• Published 22nd Jun 2012
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My Little Changeling -- "I" is Magic - Wing Dancer



In the far north, where changelings live, change begins -- a single changeling learns to think...

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Cleanup

Lucky Draw was a simple stallion. He had a wife and foal, some friends at work, pay that was more than enough to live humbly in Canterlot…in short, he was happy. His jimmies were in perfect condition, rustled lightly every now and then by the white noise of a simple and fulfilling life.

Right now, he felt like his jimmies were flipped by a dragon, stomped upon by a cow stampede and sent to the moon with hellfire tracing a blazing path in its wake.

There he was, bound like a pig on a rodeo show, the shadows of Celestia and the mysterious monster stallion looming over him. Alcohol was just a faint memory by now, replaced by a stream, nay, a torrent of adrenaline. His stomach practiced backflips and somersaults, asking his bowels to drop whatever they were doing and join in. The colt’s eyes were darting between the two figures who just stared. They watched him for an eternity, a time in which his mind skimmed through many scenarios of the near future. Most of them made his buttocks tighten themselves so much they could probably crack nuts.

“Explain yourself, guard,” said Celestia, her voice chilling the very marrow of Draw’s bones.

“I, uh, um, I-” gurgled the eavesdropper. He was slowly starting to develop wall eyes from trying to look at the mare and colt at the same time.

“Why were you spying on us?” asked the princess again, lowering her head. As soon as she took a sniff, she retreated, wrinkling her nose and lowering her ears. “Ugh. You smell of alcohol,” she complained, waving a hoof.

Lucky Draw gulped. His left eye focused on the stallion. His horrible face was hard to read, but he could swear that the brute was smiling. Luna, what an ugly mug.

“I doubt he is a spy,” sighed the sun goddess, catching the attention of both colts. “It is disappointing to see a royal guard in such a state. I’m afraid that some form of punishment is due.”

This is it. Oh Luna, please, help! I promise I’ll stop drinking! I’ll spend more time with family, I’ll even buy my wife something nice! Just please, please! I like my holes just the size they are now! wordlessly pleaded Lucky Draw, watching with rising horror as the malformed muzzle of ‘Princess Tamer’ twitched in something that could be taken as a smile. Or a rape face.

He tried to speak, but his swollen features distorted the words, morphing it into mumbling sprinkled with spit. The brute stomped his hoof in frustration.

“Settle down, friend,” said Celestia, extending a hoof to him. “I’ll take care of this.”

So this was it, huh? Celestia herself would unleash her wild side on one Lucky stallion. What would it be? What does royalty use? They probably have some kind of fancy custom made stuff one does not see on shelves at all. How would his face look after this? Would his wife even want him afterwards? Was there room for a second ‘Princess Tamer’? Was it a paid job?

These and many other thoughts were cut off as Celestia’s horn lit up in a golden glow, enveloping the unfortunate guard in a cocoon of tenderness. Lucky didn’t get the chance to feel panic as his mind got flooded with tranquility. He felt a presence somewhere on the edge of his perception, but it would be too much of an effort to focus on it. All was good now. Lucky Draw’s jimmies were returning where they belonged

* * *

Chip waited impatiently for the spell to finish. What would Celestia do? Crush the guard’s body into a small cube that she could throw in the trash? Suffocate him and teleport the body away, implying suicide? Explode him, then gather him up and explode him again, leaving the body unrecognizable?

The wisdom of criminal novels did not predict what the princess did. She simply put the pony to sleep?

“Huh?” spat the changeling, trying to raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine. I tampered with his memory a tiny bit. He will know he did something wrong, but he won’t remember what it was. The guilt that will haunt him should be punishment enough.”

“Huh?” repeated Chip, cocking his head. So, the spy was allowed to live? Just like that? A changeling would already be playfully torn apart by his or her kin. The books he read usually ended with a body or two being bagged. Why did Celestia just…put him to sleep?

A flash of yellow light briefly illuminated the room, catching the stallion by surprise. He stopped himself from rubbing his eyes and settled for blinking away the darkness dancing in his vision. The guard was gone now, probably teleported somewhere. Hopefully to a construction site where fresh concrete was placed.

“We have wasted enough time, friend,” stated Celestia, again warming up her horn. “We must go.”

* * *

The laboratory lit up as the final safeguard was lifted. It was just as Celestia left it – a dirty table, some tools lying here and there, jars lined on shelves…and a puddle of changeling in the middle of it all.

Chip was looking around curiously, slowly approaching his late assassin. This place was a lot roomier and secure than what Twilight had to offer, and it didn’t smell like dust or parchment. It was shiny in a way, the gems in the walls magnifying the faint light that lit the room. Cozy, almost like his home cave. A stack of books and random stuff in the corner and he could practically live there.

The stallion sighed and gave Celestia a questioning look. The princess motioned towards the puddle that lay next to the table. It was grayish, and despite lying there for some time already, it didn’t evaporate or change consistency. It was still kind of a liquid, thick as bog water.

Chip sniffed the remains. There was something about this stuff that prodded his nose, but he couldn’t tell what it was. It was possible that his current state hindered his ability to investigate, in which case he would have to come back when the bloody swelling lifted. If it would ever subside, that is.

The changeling’s face was getting closer and closer to the murky surface, almost touching it. He inhaled deeply, but the words to describe the sensation he felt eluded him, dancing around on the tip of his tongue. A tip that shot out unexpectedly and dipped into the cool liquid.

In his brain, the stallion felt some memories stir. They were blurry, very fragile figments that he could not focus on. Like ether - feelable, but not quite there, escaping the moment you face them.

Chip cautiously dunked his mouth in the sludge and sipped, oblivious to some strange gurgling sounds behind him. Images flared with lively colors for a split second, accompanied by sound and sensations only a changeling could feel. His eyes went wide and he gulped again, time after time experiencing the flashes of memories he could not grip.

It felt like watching an ultra-speed slide show. The impression was there, but no details. He understood that those were changeling memories. He knew how pony ones looked, how they felt, since Twilight’s body interpreted his own experiences through what it knew. Chip felt that the assassin was something more than just a changeling – there was something sour and inexplicably spicy about the taste he felt. That meant emotions, something a regular changeling could only consume, not produce. And this specific flavor was grief, or regret.

There was very little of the stuff now and Chip cursed his inability to hang onto the images that assaulted his mind. As he managed to lick off the last drops, the sensations ceased. Nothing changed, almost like he didn’t just consume some form of leftovers of his sister. He learned nothing, and that meant that Celestia wouldn’t be happy.

The changeling pressed his ears against his neck and turned to face the Princess. If his face could allow it, he would express surprise. The mare was on her knees, panting and coughing, staring into a puddle of…something. Oh, maybe she found some more changeling? Maybe that was what was missing?

* * *

Chip, having dropped his disguise, finished writing and levitated the paper over to Celestia. She still looked kind of sick and didn’t look the changeling in the eye. The stallion himself didn’t dare to even turn his head in her direction.

He learned all too late that the thing the princess was leaning over wasn’t changeling. And apparently it wasn’t supposed to be edible. At least, not twice. Celestia made it crystal clear by shouting, repeating ‘what is wrong with you?!’ over and over again. She went silent after she suddenly bent over and generously poured some more into her private puddle.

Chengelings did something similar, but it was more practical than pleasurable. Chip could eat normal food and gain some form of nutrition from it, but there were parts that sometimes resisted digestion. Those lay heavy on the stomach for days, aggressively mowed down until nothing but goo remained. The body then prompted the release of this material, which was mostly used to build hives and somehow always had the color of blood – green.

The stallion added that information as a ‘Fun Fact’ at the end of his report, hoping that the mare would be less mad at him. He didn’t look at her, so he couldn’t tell if she at least smirked or not. Well, if that wouldn’t work, Chip would make it a point to show her the real deal someday. Twilight would appreciate it, she always rattled on about how theory and practice should go hoof in hoof.

Why would Celestia, as her mentor, be any different?

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