Conversation Twenty-Three
The waiter’s shaking hands almost knocked over the tripod but caught it in time to save the camcorder.
“This is so cool,” he muttered.
The chef leaned over the counter between the kitchen and the dining area. “Remember, you’re off break in 20 minutes.”
The waiter murmured something unintelligible.
The diner was named “Reginald’s Famous Eggs.” Mag had never heard of it. Its only occupants at the moment were two sorceresses, their three uncomfortable minions disguised as United States marines (scrunched together in a booth across from a lone Corporal Bitterman, who was telling them off at length in a fierce whisper), two alien princesses (one of them living inside the mind of a mortal), Mag the mortal host, a waiter, and the chef. The waiter was a pimply teenager with a cavernously deep voice, the only male in the building, and the chef was a fat woman, a Jesus freak with bad teeth and a missing ring finger (everyone has a story). Mag couldn’t remember either of their names.
“Good catch, Kevin,” said Celestia, “and don’t worry, Eliza. He’s doing important work for me, and I’ll give him back in a few minutes.”
“Your food should be ready by then,” grunted Eliza, and pulled her head back into the kitchen. Mag had to give her credit; she feared nothing, neither royalty nor the occult. She was one of the most self-assured humans Mag had ever met. Kevin the Waiter wasn’t, and also openly feared Mag. Mag couldn’t see why; she had put on her new clothes before entering the building (a yellow sundress with clashing tennis shoes), so it probably wasn’t a case of a teenage boy’s girl-terror, and she had to be the least intimidating person in the room. Maybe it was because of Luna.
“After this, we can begin the interrogation,” said Luna with Mag’s mouth.
Lady Valérie Castan had occupied a state of visibly mingled awe, terror and despair since Celestia had appeared. In the past 10 minutes she’d paced, wrung her hands, hunched over and clenched her stomach, chewed her nails, and shook in place with her shoulders around her ears. Now she had her head down on the table behind folded arms. Her mother laid a hand on Valérie Castan’s shoulder and whispered something in her ear.
“Ready, your majesty,” Kevin said from behind the camera.
“Thank you, Kevin,” said Celestia. “Humanity, this is—”
Mag poked Celestia’s shoulder. “I don’t think the camera is rolling.”
“Sorry, your majesty. I’ll hit the button now.” He pushed a button.
“Thank you. Humanity, this is Princess Celestia. I’ve made certain promises to my current host, the American government, so certain comments I plan to make will have to wait.”
Mag liked that word “current.” It came with the implicit suggestion that plenty of other countries would be happy to take her in if the US jerked her around too much.
“I’m leaving this message to explain something I’ve done this morning. You see, last night, a young woman and her associates—whose names I don’t intend to share with the public—kidnapped Princess Luna, my sister, and Mag Wilson, my friend and employee. Don’t worry; I found them and everyone is fine.”
Mag ducked her head into the frame next to Celestia so Luna could wave at the audience while Mag gave a thumbs up with her other hand. “Yes, we are safe,” said Luna.
Celestia took a moment to smile at Luna, then faced the camera again. “In doing so I’m afraid I had to deconstruct a building. The walls and ceiling are stacked neatly beside the foundation and I’m happy to help transport those pieces if the building’s owner would like me to. Here is why I’m leaving this message: I want to make it clear that no one is hurt, that this was the most efficient way to curtail all possibility of a hostage situation, and that I don’t mean to threaten anyone. I’m only looking after my loved ones.”
Loved ones? Mag shivered. But what did Celestia mean that she didn’t intend to threaten anyone? She’d leveled a building and was now making a video to claim responsibility for it. America started wars over that kind of thing.
“You seem to be in a bad mood,” Luna said in Mag’s head.
Was she? She was. Everything was all wrong. They’d finally left that stupid compound, only to lose a fight and, from the sounds of it, go right back there after Celestia gave the kidnappers some time to whine and beg. And sooner or later Lady Valérie would start crying, something Mag really didn’t want to see; it would reinforce Mag’s growing suspicion that neither of them was the “good guy.” Not by Celestia’s standards. There was also that business about being handcuffed to a pole, getting slapped and chased around a warehouse in her underwear, and then completely failing to get back at her captors or even escape in spite of all her advantages.
“Mag, whatever troubles you, Celestia and I shall help.”
Mag nodded. No sense in worrying her.
“I’m making arrangements for a press conference to answer any questions you might have, about this or anything else, so you’ll be hearing more from us soon,” Celestia concluded.
“Is that the end?” said Kevin, breathless. Celestia nodded.
Kevin hit the button. The red light went off. He folded the camera viewer shut and packed away in a black case with practiced hands. “This is so, so cool. So that’s what that loud sound was? You took apart a building?”
“Yes, very carefully. I mentioned no one was hurt, right?”
Kevin ran a hand up his forehead and into his hair, laughing. “The abandoned warehouse. Oh, man, I have to get my dad to drive me out there after work. I always knew there’d be some kind of action scene out there.”
Eliza leaned through the window again. “And you brought the criminals in here? Well then they’d better mind their manners, praise God, and that’s all I’ll say.”
“I’m watching them,” Celestia assured her. “Now, then.” She approached the two Castans. The countess, her hand already on her daughter’s shoulder, lifted a finger to tap her. Lady Valérie jerked upright, saw Celestia looking at her, and quailed for a bare second before gathering herself, folding her hands in front of her on the table, and assuming a calm expression.
Celestia set aside a chair across from the countess and the lady and sat on the floor in its place. Mag read the mood of the situation and sat on a stool a good few yards away where she could see everyone at once.
Celestia looked grave. “I’d like to thank you for cooperating so far. I’m sure the five of you could have made things more difficult for us all. Would you like to continue this way?”
“Yes, thank you, Great One,” said the countess, bowing deeply in her seat.
Celestia didn’t acknowledge the countess’s words. “Lady Valérie Castan, I’m telling you I’m glad you haven’t fought with me so far. Would you like to continue cooperating? I’m going to be giving you several choices today, and this your first.”
Lady Castan’s answer had no voice behind it. The only thing Mag heard was the S at the end of “Yes.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Now I’d like you to give me some context for your situation. I need to know your side of the story. Can you do that for me, Valérie?”
The lady’s fingers curled on the table. She leaned forward in her chair, hardly breathing.
“Take your time,” said Celestia.
The diner went quiet for several minutes. Celestia waited patiently.
A pan clattered in the kitchen. The lady twitched and blurted out, “It was supposed to be me!”
“What was, Lady Valérie?” said Celestia.
Lady Valérie began to hyperventilate. Pity tinged Celestia’s eyes, but she stayed silent and let Countess Irénée help the lady. The countess squeezed Valérie’s shoulder. She tried to take her daughter’s hand, but she drew away and directed a glare at Mag. “The person who stays by your side and devotes her life to you, Great One,” snarled Lady Castan. “Your first human ally. Le Cercle knew you were coming to this world, Great One, and we’ve known for over a century. My ancestor is the seer who first saw you. He also saw a young woman who shadowed you, waited on you, and acted as your hands in a world made for hands rather than hooves.”
Mag kept her eyes on her shoes, because odds were good more than one person was staring at her.
The lady clenched a napkin. “Count Castan set in motion a plan to create this woman himself by arranging a circle of families devoted to you, and then left us to make sure we could respond to any word of your coming with a moment’s notice. We’ve worked together for the past century to ensure that your companion has every skill and trait anyone could possibly wish such a person to have. That’s what I was bred to be—I and certain others, though it was always assumed you’d choose a Castan rather than, I don’t know, a Nagdotieoue or a Viumbay.” She tossed a hand at Mag. “But strange are the ways of the gods, Great One, because you chose that. Le Cercle has failed you. Ow!” Lady Valérie jerked away from her mother.
“I wasn’t aware that I was making some kind of choice in the first place,” said Celestia dryly. “I’ll have more questions about Le Cercle des Lampes à Huile soon. For now, let’s start with how you infiltrated a military base.”
Lady Valérie gave her mother a sidelong glance. The countess nodded.
Celestia cleared her throat. “Countess Irénée, you’re here for emotional support, not to direct your daughter. You’re treading a fine line.”
The countess bowed again. “I sincerely apologize, Great One.”
Turns into a helicopter parent when the chips are down, thought Mag.
Celestia turned her attention back to Lady Valérie. “How did you infiltrate the compound?”
“The organization is ours,” said Lady Valérie. “I have top level clearance—I stole the ID of someone with clearance,” she amended. “I found a uniform. I put it on. I took the place of her majesty’s guards.”
“You and your friends. Don’t leave them out of this,” said Celestia.
“I made them do it,” said Lady Valérie. “They’re sworn to follow me.”
Celestia raised her voice so that her voice carried to Lady Valérie’s guards. “It would have been more loyal of them to prevent their friend from doing this.”
Bunny dared to turn her head and look Celestia in the eye. “You don’t know what it was like. The lady has been distraught for…” she petered off under Celestia’s attentive gaze.
Luna laughed aloud. “We are as old as light, and my sister has spent her life in the contemplation of the ebb and flow of the heart. If it be emotion, be assured she does know ‘what it was like.’”
“Sister,” said Celestia without looking away from Bunny, “you’re being too literal. She was about to ask me to consider the mood of the situation they were in.”
“Have it your way,” said Luna.
“Guard, I—” Celestia stopped and frowned at Luna, then started again. “—I understand how hard it can be to stand up to your friends, especially when you’ve been taught not to stand up to one particular friend.”
Lady Valérie went still.
“But in my world,” said Celestia, “we have a cliché to the effect that sometimes you have to protect your loved ones from themselves. You didn’t protect her. You helped her do this to herself, not to mention kidnapping my sister and my friend.”
“Leave her alone,” said Lady Valérie with her eyes squeezed shut. “Great One, please, leave her alone. You can’t expect a mere guard to face someone like you.”
“Maybe not, or maybe I can and should. Either way, I can tell them to think about what they’ve done. I also find the phrase ‘mere guard’ enlightening, but perhaps that’s something you should discuss with them yourself someday soon.”
Now Lady Valérie was doing breathing exercises.
Waiter Kevin rolled a cart up between the tables, loaded with plates of food. “Okay, ladies and, uh, actually, you’re all ladies, here we are.”
Lady Valérie dropped into a coughing fit. Between coughs she shouted, “You oaf, can’t you see this is not the time? Decorum!”
“And this is not the time to shout at people who are giving you food,” Celestia said, at the same moment Eliza yelled “Don’t you talk back!” from the kitchen.
Lady Valérie went back to her breathing exercises. Kevin wordlessly put a small plate of overcooked over-easy eggs in front of her and moved through the room to do the same for everyone else. The countess paid for it all, something Mag wished she’d predicted; if Mag had known, she would have either ordered nothing or ordered everything.
Celestia, faced with a scared teenage idiot and a plate of food, looked away from the girl to let her pull herself back together. “Thank you for this, Countess Castan. I’m quite hungry. Would you please tell me how you knew of my coming to Earth?” Celestia cut into an egg with her knife and yolk oozed out. She sliced out a wedge of egg, speared it on her fork, and floated the fork to her mouth. The rest of the room took this as permission to eat. Mag dove in; the smell had reminded her how hungry she was. The lady and the countess didn’t eat, Mag noticed, though the guards did, being practical people.
“It’s an honor to offer you food, your majesty—would you be offended if I call you 'your majesty?'”
“Not at all. In fact I prefer it to Great One,” said Celestia.
“I’ll inform the rest of Le Cercle of your preference,” said the countess. “As for your question, Le Cercle is a consortium of magical families who work together. We have a number of projects that we share, and one of them is collecting information on the future so we can prepare for it.”
“Do you work in concert with the eldest?” said Celestia.
“Who? Ah, the wanderer. No, we avoid him. His skills are impressive, but he has his own goals, and in any case we prefer to deal with persons who show proper respect.”
Celestia studied the countess. “Proper respect, from the eldest to a family of mortals. Are we speaking of the same person? A weathered old man with a bitter sense of humor?”
“I believe so,” said the countess. “Are you…” she paused to search for tactful language. “Your majesty, is it possible the man has told you he is the regent of this world?”
“Yes, and I can confirm that he is. Trust me.”
“You have all of our trust, your majesty, but…” There followed a cautious pause. “He is a deceptive creature, a man of power who abuses that power for his own strange ends. The wanderer who calls himself eldest has a long history of lying to Le Cercle, and everyone else who deals with him. But the original regent of Earth has passed away. We know this.”
“You are referring, perhaps, to the Eldest’s brother,” said Luna.
The countess looked at Mag and Luna. “Ms. Wilson, I’m beginning to wonder about you. You have two voices and two auras. One aura is of a mortal magic-user, not atypical, if somewhat cold and stained. The other burns silver.” She watched Mag. “That second aura is beautiful beyond description. Margaret Wilson, what are you?”
Lady Valérie looked incredulously back and forth between Mag and the countess. “Mother, excuse me, but I don’t see this second aura. Surely there’s some trick.”
Luna answered for Mag. “We are two beings in one body, a co-regent of Equestria and her mortal host. I am Luna, sister of Celestia and princess of the night.”
“It’s true,” said Celestia. “And for goodness’ sake don’t argue. No one can imitate Luna well enough to fool me, especially not in dreams, where we speak every night. Just accept it and show her the same respect you show me.”
Mag hadn’t known that last. Apparently Luna could be in two places at once in dreams. Then again, the word “place” didn’t have much meaning in the dreaming world.
“Or perhaps somewhat less respect,” said Luna. “Respect should be mutual, and I have little for your Circle as of now. It may also interest you to know that neither my sister nor I have any use for obsequiousness.”
Celestia cleared her throat. “That’s what I meant when I said your daughter attacked my sister.”
“Worry not,” said Luna. “I see no insult in attacking me, only in doing such a poor job of it. It is just as well. Had you acted competently, Mag and I would have been forced to treat you as a threat.”
Did that mean they’d have won if Luna had taken things more seriously? Did they lose because Luna held back? Valérie and Mag made eye contact as the lady gave Luna a hard look, and each realized the other was thinking something similar.
“Or to put it in another, less inflammatory way,” emphasized Celestia, “Luna had the situation in hand and no one was in serious danger. I’m coming to believe that.”
“Thank you,” said Luna.
“At any rate, we’re straying from the subject. You’ve told us you don’t accept the eldest’s regency. You’re mistaken, but it’s not important. How did you first hear of my coming? Did the eldest tell you?”
“Never, your majesty,” said the countess. “It was my great-grandfather, Count Valère Castan. He saw a second sun descend to seek allies and heroes to aid in her war against death, and swore that his descendants would be one of those allies. Most of his associates called him insane, but a few of his friends declared it a noble idea and made the same oath. We are Le Cercle des Lampes à Huile, and if you’ll have us, we would keep our word.”
If the countess had made her grand speech somewhere other than a diner in the middle of nowhere at a quarter after 9:00 AM in broad daylight, it would have been much more impressive. Perhaps if she’d made it in Dracula’s castle, or at Hogwarts. Here it sounded like a refined Shakespearian actor reciting lines for a fantasy miniseries. It was a credit to the countess’s delivery that no one laughed; in fact Lady Valérie appeared heartened, or at least she’d stopped shaking, and watched for Celestia’s reaction from under her eyelashes.
“That discussion must wait, I’m afraid,” said Celestia. “I think we’d both prefer to deal with your daughter’s actions first. Should I ask why you chose to bring this up now rather than later?”
“I thought it might interest you to know the Nightmare has sworn not to accept any of our allies or associates as a host,” said the countess.
“Or your exiles, or your criminals, or your business partners,” said Luna through a mouthful of egg. Mag would have appreciated some kind of warning.
Celestia’s eyes gleamed. “Oh? You’ve met with the Nightmare? I’ve changed my mind. I think we’d all like to discuss that first, because that information is important to me.”
With a lovely smile the countess said, “If we exchanged everything Le Cercle knows about the Nightmare for clemency for my daughter, you and your allies would qualify as our business partners.”
Celestia shook her head. “I don’t trust the Nightmare’s word, and your daughter is not walking away from this table without consequences, but I think everyone would be happier if I had more reason to trust you.”
Lady Valérie didn’t even blink at the word “consequences.” Maybe she’d already resigned herself to some kind of divine punishment from her goddess. Or maybe for her the worst had already happened, either when she got caught or months ago when she’d found out about Mag.
Kevin stood self-consciously with his feet together and his tray held in front of his chest with both hands. He sidled up to the guards, and Mag heard him say something like, “Should I be listening to this?”
“Probably not,” said Mag without lowering her voice. Celestia and the countess looked at Mag. “Sorry,” Mag told them. She beckoned Kevin over.
“Yes?” he said from behind his tray.
Mag leaned in to whisper. “I need black coffee from whichever percolator has been running the longest. Since last night, ideally. Burnt and gruesome, you get me?”
“And follow that with a better cup of coffee,” said Luna.
“We only have one percolator,” whispered Kevin.
“How long has it been on?” asked Luna.
“Half an hour.”
“Fuck,” said Mag. “Fine.” Kevin colored at the swearword and hurried away.
Satisfied that Mag was done interrupting her, the countess steepled her hands. “In that case, I’d be happy to tell you everything I know.”
“Please do so. Avoid conjecture, but be thorough.”
The countess bowed for the fourth time and pushed aside a plate of eggs she’d hardly touched. Mag contemplated taking it for herself.
“The night before last, every seer of ours, including myself, experienced a severe headache, a wave of anxiety, and the same image of two blue concentric hexagons against a black background. Is this symbol familiar to you, your majesty? Your majesties?”
“Not in the context of the Nightmare,” said Celestia. “Luna?”
“No, but it is possible she adopted an icon significant to her current host, should she have a host. Do you intend to eat that?”
“It is yours, your majesty,” said the countess. She looked at her daughter expectantly. Valérie’s jaw clenched. She glanced at Celestia and saw that the princess was watching. The lady picked up the plate of eggs and brought it to Mag and Luna, setting it in front of them with a sharp rap of plastic on fake wood.
“Thank you,” said Luna. Mag winked. The lady sat back down to seethe in silence.
“Anxiety, a severe headache, and an image of two concentric hexagons,” said Celestia.
“Yes. It meant nothing to us. The next morning we received a phone call from a girl or young woman. I would place her age between 16 and 20, but since the Nightmare spoke to us rather than the host, I couldn’t tell you much else about who the demon has taken.”
Kevin set Mag and Luna’s coffee on the counter. “Did you trace the call?” said Mag. Kevin leapt back into the kitchen.
The countess fixed Mag with an uncomfortable stare. “We had no reason to be prepared for a phone call we would need to trace, Ms. Wilson, and even less reason to keep that sort of equipment in my household, but please feel free to ask any worthwhile questions you happen to think of.”
Celestia’s empty plate happened to tap the table with a loud click. “I beg your pardon, I leaned on my plate while I wasn’t looking.” On purpose. “Yes, Mag, considering the fact I wouldn’t have known to ask that question, I’d appreciate your asking any questions you like. Thank you for pointing this out, Irénée.”
“I… understand, your majesty,” said the countess.
“I’m glad. We’ve been getting along so well up to this point. Now, please tell me everything you can recall about that discussion.”
“Yes, please do,” said Mag, swiveling her stool in a half-circle to face the countess.
The coffee wasn’t awful, to Mag’s chagrin.
The countess took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, the Nightmare introduced itself by describing our experiences the previous night. She told me not to be alarmed, as it didn’t consider us an enemy either to itself or to its host. I asked to whom I was speaking; it told me it was speaking on behalf of its host, and wished to make an arrangement of noninterference. I told it Le Cercle des Lampes à Huile does not associate with dark forces or allies of those forces for any reason, and certainly not to make promises to them. The Nightmare told me its host expected as much, and assured me that, speaking on its own behalf, it could abide by that if we wished; the Nightmare, in perpetuity, would not take a member, ally, business partner, criminal, or exile of Le Cercle des Lampes à Huile as host, regardless of any individual members’ wishes.”
“Are those its exact words?” said Luna.
“Yes.”
Celestia scowled. “Part of the problem with making contracts with beings like the Nightmare is that, however carefully you read that contract, you can still discover later that you didn’t make the agreement you thought you did. And this is assuming it didn’t simply lie, a possibility I’m not willing to rule out.”
“Just as you say, your majesty.”
“And what did you say to her at that point?”
“Its host? Nothing. I wasn’t aware that she’d be able to hear me.”
“Pardon me, I misspoke. I meant, what did you say to it?”
“The host can hear you,” said Luna, “and it is unwise to discount her as a part of the situation. She has consented to her circumstances, whatever her motivations, and the Nightmare will value her wishes as it understands them even when the host has no volition left.”
The countess tapped the table in thought, then faced Luna and Mag. “Your majesty, I’m impressed with your understanding of these creatures.”
“I was a previous host, if that is your question.”
After a pause the countess said, “I see. In that case, is it possible to free the woman?”
“You would know more than I,” said Luna, “for I know nothing of human abjurations or weapons. We have a store of our own such things, but none of them directly defend against or counter creatures like the Nightmare, and we no longer have access to the force that purged the Nightmare from me.”
“We don’t know enough about that situation to make plans yet,” sighed Celestia. “What did you say to the Nightmare after that?”
“I asked it if it had anything else to say. It replied that our term ‘dark forces’ was just as inadequate for the classification of extradimensional beings as it would be for a Terrestrial person, and Le Cercle should consider changing our system to a case-by-case basis without reference to so-called morals.”
Luna scoffed. “Speaking as a dark force, that term lacks nuance but is absolutely salvageable so long as there are beings who use the phrase ‘so-called morals.’ More coffee.”
Kevin came out of the bathroom where he’d hidden and fetched the pot from the kitchen again. The bathroom was some distance away, but Luna’s voice tended to travel. He poured Mag and Luna another cup. He made as if to leave again, but stopped and faced the rest of the room. He held himself that way until Mag realized what he was thinking.
“Does anyone want coffee?” said Mag, loudly.
Celestia flashed a smile at Kevin. “A glass of water for everyone, I think. This is thirsty work.”
“Yes’m,” said Kevin.
“And was that the end of the phone call?” said Celestia.
“It told me to have an enjoyable week, and hung up.”
Celestia bowed her head in thought. She continued until Kevin brought seven glasses of water and two glass pitchers. Valérie drained hers in two gulps, to her mother’s consternation.
“Thank you, Kevin,” said Celestia. “You know, I’m beginning to dislike the effect of telephones on these kinds of things. A secondhand description of a telephone conversation doesn’t make for much to work with. Have you heard from the Nightmare at all since then?”
“Not once, your majesty.”
“And you aren’t lying.”
“I would never lie to you.”
“That was more a statement than a question.” Celestia leaned back and sipped from her water with a casual field of magic that arrested the attention of the room. “Okay. Let’s see. We have the implied threat, of course, the warning to stay away. That means either the Nightmare or its host believes you might be a threat to their goals, or would at least complicate things. It knows about you somehow, in spite of your being a secret society.” She looked out the window at the bright empty desert. “Why, incidentally? What do you accomplish with this secrecy?”
The countess was ready for that question. “In this age there seems to be this belief that everyone has the right to any piece of information, even the comings and goings and the skills and concerns of every person of power in the world. The Circle disagrees. How could the average person possibly learn enough about The Circle to use that knowledge responsibly?”
“I’m making magic a public fact,” said Celestia. “I notice none of you did the same. What does that mean to you?”
“We will happily adapt to any change you make to this world. We still wouldn’t ‘go public’ unless you command it, if that is your next question.”
“We’ll see.” Celestia waved away the conversational detour with a hoof. “So the Nightmare knows about you. I wonder what else it knows, and how it plans to use that knowledge. I’ll have to think about this.” And, true to her word, Celestia bowed her head in silent thought.
After the first two minutes of this, Mag decided Celestia would be staying in that position for some time. She decided to take a walk around the building. The stool squealed as she stood up, the loudest sound in the room; Lady Valérie’s guards pretended not to watch Mag leave. Bittermann, with a parting glare for all three of them, followed Mag out.
Pushing open the glass door exposed Mag to the dry heat of the morning and the faded asphalt highway they’d teleported next to half an hour ago. An empty gas station with four pumps, three of them out of order and wrapped up with yellow caution tape, stood opposite the diner with no other building within three miles. The town had no other buildings. It was meant to be a tiny place of rest for travelers, nothing else.
“Are you okay?” said Bittermann, squinting against the sun.
“We find ourselves quite well,” said Luna. “I wish you hadn’t seen my sister in such a state.”
“I think everyone on base is just relieved, actually,” said Bittermann. She pulled out a hip flask and took a swallow. “A lot of people have been wondering what would happen if she got angry.”
Mag eyeballed Bittermann. “It’s 9:00 in the morning and you’re chugging from a hip flask.”
“It’s apple juice, so cool your fudging jets,” said Bittermann. “Yeah, they’re relieved.”
“Huh.” Mag cupped a hand against the glass door to ward off the glare as she looked through. Celestia hadn’t moved an inch.
“You guys aren’t that okay,” said Bittermann.
“Am I one of the ‘guys’ now, then?” said Luna, amused.
Bittermann looked awkward. “Oh. Um. Do you… want to be?”
“Call me Luna,” said Luna.
Mag gave Bittermann a dirty look. “What do you mean we’re not okay? Don’t tell us how we feel.”
Bittermann scratched her head self-consciously. “Sorry. You’ve both been pretty mad. I’m pretty sure Celestia is angrier than either of you—”
“Correct,” said Luna.
“—but I get why. Wasn’t so sure about you guys. It sounds like you had it under control back in that warehouse. You won the fight the second they kidnapped you.”
“True,” said Luna.
Mag leaned against the door and folded her arms. “It didn’t feel like winning. It ended with us getting wrapped up in a tarp and Luna telling me the fight was over.”
“Yeah, well,” said Bitterman. She looked at Mag out of the corner of her eye. “I have nine black bracelets engraved with the names of friends I’m never going to see again, eight of them KIA and one of them after falling off a helicopter wing.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” said Luna.
“Living through the fight is winning. Everything else is politics.”
“Politics are also often a concern of mine,” said Luna, “but I take your point.”
Mag mechanically reached for a cigarette and then realized her latest pack was miles away.
Bittermann was looking through the window out of the corner of her eye. “What do you make of the girl?”
Mag ground her teeth. A guilt trip about soldiers from someone who wasn’t that much older than Lady Valérie, an increasingly boring and infuriating talk in a bad restaurant, and no cigarettes. Fuck this. “You know what? I’ll tell her exactly what I think of her.”
Mag shoved her way through the door and back into the cold diner. Celestia and the countess were deep in conversation about something or other. Mag strode up to the table and dropped both hands directly in front of the girl, who jumped but wouldn’t look at Mag.
“Hi,” said Mag. “Here’s the deal. This is the deal, all right? Here it is: fuck you.”
“Mag,” said Celestia with a note of warning. The lady stared forward with her back straight and her hands in her lap.
Mag kept her hands on the table and leaned toward Valérie. “You know what pisses me off about all this? It’s that you’re sitting there all cute and pissy like you’re at a parent teacher conference, while your friends and loved ones jump up to defend you. Why does someone like you get all of this? Let’s say the situation was the other way around, right?” Mag dragged her stool to the edge of the table and sat, glaring down at the lady.
“So it’s the other way around now. I never met Celestia—you did. A few days ago I was at home reading the news and feeling the way I always do at night, like I missed my bus stop a few miles back. Then I see you and Celestia together on the website, my brain throws a screw, and I decide to take your place. I don’t know, maybe I buy a rifle and try to shoot you from out of a crowd during the press conference. Say I miss. I probably would, because it’s been a long time since I’ve held a rifle and I never liked them anyway. So I get caught, right? Now what happens to me? Who’s on my side in that situation? Huh?”
Mag stood up and threw her hands open. “See all this? You have everything, you screechy little shit. And Celestia is totally going to let you go, by the way, so you can stop freaking out. Fuck it, if it were up to me I’d let you go too. I’d tell you to go home to your mother and figure out what to do with your life, like you should have done in the first place. There’s no other punishment she could give that’s going to help you or anybody.”
“It’s more complicated than that, I’m afraid,” said Celestia. “Remember that she’s also broken the laws of the land—”
“Such bellowing from the shrew!” shouted Lady Valérie. “What has she got that I haven’t?”
“Around ten years, about 40 pounds,” said Mag.
“She was there for me when no one else was,” said Celestia.
“She has earned our trust,” said Luna.
“I can roll up my tongue like a taco.”
“Her sarcasm comes from her sincerity, and she’s angry because it hurts her to see people suffer—which I believe is why she just now argued we let you off without punishment.”
“She fears next to nothing.”
“I don’t know what they’re talking about, but I am straight ruthless with a scrub brush. And did you seriously just interrupt Celestia?”
Now the girl started crying, in silence but copiously. Naturally her mother and friends jumped in to dote on her and offer tissues and whisper comforting things in French. Mag could have wrung her neck.
“Is this really helping her?” Mag said to Celestia, who had pity etched on her face again.
“That’s up to her,” said Celestia with a resigned sigh. “This is how it always goes when I find someone in a situation like this and show them the bigger picture. I see what enables their behavior and I see their way out, and occasionally it’s the same thing. It’s the same with a person’s flaws, which, after all, are only their strengths expressed in damaging ways.”
“We should not just let her go with no other consequence than making her face her own failings,” said Luna. “If we really must justify our arguments with philosophizing, I would submit that overlooking someone’s cruelties is no kindness. Refusing to discipline someone is refusing to give them the opportunity to learn discipline, and freedom from consequences is the ultimate prison.”
The lady had stopped crying. Now she was listening.
“Yeah, well, so long as we keep her out of the criminal justice system, I’ll just live with what you guys decide on,” said Mag. “That whole branch of the government is broken. She’ll leave prison with homemade neck tattoos and a crack addiction.”
The countess gasped and grabbed at her daughter’s sleeve. “No! No, no. No. I’m sure they would just deport her, and I know the Canadian courts would listen to reason. Surely.”
“Plea bargain for community service?” said Mag.
“I would accept that so long as it isn’t dangerous,” said Celestia thoughtfully.
“She has still offended two princesses,” Luna pointed out.
Mag didn’t quite roll her eyes. “Right, right, we care about that. Here, I have an idea. You guys could order her to not to be an awful little shit to her probation officer or the people she does her service with. She has to treat them like equals.”
Luna chuckled. “I do like that. Let her learn humility. Her pride will compel her to follow this agreement even where she believes violations would be undetectable, and I can check on her in her dreams if she gives me permission.”
Lady Valérie looked up at Luna with an emotion Mag didn’t recognize. “If you came to me in my dreams, would I see your face?”
“Yes.”
“Then I agree to all of it.”
“Interesting,” mused Celestia. “I imagine Dora, Sadie and Jody will be receiving the same punishment. Do any of you object to that? I’m going to add a stipulation that they don’t work with Valérie during their community service.”
“Why not?” said Bunny/Dora. Sadie/Pretty elbowed her to be quiet.
“Think about it,” said Celestia.
The guards huddled together to discuss the deal, but briefly. Jody/Brown Eyes nodded and looked not at Celestia but at Mag. “If it’s fine with the lady and her ladyship then it’s fine with us. Are you going to out Le Cercle?”
“I don’t plan to, but I can’t promise anything,” said Celestia.
The countess raised a finger. “Would their majesties be interested in my opinion?”
“How old is she?” asked Mag.
“17.”
“Then no,” Mag and Luna said together. That stopped Mag short. How had Luna done that?
But Celestia said, “Are you wondering whether we can convince this court in Canadia to show that much leniency to your daughter? If so, then just trust me. I’m certain I can keep your daughter out of prison.”
“As you command, your majesty,” said the countess.
“That’s right. Now, if we’re all agreed, here is the first part of our agreement. What were Mag’s exact words? Ah, yes. Lady Valérie Castan, I command you not to be an awful little shit to your probation officer or the people you do your service with. You must treat them like equals. Do I have that right?”
“It was ‘have to’ treat them like equals, sister.”
“Close enough. And now we’re going to find somewhere you can turn yourselves in. I’ll meet the five of you outside.”
“Check, please,” said Mag. This time it was the chef who bustled out in her apron and hairnet. She set a tray, a pen, and a pair of receipts in front of the countess, who scrawled in a small, looping signature and added a tip that took her several seconds to write in and made the chef’s eyes bug out.
The countess looked the chef in the eye. “You and your server have performed quite sufficiently in obeying the commands of Her Majesty Princess Celestia. I hope you’ll forgive the crassness of a monetary reward for such things.”
The chef gawked at the receipt. “That, uh. That’ll be just fine, ma’am.”
The countess and the lady stood and bowed in unison, and the guards curtsied despite wearing pants. The countess backed out of the room, still bowing. The guards straightened and followed her. Lady Castan lingered. “Wait. Please.”
She pulled a new napkin out of the dispenser and with slim fingers she unfolded it, refolded into another shape, twisted and shaped it, worried at it, licked a finger once and pressed it against a fold, closed her hands around the shape, and held it there. She set the finished product on the table.
It was an origami rosebud made of tissue, uncomplicated, but elegant in its own way. “Keep it in an empty vase,” said the lady. “It will grow, your majesty, but don’t plant it or water it. Just find a bigger vase when it outgrows the first one.”
Celestia picked up the flower with her magic and held it in front of her. She smiled tenderly. “Valérie, this enchantment is exquisite. I look forward to showing it to you when it opens.”
Lady Valérie didn’t smile back. She followed her mother, too dazed to notice she’d turned her back on Celestia. No one corrected her.
Mag rested her elbow on the table and her head on her hand, trying to relax. So that was the Castans. A family of quixotic anachronisms led by a barefoot seer and soccer mom pretending to be unflappable and mysterious. And then there was her spoiled basket case of a daughter, and the daughter’s team of Amazons.
Christ.
Celestia took a deep breath, held it, let it out after a few seconds. “Well, at least I’m beginning to get the hang of human diplomacy.”
“What happened to Bittermann?” said Mag. Celestia gestured with her horn.
Bittermann was marching towards Jody/Brown Eyes. She grabbed Brown Eyes by the arm, swiveled her around, and got in her face. Mag didn’t hear what followed, but the guards didn’t look happy. After some furious gesticulating from Bittermann and backtalk from the guards, the countess stepped in and said something to all of them. Dora started to argue, but the countess looked at her, and Dora let the subject go.
All three guards handed Bittermann their marine hats and blazers. Trousers and boots followed, leaving the three of them in their socks and underwear. Bittermann came back into the diner and set the uniforms on the table.
“These are the property of the United States government,” said Bittermann with extreme satisfaction.
Edited by the inimitable Arcanist Ascendant. Together, him and me can write a rad bromance.
I'm sure some people are going to be annoyed that Val's punishment for kidnapping an internationally significant figure is probation and community service and regular personal visits with Luna. Relax; I've got everything under control 
And this one is slightly longer! Monthly chapters means more words per chapter, because chapter length doesn't seem to have much of an impact on how long editing takes.
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I think Val's punishment is appropriate to the characters. Equestria is clearly more focused on rehabilitation than vengeance, and as both Celestia and Luna said, Mag is a much better person than she thinks she is.
...Bittermann you goddamn genius.
Damnit.
Every single time I read a new chapter of this story I try to upvote it again, but the system doesn't quite work like that.
Maybe I should downvote it periodically so that I can upvote again later. Thoughts, Rag?
6513534
Agreed.
6513612 Only that I know that feeling thanks to several other fics on this site.
I can usually ignore mistakes, but for some reason my very rusty knowledge of the French language demands this be corrected.
6513695 Don't ignore mistakes. I hate them.
Thanks for saying something.
6513695
If I wasn't so goddam busy(the main reason this chapter is so late) i would have noticed this myself. Thanks for pointing it out now, though.
Great update. I had to go back a chapter and refresh my memory on what happened last, and now I remember why I like this story so much.
Excellent chapter ending.
I'm sure that I should be taking several things from this chapter, but first and foremost among is that Bitterman is a badass.
I really like Bittermann and yes, that little shit Valerie got of waaaaaaay to easy. Might just be my unmeasurable dislike for creatures like her but still. Then again, seeing has how she was sculpted into what she is now by her parents and everyone else, I might just have an ounce of pity for her. Maybe.
Yo, that's a typo.
Maybe this one's nothing. But when I read Celestia's "Not at all.", it confused me, 'cause my brain was expecting the first thing Celestia said to be a response to the question "may I call you your majesty?". Was that "Not at all." supposed to be a response to "It's an honor"?
Good chapter, man. Kevin seems like a chill dude; I like him. You're really good at writing bit parts, you know that? Not to mention how great your characterization of your main characters constantly is.
Love how Celestia casually drops a little character study of Mag in a way and at a moment that's perfectly in character for Celestia and does a beautiful job of giving the reader some insight and a laugh. This is good stuff.
"Le Cercle de Lampes à Huile"
Something about this feels wrong : if the organisation was "Lampes à Huile" and "le Cercle" was just part of it, then alright.
Except the name seems to be the whole thing, so it should be: "Le Cercle des Lampes à Huile".
It's either "the Circle of this group" or "Lamps in a circle", and I'm confident it's the latter, since they often use "le Cercle" to refer to their gang.
6514667 Fixed the typo, and actually that other one was a typo too, because the countess originally said something slightly different. I changed it to make sense.
Maybe I should find a proofreader or two I can hit up the day before release. Like I said elsewhere, typos ultimately aren't my editor's job.
Oh crap, I forgot to credit AA in the author note. Another thing to fix. He saved my ass a couple of times this chapter, so that's kinda sucky of me.
So basically you spotted three problems. Thanks!
6514677 It's meant to be "lamps in a circle" (though I was going for "the circle of oil lamps" if that makes a difference) and this is one reason I failed French. I'm going to assume you know what you're talking about. Let me just fix this.
I'm really glad you spoke up about this, because language failures are always especially annoying to me. At least I can fix typos on my own, but other languages? I can spend 20 minutes making sure a phrase is correct and then later find out it's either clunky to a native speaker or means something different than I'd hoped.
6514745
Aw, sweet, three problems? I'm gonna feel rad for the rest of the day now! But, dude . . .
6514752 hahahahaha, god damn
That's four.
i.imgur.com/yXBzbd1.jpg
And we shall, some day.
6514667
I'd yell at you for doing my job, but that would be dickish because those typos only exist becuase I was so busy this month. Thanks for spotting them.
6515389 I don't think of typos as your job, though. Remember this?
Still true. Arguing with me about Val's weakass punishment is way more important than finding bad capitalization or whatever. Telling me the audience is going to interpret a scene very differently from what I intend is important. Telling me an action makes no sense, or that my prose gets really up its own ass when Celestia bursts through the ceiling, those are important. Typos? Man, whatever. That's post-production tweaking. They're annoying and I want to fix any of them we come across, but we've got bigger fish to fry.
6516936
Yeah, but being able to find typos is still a measure of courtesy from me to you, showing that I actually give enough of a crap to work on it despite being busy. I really should have found much of it, despite it not being my 'job'.
6514745 Don't worry, I can't think of one story where french dialogues are perfect (or even natural, you can always feel you're reading a chain of english words translated in french), and you're not using this language enough for it to really matter.
And by "lamps in a circle", I did mean "the circle of oil lamps", just needed to rephrase it to makes sure that was what you meant.
6520077 Nabokov could do it.
If I ever want something longer than that name, in any language at all, I'm going to try and find a native speaker. I know someone who lives in France, so French at least wouldn't be the hardest thing in the world.
Once again, that bit with the receipt, the sheer nonchalance of it all, the utter absurdist juxtaposition of 'Deity holding court inside a diner, and the cook who ain't taking shit being tipped more money than she'd see in 20 lifetimes' is...damnit. You are first-rate despite the self-deprecation. I burst out laughing, quite literally.
And then that ending. Pithy. Painfully funny. In a good way. In a fantastic, wonderful, giddy way.
Shit. Ran out of chapters.
6529619 Chapters are released monthly, and we've been publishing them on or around the 10th of the month for the last few updates, so November 10th is probably a decent guess unless my job forces me to take a break.
6529699
t.qkme.me/3od3l2.jpg
6521940
I am unsure if this is entirely relevant to your concerns, but I have long found the following to be both true and motivating;
.
In said visits Luna "educates" her.
And I still want Mag to become a pony.
6541950
Fixed. Twice.
Thanks.
I'm not a poet, but see, I've got a strategy going on. The typos lower the reader's expectations enough that I end up LOOKING like a poet.
6545698 Fixed, also fixed, fixed, oh my god that story is horrifying, fixed.
6603759 Not really (sorta doubt I could get away with that) but where are you assigning those? Looking back at that chapter, Val is probably magic, but loyalty could be either Bittermann or Mag. No, I think I specifically used the word "kindness" for Mag, so that's probably where you're getting that.
No, I think I see it. The countess is loyalty. So that makes Bittermann honesty, which I'm not sure I get, but it's an interesting enough thought that I'm wondering what your reasoning is.
6605002 Watch, by sheer accident you'll conclusively prove the existence of underground lizard people ruling all the international banks, and then you'll discard the evidence because it has nothing to do with figuring out A New Sun.
I think Celestia's treatment of Valerie was a good move, because she's a very capable person, if arrogant and terribly misguided. (I'm surprised her name doesn't start with T!
) Making an enemy out of her is a bad idea, but making her feel like she dodged a bullet, while robbing her of most of her power (out of the way, without followers), would result in the least consequences overall.
No, where Celestia fucked up is trusting the countess at her word, that the Nightmare inhabited some random girl, who somehow knew of Le Cercle, without the group knowing about her. Then it telephoned the group, in order to announce that it was not going to be dealing with Le Cercle, wished them a pleasant week, and left them alone. Really?
I wager Celly was basically talking directly to the Nightmare, for this whole darn meeting.
"No one could fool me in impersonating my sister except for Nightmare Moon oops."
It should be said that I'm extremely glad, on many levels, that I was intrigued enough by this story to start reading it.
6656968 In light of this, your first comment is fun to read. PS I love you too.
6657020
Oh, hey, just went back to read it. I'd forgotten about that. It is nice.
How'd you get the idea to go back and check?
6657135 When I went back and got rid of all the double-spacing, I sometimes scrolled down to remind myself what the old comments were. I saw yours and I was all, "heh, owned" and then went back to what I was doing.
So what's up with comments?
6667949 Any comments or lines of discussion that might seem unusual are because all of my commentors are beautiful and ingenious people with unique ways of looking at the world, which means unusual types of comments. I love all of them and the wedding is on Saturday.
Unless you're experiencing a bug where they disappeared, in which case try a hard refresh, or if they're zalgo'd, in which case are you sure you survived that car crash?
I may be in a strange mood.
Or is this about people picking out all the typos and mistakes? If so then it's because they and I have collectively decided to cleanse all the typos out of this fic. I even got a proofreader.
6668033 twas the bug. I need to do dat hard refresh. And yes I love all the beautiful commenters too. I plan to upsurp the wedding and take all them for myself
It's… a little odd that these two new, seemingly one-off diner characters happen to their share names with the earlier, seemingly one-off EMTs. I'm not fully certain whether you just gravitate towards those names or you're doing something.
6690499 I pull all these one-off names out of a mental hat, and it turns out the hat has like three names in it.
Which isn't really acceptable to me. Daniel is still Daniel because the EMT's name was Kevin, but Chef Lisa is now Eliza, and for the record, there was a cameraman named "Bradley" who is now named "Benedek." If there's a Daniel somewhere else in this story, I'll just leave him that way. There are a million Daniels.
6690715
Er, who's Daniel? The waiter's name is also Kevin.
Edit: Oh, and while we're on the topic of names, I might as well mention that in that EMT chapter (fourteen, I believe), you give the president's name as "Caltwell" when it later becomes "Caldwell".
6691535 I... what? Oh my god, you're right. Why did I think his name was Daniel? Who the hell is Daniel?
My excuse is that I really do have a horrible memory for names. Welp, still easy to fix. EMT Kevin is now EMT Reno.
Funny, I thought I'd fixed that Caldwell/Caltwell thing.
Thanks for all this. I'm sure there's more stuff like that, but I haven't caught it yet, so I'm powerless to fix it.
"Considering the previous entity which went by the title of 'Great One' was a giant spider mutated by blue power crystals," Celestia continued.
img4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20110514142706/tardis/images/2/27/Great_One.jpg
"Or... was it the Giant Queen Spider who ruled the Catholic Church... I forget..."
images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20081121095536/southpark/images/thumb/3/32/VaticanQueenSpider.jpg/500px-VaticanQueenSpider.jpg
I can't tell what I like more about this story, the writing itself or the comments.
What do you mean by helicopter 'wing'? Wouldn't it be a 'blade'? I might be completely wrong, or just may not understand what you mean.
I believe mean 'licked'
7356472 Nah, I meant "wing." Some helicopters have wings.
Good catch on "licked."
Forget serving Celestia, I'd gladly serve as Mag's aide if I could...
You're god damn right.