Honest Acceptance (Morpheus) Part 4
Changeling saliva makes for a rather excellent adhesive and building material. With a little bit of shifting, the glands can make anything from glue to caulk to even cement allowing for any number of minor repairs and construction projects. With a number of other ingredients to act as catalysts, it upgrades from a simple mundane bonding agent to a magical one capable of handling much bigger problems—medical problems, for example.
Simply cementing the cracks in my chitin would encourage the same problem ponies face with healed broken bones. After breaking once, it’s easier to break again because of the trace the fracture leaves behind. Understandably, that’s a bigger issue for creatures with exoskeletons composed of many smaller interlocking pieces, so we needed to step up treatment and heal the fracture as if it had never happened.
Redistributing mass via shapeshifting can help, but it can’t restore lost chitin. I had the time to spare and the carapace cement I had brought from the Hive in my corbiculae. Thus, I was in the middle of treating myself when Applejack returned.
Ve flicked an ear as the door opened to let in a set of hooves. Ve assumed Big Mac was back to check on us, but a crashing noise down the hall alerted us to another presence. “Confound this saddle bag of mine. It seems I’ll need a needle and twine.”
“He’s in here, Zecora.” Applejack’s voice came from the front of the room.
There was the shuffling and clinking of bottles in answer, yet the zebra’s hoofsteps still mysteriously evaded my ears. As much as I strained my hearing, I heard nothing.
“Alright, Morpheus, Ah hope you’ve been—” Applejack snerked. “Sugarcube, is there a reason yer in the middle of a gosh darn facial?”
Snorting, I opened my eyes as I shifted to a sitting position. “This is not a facial, Applejack. Ponies get facials. Changelings get polishes.”
“And why do you need a ‘polish?’” Applejack’s tone made the air quotes quite clear.
“I need to replace any chitin that may have chipped off when Rainbow hit me.” I sighed. “This is not a polish.”
“Yer darn tootin’ it ain’t. Ah’ve been to enough sleepovers with Rarity to know what a facial looks like.”
“You try not caring about your appearance when the result is broken bones instead of pimples,” I groused, looking beyond the farmer as her companion entered.
We stared at each other for a moment, testing to see who would make the first move.
I won when Zecora broke the silence. “Applejack told me she had a strange guest.” She turned to the farmer. “You failed to impress the oddity of your request.” The shaman managed to keep her cool on the outside, but I could taste any number of emotions churning inside. “Had you mentioned a changeling in your bed, I would have focused on taming my feelings of dread. There is great strength in bitter medicine, but changelings need more care and attention.”
Parsing the rhyme, I cringed at the last line. Sending the faintest breeze to her, I managed to whisper, “If you’re saying what ve think you’re saying, ixnay on that train of thought. Ve haven’t fully explained how an emotivore’s diet works to anypony yet. How— How do you even know that?”
Zecora pointedly did not look in my direction as she began pulling out regents and potions. A small number of tools followed, although they wouldn’t be enough to create anything truly potent.
Completely ignoring my plea, Zecora continued to muse. “Negative emotions will only fester and accrue, so any treatment I made as such would only work if swine flew. If I truly want to heal him proper, my feelings will, at the least, need a stopper.”
I resisted the urge to plant my face into something hard. Preferably my hoof, although a table would suffice.
Setting up a minor filter to moderate outgoing feelings, ve decided it would be best to roll with it so ve could run damage control. Applejack’s emotions had already run the gauntlet of curiosity and were already approaching the mish-mash of flavors that was confusion.
Applejack scratched the back of her head. “Twi did say something about poisonous emotions when she was giving us the lowdown, but Ah thought she was being metaphorical or symbolic or something. Are… are ya sayin’ if you, me, or the gals so much as think funny about the prince here it’ll muck up whatever progress he makes? ’Cause Ah’m not sure we can manage that. How are we supposed to keep track of the varmint if we can’t go near him for fear of killin’ him?”
The urge to facehoof was gone, but I was fervently wishing I could massage my forehead. “It won’t kill me. Certain emotions just have certain side effects in given quantities and situations. For example, Pinkie Pie got me drunk on joy, and too much love literally causes cardiac arrest—which ve know sounds bad, but it is surprisingly easy to treat as long as you swallow or regurgitate the love in question.”
That got a face from the farmpony, although ve weren’t exactly sure what kind of face it was. As she processed my words, an egg timer dinged on the bed stand, and I began peeling the leftover carapace cement off as fast as I could. My hoof was going to meet my face in one way or another.
“Negative emotions aren’t exactly healthy, but I can actually process them in small quantities when push comes to shove.” I carefully proded my chitin as the mask came off, looking for weak points and imperfections. “The problem is those are usually fight or flight situations, and side effects range anywhere from fatigue to blood thinning to weaker immune systems and worse recovery rates—all of which are undesirable.”
Applejack’s face settled into a small frown with a slight narrowing of her brow. It wasn’t enough to signal downright anger or displeasure, yet it was most certainly not pensive, and her mounting befuddlement was making it harder and harder to read her emotions.
As I removed the rest of my mask, I brought my hooves to my head for well earned relief. “And when it comes to medical practices, there’s a reason there’s the phrase ‘laughter is the best medicine.’ Something as personal as taking care of the well being of another creature—especially where the patient’s life itself may be on the line—invokes the very magic of Equis. It’s not much of an effect in most species usually, but it is technically measurable, and emotivores like me are some of the few where any significant difference can occur.”
Ve glared at the so-called zebra, wondering who ve were actually dealing with. “What I want to know is how your friend here could possibly know that. I’ll give her knowing tender loving care and attention would improve my recovery. That’s easy to infer because I’m a Hive forsaken changeling. No pony in Ponyville should know negative emotions can have debilitating effects, though.”
I let my fangs show. “Suspicions? Understandable. Certainty? No. The chances of a simple shaman knowing that are vanishingly small. It’s so unlikely based on our current information that the probability is effectively zero.
“And that implies there’s something here ve don’t know – allowing such an implausible situation to become plausible.”
The physician in front of me gave that annoying smile all cryptic mystics have. “I admit, I had a rather interesting teacher—a thirst for knowledge and curiosity her most interesting feature. You see, I was a student and avid listener to one whom you would call a Malpractitioner.”
My brow needed another message, and I savored just how smooth the fresh carapace was. “Two questions. First, does that mean you aren’t a changeling? Ve were half-worried Mother decided to give a damn for once, and I know for a fact she was in the Everfree yesterday.”
Zecora shook her head. “A changeling you will not find me to be. I am and always have been me.”
I looked to Applejack, whose head was flopping back and forth between us like a fish out of water. “Is she telling the truth?”
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t she be? She goes through the monthly tests like everypony else. Kinda odd really. Some of my family don’t because they’re too far outta their respective towns to bother with, but the guard is extra picky with Ponyville.”
Well, I certainly felt like an idiot now. Ve had actually seriously considered that Mother might be trying to act motherly for once. She had to know I was hurt if she had access to my own agents, and there was no way ve had ferreted out all the leaks. Ve supposed, however, that she wouldn’t have had much time to respond from between when ve reported the situation after Rainbow woke us to the time Applejack probably reached Zecora’s.
Then again, this was Mother. If she really wanted to replace Zecora, then she would, consequences to herself and my negotiations be damned. Kidnapping the local shaman—and leaving them hive knows where in the forest—just to get a chance to tend to me was exactly the sort of psychopathic pseudo-mothering ve didn’t need right now.
It was probably better this way.
Thus ve steered our focus to our other query. “Okay then. Second question. How did you spell Malpractitioner?”
“Capital M.” The shaman wasn’t even phased by the question.
I buried my head in the bed to gnash my fangs without unnerving Applejack. Ve figured the constant flux from shifting them from one shape to another wouldn’t go over well. When I finally brought my head back up, I snorted for good measure.
“Hive damn it all. Is that where they are now-a-days, Zebrica? They’re so hard to keep track of with how private they are, and they have things so easy compared to us. All they need is a single curious apprentice and they’re set for years. Ve have no idea why they even bother hiding, much less why they’re paranoid enough with their secrets to make a lord look like honest Applejack here.”
“Say what now?” Applejack sputtered indignantly.
“It’s not like they’re the parasitic love-sucking monsters or anything.” I huffed and crossed my hooves in front of me.
Applejack took a second to compose herself. The mish-mash of conflicting feelings that was her confusion had started an orange flavored food fight, and the simmering stew that had been her frustration from today was now all but frozen in the background.
“So, Ah’m only gonna ask this once more before Ah run for Twilight and get her to make ya explain things. What in the hay are y’all talking about?”
Zecora’s cryptic smile grew even more so. “The price of knowing is not to know, lest my powers be only for show.”
I rolled my eyes, deciding to give Applejack a proper answer. “What she means is that she was an apprentice to another kind of emotivore called a Malpractitioner. Before you ask, no, ve don’t know how much of that is profession versus species, and ve don’t know whether Malpractice was named for malpractice or the other way around. The cryptic maggots don’t appreciate the concept of sharing where appropriate.”
Seeing that the simple farmer’s face was beginning to scrunch together in all the signs of a burnt out brain, ve skipped most of the annoyingly short explanation ve had and jumped to the important part. “Where changelings feed on love, Malpractitioners feed on curiosity, and they get it by being cryptic to the point that you’d crack your skull open on your desk if it would help their lessons sink in better.”
Ve nodded towards Zecora. “They tempt you with all the answers you could want, but tend to leave you with ten times as many questions as you came with.”
As an afterthought, ve added, “Ve’re not sure ve can actually think of another creature that drives us up the walls like they do. Twilight would never survive meeting a real one, that’s for sure.”
Applejack, being the straightforward mare she was, took the direct approach in her response. “Well… if Zecora is one of them whatcha-ma-call-its… does that mean she ain’t a zebra just like you ain’t a pony?”
Ve scoffed. “I just said she probably isn’t a true Malpractitioner. Twilight would probably be in a padded cell if that was the case. Don’t expect us to say for certain, though. They love muddling their numbers. It adds more questions to never give a straight answer to. She might even just be the apprentice of an apprentice.”
I sighed, sinking into the bed. “The only plus side to this is that true Malpractitioners know their craft like nopony else, so she might actually be able to cure me. A normal practitioner of medical arts wouldn’t have anything to replace the couple weeks of bed rest needed for a concussion. Malpractitioners, though… the strongest of them can read and understand the body like a book. Rumor is they can even predict the exact number of beats your heart has left until you die.”
Zecora nodded. “We can indeed see how many pages are left in your tale. The price is we add or remove some without fail.”
“Typical,” I muttered, sitting back up to glare at the shaman. “This is exactly why Malpractitioners drive us insane. They never give an honest answer.”
“Hon, you do realize you’re the pot calling the kettle black, right? Besides, Zecora is being honest with us.” Applejack drawled.
“I’m always honest, Applejack,” I groused. “I’m just not your kind of honest. Malpractitioners, on the other hand, are not. Did you even realize Zecora has probably been playing us both for foals? It would not surprise me if she used my own paranoia against me such that I got so caught up in our little talk that ve left you way in the dust. You’re certainly not angry or frustrated from earlier anymore. You’re far too befuddled for that, and confusion is neither inherently positive or negative. This whole conversation could easily have been a way to sterilize the environment for me.”
I flopped back onto the mattress, shaking my hoof at the ceiling. “And the worst part is, she’s handed us so many unknowns that ve can’t even say that with any certainty. A puzzle that can’t be deduced; a riddle without an answer: dishonest!”
I sighed, letting my hoof fall. Ve had said far more than was wise. The headache—which ve had almost forgotten—had escalated from a quiet rumble to pounding drums, and ve were suddenly aware of how heavy our eyes felt and how hollow our heart was. It was too much worrying, planning, thinking, scheming. Ve must have burned my reserves thinking about everything except how bad it was to be thinking right now.
“You call me manipulative, but who isn’t? Everypony always wants something. Everypony has the right to try and get that something. And anything is fair game if you know the rules well enough.” I yawned, cocooning within the covers.
Over. Under. Over. Under. Wrapped in a chrysalis, never to be torn asunder.
As sleep claimed me, I heard somepony close the door as they headed out of the room. I mumbled into my pillow, “I just want to finally meet somepony—maybe even someling—I don’t have to be that way with.”
I was awoken not long after Zecora finished my treatment.
Sighing, I rubbed my brow as I rose to my haunches. “Of course… treating me while I’m asleep just happens to mean ve didn’t get to see what wonders you pulled. Typical Malpractitioner.” I tilted my head to the side. “Why confess to Malpractice, though?”
Fine wine filled the air. It was aged, old, a piece of history. “They rejected me once on mere suspicion. I suppose I was curious if, to the truth, they would listen. They know the facts now—as much as I dare. I am indeed an enchantress—both foul and fair.”
I shivered slightly. “Ah, right. That reminds me. There’s always a price. How do you all phrase it? To make a dream come true, you must first have something to rue? Well, what’s the curse of the day? Ve’d prefer getting turned into a frog. That’ll be easy to break, as long as Twilight doesn’t dissect me first....”
Zecora shook her head with a tiny frown on her face. She started packing her tools as she talked. “It doesn’t work like that, I fear. Soon your fee will be quite clear.”
Standing up and stretching, I felt more awake than I had in months. The sun shined through the window as it prepared to set, and the birds were singing—odd for this time of day, but not unwelcome. My chitin was warm and tingly, and I felt like singing just for being alive.
“What could go wrong?~ This is a wonderful song!~ Oh! What a joy to be me!~”
I quickly shoved a hoof in my mouth as ve contemplated what had just happened. I turned to the zebra, my motion effortlessly falling right in time with the rhythm I was feeling inside. Ve couldn't help but notice my movements looked choreographed.
My mood began to drop like a rock, and the tune in my head changed to compensate. The staccato shifted from bubbly and energetic into a frantic rush. With the change, ve noticed a large amount of dissonance in the sensations running through my body. Warm, fuzzy, tingles fought cold, crawling, shivers. The sheer elation from waking up rested and whole began to war with the mounting horror of a list of potential—and very conspicuous—prices suddenly presenting itself to us.
Opening our mouth to ask a number of queries to narrow that list, the fact that I continued on in a sing-song fashion had us crossing out a number of more favorable options.
“What’s that?!~ What’s this?!~ What have you done to me?!~ I’m happy, dreary, oh-so-cheery, and singing ‘Woe is me!~’”
By this point, the fear was easily winning, and yet ve persevered despite my terror. It might have been the shock, or perhaps it was the surreal sense of disconnect ve felt from the realization that the song was influencing me at least as much as our own thoughts. Ve weren’t sure. More data was needed on exactly how I was being effected.
Oddly rhythmic shivers racked my body as I quivered in what ve knew should be extreme fright. My heart hammered at an incredible pace, and I could almost taste the fear rolling off of me, yet ve noted I was not as afraid as the bizarre not-quite dance would suggest. The motions were exaggerated to match the music, not my actual mindset.
Ve began to focus on that to calm myself as the music completed its shift from from frantic to a bubbling, boiling, brew.
Calming myself was not helped by Zecora joining the fray. “You came to the witchdoctor, and she put a spell on you~ You came to the witchdoctor, the price is yours to rue~ You came to me, nothing for free!~ And you let me place your shackles three!~ A song, a dance, an unnamed favor~ All to be collected later~”
I stomped my hooves—in rhythm, of course—as the song continued to fluctuate. Ve had regulated my fear, but I wasn’t calm. My heart was still racing. The quivers and tingles were still there, but they lacked context for fear or elation.
My body and the song’s tune thus settled on another emotion. Drums pounded in our head as anger filled me. “Tell me when the song will stop!~ Tell me when the dance will end!~ Lest you be responsible for what’s coming round the bend!~”
Once more it was somehow lacking or incomplete in a way ve couldn’t accurately describe. The anger was only partially true as far as ve were concerned. Part of it was the song, and for some reason knowing that muted the effect on my body.
Zecora twirled to the door, her hooves tapping yet another new beat and rhythm. “For now it’s settling in, I fear~ Yet note the music’s still not clear~ With silly tunes and broken croons, the song’s still incomplete~ The price is only paid in full upon finding the proper beat~”
She left the room, and looked at me no longer singing. “The price is heavy—that is sure—yet it comes with a gift most true and pure. Rare is it to get a two-for-one deal, when invoking my magic that’s actually real. All cures have a curse at the root of their cores. You may yet use yours to avert conflict and wars.”
She left humming a tune ve could not name, and ve found the music inside us thrumming along whether ve wanted to or not. Our wings chirped an accompaniment that made us recall the time the hive actually did find the world’s smallest violin.
It all stopped suddenly as I spoke. “I wonder if she realizes she just gave us more data points on Malpractice than ve’ve gotten in the last two centuries.”
And then it started again to a more upbeat tune. “I stopped singing!~ I stopped singing!~ What a wonder that it’s so!~ Ne’er mind; here again I go~”
Applejack shuffled in the door. “Why in the hay are ya singing?~ Why in the hay must Ah rhyme?~ The tune sure is nice~ And the rhythm precise~ But really this isn’t the time~”
And then there was blessed silence once more.
I savored it a second before answering. “It’s quite simple actually~ Zecora put a curse on me~”
Applejack rolled her eyes. “There ain’t such a thing as curses, hon. We did this song and dance with Twilight before.”
I cringed at her choice of words. “Yes, well… Twilight was wrong about that. Curses exist, and they aren’t all bad like the books say. They’re just usually more subtle about when they do something good for a pony. Ve mean, do you know what the chances are of somepony cursed to be a frog actually finding a princess to be the one who breaks the curse? Yet, the curse ensures that it happens.”
The farmer shook her head. “Whatever you wanna think, sugarcube.” She gestured for me to move towards the door. “Come on then. It’s high time you get back to Twilight.”
As I stepped out the front door, I donned my disguise before turning to Applejack and waving. She waved back not saying anything. Ve think we both knew saying something ran the risk of ruining the moment.
Ve may not have made friends, but we were not-quite-enemies.
I felt the warmth of the sun on my carapace, and ve couldn’t think of a good enough reason to stop the grin splitting my face. My wings broke through my illusion momentarily as they went through the oddest mix of fluttering and chirping.
“Morning in Ponyville shimmers~ Morning in Ponyville shines!~ And I know for absolute certain, that everything will be just fine~” It was only as I reared up on my hind legs to sing the tune that ve realized there was indeed a good reason not to smile.
I quickly dropped to my hooves frowning. “This is going to keep happening out of the blue until I sing the right song, isn’t it.”
The tune in my head settled on a energetic bubbly number like it was giggling, and ve sighed as ve tried to tune it out. “Ve guess ve’ll finally find out if I’m as good a singer as Mother, at least.”
Trotting towards town, I stopped on the outskirts as I saw the market setting up instead of cleaning up, and it finally occurred to us what I had sung in the last verse.
“Hive damn it all. I didn’t even make it to lunch before sleeping the whole day away.”
With that, ve’re going to excuse ourselves so I don’t rudely snap at any more of your questions. I really am sorry, but when ve can’t answer half of your questions, and they’re all questions you have about Malpractitioners, ve can’t help but to project my feelings on the matter.
It’s absolutely infuriating how little they’re willing to share with us.
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6885994 "Making her decide" and character development are two different things.
The maths geek in me loves the title of this story.
I'll be honest, when i read the first few lines of the description i thought this story was linked to "From Biochemistry with Love" by IMN
This is going to be an utter riot while the curse is effective. I'm a musical dork... and Pinkie is going to take full, eager advantage. Cue the awesome!
Oho, if he thinks Pinkie was a menace before...
That was so awesome!
I love the concept of the Malpractice 
Not sure if I like the singing thing though
Anyway, keep up the good work!
Brilliant as always
6897934
Dislike the singing as in it's a mean curse to have given or that it exists in the first place? Because there's more to it existing than just "I wanted a song". It in fact didn't even start that way. The original reasoning was that it was an interesting curse to force Morpheus to be more open. It was also the most benign curse I could think of that also fit the story and still had an obvious downside -- that being how conspicuous it is. In the end I wrote the singing of those silly nonsense tunes first and then thought "Eh... Why not run the gauntlet and add a song somewhere down the line?"
6898350 I'm not a big fan of the concept of a character being forced to do silly things or things that don't come from its free will. That's why I don't like "Long Road to Friendship" for exemple (if you haven't read it, the basic plot is that Sunset can't lie and is forced to do what other people ask). So while it can be fun to see Morpheus sing, I fear it'll just become painful after a time.
I like stories where the characters evolve on their own, and are not pushed by an invisible force. That's why I'm not sure if the singing is something that I'll appreciate, especially in a story that is so well-written so far : for me, it looks like a cheap trick to make the story progress instead of finding a real plot to develop the character.
I don't know if I'm being very clear but for me, forcing a character to open up with some kind of invisible force is not real character developpment.
I hope I'm wrong though, and that it won't stay too long.
6898508
Personally, I like Long Road to Friendship, but I know what you mean. It all comes down to presentation and reader interpretation though. Is it a nudge? Is it a shove? If it starts a shove does it count when it only becomes a nudge? Even if it is a shove or a nudge is it still in character if not completely so? All of these and more are things I ask whenever something like that happens.
I will say I compare this less to Long Road and feel it's more like randomly speaking Chinese every so often. The only part I mean to be forced is the fact it's in song. it's still Morpheus's thoughts and actions though. I mean, in Long Road Sunset had to go to the animal shelter when Fluttershy asked and couldn't complain because the curse held comments back. If Pinkie asked Morpheus to come bake at Sugarcube Corner though, he would at worst get into a small musical war with Pinkie over why it's not a good idea to cook drunk on euphoria.
Hmm... That gives me ideas...
6898682 Well I think I'll just trust you with it and see where it goes, because you have yet to disappoint me with this story. I'm just concerned about this because I love this story so much I really don't want it to drop in quality.
You're not wrong, at least from me on this occasion. I really don't like what you've done with Zecora.
You've made Pinkie right: She's an evil enchantress.
I like the title. Calculus is great.
6899370
I am honestly surprised that you're the first to bring that up in full. Some people disliked the singing or thought the curse was harsh since it seemed to force him to act, but they haven't really questioned Zecora herself (at least not in the comments). That was the biggest thing I was worried about. I was cognizant that it might happen upon rereading what I wrote, but I simply couldn't see it from having too much fun writing it.
I mean, unless I granted multiple chapters of Zecora -- which would be too tangential -- I'm relying on Zecora's actions in the show to make it clear she isn't evil, but between author's insight and fun bias I couldn't be sure how much anyone would relate in-story Zecora to in-show Zecora. You all just might assume my Zecora was different enough not to trust what the show set as precedence -- namely the fact that Zecora doesn't cast curses in show, and that doing so the first time now in-story suggests she doesn't like it.
Perhaps I'm taking things too far though... Not much I can do now though besides try and make it clear the curse is relatively benign.
6900436
I don't mind the curse itself; such a thing could reasonably exist in the world of ponies, and I can clearly see that the compulsion is solely musical and not making him do something (else) he doesn't want to do, nor is it making him think something he doesn't want to think. My problem is solely in the use of Zecora as the source of the curse.
There's a point where you use, "regents" when I believe that the word that you were looking for was, "reagents."
Your interpretation of Zecora evokes in me feelings of dislike for her accompanied with a certain love for her character so as to make me unsure of how I truly feel about her; quite appropriate for one said to have been trained by beings who feed on curiosity and sow confusion wherever they go. Very well done.
6906299
Of their own volition still means they could have still been coerced or tricked into signing it without knowing the full concequences until afterward. Thats what makes it difficult for her to call it a merciful death. Not many would have the proper mindset to deal with that.
As to Twilight, context clues don't help if she doesn't have context. If, for example, she's creeped out by the idea of mercy killing a race, but still understands it. Her context of the situation is skewed. It's talked about only briefly and vaguely, so I assumed she needed more context.
6906458
Stabilization plate -- a plate or rod within the leg designed to snap into place and fill the holes in their legs. Provides added strength and stability to prevent breaking in certain situations.
I can't flat out info dump that though, so I took time to show hot it a bit over several chapters to give an idea of what it's for.
It's a little gross by human/pony standards, but savoring an emotion goes beyond simply detecting it. He is in essence, putting the love in his metaphorical mouth and refusing to swallow. Get surprised and you bite off more than you can chew, although bite is perhaps the wrong word here. He only bites what hes going to absorb. That was option one to stop him from choking. Bite a managable amount and swallow. Option two is upchucking what he almost accidentaly absorbed back up.
He's a shapeshifter in a much more literal sense than magical. He doesn't instantly transform completely like a druid into an animal in dnd. There's little steps like redistributing mass to make his chitin feel softer and more pliant like skin. There's shifting internal organs to mimic certain aspects of certain species like how pegasi probably have larger lungs to breath more air at high altitude. There's smaller cosmetic details like making the blood red instead of green. It's all a number of small shifts combined with illusions.
6906114
Great! That was kinda what I was going for. She's still Zecora. There's just another side we haven't seen before. One she usual abstains from using.
6905615
Heh... That face is most likely an apt description at least 80% of the time.
As for the I/ve. Thinking of ve as a we parallel for a group of changelings isn't strictly right. I mean, I chose ve because it looks like we and is easier to parse for readers when push comes to shove, but it's in a murky limbo between that and inside out. I think of it as a changeling being a local client computer and the Hivemind ve representing when they access the server. What kind of data they access can vary. It's not just other changelings yelling at him. At the same time this new data grants a new perspective compared to being the singular "client". A more artistic description might be exactly how inside out works at that point. All the extra incoming data leads not to emotions but stand points that argue in your head until ve reach a conclusion. It's still you making the decision. It's just you with a different perspective.
Anyways, sorry if that's confusing. The I/ve conundrum is something I have a lot of fun establishing guidelines and rules for, but it's very hard to articulate. It's mostly better for you to think about it however you interpret it from reading, which is kinda neat really. Makes it act like an actual cultural barrier.
6906584
I... suppose Celestia's reaction could be explained away by the assumption that he would, for some reason, trick his entire race into signing away their lives for the sake of his own ego, or whatever reason she assumes he would pointlessly condemn his entire race. It is true that she has no real reason to trust him besides what she saw of him in that short time, but that still feels like an incredibly dickish assumption to make about someone who's literally begging you for help.
That, by itself, is a pretty good baseline for understanding what the word "genocide" means. There were more than enough context clues to connect the word to that, at the very least.
All that stuff about changeling biology should be explained in the story. Yeah, info-dumping it all at once may not be the best idea, but throwing it out there in a situation where the reader is supposed to understand it without any explanation whatsoever is even worse. Understanding whatever the hell is going on with the hivemind that isn't really a hivemind--or whatever it is--is hard enough without having to try and figure out how everything else about works them as well.
And your explanation of their "shapeshifting" makes no sense either. He either changed an aspect of himself or he didn't. Even if he does it in individual bits and pieces that fact remains true. If he has those plates and holes in his legs, then he doesn't have normal, holeless pony legs. If he has chitin, he doesn't have fur like a normal pony. Everything you described of him in the story is describing him still being a changeling with nothing but an illusion making him look like a pony, and that's not shapeshifting.
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Perhaps, but the early chapters are the rougher ones. I may revamp them again eventually, but for now I'm simply moving the story on. Also, remember it's a comedy, one that can be quite dry. There's often a bizarre mix of seriousness and joking, and I admit it can be hard to see the joke in something I write sometimes. The genocide comment, the choking, the "to the sun voice" many of these start as half-joking half-serious improvisations that evolve into more. They come to fill in the little bits of the bigger generic ideas I have.
Show vs. Tell. You've probably heard of it, and I'm not using it as an excuse, because I obviously failed to show it to you, but that's what I was doing, and that's one of the fundamental weaknesses of showing rather than telling. Plenty of people got enough info from what I wrote to satisfy them, but you didn't, and that's because everyone thinks of things differently. You think of things differently enough that my attempts to show rather than tell failed.
Except Illusions as a form of magic are generally considered mind affecting with absolutely nothing about them being real in most settings. As an example, casting an illusion spell to make a wooden coin look like a nickel one does nothing to stop the coin from feeling wooden rather than metal. That is an illusion, and the changelings do use them in their disguises. Physically changeling yourself on a small scale is transmutation though. You are actually changing -- actually shifting rather than making it look like you are. If you redistribute mass to make a certain section of chitin more pliant, soft, and skin like, that's an actual physical change. You claim that to be an illusion, but it's an illusion in the stage magician slight of hand sense than in an actual magic sense. So yes it's an illusion when looking at the grand scheme of things, but the step by step process involves both magical illusions and actual physical transmutations. These transmutations are shape shifting, just in a very technical and precise sense meant to augment the illusion spells composing most of their disguise.
Oh I am enjoying this story greatly!
6906603 Actually the server/client metaphor makes a lot of sense, thanks.
6907810 No, I said she should destroy the contract. She only modified it.
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Yeah, I know the difference between a transmutation and an illusion. To be nit picky about it, most fantasy settings actually have illusions as a form of physical screen, one that doesn't affect the mind of the person seeing it at all. In fact, with the exception of a few sub schools in D&D (patterns and phantasms, to be specific), the only setting I've ever seen have illusion as an inherently mind-affecting school of magic, in all of its aspects, is the Elder Scrolls series.
But you completely ignored the part where I pointed out that if he still has the holes in his legs, and he still has his chitin, he didn't change himself. All he did was overlay his normal form with an illusion of normal legs and pink fur. If he had actually changed those aspects of himself, his changeling anatomy would no longer be present in his new form.
You keep trying to sound all technical about this, but in reality it's very very simple: he either changed an aspect of himself or he didn't. Twilight and Spike walked out and saw a pink pegasus mare, with feathered wings and normal legs and fur and everything. Yet when he hit the ground, according to the description, he still had the holes in his legs, and when he stood back up he touched his chitin. That would be impossible if he had actually changed himself to look like a pegasus. The only way that that is possible is if he overlaid his normal form with the image of normal pegasus features.
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And you're missing the parts where it's shown he does more. Do you want an over the top multipage in def explanation of every little change he goes through at once? Or would you rather I not info dump and give the tiny transmutations/ methods of alteration piece meal over various chapters. Is it that hard to assume there are a number of small changes going on that you aren't being given? Off the top of my head, throughout the day he seals the holes in his legs closed with the stabilization plates when needed, transmutes his blood color from green to red, alters the thickness of his chitin where necessary -- but only when he's sure of contact -- and those are only the parts I wrote as occurring throughout the day. Two of those three occurs when he needs them, and there are a slew of things I didn't explicitly explain because it would be pointless to do so. Do you want to hear about the replacement or changing of a bunch of internal organs or the process of making themselves fatter or thinner through changing their density? They are not shapeshifters so much as they are shape shifters. They shift their shape in various ways to augment their illusions going.
Understanding this story is like understanding Calculus: there are just so many little bits and pieces and rules that need to be kept track of. I love it.
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I have only just heard of them and I already hate them. That sounds utterly obnoxious.
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Yes, most of them are obnoxious. Zecora is what I imagine a tolerable one to be.
Oh my god, Pinkie was right all along. I don't see any evil dances yet, though.
The malpractitioners are humorously similar to a similar group in my own version of Equestria, known as the Anathema
Both groups would argue that the other is more evil and find the other to be distasteful even though they both cure using curses and are equally enigmatic by necessity.
The great clash between these two fictional groups meeting would come from the differences in their craft: Malpractioner spells warp reality through deep knowledge and are fueled by ambitious curiosity; Anathema spells warp reality through purposeful ignorance and are fueled by spiteful apathy.
Either group would easily counter the spells of the other, but neither group could cast their magic on the other directly.
), and a Malpracticioner's hidden self and knowledge of reality gives their existence too much evidence to be affected by the delusion magic of an Anathema.
An Anathema is unable to interact with or be interacted by anything they cannot conceptualize which makes them immune to or untargetable by a Malpracticioner's esoteric spellcasting techniques(it goes over their head, literally
This was a fun thought adventure! Thanks for creating the Malpracticioners!
I will continue reading this excellent story.
Zecora is a troll. Huh.
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Mysterious, enchanting, their magic works through blessing and curses (sometimes both at once), taking from you as much as giving in...Are Malpracticioners inspired in the Fair Folk?
Malpractioners=Illuminati