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T H E C O N V E R S I O N B U R E A U :
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CROSS THE AMAZON
By Chatoyance
Chapter Nineteen: Little Lulu and Her Magic Tricks
It had taken Calloway hours of driving and glancing down before his sleep-deprived brain finally worked out that the labels were a joke. A very nerdy joke, about very old things.
There were sixteen old-fashioned dial gauges hacked into the dashboard of the Big Truck. Each gauge tracked the level of fuel in a specific tank that had been bolted or welded into the open bed. The rear of the Big Truck was basically an eclectic collection of diverse, assorted fuel tanks. No two were identical in size or shape. It was almost a museum exhibit of fuel tank artistry through the ages.
Each gauge was associated with a valve and tubing, and every gauge had a printed label affixed to the glass. The fuel tanks had names. Calloway had worked out that the valves opened a line to the truck itself - the Big Truck could store fuel for others in discreet tanks, or drain those tanks for its own use. During lulls in the driving, Calloway had tried to work out the why of it all.
The best answer he could come up with was that the owner of the Big Truck must act as a sort of fuel banker. Fuel, likely scavenged from wherever, possibly manufactured if equipment still existed and still functioned, might be banked in the Big Truck for later. The big truck banker had the right to take a cut of the fuel directly for himself. Perhaps it acted as a mobile fuel bank, rescuing stranded miners or delivering stored fuel when requested. Certainly it was protected by quite a large gang.
Alternatively, the Big Truck might have been the treasure vault of some local fuel mafia. Whatever the actual purpose of the Big Truck within its community, a lot of attention had been given to making it fancy. Lights, music - everything, sadly, but air conditioning. Perhaps air conditioning wasn't macho somehow.
The joke of the dial labels stretched even Calloway's knowledge of pre-Collapse media. Apparently, the denizens of the Southamerican Production Zone did not rate anything new. It seemed that all they were allotted down south was ancient media. Calloway liked Pre-Collapse stuff, but these people were still living in that time as far as what they watched or listened to. Except for the Hamburger Lord. But then he had been very rich, once.
McCoy, Whittaker, Cushing, McGann, Hartnell. Names, certainly, but of who? Other gauges read Davison, Baker, Tennant, and Capaldi. Sixteen tanks, sixteen names. Eccleston, Hurt, Pertwee - Of course! It was that old, old show... Professor Whom! Or... Doctor Which... it was about that guy with a time machine and some kid with a floating skateboard or something - AH! 'Box To The Future!' That was the name of it - Box To The Future! The time machine was this big blue packing crate or something. And they were always replacing the main actor, so that was why there were sixteen gauges. Wow, they liked the obscure stuff down here!
Nearly every last name, nearly every last tank was empty now. Calloway opened the valve for 'Traughton'. It was the last useful tank of the sixteen, and it had not started full. A great deal of the contents had been used up, or portioned out, before they had even begun their stolen drive.
A quick glance in the mirror reminded Calloway that the armada, and the Barrier were still behind them, and even closer than before.
Calloway and Dropspindle had found a means to keep pressing on, day after day. Calloway had taught Dropspindle how to drive. She had become pretty good at it, actually. Dropspindle only had to generate four thaumatic fields, and with their meager water gone, the importance of keeping a lid on the jars was no longer an issue. Neither could go without sleep indefinitely, and microsleeps were dangerous at best.
Dropspindle would use one field for the accelerator, one for the brake, and two for the steering wheel. She had insisted that one for the wheel was sufficient, but Calloway had argued that he felt safer if she used two. They had endured a short argument about the issue, but in the end, Dropspindle relented. At least while Calloway was awake. When he nodded off, she simply encompassed the entire wheel in a single, larger field, and made the wheel a direct extension of her will. It was difficult, she reasoned, for humans to comprehend what telekinetic control really represented - they were stuck thinking of every grip in terms of 'hands' alone.
"Dropspindle? Droppers! Wake up! Shift change!" Calloway was exhausted, having driven through the night. The morning was well over, and the sky ahead was diffuse but bright. The sky behind was also bright - shockingly so, as the Barrier reflected the light of day like a mirror from their angle. "DROPSPINDLE!!!"
"Huh? What?" Dropspindle struggled to clamber back up into her seat. She had slid gradually down to the floorboards, pouring through the loose seat belts like a liquid blob of pony. "What's going... oh. Yeah." She took an upright position in her car seat, as best she could, with her tail to the side, and her hips angled to that purpose. "Ʌǂ ʑɵȝʚ ?"
Calloway considered. "Neih whehh... Neih whehh... 'Neih' is 'what-how-where-when' sort of... and 'Wheh'... sorry... 'Whehh' can represent... uh, 'self, you, the situation'... you're asking... basically, you're asking 'What up?' or 'What's the situation now?', right?"
Dropspindle nodded and smiled. "ƔƔʘ!"
"Hah! I can't say it exactly the same... don't have the mouth for it... but I feel like I can at least sort of mimic the sounds you make. And I'm learning." Calloway yawned. "Um... WhiHiHi Hunhh Huuh... Nehii hehh hnn!"
"What?"
"I was trying to ask what you wanted for breakfast." Calloway nodded at the two remaining choices, a Nanobar, and a synthetic Tandoori Chicken Foodpak. Both contained the same amount of real meat, which meant Dropspindle could eat either freely. Not with impunity, but freely.
"Um... you kind of asked what dung I wanted placed in my face. Sort of." Dropspindle giggled.
"Then I said it right, after all. Take your pick." Calloway grinned and steered the truck carefully down a fairly steep embankment to a lower level of rolling hills and stumps.
"I'm... I'm not actually hungry. Thirsty though. I am so thirsty I could drink a lake!" Dropspindle worked her tongue around her mouth, trying to paint what saliva she could inside her own inner cheeks and palate.
"Can you smell any water? Give it a go, what the hell, right?" Calloway had hoped that superior Equestrian senses might detect water in the desert as they traveled. They had gotten into a routine of Dropspindle hanging her head out like a dog and sniffing the breeze, scanning for anything drinkable. It hadn't worked yet, but at least it was something.
"ґⱴⱴ¬."
"So nay, basically." Calloway chuckled at his own joke. Dropspindle just tilted her head quizzically. "You seemed to be having quite a dream. Lots of noises and you mumbled out loud in Equestrian quite a lot."
"What'd I say?"
"I have no idea. But you were having a hell of a time, I can tell you that." Calloway noted that the amount of debris was increasing. More rocks and stumps.
"I was being chastised by an animal all night." Dropspindle tried to lick the dryness off of her front teeth. It tasted awful. "I've been having dreams on and off about it for a while now, remember? I thought it was a squirrel or something... anyway, it's a talking animal, and it didn't even have hooves! All night long, it berated me for not studying harder in school. I think it took place in school. Hard to remember."
"The hell?" Calloway laughed. He had not expected ponies to have dreams like that. He'd expected they would dream about... candy or muffins or something.
"Yeah, I know! And not just any class, oh no, it had to be Miss Dweomer's class." Dropspindle's ears went low. "My first magic teacher. 'A unicorn is known by her horn, to use her horn is why she was born!' - what a naggy-baggy she was! I had trouble making fields from the start, and her nagging me didn't help. To this day I can only make five, most unicorns make six... I think I told you that already. Anyway, what I didn't tell you was..."
Calloway placed a hand over her muzzle. "English, remember? I want to hear, really I do. But we're trying to keep what you have... just in case. It's my fault." He put his hand back on the wheel. "I shouldn't have asked. I forgot because I'm tired and... I miss talking. I miss chatting with you. I'm trying to learn Equestrian but... It's really hard when your mouth doesn't make all the sounds."
Dropspindle nodded. She thought a moment then added "ɵȝ¸₮₹ʚ¤."
"Learn? Teacher? Teaching?" Calloway couldn't see much behind anymore because of the steep slope blocking most of the view in that direction. "School? Hn-wiin... and then that sound I can't do. 'hllu...hnn' or something. You mentioned your magic teacher already."
"That strange animal tried to teach me something, but you woke me before I could learn it!" Dropspindle was excited about her dream. "It was something really neat too. I wish I could remember..."
"I wish we didn't have to worry about the possibility of you forgetting English!" Calloway frowned. "God, I wish there was some water out here too. And maybe a nice airship port with regular flights to Cape Town and a nice restaurant while our flight is prepared. Now enough dreaming - I need you to drive for a while so that I can..."
It was just a glance, the briefest glance. The small slope down was far behind now, and the armada had cleared it. They were arrayed behind, a huge line of desperate vehicles trying to keep ahead of the Barrier.
They were failing.
The wall of shimmering light had accelerated suddenly, its speed horrendous and terrifying. Calloway's ears popped and popped again. Dropspindle shrieked and pressed her forehooves to her pinna. The change in air pressure could be felt in their bodies, in their chest and barrel. "My god..."
The most distant, lagging cars and trucks in the armada began to panic, weaving back and forth. One lost control and spun, flipped and rolled over and over on the hard ground. In seconds it was swallowed by the advancing Barrier Of Equestria. The global smog layer above wrinkled and rolled, pushed ahead of the advancing Barrier, all the way to the front of Calloway and Dropspindle's view. Above them blue sky suddenly replaced the omnipresent gray. Again their ears popped and their chests felt pressed. Half of the entire horizon was rushing them, smashing forward with impossible speed. Though Calloway had the accelerator floored, the sensation was that they, and the armada, were somehow sliding backward, falling into an impossibly vast ocean of vertical water.
"FUCK FUCK FUCK! WE AREN'T GONNA MAKE IT!" Calloway screamed, his eyes wide in terror. One by one, cars, buggies, trucks and bikes were being swallowed behind the Big Truck. They were still distant, but it was clear they could not begin to hope to outrun the sudden forward rush of the Great Barrier.
A colorful, gaudily- painted jitney raced in desperation as the Great Wall of color and light swept swiftly over it. Calloway could just make out some kind of burst on the other side. Butterflies? Candy? Ribbons? It was impossible to tell at such great distance, but whatever the vehicle and its occupants had become, there had been a lot of it, and it had been very colorful - but it also had been anything but a jitney and an unknown number of passengers.
"CHRIST - THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!" Calloway's eyes were round in terror, his pupils small. He couldn't help but keep taking terrified glances behind him while trying to keep the Big Truck moving hopelessly forward at top speed.
At least ten cars, bikes and buggies lost the race almost simultaneously. They fell through the Barrier and splashes of hue and ripples fanned out where they had once been. It looked like colorful, wet fireworks, or perhaps like drops of multicolored ink spreading through a pool. And then even that was gone, the racing wall a pure, liquid shimmer reflecting an alien world once more.
The Barrier was coming - and it was coming unbelievably fast! Dropspindle pressed her forehooves to her muzzle as she watched, in horror, as nine more vehicles fell behind, one by one, like stones tossed into a well. Plip. Ploop. Plop. And the cars, and their riders, were no more. They were not Converted, they were made of earthly meat and earthly metal. They would not still be cars and people on the other side.
In the fourth year, the Barrier had learned a new trick. Instead of acting as a solid, impenetrable wall to primate tissues, it began accepting them. It had already learned to transform small creatures - insects, mutie-rats and such - into Equestrian forms. Bunnies and birds, butterflies and even fish to populate ponds when they appeared. Some scientists imagined that the Barrier might one day learn to transform humans all by itself. By the fifth year, it had become clear that the Barrier could learn, but it could not learn such a complex task soon enough. Human flesh now went through... but it did not become pony on the other side at all.
Dropspindle stared in fear and wonder at an astonishing thing. The vehicle was an adapted double-decker bus, crimson, with a white stripe. Spare fuel tanks had been randomly welded to the sides, it seemed bulky and mutated but it moved surprisingly fast on its partially jacked, oversized tires.
As she watched, tiny shapes emerged from inside to stand in the isle, and on the seats, that covered the top of the bus. They stood tall and unafraid. Some raised their arms high and apart. One seemed, perhaps, to salute - the distance was too great to be certain. As the bus drove flat out, tiny passengers continued to gather on the roof. In the last moment, just before the shining Wall swallowed them, they all raised their arms high, as if they were on some amusement ride.
There was a burst of color and spreading ripples, and then there was just the Barrier... placid, like a lake that covered half of the sky.
"Oh, god Dropspindle, oh god, oh god, I thought we would make it I thought we would actually make it but this, this, this isn't... we aren't gonna survive this one, there is just no way we're gonna get out of this one..." Calloway's knuckles were white. He didn't even glance back anymore. All he could do was stare straight ahead, a deathgrip on the wheel, his foot flat to the floorboards crushing the accelerator. "Forgive me, Dropspindle. I couldn't save you, you saved me, you tried to save me anyway, but I couldn't keep us alive and I tried, I really tried and I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."
The Great Barrier devoured the last remaining vehicle in the armada. It was a very fast motorbike with a curiously bright flag. When the Wall took it, and the bike and its rider exploded into something like confetti and colors, the flag flew up, carried by powerful winds. As the flag twisted and floated on the other side, in the brief moment before the incredible forces of the Exponential Lands on the other side swept it away, Dropspindle recognized it.
The flag was colorful because it was a pair of human trousers imbued with the magical essence of beautifying rainbow fire.
And then it too, was gone.
Dropspindle sank back into her seat. Her rib hurt, but she did not care. She turned her head and watched Calloway drive. He had become part of the machine around him, functioning robotically, knowing only the task of avoiding obstacles and pressing onward as fast as the engine would allow.
He didn't even react when the engine sputtered as 'Traughton', the very last tank, ran entirely out of gas.
The Big Truck slowed down. Calloway kept trying to make it go fast, but it wouldn't. The fuel was gone. The Big Truck would flee no more. It went slower and slower, the silence of the engine deafening despite the rumble of wheels on rough soil. Finally the Big Truck stopped entirely. Calloway pressed the accelerator over and over. He turned his bloodless, pale face to Dropspindle.
"Run."
They were out of the truck now, running, running as fast as they could, despite the heat, despite the complete pointlessness of the act. Pony and human, man and mare, they put foot after foot, hoof after hoof, dripping with sweat, breathless and beyond thought.
The Barrier behind them jerked forward in a blink. It halved the remaining distance with a bright flash of thaumatic light.
"THAT'S CHEATING!" Only Dropspindle saw, because only Dropspindle possessed a flexible enough neck to run and look back at the same time. As she returned her concentration solely to running forward once more, the anger in her built. Anger at the stupid humans who couldn't be bothered to get their stupid asses converted in time. Anger at the idiocy of chasing them over a single stupid stolen truck. Anger that the beautiful Mamá Gansa being shot down for no Celestia-damned reason at ALL! Anger at that STUPID LUNA-FUCKED CALLOWAY WHO STARTED THIS ENTIRE CLUSTERFUCK IN THE FIRST SHIT-ASSED PLACE! ANGER AT THAT STUPID DARK BLUE ANIMAL IN THE DREAM GOING ON AND ON ABOUT HOW FUCKING SIMPLE IT WAS TO
Calloway hurt all over. His eyes ached, his arms tingled. He couldn't move his legs at first. Everything smelled like burned hair and overdone pork-like simumeat product. Gradually he found he could move his legs. They felt like spikes were jabbing them.
He curled, slightly, changing from laying on his back to his side. His clothing looked singed, almost burned. There was a rhythmic hushing sound roaring softly. He lay there and listened for a while, waiting for the tingling pain to stop, and his hands to obey his commands. Shhhhh....Hushhhhhh. Shhhhh....Hushhhhhh. It sounded like waves. Like waves hitting a beach.
The breeze shifted and Calloway found himself sniffing. For a moment the smell of burned hair and pork was replaced with salt and metals and chemical poisons. And water. He forced himself up on one barely working arm. It was an effort to raise his head, and another burden to focus his eyes. Gray, dirty, polluted water stretched as far as his eyes could see, all under a blanket of smog. It was waves. It was the ocean.
It hurt, but he gradually forced himself to look behind. He was on sand. Beach sand. Sand and bits of material washed up by the sea. Chunks of building materials, piles of plastic bottles and old romball cases. Ropy strands of fibers in every color. Old tires and sea-worn hunks of ancient driftwood.
And the Barrier. The Great Barrier of Equestria, dividing the entire world in half. A wall that stretched to infinity, to the left, to the right, and above. It did not move anymore. It stood quiet, immobile, at equilibrium.
Calloway stared at the Wall for some time, as he sat and rubbed his singed limbs. He felt dazed and confused. It was difficult to think. There were little black spots and patches all over his skin. It looked like he had been sprayed with tiny drops of ink. Of course. The Barrier. He was lucky to still be something other than ashes, blowing on the wind. The Barrier, right there, right behind him, less than eight meters away. He was only eight meters from the Great Barrier and he was still alive. He had actually touched the Barrier once. Years ago when it was solid to humans. As a guest of the elite. They had all the calculations and had arranged a picnic inside a cancellation zone. A place where the thaumatic energies cancelled each other and you could walk right up and put a hand on the Barrier and it wouldn't hurt you. He remembered his hand sliding off. It just felt hard, solid but utterly frictionless.
This must be like that. A cancellation zone. Anywhere else, and he would be dust floating on the breeze... black ashes and white, gleaming bones.
Calloway couldn't see Dropspindle. Not from where he was, sitting on his butt. He moved to a position of knees and hands. He tried standing up, but fell down. Everything tingled and hurt, and smoldered too, as if he had been hit by lightning. Maybe he had. Lightning in the dead, dry desert? Why not? The world was insane now. More insane.
Calloway finally made it to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily for some time. The constant shissshing of the ocean was hypnotic. He wanted to just collapse, fall to the sand and sleep. But he had to find Dropspindle. She had to be here. She just had to be.
He stumbled and made his first few steps. No sign of the Big Truck. No sign of the desert, for that matter. They were on a beach, eight meters from the Barrier of Equestria, beside the ocean. The only ocean he could think of was the South Atlantic. Was this Paraíba? Alagoas? Ceará? Somehow they had traveled hundreds of kilometers. It didn't make sense. It wasn't possible, was it?
Dropspindle lay on the other side of a pile of tires and driftwood. Her mane and coat were singed too, and smelled like burned hair. Her horn looked rough and lightly charred, as if it had been touched by fire. Calloway stumbled to her and collapsed beside her prone form. She seemed asleep... or dead. Afraid, he checked her barrel. It rose and fell, slowly. She was breathing. She was alive.
He lay on his back and caught his breath. Even his lungs felt singed. What had happened? How could they have survived? How could they be here, on the coast of the Southamerizone. Assuming this was the Southamerizone, of course. So tired. Everything hurt. He had just awakened, yet he was so exhausted he just wanted to go back to sleep. He forced his body to move again and cuddled in close to Dropspindle's back. He buried his face in her mane and slid an arm over her belly. He patted her belly, feeling the warm, animal comfort of her fur. The ocean breeze was cool, compared to the middle of the continent. Her warmth was comforting and soft.
Before he knew it, he was asleep.
Gah. Beachhanger. :)
Wow I called it I totally called it woot.
Earlier today I had been Theorizing about how Dropspindle and Calloway were gonna get out of that one and I the idea of Dropspindle teleporting them came to mind. In any case it would seem their not as alone as they thought they were.
Of course now the question is how much longer are they gonna be safe? The barriers stopped for now, but at 8 meters its only the distance between where I'm sitting and my kitchen.
Droppers can teleport! Chang'e/Luna taught her how!
¡The Doctor! ¡At least 16 Doctors! I wonder whether some of them are Doctrices. When we get a Doctrix, we should have a run of Doctrices:
Given that we have only the example from dialogue of the Corsair and 1 onscreen example of the Mistress out of about a score of regenerations being transgender, transgenender-regenerations seem more difficult. Statistically, this is improbable if one assumes that the odds of regenerating as either male or female is 50%/50%, this is unlikely. It seems that one is far more likely to regenerate as the gender one was than go through a transgender-regeneration. Logically, after the 1st Doctrix, we should have a run of 5 to 10 Doctrices before a return to a Doctor. I wonder whether the name of the show will change to "Doctrix Who", with a change in the running joke:
The Doctrix:
"I am the Doctrix."
Random New Character of the Week:
"¿Doctrix Who?"
The Doctrix:
"Just the Doctrix."
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I am convinced the next Doctor, after Capaldi, will be a woman.
I am also convinced it could be awesome. In the parody Who episode 'The Curse Of Fatal Death', Joanna Lumley played the Doctor and she was... exquisite. Just marvelous.
And I have to say I just plain love Missy. Michelle Gomez is AMAZING! I am glad she will be back. The best Master since Roger Delgado himself, I think. Though Anthony Ainely did a pretty darn good job, in my opinion. I literally loathed John Simm as the Master. God, what a prat. The Master should never be a prat. The Master should be smart, and he/she should be dangerous and scary and sinister and fun. John Simm was a sad clown. He seemed more like an internet troll than the Doctor's greatest frenemy.
In my mind, at least two of those sixteen Doctors are women.
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I would put it at 4 Doctrices myself.
A Barrier that converted absolutely everything that passed through it, humans included, would be an interesting variation universe indeed. Much like how the social dynamic was turned on its ear with the introduction of an ever-growing Barrier (the original story had one that stopped after reaching a certain size), a ponifying Barrier would adjust human attitudes towards the decision before them. The only way to defy Equestria then would be to more proactively seek death. Perhaps being converted at the Barrier would be similar to taking potion without the anesthetic component, so there is still incentive to seek out Converstion Bureaus to avoid suffering.
I know Chat explored this idea in a short story, but that story had a fast Barrier and, much like fast zombies, a fast Barrier is cheating. The story was satire, though, not a serious exploration of the concept. I think, if they had the option and the power to do so, the royal sisters would indeed make a Purple Barrier.
Of course air conditioning is unmacho! Real men sweat! No, they ooze a cooling layer of testosterone! YEAH!
Ahem. Sorry about that.
I have to appreciate a Doctor Who reference when our heroes' strategy is "Basically, run." I also love the melding together of will-be-obscure media in Calloway's mind.
And that climax. Never has the term "fabric of time and space" been more apt. Hopefully someone will find these two before Calloway dies of magic burns.
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I'm fairly certain this won't happen unless the united masses of tumblr mount a campaign to make the BBC feel embarrassed to NOT have a woman doctor in the name of political correctness.
Just like the Doctor has never been ginger despite his protestations and wishes, the Doctor has never been made a woman. And in both cases, it would be a sincere disappointment to a great number of long-time fans. In the latter case, it might even cause an exodus from the fanbase -- not because the fans have a problem with the Doctor being a woman, no; I think Whovians in general are forward-thinking and open-minded enough that no significant population of fans would be this painfully sexist.
The hints and hooks that it would be POSSIBLE for the Doctor to be ginger, or to be female, are part of creating the sense of the infinity of possibilities in the universe. The Doctor COULD be anything at all. ANYTHING can happen.
To actually DO it would damage that. If the Doctor were to be made a redhead for one regeneration, then that would be the end of it. You couldn't talk about how the Doctor wants to be ginger anymore. The running gag would be forever ruined. You would have closed off a vast swath of the infinity of possibilities, and you would have damaged the opportunity to hint at that infinity.
If the Doctor were to regenerate female, it would be all of that -- and worse.
The color of the Doctor's hair is, ultimately, a negligible part of his character. He's been blond, brown, gray, white, straight, wavy, shorter, longer.
The Doctor's personality varies too, we all know that. He's been a tougher guy sometimes, and a more sensitive guy sometimes, but underneath it all, there are certain things about the Doctor that are constant from regeneration to regeneration. He's curious. He's quirky. He's adventuresome. He cares about doing what's right even if you have to break the rules to do it. These constants are vital to giving viewers a sense of continuity about the character -- when the Doctor regenerates, no matter what happens in that great infinity of possibilities, you can always know that underneath the surface features, both physical and emotional, he's still the same core character inside, and changing THAT core character isn't something that just happens from regeneration but rather from the experiences that make him grow and develop.
If the Doctor were to regenerate female, it's not just cutting off the possible mysteries of the future... it would be changing one of the things that's always been a constant about him. And it wouldn't be meaningful -- it would be capricious, changing something just for the sake of changing it. It would be a catch-22 in terms of representing transgender, too; there's no winning: no matter how they portray the character, something will lose. Is she too male to be a real woman? Is she too female to be the same character? Is the change so irrelevant to the character that it isn't treated with proper gravity, or does it take up all the focus in order to explore that at the cost of exploring the universe? It's the kind of change that writers will feel COMPELLED to do something with, lest they be accused of ignoring it or writing the character as a man that happens to look like a woman.
And speaking of compulsion, that's the worst part of it all: Even if the writers are utterly brilliant and manage to balance all of those factors and preserve a consistent representation of the character without offending anyone... it would be a change that would have happened because, outside of the universe of the story, the show's creative direction was hijacked by a group of people that shamed the creators into doing what THEY wanted to see. Can you even TRUST it anymore after that? What's the next activist group that's going to force a change on our beloved Doctor?
Errata note: A human targeted by a spell in the teleportation subschool always takes Mageburn damage equal to a "Mishap" roll on the results table for the Teleport spell, even if the spell used cannot result in damage normally. This damage is in addition to any damage resulting normally from the spell, and cannot be mitigated or resisted. A human reduced to 0 or fewer hit points by this damage becomes a pile of ashes, per the Disintegrate spell.
[Edit: Sorry. Pathfinder group was yesterday, and I was kinda getting in that mood already when I made the comment. -Sylvester Devoss, level 14 human druid, along with a couple other campaign-specific titles]
Sisters, that's terrifying... I was freaking out READING this chapter!
So, uh... Emergency teleport for the win? Scarred and charred, but alive. I imagine there's going to be a very heartfelt talk with lots of tears and yelling in short order, no matter what.
Cute moment though? Calloway learning Equestrian is rather adorable.
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I would argue it thus: throughout the adventure, Calloway has tried - clumsily, but tried - to be nice, in his way, to Dropspindle. He has shown guilt and shame over being the pampered pet of the elite, which is why he was so unhappy with the Burger Lord of Santa Maria de Nieva. His disaffected behavior from the start should reasonably mark someone unhappy with his earthly life, his isolation in that cave in Peru indicative of a cowardly nature holding him back. Several times in the story, he has monologued about how he thinks Equestria and Equestrians represent a better direction. In many ways, his actions have been courting behavior towards Dropspindle, even if he would not admit as much.
Calloway is the product of his time and his life, but he is not a mean or uncaring man. I would submit that just as Dropspindle has, over the course of their struggle, grown more and more human in her thinking, just to survive and cope - Calloway has been increasingly reviled at that very way of being after seeing it arise within Dropspindle.
I would argue that Dropspindle's humanization is, in its way, as much a shock for Calloway, as dealing with the harsh realities of earth is a shock to Dropspindle. Calloway has been shown, by example, what earthly struggle means because of its effect on a native Equestrian. By now, he would be horrified - and has stated as much - at the thought of Dropspindle progressing any farther down the path this adventure has taken her.
Drospindle has lost her faith, while Calloway has gained what she has lost. They are meeting somewhere in the middle, I submit - Dropspindle hardened by survival on earth, and Calloway softened by seeing innocence sullied in her. In such a situation, perhaps the only being that could catch Dropspindle before she fell entirely from grace would be a creature who has found the value of climbing up to it.
Each has been changed by what they have seen in the other. This is the core of my argument.
And very possibly, the core of the story itself.
Oh dear Celestia, the Barrier learned how to program Forth...
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FIXED!
That...was...close!
Like Dropsindle there, I've had dreams ending off right as I was about to get answers or something cool happen. Gaaah!
BOX TO THE FUTURE?!
Small dark blue animal ..?
Chang'e, did you just teach Dropspindle how to teleport?