive. But if somepony's trying to kill you, and there's no other way out -- don't waste your last chance in trying to think of one. It's the last resort, but -- if you have to do it... then..."
"...Twilight." Fluttershy, still soft, but more urgent than ever. "...we understand."
They did. Pinkie's rib cage was moving a little too quickly. Spike took a single shuddering breath. Rarity, forever the dirtiest fighter among them (because when you didn't have raw field or physical strength and didn't know workings for conventional offense and defense, you couldn't afford to fight fair), simply nodded. Applejack's eyes went hard. Rainbow, perpetually one bad move away from taking somepony out (and possibly herself) pulled air in between her teeth. And Fluttershy, who knew death better than any of them... was simply, outwardly calm.
"We find them if we can," Rarity summarized. "Fighting our way through the entire castle if we must, I presume?"
"I'm really hoping most of the guests have gone home by now," Twilight admitted.
"If we cannot locate them?" the designer continued. "If they have already departed, or escape us?"
"Then as soon as we get outside, Spike sends out every scroll we've got left," Twilight definitively stated. "We're calling for help. We can't get Canterlot, but that idea Spike told me about was right: there's a chance Baltimare could reach us. And there's more police departments along the coast than that. I want every reinforcement we can summon in."
"...what about the local police?" Fluttershy asked.
Rarity sighed. "Based on speech patterns and behavior, I believe we have already locked at least one of their representatives away. The police become rather harder to trust when they stop enforcing the law and begin imposing belief, Fluttershy. We request help from those outside Trotter's Falls. Any help we can find. Far enough away to hopefully be outside the conspiracy, close enough for a teleport or escort relay to reach us quickly."
Rainbow's left forehoof put a stomp on her words. "And Coordinator?"
"Capture," Twilight darkly said. "If that means kicking him into the ground to make him stop fighting, do it. Just remember, he's a Gifted School graduate. He has to have some workings which could hurt us. So if you see his horn ignite, backlash him into next week."
"Not a problem," Rainbow confidently declared. "I can practice on those three who tried to come after you two --"
"-- no." They weren't going anywhere -- and then Twilight's expression subtly shadowed into thought.
They'd know her too long to miss it. "Twi?" Applejack checked.
"Just... wondering what they all could have done," Twilight slowly said, "where killing us was the smallest price for keeping it quiet."
"Think about it later," Applejack firmly told her. Paused. "An' -- try not to dream. Are we ready to move?"
"I've got the last gem," Spike reported -- blinked. Looked up at Twilight. "Wait... why can't we go to the ravine now?"
Which reminded her that he was still her little brother. "Because the lockdown is still up, and we have to start searching while there's still time --"
"-- no! Take me there, I'll send a few scrolls, and we'll come right back! The reinforcements could be coming in while we're still working our way out!"
-- but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of having good ideas. "You're right! Okay, start writing: we don't want to do that outside. They should arrive as dry as possible." Oddly, transit flame didn't do anything to evaporate water during transport. They'd spent a post-water main break afternoon experimenting once... "I'll start thinking about how to get through the lockdown spell. But it's one try, and then we have to move. Baltimare first --"
-- which was when they all heard the first set of not so distant hoofsteps hit the stone.
Brother and sister exchanged glances.
It was a good idea. But they were out of time.
"-- when we all get outside," Twilight finished. "We can't split up now."
If we all get outside.
We can die. Any of us can die. All of us can die.
The slender jaw set, and her horn ignited. Applejack dropped into a pre-charge pose. Pinkie tensed. Fluttershy shifted towards a wall, all the better to brace herself. Spike swallowed a gem. Rainbow got in the air. Rarity's field gathered up a mixture of cloth and stone fragments.
So don't let it happen.
The fight began.
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I see what you did there, Cozy Glow.
I'm looking forward to Coordinators' inevitable comeuppance more and more. That guy needs to suffer for everything he's inflicted on others.
Aside from the whole "ascension at any price" thing, Quiet actually is a good person. But that's a lot to put aside.
I can't help but wonder if the absence of the Cornucopia Effect contributes to the local grass's infamous flavor. Or maybe there's just no helping it.
Hmm. A bit of insight into the finer workings of Quiet's talent? Twilight seemed to be able to keep in mind better than the others...
It's oddly comforting to know that Coordinator's last thought is coming soon. He's well on his way to becoming a serial killer at this point.
A shame the reinforcements couldn't wait long enough for Spike to execute his idea. And if it's Quiet and company, there's going to be some truly glorious confusion on display. However, I doubt we'll be getting anything even remotely so lighthearted. Looking forward to finding out. (And given the explanation post you made on why this particular art term, I can definitely appreciate how perfectly it fits this chapter.)
Nice cliffhanger! :)
Hmm... So, Softtread's reading Quiet's note? Wonder what it says...
And we dunno where She and Doc Gentle, are...
Trixie is a few days out, right? ... Could she get Escorts to take her closer, faster?
Coordinator's section made me think we were watching someone else, who was thinking about Coordinator, instead of Coordinator himself. ... Mainly 'cause I didn't have a mental image of Coordinator, but instead a mental collection of traits I defined as "Coordinator".
Nice scene that expresses so much, when everyone reacts to the possibility of murder!
----
Typo:
I've been keeping a group of servants
9005720
There are plenty of people in the world form whom the "good" we might ascribe to them extends only so far—to family, or friends, business, perceived class, country, an entire racial group, or sexual identity—but somehow no further. This makes their essential "goodness" conditional on so many aspects of existence that no one has any control over.
So I agree, that is a lot to put aside. Quiet has potential, and I want to like him, but his actions are speaking too much for him at this point. The best he can hope for now is redemption, but in the light of true knowledge of the sum of his actions, his epitaph could still easily appear to be: "All but his final act were the works of someone we revile." There's a lot of Final Solution to the idea of the Great Work, after all.
Can I just say, I especially liked her section? At her core she's a loving pony, and the thought of ponies she wants to help being hurt is eating her up.
That's morbid and tragically hilarious at the same time!
dude i was a big ol mlp fan back in like 8th grade and i remember loving this fic sm but then i fell out of the fandom and so i havent checked fimfiction in like 4 years but holy FUCK i cant believe this fic is still going??? holy shit well done dude kudos to you thats some fucking dedication like i literally entered and graduated high school in that time and ur still chugging away at this fic oh my god what kind of goals
Considering that Twilight sounds like she's a dozen times stronger than the average unicorn- and maybe more- they've got pretty good odds. One tremendous blast down the hall might incapacitate half the attacking force.
"There hadn't any real details in that tract"
"There hadn't been any real details in that tract"?
"even Coordinator had recognize that some"
"even Coordinator had recognized that some"?
"cost-benefits analysis of sort."
"cost-benefits analysis of sorts." or "cost-benefits analysis of a sort."?
"what greatest form of control was"
"what greater form of control was"?
"It can't be. And I'm sure he has to be fairly close to make it start working."
Is there some broken italics tagging in there?
9005761
Monsters can have admirable qualities, and the Devil can quote scripture when it suits his purpose.
I have a distinct impression that somepony is about to come down with a serious case of underestimating Fluttershy.
I notice that he still dismisses as the ravings of a madpony that warning about the allegedly powerless Earth Ponies.....
WHEN AJ outs her tribe's dark secret, he won't....should he and Coordinator survive the experience. She could destroy the castle without breaking a sweat if she weren't under that pledge not to reveal her ability to rend the very Earth......
9006323
I still say the very concept of Maud Pie in Estee's universe is terrifying. I mean, a rock farmer who decided rock farming wasn't hardcore enough, and never speaks above a flat, unemotional indoor voice?
This was awesome. Reading this while listening to intense music was so perfect.
I am looking forward to the next chapter so much!
9006514
you reminded me of a silly story, "daring do and the One Buck Mare", where Maud was as powerful as Saitama. (one-punch man)
in fact, that story was essentially a pony-fied parody of the Saitama vs Boros battle, with Ahuizotol as Boros.
9005720
What explanation post? Link, please.
I haven't done my usual chapter re-read, yet, bit I have to wonder why Spike didn't mention Cadance's letter (unless he did and I just missed it)?
They were short on time, true, but after the build-up to it (even if we don't get details), the absence was striking.
Likewise, I almost thought Quiet was going to realize that he's missing some gemstones after Spike's fuel/ammunition raid.
9006798
Over here. Brilliant stuff.
Estee's blogs are like Marvel movies in that it pays to stick around and see if there's a post-credits scene.
9006836
Thanks for the link. Usually Estee doesn't hide her (his?) story notes in the comments like that.
Spoken by a pony, who, lest we forget, recites hundreds of names of animals she's had to euthanize. She understands the occasional necessity of causing death to a degree that one would likely never guess just from looking at her for the first time. Or from living in the settled zone that has her at its fringe.
(I have now, without trying, made two consecutive comments referencing scenes involving Flitter from two different Triptych Continuum fics. I notice weird things, sometimes...)
Another great chapter. It is hard not to feel some sympathy for Quiet but I hope he will be captured. Triptych's thought about children was also a nice twist. Mane 7 preparing for next phase was also well written.
9005746
I bet Quiet was saying Twilight could have his books. Wouldn't that be bittersweet
If we get to see Spike bite off the coordinator's horn I will squee like a little girl.
I think "how not be to like her" ought to be "how not to be like her," or possibly "how to not be like her."