“This is a car,” said Mag. It was a blue Saturn from late 90's with sun-damaged paint and a missing hubcap. They loaded the groceries into the car while Celestia explained plastic, even though Luna hadn't asked.
Celestia bent to look at the undercarriage. “Another amazingly complex device.”
“But what does it do?” said Luna.
“You can talk out loud whenever you like, you know,” said Mag.
“I would rather not impinge on your agency.”
“You're worried about abusing the poor little mortal, but I'm worried about you feeling trapped in there. Chill out and talk.”
“Sometimes I shall, then, but I intend to request permission whenever I have anything long-winded to say,” said Luna.
“That's fine,” said Mag. “By the way, the left hand is yours if I'm not using it.”
Mag's brow furrowed without her say-so. Luna said, “For emergencies only.”
“Whenever I'm not using it,” said Mag. “Something funny, Sunny?”
“You look like a madwoman, arguing with yourself like that,” said Celestia.
“Then my true colors are showing. But Luna knows all about that, right? She saw my dreams.”
“I have seen far worse.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” said Celestia.
“No way,” said Mag, and popped the hood to distract them.
“Oh, my,” said Celestia, walking a slow half-circle to admire the engine.
“But what does all this do? Is it some manner of unnecessarily complicated conveyance?”
“Luna keeps asking what it does,” said Mag.
“It's a vehicle,” said Celestia, proud to know it.
“How does it operate?”
“'How dost it operateth?'” said Mag in officious pseudo-British.
“I'm, like, so pointlessly obnoxious,” said Luna in bubblegum Californian.
“What light through yonder window breaks? Why, 'tis the east, and Luna shutting up is the sun!”
Silence followed.
“That's a wonderfully well-turned piece of verse, other than the break in meter in the second line,” said Celestia.
“Never mi—” Luna switched to Mag's voice. “Never mind our disagreement. Tell us where that line is from.”
“Shakespeare,” said Mag, “poet and playwright. Kind of a big deal, according to high school English teachers. I'll hook you guys up as soon as I can figure out a way to do it without having to sit through one of his plays myself.”
“You don't like his work?” said Celestia.
“His stuff is long, dense, archaic, and, well, the problem with inventing all the cliches is that now his work is cliched.”
“But do you recall the rest of the poem? What about the part you replaced?” said Luna.
“'And Juliet is the sun.' It's a love story. I don't remember the rest of it. Celestia, could you lock up the store?”
Mag heard every door lock simultaneously.
“Showoff,” said Mag.
Celestia smiled her Celestial smile. Mag stared at her longer than was polite.
“One second,” said Mag, and stepped around the corner of the store, where Celestia hopefully wouldn't see or hear.
“Okay, now that you're here, I have to ask,” Mag whispered to Luna. “How can she smile after what's happened? Is she faking it? I don't know what to say to her.”
“Faking it? I've known her since the beginning of the world, and even I am not always certain how to weigh the sincerity all of her smiles. I decided long ago to believe them all. She has an honest personality, after all, and why would she smile if she did not wish us to believe she meant it?”
“I don't know. Why does anybody hide their feelings?”
“Perhaps she smiles because she wishes to smile.”
Mag pondered. Should she ask? She might as well. “And you? How are you doing?”
“... I beg your pardon?”
“How are you doing? Everything that happened to her also happened to you, except you were stuck there. Don't answer if you don't feel like it.”
“I am in the light again with my sister. I do well enough for now. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”
“Yeah, privacy,” said Mag. “Is that a thing anymore?”
“I do have good news on that front. I have been experimenting, and am finding ways to block out each of your senses.”
“Not sure how I feel about you putting yourself in a sensory deprivation chamber,” said Mag.
“Worry not. As I experiment I glimpse certain possibilities. For each sense of yours I block, I find another sense of my own—ones you don't appear to have access to.”
“You and Celestia keep bringing those missing senses up.”
“She means the aether, but I refer to senses neither of the two of you have. I am a warden of the ways, the margrave of the dreamers of Equis, and princess of the night. I have certain unique advantages.”
“All right, well, work on it.” Mag jogged back around the corner. Celestia had turned human again, worked out how to open the car door, and was now studying the steering wheel.
Mag knocked on the roof of the car. “Wrong side.”
“Are you sure? I learn very quickly, you know. How do you work a car?”
“If you have any attachment at all to your vehicle then I would advise against this.”
“Agreed,” said Mag. “Sorry, but nobody drives this without a license.”
Celestia crawled awkwardly to the other seat. “Is it a matter of law, then? I certainly wouldn't like to break the law. I'll apply for a license and then we can discuss this again.”
Mag got in, then got out again and scraped the ice off the windshield, then got back in and started the car. Celestia jumped, but then cocked her head to listen.
“But how does it work?” Luna burst out. Mag choked a bit; she'd been at the end of an exhale when Luna shouted.
“My apologies.”
“No worries,” said Mag. “Basically, the engine compresses gasoline vapor and then sets it on fire with a spark of electricity, the explosion pushes a piston, the piston turns the wheels, and then it does it again, and it all happens over and over again really fast. Then there's all this other junk, like fan belts and carburetors. I don't know what any of that does. You have to put gas in the car regularly, and this meter right here tells you how much gas you have left. The car also needs oil to keep all the metal from locking up, and you have to change that out every once in a while, and there are air filters for some reason. It needs coolant sometimes, and other fluids I can't remember right now. It shoots burnt gas vapors out of a tube in the back. Sometimes it breaks down and I don't know why. Then I pay some guys to fix it and hope they don't lie to me about what they did.”
“Why not learn more so they can't lie to you?” said Celestia.
“Because it shouldn't be my job to stop them from lying to me, because if I wandered around wondering how every single thing works then I'd never get anything done, and because I doubt I can learn enough about cars to call their bluff effectively anyway.”
“Hmm,” said Celestia.
“A disappointing answer, but it makes sense.”
“I want to drop these baskets off at the store and then I want to go home,” said Mag. “Anyone want to stop anywhere first?”
“Are the works of Shakespeare available on your Googling machine?” said Celestia.
“I'm not going to get through today without a poetry reading, am I? Yeah, they're probably somewhere out there on the internet. Let's at least eat lunch first.” Mag put on her seat belt. “Okay, guys, here's the thing. Cars are dangerous. If I drive off the road, I could end up rolling halfway down the mountain. If I crash into another car going the opposite direction with both of us going 30 miles an hour, that'd be like hitting a solid wall at a million miles an hour, mathematically speaking. In conclusion, if either of you is plotting to kill me then now's your chance. Still buckled up? Good, it's the law. Off we go.”
Celestia tensed up as Mag backed out, but relaxed when she saw that Mag had everything under control. She gave everything around her equal attention, from the window crank to the forest rushing by.
“So unmindful in the Ways Between, and yet such cautious eyes when you pilot your vehicle,” said Luna.
“If I screw up in Mirror Valley, I die. If I screw up on the road, I die and so do somebody's children, maybe. Watch "Red Asphalt" and then tell me I've got my priorities wrong.”
“This is some kind of instructional movie?” said Celestia.
“Yeah, how'd you know?”
“We had a few short documentary reels we'd show for government purposes,” said Celestia.
“Like what?”
“'Where Clouds Come From,' 'Magic and You,' various others.”
“I wish I could see them,” said Mag.
“Wasn't that your home, that we just passed?” said Celestia.
“Oh. Oops.” Mag pulled a U-turn and parked at the curb.
“'Your Magic and You,'” recited Luna while Mag and Celestia got out of the car and went inside. Her elementary schoolteacher imitation was dead on. “'In this video, we'll discuss the basics of what you can expect as you grow into your unicorn magic.' You should have your cutie mark by now—”
“Cutie mark,” muttered Mag, opening the door and putting her jacket in the closet next to the door. “Celestia, there's a thing next to my computer with a bunch of blank paper sticking out. Please please please show me what your ponies look like while I make lunch.”
Celestia shut the door behind her and changed to her real form. “I did say I'd do that, didn't I? Yes, I think I will.” She walked off.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Mag. “Do you remember the rest of the video?” Mag unpacked the groceries. Good, Celestia had bought sandwich material. And what looked like every vegetable the grocery store sold.
Luna went right back to it. “You should have your cutie mark by now, but even if you don't, you likely have some experiences with your own magic. Maybe in ways you couldn't control! Don't worry, because that's completely normal. This movie was made to help teach you all about your growing powers.”
The movie got a bit technical after that. Then it started referencing onscreen diagrams and took for granted that Mag knew the meanings of phrases like “Clover vector,” and Mag decided Luna was messing with her.
Celestia walked back in and placed a few sheets of paper on the counter, then left the room without speaking. The couch springs creaked.
No other sound came from the living room and Luna went quiet as well. If it weren't for the silent music of Luna's aura, Mag could almost think the world hadn't gone mad. She finished tearing the lettuce, rinsed her hands, wiped them on a towel, and picked up the papers.
Celestia had gone for quantity rather than detail in her drawings. Every couple of square inches had its own pony, most of them minimalistic and fluidly illustrated, almost cartoony in places. Every pony had its own little scene. In one, a pony wearing a headscarf watered a pot of daisies on a table using a little watering can. In another, a young pony clung to the shoulders of an adult pegasus in flight. In yet another, an inquisitive, snouted face stared up at the viewer with opened mouth as if asking a question. There was a row of solemn guards with brush helmets, a nubby-horned unicorn eating a sandwich, a couple sharing a milkshake. They all had big bushy tails, almost like squirrels, but deliberately styled, just like their manes. It was a calm, kind world.
The last page was a little different. This was where all the detail had gone. In the top-left corner was a picture of what could only be Luna. Her eyes were stern but caring, and fathoms deep. Beneath the sketch were the words “Princess Luna.” The sketch to the right was a “Princess Twilight Sparkle and Spike the Baby Dragon.” There was something perennially young about the two, for lack of a better term. Twilight's stance, her expression, the little lizard guy on her back, the pile of books floating next to her, everything about her suggested someone who loved everything, wanted to know everything about everything, and never got tired of the world around her. Mag tried not to hate her.
Next were “Princess Cadance and Shining Armor.” Mag almost laughed. Now there was a power couple if Mag had ever seen one. Lord have mercy, were those two ever in love. They appeared to be getting married, which, considering they looks they were giving each other, was almost redundant.
“Pinkie Pie,” a cotton ball of joie de vivre. “Fluttershy,” wet kleenex with a rabbit. An arrogant “Rainbow Dash” that Mag immediately pegged as her favorite. “Applejack,” cowboy hat, lasso, named after an alcohol for some reason. And this “Rarity” obviously got up very early indeed every morning to get her hair like that.
Mag walked to the couch to find Celestia pretending to sleep, and leaned against the back of the couch to look down at Celestia.
“They seem fun,” said Mag.
Celestia didn't respond. Luna had nothing to say either.
“I like Rainbow Dash the best,” said Mag.
Celestia didn't move.
“Did you get your samples?”
“There was almost nothing to sample,” said Celestia without opening her eyes.
“Oh. What were you planning to get?”
“A sliver of wood from a mirror frame on the inside, some sand from the walls, any ambient energy, and a wisp of aether.” She held up a little corked bottle. “Here is that wisp. Equestria has an aether field, but it's as hollow as everything else there, now. No one has touched it since I left and it hasn't moved on its own. Nothing out of the ordinary for a dead world. As for the rest, they simply aren't there. No ambient energy, no sand, and all the mirror frames were gone.”
She smiled a nonsmile. “I'm glad you insisted on coming. After seeing all of that, I don't know if I would ever have bothered to leave.”
“That's a hell of a thing to say,” said Mag, keeping her voice conversational.
“'Hell.' Yes. A 'hell' of a thing to say.” She opened her eyes. “I've been wondering something. Should I really be so certain that a regent dies with her world? Books and my own experience tell me they do, but it's a hard thing to prove. Maybe we stay behind, like the mirrors. Maybe we count as mirrors ourselves. It makes a kind of metaphorical sense, wouldn't you say?”
Mag really wished Luna would say something, but she hadn't spoken since Mag had picked up the drawings.
“What will you do now?” said Mag.
“I don't know,” said Celestia. “No, I do know. I'll rest until tomorrow. Then I'm going back to the lake, and then to the lake at the bottom of the valley. There are many books down there, and I'm sure there must be something useful there. It's dangerous, but what is danger to me now?”
“I'm coming, obviously,” said Mag.
“Oh.”
“Really don't like what I'm hearing from you right now, by the way.”
“No?” said Celestia.
“It doesn't help anyway,” said Mag. She walked around the couch and sat down in the same place she'd fallen asleep last night. “Nothing you say or think is going to make you feel any different. That's how it works, when you stop caring. You could get up and eat lunch or you could stay right where you are. They'll both feel pointless, so why not get up?”
“Eat lunch. I could do that. And then shall I move across the country to live in an empty house in the woods? Shall I hide my heart under the bed and reach out to no one for years on end, avoiding everything that matters to me and hoping to go numb?”
“If it'd get you to eat a damn sandwich, sure,” said Mag.
Celestia covered her eyes with a hoof. “I'm ashamed. That was cruel of me to say.”
“Don't worry. You can't hurt me with that.”
“You can let go of the bravado, Mag. I know you felt that, and I'm sorry.”
“Whatever,” said Mag. “But don't knock the bravado. You've got your fake smiles, and I never stop fronting. It works. Any port in a storm, right?”
Celestia sat up. “I disagree with what you said a minute ago. I'm a great believer in the power of words. I've talked down armies and assassins. It matters what I say and think. I can stay productive if I work at it; I'll just have to be more careful of where my thoughts wander in the future.” She leaned over and hugged Mag. “I'll keep myself busy, helping your world and looking for a way to bring back mine. Thank you, Mag.”
Both of Celestia's wings were at her sides, and yet Mag felt a feather brush her shoulder. “I don't have it in me to hope to see Equestria again, and I hold little hope for a happy ending between the three of us. But I do hope we'll grow to understand one another, human Mag.”
“For a species that needs all four legs to walk, you people are awfully huggy,” said Mag.
***
“Tell me about the assassin,” said Mag through a bite of sandwich.
“The what?”
“You talked down an assassin. Tell me about that.”
“In exchange for the sandwich, I think I will.” Celestia dabbed her mouth with a cloth napkin. Mag didn't know where she'd gotten it, as the napkins on the table were paper, but there it was. “Some few decades ago I got an unusual bit of mail. A death threat, actually, written shakily in black chalk on rough, yellowish paper. It was sealed with the crest of Canterlot University in undyed beeswax. The content of the letter went on for some time, but the core of the matter was that the anonymous author intended to kill me because he wanted to know what would happen if I died.
“The writer was clearly unwell. If nothing else, a saner stallion wouldn't have given me so many ways to identify him. It took me less than an hour and a half to find the perpetrator (one Professor Redwood, a stallion who taught history at Canterlot U) and to confirm that he was well known for his erratic behavior and morbid interests. Some days later he burst into my bedroom with a blunderbuss at least four times his age and demanded that I light a candle so he would know where to aim. I refused; he might have hurt himself if I let him fire the weapon, and anyway, whatever he had loaded into the weapon was sure to damage my furniture. He said 'please,' and I offered to answer his question in exchange for his gun. He told me it wasn't a gun; it was an authentic griffin blunderbuss from the third griffo-minotauran war. I said I knew what it was, since I specifically recalled outlawing them. He apologized for breaking the law and said he'd surrender the weapon to the guards as soon as he finished using it to kill me.
“I asked him what in the starless hells he thought he would accomplish with all this. He asked if I'd gotten the letter. I told him I had, and that I spent the day pondering his question. I told him again that I would answer his question if he gave me the authentic griffin blunderbuss from the third griffo-minotauran war. 'The one you made illegal?' 'The very same,' I said. He set the gun down next to my bed and went over to the window to sit in the yellow wicker chair I typically take my tea in, hunkering down to listen.
“I'd written down my thoughts on the matter over the past few days, then arranged the resulting collection by subject and chronology. Now I lit a candelabra and read him the highlights. First I went over the immediate concerns, such as the contents of my will and what the legal repercussions would likely be for Professor Redwood. The will didn't seem to interest him that much and he just cocked his head like a bluejay when I started to talk about criminal justice, so I skipped ahead to describe my theory that Equestria would industrialize and revert to being a full scarcity society, and to make a few remarks on how these economic circumstances would likely interact with Equestria's growing counterculture and inevitable militarization. He was enraptured, and I always enjoy an appreciative audience, so I ended up reading that entire part out loud.
“After a few more pages I simply gave him the entire pile of papers and went back to sleep while he read them from the beginning. I never did get enough rest that night, though, because a maid came in a good hour before dawn and screamed for all she was worth. Honey-Do was always very tightly wound. My door guards came in and were understandably confused, until I pointed out the fireplace in the antechamber, and, more to the point, the sooty hoofprints leading from there to my door.
“Honey-Do screamed a bit more, and the guards shouted and stomped, and eventually Redwood looked up from his reading and asked everyone to be quiet. They didn't. Honey-Do scolded him for getting soot everywhere, which I'll confess I found cathartic, and the guards demanded to know what he was doing. The professor explained, once he could get a word in, that he'd come to kill me because he wanted to know what would happen. He apologized for the mess.
The rest of the week was thoroughly confusing for Professor Redwood, I'm afraid, but I arranged for a very comfortable and tastefully decorated padded room with plenty of reading material. We corresponded until his passing.”
“And he never tried to break out or send another threat? No hard feelings on either side?”
“Remember that we're discussing a stallion who could write endless reams of ingeniously insightful dissertations and academic papers within his field, but was incapable of buying groceries or having a lucid conversation. He was not a bad pony, just a confused one. I always enjoyed reading his letters. He understood my work in ways few others ever have, and I was one of the rare few who'd seen with her own eyes the ancient roads and battlefields that had always dominated his mind. We appreciated each other.”
“Enough chattering. What kind of barbarian doesn't own a table?”
“What do I need a table for when I've got a lap?” said Mag.
A bit rambling at points, but an enjoyable chapter that helps flesh out some characterization for Luna and even a bit more for Mag.
I enjoyed this chapter nonetheless! Looking forward to more whenever you have the time.
Will celestia and Luna watch the movie of the landing on the Moon?
I would certainly enjoy a very long discussion with Redwood. Sounds like he was probably the Debate Team, captain.
Well, I enjoyed it. A little rambling, sure, but I do love me some good character building.
5635975 Aside from the time crunch issue I'm having irl, I'm still working out how to handle pacing. It probably doesn't help that I tend to read old books. You know that Moby Dick chapter on whale biology, the one professors joke about every time someone brings up Moby Dick in a classroom? I didn't see the problem. Remember the insanely long Kenneth Brannagh version of Hamlet? I thought it was fine.
This is a problem because there's a reason literature doesn't move that slowly anymore. The world has moved on, you know? Then there's the fact that I ain't exactly Cormac McCarthy. I can't expect my prose to carry a scene.
Glad you liked it, though. My understanding of Luna's character comes from season three and four. Specifically, there's that part in the first Crystal Empire episode where she gives Twilight that eloquent "Don't screw this up" look as she leaves a room, and also a very similar look in "For Whom the Sweetie Belle Toils" after showing SB where and how she screwed up. Then there's Sleepless in Ponyville.
In my mind, Luna is all about difficult truths and difficult choices. "Character is who you are in the dark," and the dark is Luna's world.
As for Mag, my goal is to give her depth, psychological complexity and a distinctive voice without giving her an annoying amount of stage time (after all, who the hell reads an MLP fanfic for the human OCs?). It's working out... okay.
5636030 Glad you liked it, and it's one chapter a week, no excuses.
5636738 This scene shows up in every single HiE fic. It's so common that I don't know how I could possibly bring anything new to the table. I don't know, maybe?
5637299 I don't know history so I'd have trouble writing that, but Slavoj Žižek is a good parallel if you're curious. Žižek is known for his discursive but insightful speaking and arguing style. Slavoj Žižek doesn't have a thought disorder, though, so it's not a perfect comparison.
5637668
Now that I think of it, you're right. Sometimes we lost ourselves in our amusement and call for things that aren't really necessary. It's funny, I usually admonish other writers for falling the expectations for a good story just to fulfill their amusement with violence, comedy, clicé and other stuff; When here I am suggesting you this mistake without even realize it.... Man
Your story is really good by the way.
5637861 I just noticed my comment looks a little terse. Sorry, that's not how I meant it to sound--I was in a hurry. Here's a Nabokov quote about the moon landing, as a peace offering.
"Oh, "impressed" is not the right word! Treading the soil of the moon gives one, I imagine (or rather my projected self imagines), the most remarkable romantic thrill ever experienced in the history of discovery. Of course, I rented a television set to watch every moment of their marvelous adventure. That gentle little minuet that despite their awkward suits the two men danced with such grace to the tune of lunar gravity was a lovely sight. It was also a moment when a flag means to one more than a flag usually does. I am puzzled and pained by the fact that the English weeklies ignored the absolutely overwhelming excitement of the adventure, the strange sensual exhilaration of palpating those precious pebbles, of seeing our marbled globe in the black sky, of feeling along one's spine the shiver and wonder of it. After all, Englishmen should understand that thrill, they who have been the greatest, the purest explorers. Why then drag in such irrelevant matters as wasted dollars and power politics?"
Thanks for the complement. I'm still planning to improve, of course, because that's why I'm here.
5637666 Didn't see this comment. Thanks! You're the second person to call it "rambling," so I should probably take a close look at this chapter to see if there's something I should have left out.
5637668 5638718
I didn't find this chapter or indeed this work to be rambling, but maybe my perspective is skewed by being a fan of Lord Of Dorkness' works, which I would define as rambling, in a good way.
[If you are interested in that at all, there are three works of his I recommend:
Sufficiently Advanced - In theory it is going to be a human spaceship goes to a new planet (Equestria), only to find that the inspiration of the trans-human (cyborg) bodies they wear (ponies) actually exist and aren't just a work of fiction, and the awkwardness that would bring. I say in theory because it hasn't gotten to the point where they even leave the Earth system yet, instead it is going on a long, long introduction where it tries to world build and introduce each of the trans-humans who modeled themselves off the mane six plus Trixie and Lyra. It does a ton of world building and philosophy and winding conversations trying to show the personalities of those who would base their image on a fictional non-human character, where they are the same and where they differ and how it inspired them.
Dark Horse - A crossover of Harry Dresden and MLP, specifically being inspired by (but different from) the Five Score Divided By Four universe where people on earth start turning into ponies. The story starts in media res, in which it's been several months afterwards, but ponies from the real Equestria start showing up. It's very wordy, rambles a bunch, has extreme snarking (it IS Harry Dresden), goes through a ton of theories and almost every conversation exists for the reaction shots. Oh, and Harry Dresden is apparently Fluttershy.
One Pony's Curse Is Another Man's Blessing - Another work which is inspired by Five Score Divided By Four, except without the crossover aspect. It occurs a bit after that transformations have started but still deals with everything. The gimmick of this story is that the main character has had an imaginary friend his entire life -- Trixie, but merely thought it was a coincidence until people have actually started turning to ponies. It's very hard to describe this work, it goes everywhere and has a ton of philosophy on what it means to be a pony, to use magic, to be a bearer of an element of harmony, to be a villain, and to be human. Lots and lots and lots of talking everywhere.]
What this story does is take it's time and is almost entirely conversation driven. It's an exploration of Celestia and philosophy, really, using the situation as the backdrop (though the situation, setting, and rules ARE interesting in their own right, I see it as a bonus). Rather than inventing a sarcastic, insightful but cynical OC pony which could probably never exist in opposition to Celestia, it uses Mag as the sounding board against which Celestia's dialogue is directed.
For an OC I like Mag a lot, but more than that I pity her. She isn't so much a person as a landmark; something to define everything in relation to. A small island in the middle of a sea, being slowly eroded by the elements but existing in isolation with her own ideas and beliefs. The only kind of position one can be in relation to a titan like Celestia. Mag is snarky but not nearly as much as most other humans you could name, instead only using it to provide a different point of view.
Celestia is the best thing that has ever happened to her. Celestia is also a bad thing to have happen to her, but really the worst things to happen to Mag are caused by Mag herself. She is a turtle, carrying the weight of her cynicism as a heavy shell to protect her from the world, but also setting her apart from everyone else.
I know the Eldest made the claim that Mag can't be changed without breaking her (I had initially assumed that was a reference to ponification, but could easily mean trying to remove her shell of cynicism too), but I really feel for her, both her situation and the fact that she is the definition of potential locked away. She could be so much more, yet she chooses not to be. She deserves to move onward from her situation, one way or another. Perhaps some things are meant to be broken.
5640735 Hells yeah, someone wrote an essay in my comment section. I've been gnawing on it off and on all day.
Now there's an interesting writing style. I like a lot of things about that, although ultimately I don't see myself reading through any of Lord of Dorkness's longer stories, since there are a few other things about the writing that I'm not a fan of.
I like your write-up for those stories, enough that I did that thing I sometimes do where, if I see a clever or well-thought-through comment somewhere on FiMFiction, I click to see if they've written any pony fics or interesting blogs or reviews or something.
It's also interesting that there are so many Dresden Files crossover fics around here. Maybe The Desden Fillies and My Little Denarians had an impact, or maybe it's a more popular series than I knew.
And then there's this analysis of Mag. I wouldn't say you've changed what my plans are, but you made me rethink the next chapter a bit. It looks like I can afford to move forward with a few things now.
Mag is changing herseft, but despite Celestia not doing it, it may still hurt.
Equestria is a scarcity society. It has currency, rich ponies and poor ones, scam artists, property ownership and industrialists.
Celestia merely needs to find the Monado and Equestria will be as good as new.
Oh, but then this story would end rather quickly. It's much too good for such an easy solution.
Actually... *cough* according to my high school physics course, in that scenario, it would be akin to hitting a stationary object at sixty miles per hour. I dunno if that's Mag being Mag, Mag trying to impress upon the princesses the severity of the proposed scenario, or something else, but I figured I should mention it.
6538794 That's pretty much a word-for-word quote from the California Driver's Handbook 2014, and I remember it because I was surprised too. I can download the 2015 version and hunt down the exact paragraph if you want to dig into this.
6538794 I looked it up. I was remembering it wrong. Either that, or that line isn't in the newest manual.
Mag isn't supposed to be wrong there and Luna would correct Mag if she were, so I'm just going to change the line.
BTW, you just made comment 666. My adolescent sense of humor says you have to get an upvote.
Professor Redwood just got you an upvote.
6542173 Redwood was originally going to be his own completely separate fic, but
1. I didn't have the time;
2. I wasn't confident I could write his thought disorder in a convincing, interesting, and tactful way;
3. This fic needs the occasional reference to life in Equestria, because it's often kinda divorced from all that. This is also important because "Nigh-Omnipotent Diplomat Philosopher Queen Celestia" might be hard to swallow for many readers, and I hoped to help with that by showing how she'd fit in with the rest of her world.
4. This chapter was a little short on words.
Well, from what I'm seeing so far, seems to me that something sucked every shred of potential from the Equestrian universe. It was so powerful it even drained off Discord, Tirek, and every powergamer left from future seasons!
Without any potential, the very substance of that universe ceased to move. It couldn't even properly break down into composite particles, as that requires entropy.
Nope, this thing appears to have bled the very fabric of causality away.
Terrible creature. Though not unfamiliar.
I want to illustrate the part about her talking down Professor Redwood! Would you mind if I did, and credited you and this story?
Mag you wonderful bastard. (In case you can’t tell, Mag is mai fav.)