Chapter 17: Trials, part III
Onto the Pony Planet
Chapter 17: Trials, part III
Admiral Biscuit
Dale shifted around in the overly-comfortable chair until he could take it no longer, and stood. His eyes hurt, his head hurt, and he had a compelling urge to be anywhere except bent over a desk. While he could enjoy slowly working his way through a good sci-fi novel—or even a mystery, if he was feeling up to something different—reading technical manuals was boring, and attempting to read a child's language primer he barely understood even more so.
He felt a little guilty at giving up on his task, but judging by the lack of sound from outside the room, he wasn't the first to come to the conclusion that a break was in order. He rolled his shoulders back to let some of the tension out of his neck as he crossed the room. I wonder if the construction ponies have the same kind of work schedule that highway workers do? Maybe they have unions, or mob connections. He glanced back at the books—he could hardly ask until he learned their language, but it wasn't something he was going to get by reading a book. It hadn't worked in Mrs. Brown's Spanish class in high school, and it wasn't going to work now.
As he was crossing the foyer, Diamond Mint appeared at his side. She looked up at him as if awaiting orders. I guess it might not be a bad idea to have a snack, he thought. It must be nearly lunchtime now. He looked up at the wall for a clock, but there wasn't one to be seen.
Somewhere in that pile of books was undoubtedly the word for food. Maybe it was too general a word to have been in the visual dictionary, but surely they'd thought to include that in one of the books.
Such a basic necessity, and yet she never taught me their word. On the beach, I kind of led the meal times, and then when I was in the hospital I didn't really have a choice about when I would get my meals, so now what? I could go back in there and find whichever book has food listed, find the pictures of what I want to eat, then write them out on a piece of paper, give it to Diamond Mint, and eventually have her bring me a meal, but that could take hours. I bet Lyra shared the English words she knows, though.
"Dale eat?" he asked Diamond hopefully. She looked at him blankly, before shaking her head.
Okay, she doesn't know that word. Dale pointed to the dining room table, then pantomimed scooping food into his mouth, finishing by rubbing his belly.
Diamond just gave him a confused look.
Okay, where did I go wrong? Dale looked back at her, and thought about his motions—body language he took for granted that had been totally lost on her. Is it any wonder? She probably uses her horn to bring the food to her, like Lyra did on the beach with my sandwiches . . . I'm making gestures which have no meaning to them. He gave an awkward smile as Diamond flicked her tail. Well, I might as well show her.
He went into the kitchen, Diamond at his heels, and began opening cupboards. Starlight was nowhere to be seen, and he wondered where she'd gone.
If he'd found a tin of cookies, or maybe a box of crackers, he would have made the motion and then eaten some food, to give Diamond an idea what he meant. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that the only food he could find was unprepared, and there wasn't very much of it, either. A quick spin told him that the eggs in the bowl on the counter were uncooked, and he didn't want to open up any of the unlabeled jars and just take a sample of whatever they contained. The icebox was half-filled with tightly-wrapped packets of butcher's paper, labeled with pencil in pony script. As tempting as it was to cook one of them, it would undoubtedly be a huge breach of decorum to do so; plus, he'd probably burn down the house trying to get the wood stove to work, since he'd never used one before.
His thoughts were interrupted as the back door of the kitchen opened and Starlight stepped inside the house from the back entrance. She had a large cloth shopping bag gripped tightly in her mouth, and was wearing thin straps along her back. When she saw him, her pupils shrank and she took a step back, gave him a sheepish half-grin and lifted her head up to set the bag on the kitchen counter.
Dale looked out the door and saw a small, two-wheeled cart in the yard, its shafts resting on the ground. A couple of straps were hanging on a peg on the front of the wagon; it was obvious that was the rest of her harness. He went out into the yard—not to get a closer look; from the wagons he'd seen earlier he had a pretty good idea of how they worked—but to help her bring in the groceries.
He grimaced as his bare feet sank into the cold, wet grass and mud squelched between his toes. Still, the sun was shining now; there was a large open patch above town, although most of the surrounding sky was still overcast. He could see dozens of winged ponies in the air near the clouds, flitting around in the clear air. One in particular caught his eye when it rapidly streaked from one pony to another, leaving a rainbow contrail behind. Maybe if they move through the air quickly, they move around the moisture—there must be a lot of it still up there, since it just rained—and that's what causes it.
He kept glancing at the sky, hoping to see a repeat which might give him further clues, but only one pony seemed to have that effect. He took three bags out of the wagon—two in his left hand and one in his right—and made his way back into the kitchen with a load of groceries, his eyes still constantly scanning the skies.
Both ponies turned to stare at him as he set the bags on the counter. Diamond's ears went midships and she opened her mouth, before she bit her lip and gave Starlight a significant look. Starlight—who was on her hind hooves, putting a box into one of the cupboards—gave her a shrug in return, and shook her head. Dale ignored them and unceremoniously set the bags on the kitchen counter.
Diamond nodded back at Starlight and trotted out the door. Free of his baggage, Dale followed her, just in time to see two bags lift themselves out of the wagon, surrounded by a familiar aura. Not wanting to be outdone, he grabbed the remaining five bags, and followed her into the kitchen.
Starlight said something just as Diamond set her bags down, and she looked over at Dale. Her ears lowered, and she muttered something under her breath. Starlight just giggled, and motioned a hoof at the counter, indicating where she wanted Dale to set the groceries.
Dale tried to help her put them away, but the language barrier was simply too much, and he could tell he was slowing her down. He'd selected a stuffed burlap sack that had a paper label tied on the neck and held it up for her to see; she'd pointed over to one of the cupboards. He watched her as he put it on each shelf, and each time she'd shaken her head, until she finally came over and pulled a scratched metal cylinder out of the cupboard, untied the knot with practiced ease, and emptied the bag into the container. The whole cupboard was filled with various storage containers, and Dale realized that she wanted any dry goods in them—probably to keep rodents away. They provided no hints as what they were meant to contain; the few which had writing on them were completely incomprehensible.
However, he took some satisfaction in watching Diamond struggle, too. She'd pull a container out with her aura, Starlight would correct her, and if she was lucky, she got it right on the second try.
Dale thought back to how his toolbox at work had been arranged, and grinned. He could never explain to anyone the logic behind what went where—his system had undergone a lifetime of changes and additions, and while everything made sense to him, he never could figure out anyone else's toolbox.
Before half the groceries were put away, Starlight was already starting on lunch. She tossed a couple of logs in the stove and opened the dampers, then began pumping water into a large stockpot. Dale frowned at the muddy streaks from her fetlocks on the pot, but it was on the outside rather than the inside, and he'd certainly dealt with that while camping. Of course, being a house rather than a tent hopefully meant food with less grit.
His worries were unfounded. Before she touched anything else, she put some water in the sink and dribbled soap in. She stuck her forehooves in the cold water, grabbed a washcloth with her teeth, and scrubbed them clean. Still on her hind legs, she yanked open a drawer with her mouth and selected a knife, and set it on the counter. Dale stood back and watched as she grabbed a cutting board and a selection of vegetables and went to work. At first, she occasionally glanced up at him, but as she progressed, she stopped paying him any attention at all, aside from occasionally turning an ear in his direction.
Dale had gotten a taste of a pony kitchen in the hospital, but he hadn't ever seen the whole process. Starlight moved with a practiced efficiency, dicing the soup's ingredients while also beginning to make a pie. Midway through the process—just after she'd neatly tucked the crust into a pie pan—she grabbed a cut of meat out of the icebox and slapped it down in a cast-iron pan, added some seasoning and a few herbs, and slid it into the oven. She didn't act bothered by it at all, although Diamond Mint was conspicuously absent by then.
When she opened the cupboard nearest the stove, Dale saw a familiar list tacked inside the door—it was the one where he'd marked what he could eat. He smiled at the memory. It seemed so long ago, yet it had only been a few days. Already, this was beginning to seem more normal than when he'd been on the beach on North Fox Island, or even before, when he was at home, microwaving a meal. It's really weird how fast people can get used to a new situation, he thought.
“We call upon Sandy Tail, a Royal Guard who was present at the first meeting with Dale.”
“We had the same maestro,” Lyra whispered to Fancy Pants.
The stallion took the stand like a soldier storming a beachhead. Unlike Storm Cloud, he wasn't wearing any armor, yet his military bearing was evident to everypony in the courtroom.
“You were present at Princess Celestia's first meeting with Dale, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.” His foreleg twitched as if he'd meant to give a salute, but he kept his hooves on the polished wood of the podium.
“I wonder if you could tell us a little about it?”
Fleur scribbled on a notepad as he spoke, while Fancy Pants paid him rapt attention. Even Lyra was captivated by his telling of the story—some of his details were dry and emotionless, but many of the things he'd noticed had never crossed her mind, and for the first time she began to wonder just how crazy she'd been to actually approach Dale. True, it had turned out well, but to hear him tell it, he could have been about to go into a murderous frenzy at the drop of a shoe.
“When he reached down towards his waist, I focused my attention on his hands, to see if he was going to produce a weapon,” Sandy Tail explained.
“Why is that?”
“Bipeds—they often carry things they wish to access quickly around their waist,” he said. “Because of their stature . . . it's just like how an earth pony will naturally want to keep things close to her mouth, so too bipeds want to keep things near their hands. Since when they're standing on their hind legs, their hands fall at their waists, that's the natural place.”
“Aren't you going to object?” Lyra asked.
“No,” Fancy Pants whispered back. “We'd look like fools if we did. He's saying what he was trained to believe, and what he observed. I can deflect some of his statements on cross, though.”
“Dale never had a weapon,” Lyra replied.
“You don't know that.” He turned to face her. “He never used a weapon, that's undeniable. Whether or not he had one is pure speculation, and honestly, immaterial to the case at hand. I imagine, despite Noble Voice's theatrics, Princess Luna is fully aware of this.”
“It was tense, I'll admit.” Sandy Tail looked at Noble Voice, who gave him an encouraging nod. “I didn't know what he might do, and I never got a good sense for the leylines there—I could feel some faintly off over the water, but none up close, so I couldn't guess what he might be about to do.”
“And that's when Lyra approached him.”
“That's correct.” He licked his lips. “She spoke quietly to Princess Celestia, and I wasn't paying attention to her at that point, so I can't say what it was that she said.”
“Go on,” Noble Voice instructed.
“I did, however, distinctly hear Princess Celestia reply that she could approach him if she wanted, but that if She judged the situation to be turning dangerous, we would teleport back to Equestria without Lyra.”
“What, exactly, did Princess Celestia say?” Fancy Pants whispered.
Lyra frowned. “I don't remember. I was both nervous and excited. It was probably about what he said.”
“Okay.” Noble Voice took a few steps across the courtroom floor before turning back to the stallion on the stand. “If the defense doesn't object, I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened after you got back to Equestria. I am given to understand that Lyra attended a secret meeting with the Diarchs and Twilight Sparkle.”
“I don't know,” Sandy Tail said honestly. “We were told to speak to nopony of what we'd seen, and then dismissed from duty.”
Noble Voice frowned. “Surely you talked to your fellow Guards?”
“Objection!” Fancy Pants leapt to his hooves. “Any speculative conversation between them is wholly irrelevant to the case at hoof.”
“It establishes the observations of the Guards,” Noble Voice retorted.
“They are not on trial.” Fancy Pants sat back down, waiting for Luna's verdict.
“Overruled,” Luna replied. “The court finds that Noble Voice's question is relevant, in regard to the charges in question. May the court reporter repeat the question?”
He nodded eagerly and squinted at his paper. “Noble Voice asks, 'Surely you talked to your fellow Guards.'”
“Yes,” Sandy Tail told him. “It was an informal after-action report, not to be—“
“And what conclusions did you reach?” Noble Voice interrupted.
The Guard slid a hoof across the stand. “We decided that we had done the right thing. Overall, while he may have been a threat, he took no aggressive action that day on the beach.”
“Are you telling me that you felt okay with taking a purely defensive stance, in light of the threat the creature . . . scratch that—don't answer that question.” Noble Voice glanced over at the defense table. Fancy Pants paid him no mind, jotting on his notepad. “Are you familiar with Lyra Heartstrings?”
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
“Well, we used to duel . . . but she gave it up, and the next year I joined the Guard.”
“Had you encountered her in a professional setting before your trip to the beach?”
“No.”
“Had you encountered her dueling before?”
“Yes.”
“As an opponent?”
“Yes.”
“What were your impressions?”
“She was good.” Lyra blushed—despite her string of successes, she'd never felt that she was anything special, which was one of the reasons why she'd given it up. She'd always thought of it as a fond adolescent memory, rather than a defining character trait. Still, it was hard to imagine she'd be where she was right now if it hadn't been for the time she'd spent competing.
Noble Voice looked down at his notes. “Did she have any particular traits she was known for?”
“Improvisation.” He leaned forward in his chair. “That's what made her dangerous. Most unicorns knew a set of spells, but Lyra always seemed to be good at modification and misdirection . . . she'd make you think that she was going to do one thing, and then she'd do something entirely different.”
Noble Voice's ears perked. “Oh? Can you give an example?”
Lyra lowered her head as Sandy Tail recounted her match with Primrose. To hear him tell it, she'd planned the whole thing from the beginning, leading her through a flurry of spells to get to the point where she'd been able to surprise her with a well-placed lightning bolt, but the truth was that she just remembered all her other spells failing to Primrose’s counterspells, and had tried that as a gambit. She'd guessed that she wasn't defending against elemental weather spells, and that was the only one Lyra knew.
“So she's good at using spells to suit her purpose,” Noble Voice stated.
“I don't know her well enough to state that as fact,” Sandy Tail replied. “But in my experience with her, yes, she is. She's subtle, too. She beat me in every match.”
“No further questions.” Noble Voice was already standing by his chair; as soon as he had finished speaking, he sat down and glared at the witness stand, defying Sandy Tail to speak against him.
Fancy Pants leisurely got to his hooves and sauntered to the center of the floor. He held his notepad up in front of him, gave it a cursory glance, and then looked up at Sandy Tail. "How long have you been a Guard?"
"Six years and three moons since I took my oath."
Fancy Pants nodded. "In that time, you've undoubtedly had both training and hooves-on experience with a variety of situations. Would that be a fair statement? Would you consider yourself experienced as a Guard?"
"Yes."
"And the other Guards in your flight? Did they all have a similar amount of experience to you?"
"Well, the commander—"
"Besides him. The other stallions of similar rank—did they all have a similar amount of experience?"
He shook his head. "We usually . . . I hope it's okay to say this. Shining Armor likes to mix up the flights, with experienced soldiers and rookies. He thinks that gives each flight a broader pool of experience to draw on. I'd say I'm in the middle of the herd, when it comes to experience."
"I would think Celestia would have wanted to choose the most experienced Guards to accompany her."
"As a flight, we have the broadest diversity," he said proudly. "We've even had training in the Crystal Empire."
"Yet she could have chosen solely commanders, for example—ponies who you admit have more experience than you."
"Tactically, when going into a dangerous situation, it's unwise to break up a team," Sandy Tail explained. "We all know how the other ponies in our flight are going to react to danger."
"I see." Fancy Pants looked back down at his notes. "That must be very reassuring, in such a strange situation, to know that your fellow stallion has your back, and will behave predictably.
"Tell me, earlier Noble Voice almost asked a question which he didn't deem was worth an answer, but I'm curious. What led you to conclude after the fact that you had taken the right action in not making a more defensive stance on the beach?"
"Well. . . ." Sandy Tail shuffled his hoof over the table. "He was bigger than us, and he was a complete unknown. Both of those were factors to consider. We didn't know how quickly he could move, or if he had any weapons.
"Those were points in favor of quickly attacking him, of course. When two foes meet by surprise, he who acts fastest generally has the upper hoof, and had we known him to be an enemy, we would have struck quickly, and in unison.
"On another hoof, we were in his land, so there was little to be gained in being the aggressor. Should he have had allies on beach, for example, a fight might have been disastrous.
"In such a situation, we decided that we had done the prudent thing, even knowing that if he had attacked first, he might very well have slain some of the Guards before we could escape."
"Thank you," Fancy Pants said. "Let me ask a hypothetical question: if Princess Celestia had asked you to approach Dale, would you have? Based on what you knew then."
"Yes."
"Yet, you seem to think that Lyra doing so was foolhardy."
"If Princess Celestia had given an order, I would have obeyed. If my commander had given an order, I would have obeyed." He slid his hoof absently across the desk. "But, to answer your next question, I don't think I would have volunteered on my own initiative."
"Thank you. Now, getting back to Ambassador Heartstrings. You've spoken about her dueling career, but it is worth mentioning that she is also an auxiliary Guard member; were she not, we would not be here today. As such, she's required to undergo some of the same training as you are.”
He held up a hoof as Sandy Tail opened his mouth. “It's plain that Princess Celestia had her reasons for choosing Lyra Heartstrings as a companion on her journey, and I would imagine—without putting words in the Princess' mouth—that her ability to modify spells as the situation demanded was a compelling reason. It's clear, even to myself, how useful that might be in an unknown situation. Yet, I ask you this: in your time competing, did you ever get the sense that Lyra was willing to bend the rules to her advantage?”
“That's not an easy question to answer,” Sandy Tail admitted. “The rulebook was one of your opponents, and there were times when a competetor could use it to her advantage.”
“But there's using it to your advantage, and abusing it,” Fancy Pants countered. “We've all seen hoofball games where a player will tumble to the ground and cry foul at the lightest touch, and while that may technically be legitimate, it's obviously against the spirit of the sport. Did you ever observe Lyra to do anything like that?”
“No.”
“Did you ever hear any credible rumors that she did?”
Noble Voice jumped out of his seat. “I object—what does this have to do with her actions on the beach?”
“You opened the line of questioning,” Fancy Pants retorted. “We ought to be allowed to follow it.”
“Objection overruled.” Luna glanced down at Fancy Pants. “Thou shalt keep thine questioning on this subject brief.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” He turned back to the witness. “Did you ever hear any credible rumors that Lyra manipulated the rules in such a manner that she was—in your opinion—going beyond the spirit of the game?”
“No.”
“So it would be fair to say, would it not, that while she may be creative when it comes to spell choice and manner of casting, she is—in your opinion—unlikely to make a habit of violating the spirit of the game to gain an advantage.”
“I guess?” He shrugged.
“As such,” Fancy Pants pressed, “were you, at the time that you visited the beach, concerned that she might manipulate whatever situation she found to her advantage, even if it was to the detriment of other ponies?”
“It was a while ago, so I can't say clearly what my mental state was at the time,” he hedged. “But . . . I guess that would be fair.”
“Knowing what you now know, would you say that Lyra is likely to have abused her trust and defied orders from Princess Celestia in order to bring Dale and Ka-th-rin to Equestria?"
“Objection!” Noble Voice shot to his hooves. “The question is overly speculative. Sandy Tail can hardly be expected to speak on Lyra's mental state.”
“Given his prior testimony, he's as well-qualified as any witness we've had thus far.” Fancy Pants glanced up at Luna. “Especially since, thus far, he's the only actual witness to any of the events on the beach.”
“We agree,” she said. “The question can be answered.”
“I . . . don't know.” The Guard shifted in his seat. "They're here, aren't they?"
"They are," Fancy Pants agreed. "But I am sure you would agree that there is a difference between a commander who makes an error in judgement and loses his position, compared to one who willingly surrenders it to an enemy force. Do you believe, based on your past history with Lyra, that she is the type of pony who would willingly sell her loyalty to her country?"
"I don't know. Some ponies will do things you'd never expect." He gave Fancy Pants a pleading look. "It's not a fair question."
"It is the most important question of the trial," Fancy Pants said softly. "Do you have a compelling reason to believe that Ambassador Lyra Heartstrings willfully betrayed her nation for her own personal gain?"
The Guard looked helplessly at Noble Voice, but remained silent.
"It is a simple question: yes or no? Should the court find her guilty? Should she be exiled? Or were her crimes so heinous she should be executed?" Fancy Pants moved closer to the witness stand. "Did you see her cheat? Do you have any evidence whatsoever, based on your own personal knowledge, to suggest that she is a traitor? Can you, in good conscience, tell the court that she is a bad pony?"
"No," he whispered. "I cannot."
"No further questions, Your Honor." Fancy Pants bowed to Princess Luna and took a seat back at his table.
Starlight's smile was strained as she sliced up enough pieces of pie to serve all the construction ponies. As soon as they had returned from their lunch break, Dale had invited them into the dining room and generously offered them dessert—and while she had no objections to sharing, she hadn't been planning to serve so many. She wasn't going to get a piece, and Diamond wouldn't either.
That feeling quickly passed, though, as Silver Spanner gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I didn't know you could make pie that good.”
“I got the recipe from my grandmare,” she said. “It's not as good as—“
“It's better than my Mama makes,” Rough Tumble told her. “So help me, it's true. The crust is too soft or too hard, and she never puts enough sugar in the filling . . . but I can't tell her.”
“Wait, in't she an earth pony?”
“Yeah? So?”
“See? I told you!” Ambrosia turned to Allie. “Not every earth pony's good at cooking.”
Allie shrugged. “I just figured you never made dinner for us 'cause you didn't want to spend any of your bits.”
“I bought Silver's lunch, didn't I?”
“Only 'cause you wanted to hear her gossip.” Allie stuck her tongue out at Ambrosia, then glanced over at Dale, who was watching them intently from his place at the table. “Are you sure he doesn't bite or something? I can smell meat on his breath.”
Silver Spanner wrinkled her nose. “He does smell kind of like a griffon.” She shifted her hips, the tools in her belt clinking around. “But don't you kind of feel sorry for him? He's as naked as a fish, almost.”
“I wasn't expecting my pie to come with a side of psychoanalysis.” Ambrosia turned her head back toward the unfinished living room. “And it won't build the bannister or run the plumbing. C'mon, Roughie. Time to earn those bits.”
He looked down at his plate and rebelliously licked it clean, before getting to his hooves. “Real good pie, Ms. Starlight.”
Starlight nodded politely as the ponies left the dining room. Dale stayed there for a minute, looking absently at the now-empty table, before pushing his chair back and heading out of the room himself.
Instead of busing the table right away, Starlight waited until Dale cleared the doorway, and then followed him, quickly spotting him in the living room. He wasn't in any hurry to get back to his books—he had a hand out, steadying the scaffolding as Rough Tumble climbed into position. While the stallion had his ears down, Ambrosia was treating it as if it was normal—and from what she'd said, it was.
“I'll get used to it,” Diamond said. Starlight jerked back in surprise. She hadn't heard the unicorn come through the kitchen.
“Get used to it?”
“The meat.” She grimaced as she spoke. “It's just . . . weird. It's one thing to read about it, or have it mentioned in cultural awareness class; to see it for myself?” Plates began floating off of the table onto a serving tray, one at a time.
“I'm surprised you got hired,” Starlight said quietly, still watching Dale working. Both Rough Tumble and Allie were much more skittish than they'd been in the morning, their eyes constantly returned to him, keeping track of where he was in the room and which exit was the closest.
“I guess they couldn't find anypony local who was more qualified.” She dropped a plate onto the tray.
“I figured I'd never in my life have another opportunity like this,” Starlight admitted. “I don't mind so much—I used to live with a pegasus, you know. That's kind of weird.”
“How so? I've never shared a room with a, ah, non-unicorn before, but you're all right.” Diamond lifted the tray and began floating it into the kitchen. "What's different about pegasi?"
"They leave down everywhere . . . but that's not what I meant. He's helping them—he's giving them boards, and Ambrosia's encouraging it. You don't think—“
“He helped you with the groceries, didn't he?”
“Yeah.” Starlight turned away from the living room and began walking toward the kitchen. The dishes wouldn't wash themselves, and she didn't trust Diamond Mint to do a good job with them—not without supervision, anyway. “Horseapples. I've got to put the wagon away still.”
“I already did it, and hung up your tack, too.”
“Thanks.” Starlight jammed the stopper in the sink and slipped her forehooves into a pair of mitts. “Watch out,” she warned as she grabbed the stock pot off the stove.
Once she'd served Dale's portion, she'd put some soup aside for herself and Diamond, before transferring the rest of it to a serving bowl which was precariously perched in the icebox. She'd warm it up for dinner and serve it—along with a salad and fresh toast—to the Guards for their evening meal.
As soon as the pot had been emptied, she'd refilled it with clean water, so that she would have it ready for the dishes. The fire in the stove was already banked, but it would stay hot for quite some time; long enough to have boiled the pot of water by the time dinner was finished.
She gingerly emptied it into the sink, being careful to not pour the water in so quickly that it dislodged the stopper and wasted all the hot water.
Once it was emptied, she pulled the cork out of a bottle of soap and gripped it in her teeth—no matter how careful she was, there was always soap residue on the bottle, and it tasted terrible. She dumped a little in the sink, before setting the bottle back on the sill and positioning her hoof on the pump handle. “He's not what I expected, you know?”
“I thought he'd be more stuck-up,” Diamond agreed. “But he's willing to get his paws dirty.” She moved close to Starlight and lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I can't help but wonder—you'd think that the mayor would have had a better briefing. Does she even know anything about him? Or are we just being thrown into a situation that nopony really understands?
Starlight shrugged and began pumping. “Maybe his cutie mark is for some kind of construction skill, and he just is an ambassador on the side. Have you seen it?”
Diamond Mint shook her head. “Weird how he covers it up. I bet Nurse Redheart knows. I'll ask her.” As Starlight placed dishes in the rack, Diamond began toweling them dry. “He just doesn't act like a diplomat, I guess. I always had an idea in my mind that they'd be more aloof, and with Guards everywhere they went. Like a snobby Canterlot noble."
Starlight grinned. “He's got his own flight of them. I've been keeping an eye on them. Have you noticed the unicorn who's on day door duty? I'd like to get my hooves on him for a night.”
“You could bounce a bit off his flanks,” Diamond Mint agreed. “He's the most muscled unicorn I've ever seen.”
“Just 'cause you get a free look every time you open the door for somepony—“
“That's an unexpected job perk.”
“I called him first.” Starlight stuck her tongue out. “You'll just have to wait your turn.”
Ambassador Swiftwing pushed the door of the meeting chambers open and stopped short, his ceremonial guard nearly crashing into his backside. Instead of the pomp he was expecting, he found himself in a room devoid of any fancy ponies. A simple desk was tucked discreetly off to the right of the entrance, far enough back so that a line could form, and portable benches were arranged in neat rows. True, they were covered in plush cushions, but a portable bench was a portable bench.
A pair of nondescript stallions were occupying the benches, each of them intently studying a Canterlot newspaper. Neither of them showed the slightest reaction to the griffons.
“Is that—“ one of the griffons began, before the nasally voice of the mare at the desk cut them off.
“You must be Ambassador Swiftwing and retinue,” she stated flatly. “Sorry 'bout the accommodations. The castle staff makes a point of maintaining the rooms, don'tcha know, and it was this room's turn. Hasn't had a good going-over in half a century.”
“I have an appointment with the Princess,” he hissed.
“She'll get to ya as quick as she can.” The mare tilted her head towards the bench. “She's been awful busy today.”
Swiftwing leaned forward, his eyes boring into the mare. “Where's Raven?”
“Oh, she's sick. Nasty bout of poll evil. Doctor ordered her to take a coupla days off.”
“What about Kibitz?” he asked, exhausting the names of castle staff he actually knew.
“Ooh, he doesn’t normally handle this kind of thing.” She shrugged indifferently. “The Princess will be with you just as soon as she can. Her schedule's been mighty full these past couple of days.”
Swiftwing regarded her with a look he normally reserved for small prey animals. “Now, what could she be so busy with that she wouldn't be waiting to meet with me, one of her staunchest of allies?”
“I'm sure I don't know.” The mare waved a hoof at her appointment book. “All kinds of meetings.” She grinned at him, before making a grand gesture at the mostly-empty room. “There are plenty of benches available, and we've got lots of copies of today's paper. Feel free to make yourselves at home.”
He glanced back, where the two stallions were still stoically reading their copies of the paper. “I suppose they're going before me?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” she said with a vapid smile. “They've got an appointment for after you finish; they're here to discuss the looming shortage of ryegrass.”
“Of course they are.” Swiftwing glanced over at the nearest bench, and finally made his decision, stalking over and plopping on the cushion, while his retinue remained standing, scanning the room for threats.
Just as he began shifting to find a comfortable position, the double doors swung open and Princess Celestia stepped through. She quickly crossed the distance between them before holding out a hoof. He took it in a talon and shook briefly, then got to his feet.
“I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting.” She waited until he'd gotten to his feet before starting back through the doors. “Especially with the room in such a terrible state. I hope you have not been here overlong.”
“Only a couple of minutes,” he admitted.
“That's good.” A pair of her guards saluted as the procession made its way through the doors. The princess nodded at them; Swiftwing ignored them. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”
"I would appreciate some coffee," he said.
Celestia nodded pleasantly and whispered into one of her guard's ears. "He'll bring it to our chambers," she said pleasantly. "No food?"
"We do not eat the same things, you and I," Swiftwing said. "Surely you know this by now."
"Perhaps one day I might entice you into trying one of our selection of salads. The castle employs a number of chefs whose sole skills revolve around them."
"And perhaps one day I can entice you into trying one of our chef's stuffed quails. The meat is so tender, it practically falls off the bone." Swiftwing paced down the hallway behind her, his mind brimming with questions. It was obvious that this meeting regarded the creature in Ponyville—the one Gerard had sent a telegram about—and he was burning to know how much she was going to share with him. Too little, and he could press his knowledge to his advantage, perhaps even seize an ambassador or two for the griffons.
Protocol, however, demanded that he not bring up the subject until after they had been seated, and taken a drink of the coffee he was now regretting having requested. Celestia was sipping her cup with maddening slowness.
“I wish to thank you for your support of our new embassy.” Celestia took a sip of her tea. “I know we've had our differences in the past, but I'm grateful we've been able to put them behind us in this case. It's such an unprecedented situation—but of course, you know that.
“And for your embassy here in Canterlot to have been so helpful on such short notice, too. I realize that our citizens haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but it's good to know who our friends are in a case like this. Why, I had to request a favor from the minotaur embassy, so of course they knew, but they didn't send a representative.”
Swiftwing shifted uncomfortably. The whole situation—from the waiting room to the meeting—seemed off. He couldn't put a talon on it, but Celestia's smile looked more smug than normal. “We do object to the way the situation has been handled thus far.”
“It has been quite a learning process,” Princess Celestia admitted. “And I do apologize for the mess your representative encountered. We didn't have any time to finish the embassy before the meeting—but you will agree, do you not, that having the building is preferable to holding the meeting in some makeshift quarters? I remember when we used to hold these meetings in open fields, under mildewed pavilions.”
“I, well, yes,” he mumbled, suddenly finding himself at a loss for words.
Celestia nodded, as if that settled the matter. “Good. Once the business of the trial has been settled, we'll bring Dale to Canterlot for a proper reception at the castle. You, of course are invited. I hope that Miss Heartstrings can attend, but of course, the whole situation is a bit precarious right now.”
Swiftwing nodded eagerly. “Yes, her situation. We object to how she was nominated without any input from other races, especially as . . . such a situation demands a show of unity." His eyes gleamed. "We were most concerned to learn that she is on trial so soon after you sponsored her."
“Well of course it's only temporary,” Celestia said smoothly. “As are all of our ambassadorial posts. They have traditionally been so.”
She took a quill in her field and wrote a brief note on a sheet of paper, before looking back up at Swiftwing. “Excuse me. My secretary is absent today. She found herself ill with a nasty case of—“
“Poll evil,” Swiftwing muttered. A disease which sounds conveniently made-up. “I do hope she finds herself well quickly.” He scraped a talon across the floor. “We—the griffon embassy—would be quite willing to provide you with a personal secretary as a show of friendship. You'd be amazed how quickly a griffon can take notes with his talon. It's far more efficient than using a field to write, so he wouldn't miss a detail . . . and of course, he'd have a ready supply of quills.”
Celestia nodded placidly. “I will consider it. An assistant to Princess Luna's Night Court would be welcome, and a good starting point for a secretary.” She glanced down at the table and shuffled a few papers around. "I'm sorry. Raven usually has things so well laid-out."
Swiftwing shifted his weight around as the silence between them grew. “I want to know when we'll get to meet him,” he blurted out. “You can't keep a diplomat from us forever, you know. Even if you are hiding him outside of Canterlot.”
“You know full well that we don't hide things from the other races.” Celestia lifted up a newspaper and began floating it towards Swiftwing. “This newspaper is one of the first things which was brought to my attention this morning.” She narrowed her eyes as the paper drew close to the griffon. “You'll be pleased to know that while the front page devotes itself to a rather speculative article about Dale, the photospread on the next few pages is quite revealing.”
As Swiftwing snatched the paper and began flipping through it, Princess Celestia continued on. “I can only assume that the reporter made a mistake in the griffon's title, since I was unaware you'd had a son. I do pride myself on my command of Catalan, and read your newspapers every morning. They’ve never mentioned a son.”
Ignoring the look of dawning horror on Swiftwing's face, Celestia continued on. “So, assuming he isn't, I congratulate you on promoting an unrelated griffon to such an important role, and I can't wait to meet him at the next meeting." She reached with her aura under the table and lifted a package wrapped in simple brown paper.
“There were no official griffon photographers present, to the best of my knowledge. All the papers reported a sole griffon, as did the personal retinue of the various nobles who managed to make the train trip to Ponyville in time. I can only conclude that you lack a photograph suitable for framing, so I took the liberty providing one for you.” Celestia gave him a benign smile. “And they really do seem to have hit it off—Dale and Sharpbeak—so I'm sure that they'll be pleased to meet again here in Canterlot. Have you considered having him as the liaison to the embassy in Ponyville? We'd love to see more of him.”
Swiftwing shredded the wrapping and glared at the photograph, unaware that Princess Celestia had finished speaking. He wanted to call out that it was a fraud—that she had somehow had her ponies manipulate the photograph. She might not have thought of it, but maybe one of her EIA ponies had done it without informing her. They could have been on to Gerard; he'd spent more time in Canterlot than was wise . . . but what if it wasn't fake? If he opened his beak and accused her of trickery, what then? Gerard had been in the field ever since the cowardly pegasus had come by the embassy, and he had gone to Ponyville. I'm going to pluck him bare when he comes back, Swiftwing decided.
“It's very nice, Princess,” he said smoothly. “I will be sure to give it the place of honor it deserves.”
"I'm so glad you like it. I've had copies made for the library in Ponyville and Canterlot, as well as the embassy in Ponyville."
Cheerilee paused on the street in front of the embassy to collect her thoughts. At the hospital, it had been easy enough to just imagine Dale and Ka-th-rin as lost foals, in need of simple correction by an adult, but now that he had his own home—and more importantly, a brace of guards at the door—things were taking a more serious turn. What if I teach him something wrong? What if he doesn't learn fast enough to make Princess Celestia happy? Or what if he mispronounces something important at a diplomatic meeting and insults somebody?
She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, also ignoring the faint odor from the building, and made her way to the door. I hope he's read through the books Twilight brought him. I should have had a drink before I came over.
Once the Guards were satisfied that she wasn't a changeling or whatever it was they were guarding against, Diamond Mint admitted her to the embassy. Cheerilee politely stepped clear of the door before taking a look around the room. She'd been curious ever since the meeting about how the embassy looked inside, although she was far too polite to have tried to wrangle herself an invitation.
The air was filled with the pleasant aroma of sawdust and plaster, and she quickly spotted Dale. Unfortunately but unsurprisingly, he was no more studious than her fillies and colts, and while it was nice to see him getting along so well with other ponies, the fact that Ambrosia was gesturing what she wanted done showed the severe limitations of his lack of language, something she had every intention of fixing as quickly as possible.
She called out his name, and as soon as he turned, she pointed a hoof off in the direction of his office. Cheerilee watched him as he climbed down the scaffolding, forgoing the steps at the end in favor of lowering himself down the diagonal braces like some kind of monkey. Once he was on the ground and moving in the right direction, she tucked herself in behind him, herding him like she would a schoolfilly that didn't want to come in from recess.
He stopped so quickly that she nearly hit her head on his hindquarters, but ducked aside just in time. Dale turned and made to walk out of the room, but a quick push in the stomach ended his rebellion, and he took his place at his desk, sinking into the enormous chair with a resigned look on his face.
Cheerilee sorted through the scattered books, quickly finding a foal’s primer. She reached up on the desk and flipped it open, turning it to face him.
“Good afternoon, Dale,” she began. He looked down at the book, trying to find the words, then looked back up at her. She shook her head. “Good. Afternoon. Dale.”
“Good afternoon Dale?” he repeated, then looked up at her with a smile. “Good morning. Not morning. Afternoon. Good afternoon. Um, Good afternoon Chair-ully.”
“Cheerilee,” she automatically corrected, touching a hoof to her breast.
“Chair—alee.” He moved his mouth, trying to get a feel for the proper pronunciation of her name. “Cha—Cheerilee?”
She nodded, and put her hoof on the book, indicating the first words. Normally, she would go through the book a single word at a time, but Dale already knew how to read his language. “It is the first day,” she began, then waited for him to reply.
“It . . . is the fer-fu-first day?” He looked up for her nod of approval, but before she could continue, he pointed down at the word which was giving him trouble. “First? What is first?”
“It's the beginning of a series,” she began, belatedly remembering that he barely spoke Equestrian. She wrinkled her muzzle—she'd heard Lyra speak to him, and while she'd thought the mare was overly condescending, it was now painfully obvious that he had no vocabulary to speak of.
If she'd stopped to consider the actual magnitude of her task, she would have turned tail and walked right back out of the embassy. Dale needed more than a simple schoolteacher to get him up to speed; he was far behind what any filly would have known before she even set hoof in the schoolhouse. Instead, she tapped her hoof on the desktop. “One.” She waited until he repeated the word, then tapped twice. “Two.”
Dale's face brightened. "Three," he said, tapping on the desk three times. When she gave him an encouraging nod, he counted all the way to twelve.
Satisfied that he remembered his numbers, she turned the paper sideways, and then wrote one through six across the top. Below them, a series of sketches of a mare preparing to go shopping, buying a melon, apples, and a bunch of carrots, then returning home and putting them in the pantry. “One, mare puts on—gets—bag. Mare gets bag.”
Dale nodded, and repeated it back to her.
“First, mare gets bag.”
Dale scratched his head, then parroted that sentence back.
Cheerilee was wracking her brain for a different way to illustrate it, since it was obvious he was missing the concept, when he snapped his finger. As she watched, he reached over for the quill with deliberate slowness. “One: Dale take quill.”
She nodded.
“Two: Dale make quill ink.” He illustrated by dipping it in the inkpot. “Three, Dale make words.” He scrawled out “Lyra” on the paper. “Or—first Dale take quill.” He repeated the motion. “Then Dale make quill ink.”
A smile touched her face as he looked at her hopefully. “Yes. One is first. Two is second.”
“Second?”
“First one, then second two.” They continued the process until they'd reached sixth, then she moved the papers aside and picked the book back up. “It is the first day.”
• • •
Had such an unprepared student arrived in her classroom, Cheerilee would have had stern words with her parents. In Dale's case, he had virtually no knowledge of the Equestrian language, and despite the fact it had taken them an hour to get through a beginning primer, Cheerilee felt her heart swell with pride at how well Dale was doing.
She closed the book and moved it aside, studying him across the table. He was shifting in his seat restlessly, so she looked at the spines of the books stacked on the desk, thinking which one might be a good choice, when Dale spoke.
"Dale . . . make water." His cheeks were tinged with a slight blush. "Dale go make water."
Cheerilee shook her head. "Bathroom."
"Bathroom?"
Cheerilee nodded. "Dale—I. I go to the bathroom. Dale speak."
"I go to the bathroom?"
She nodded again. "Go to the bathroom."
Dale got out of his chair and left the office. She listened to the friendly greetings from Ambrosia and Starlight, then the outside door opening and closing, before slumping to the desk. This was too much to take after a day in class. Every time she had to tutor a pony, she asked herself why she would take on one more responsibility when she could be home, relaxing with a good book or in her garden, or going on a date with her special somepony.
She jerked her head up as she heard Dale crossing the living room. He walked back into the room and sat back in his chair. "First Da . . . first I go to the bathroom. Second, I learn more words." He grimly picked up his quill, and motioned towards the stack of books.
Cheerilee could have leaned over the desk and hugged him. Instead, she pulled another primer from the stack. "Your Home," she began. "Your home is a wonderful place."
"What is wonderful place?"
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Goddamn it. I was gonna go shopping after this, and this chapter made me super hungry.
Just "the Diarchs and Twilight Sparkle." Unless there are two Lyras. Evil Twin Lyra!
Totally lost on the griffon thing. I guess I'll have to go back and reread multiple chapters to figure out who Gerard and/or Sharpbeak is, and why a photo of him causes such consternation. *grumble*
It can be tough trying to follow 40+ different episodic stories at a time, especially when there is intrigue.
What about connections to the Mobsters Union?
Good to see Dale making some progress on his language lessons, Fancy Pants is an awesome defense attorney, and with the griffons, the plot thickens (Celestia really should do something about that. I'd suggest a few laps around the castle
)
4988095
He's a Griphion spy
epic, with cheerilee helping he will be speaking in no time! they should really focus more on speech for a while then get to writing, its how humans learn to talk when they are infants/toddlers. but hey, alien language maybe together its easier.
You portrayed the Chessmaster masterfully. Move and counter move, lunge, parry, and riposte.
Sunbutt had him at checkmate before he even got to the board.
It was awe-inspiring, elegant, and more than a little terrifying all at the same time.
TL:DR - That was awesome and you should feel awesome.
4988095
"Sharbeak" was Gerard, a griffon spy, in 'disguise'; the one from the embassy reception. Celestia rubbed how Equestria knows about him in Swiftwing's face without coming out and saying so directly.
The griffons were hoping to use their agent's 'spying' to get a one-up on Equestria (such as, as Swiftwing mentions, exclusive ambassadors), and Celestia spent the chapter shooting that plane down before it even got on the runway.
4988286
I just hope they actually decide it's fair to learn Dale's language as well. I find the whole one-way language learning to be forceful and one-sided.
4988490
well there are more ponies versed in language of other species then there are humans capable of the same on the planet. so it would make more sense for him to learn their language first so he can explain to them how to translate text. sides lyra is trying to learn shes just a tad preoccupied.
I love all the little tidbits of Slice of Life, but I keep thinking to myself, "when is he going to finally meet with any of the really fun ponies?!" All this time and none of the higher authorities (*cough*princesses*cough) have even ventured near him.
Is this how it feels when reading my own story? "I love all this stuff, but there's some really awesome things that I dying for to happen already!"
(IE, you'll get a princess involved when I write a kiss into my story)
4987796
Sorry.
Would you like a cake?
fc03.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/348/8/5/pinkie_pie_cake_assault_by_neodarkwing-d4j3va2.png
4988041
Oops. I'll fix that here in a moment.....
4988095
I agree with you wholeheartedly. I've seen more than a few update and I start reading them, and I'm all like "just what's going on here?"
I previously offered to make a gDoc which gave a synopsis of each chapter, although at the time there was no real enthusiasm for such a thing. I don't know if I would want to put in some of the Easter Eggs or foreshadowing, though, so that might not be overly helpful when it comes to something like that.
4988261
One of my pre-readers commented on that line about the "Moofia," and just like that I have another one-shot for one-shot-ober.
4988286
Given the quality of books which Dale has given them, the ponies have every reason to believe that Dale (and humans in general) are more book learners than aural learners. In time, once they make it past the first painful hurdles, they can come up with better and better ways to teach the languages to each other.
4988486
Maybe more than you know--the room remodel isn't an accident, and Raven isn't sick.
Celestia's had over a thousand years of practice. She can play political games with the best of them. Someone should write a crossover fic where Celestia is someone's political adviser. That could be awesome.
Thank you!
4989032
ahhh hmmm yeah i got nothing that can really contend with that logic. isnt cultural exchange fun!?
4988490
They want to, badly. They have books from him which they know contain a wealth of information completely unknown to ponykind (one of the side-stories that's in editing right now deals with this specifically).
From a utilitarian point of view, right now they need Dale to learn Equestrian as fast as he can, since aside from Kate, everyone he encounters speaks it. As they master the basics, they're going to want Dale to start teaching them English so that they can make good use of the books he's given them, and so he can explain concepts which they have no knowledge of, and thus no language for.
I don't know your technical background, but if you're familiar with any kind of machinery, imagine how difficult it would be to describe it to someone who lived a hundred years before it was invented. If you try using their language, you're really going to have a hard time, whereas in your own language, you can at least answer questions as they arise, rather than describing a function and then asking them what they'd call it.
4988947
Princess Celestia can't until the ambassadorial situation is all taken care of (and it takes a while to arrange meetings with all the sapient species of Equestria); Princess Luna can't until the trial's over, Princess Cadance is still hard at work in the Crystal Empire, and Twilight hasn't been alicornified yet.
But when the trial's over, who do you think is going to score a coup on her big sister by rushing right down to the embassy?
Maybe just a little bit. We all are confident what's going to happen (eventually), we're just waiting for the characters to figure it out. On the other hand, many of us are sick and tired of stories where the human says, "Oh, a female pony? Eh, close enough." and then the story wraps up in a mere five thousand words.
You'd better pick up your pace, then.
4989072
I've got to imagine that the first few times, it's quite terrifying. I can't imagine going into a situation where I know nothing about the natives--not their language, not their customs, not ANYTHING. And, in this particular situation, it's even worse . . . while you can kid yourself and believe that you might make it out of the jungle alive if things turn hairy, where's Dale gonna go? He's more than a canoe trip away from humanity.
4989048
I caught that. It was all too conveniently inconvenient. It was awesome, and I can't wait to see what she's been up to.
Celestia must have been grinning like the cat that got the cream at some point. . . you would know better than me on that, of course.
I know I was.
4989138
Of course she was. What kind of politician would she be if she didn't get a smile out of setting out a trap in plain sight, and then watching one of her antagonists leap right into it?
4989103
And then Dale meets the fourth kind of pony: the überpony, the HPIC, the "once you get far enough up the ranks we'll graft both wings and horn onto you" pony. And then he'll dream about a Sleipnir pony with four wings and two horns lording itself over the alicorns, and Luna will see this particular dream and be really creeped out and confused as to just WTF is going on with this new species.
4989207
I seem to recall I came across a fic with a similar premise once....
Also, I'm totally writing (one of these days) a fic where the offspring of a human and a child is a centaur. Slightly related: why is Tirek a centaur?
I know one Equestrian language that's the same as Earth's!
Est-ce que je peux aller au toilette?
*Alondro's talkin' Fancy!*
4989311
Don't forget about the breezies.
Min svävare är full med ål
Or that Lyra can speak Welsh.
I think one of the funny aspects of all this is how everyone is treating Dale like a VIP, the Plenipotentiary Ambassador of Humanity. It's not just the griffons. Even Celestia seems blind to his relative obscurity and unimportance -- and how could she know, after all?
4989251
I have a scene like that in mind for my own story. I'd like to think it will be adorable.
Completely unrelated, I'm sure...
missmab.com/Comics/Vol1087.jpg
missmab.com/Demo/Images/HG_02.jpg
(He's got wings on his head that are being hidden with magic. And if he gets powerful enough he'll get wings on his hips too.)
Oh, and their wings can form semi-sentient tentacles for even more weird limb-y goodness.
Dale is all, books hurt head, work hurts head only when clue by four applied. Dale prefer stop, hammer time.
Sure son you done goofed. You brought a feather duster to a plasma cannon fight. I feel like chicken tonight.
Still want to see just how much fun you can get out of going through publically visible, to large extent, translation, without Celestia having to go anywhere near her intelligence operatives, black ops, and, thanks to Discord.. Q branch.
So, I remember them saying that Dale can never go back to Earth.
Waiting for that surprise. It's not going to be pretty when he finds out about that.
4989435
Technically, it's not never--they just don't have a spell right now that can send him back without also stranding the unicorn who casts the spell.
4989360
Well, technically he is.
Of course, that's not a role that Dale wants.
4989423
Does that explain the Mane-iac?
img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131223110253/mlp/images/b/b8/Mane-iac_%22beginning_to_enjoy_this%22_S4E06.png
4989460
Well, it's still not going to be pretty. But that's better than what I thought it was; I thought they had agreed to never send him back. I got my details mixed up a bit.
4989429
Oh, the puns. SO many puns.
Also, trust me: as soon as Dale gets into Ponyville at large, he's going to find his way to a smithy or a craftspony's shop in fairly short order. He may not be so great at learning language, but give him an lathe and he's a happy camper.
4989493
Yeah, they can't right now--both because they'd have to sacrifice a unicorn to do it, and because they don't know how many of Dale and Kate's injuries were caused by the teleport . . . that's another big unknown for the ponies.
Of course, you're right that at some point they're going to have to explain to Dale why they can't easily send him back. For now, they have the advantage that they can't communicate with him well enough to have to answer awkward questions like that--but of course that barrier won't last forever.
4989520
Yep. That's what I'm betting on.
Do you have any plans to ever have them go back to Earth?
4989525
I couldn't think of a clever way to phrase the answer, so here you go:
yes
4989537
:D
4989076 LOL. I've read Guns of the South (A novel by Harry Turtledove where a white supremacist group from South Africa give AK 47s to the Confederacy... and later, when the Confederacy deviates from the course they want, try to change it... forcefully), so I can understand the mechanics part. Alright, I'll buy it. Sorry if I was bothering you, and as always, you've done well. Please keep up the great work!
lol Loved that bit at the end. Bet Cheerilee groaned at that. XD
We find it highly suspect that Celestia had the room virtually cleared with no normal witnesses....
I'm glad Dale is learning so fast, our pace would likelikely not be sufficient were I in his position.
Keep going! ;)
4989808 No doubt. Here she is trying to be nice, and he's all "Huh?"
Good to see stuff finally happening again. I love the story and all but several chapters of next-to-nothing spread over as many months was beginning to strain my patience a little.
4989460
That... what? That doesn't make any sense. They got there and back before. What's changed?
4990454
The spell is designed to bring the caster and their passengers back, it does not allow for a stay unless it's violently broken, which leaves everyone stranded and is a danger to a caster... wait, how does that go with Celestia telling Lyra they will leave her behind?
Looks like I missed something... welp, maybe Admiral will explain better than I did.
The meeting with the griffon's was fun. It's always fun seeing someone being taunted with kindness and a bit of smug.
Interesting chapter. I must say that my favorite sections in this story as a whole are probably the ones of ponykind speculating about/examining mankind/Dale.
4989660
It's no bother . . . my readers quite often think of things I wouldn't on my own.
4990360
The griffon didn't catch on quick enough.
I'm really pushing the speed at which a normal human, with no language training whatsoever, could pick up a completely alien language, taught by someone who doesn't speak his language. For true realism (and a boring story), it would probably be months before they could exchange very simple sentences.
4991339 This may be true, but having a great teacher helps, eh? And the fact that he actually DESIRES to learn greatly effects learning speed, eh?