Chapter 3 - Beseech, Beseech, Toil and Teach
My first morning in Zecora’s hut was odd, and considering what my last twenty-four hours had been like that was saying something.
I stumbled awake to the smell of coffee, the noise of someone futzing about my stove, and the feeling of cold feet sticking out from the end of my too-short bed. Vague mutterings of how I was going to do something not nice to whatever had woken me were the only sign I wasn’t some sort of particularly horrific zombie as I searched for my blasting rod and revolver before blearily remembering they were still in my Duster, which I’d hung up by the door.
At least I’d kept my shield bracelet close to hand, the metallic gleam catching my eye as it sat on the unfamiliar side-table next to my slightly too-small bed, my pentacle amulet and force rings lying next to it.
So equipped with boxers and jewelry I staggered past the curtain that some joker had replaced my bedroom door with, to face whatever had broken into my apartment, and was promptly met with the sight of a Anthropomorphic Zebra mare who was in the process of pouring out two mugs of coffee.
I didn’t pause in confusion this time. I paused in recollection, as the memories of yesterday overcame my sleep addled brain while I stared at her, the morning light streaming through the windows allowing me to see her much, much better than I had last night.
The first thing that stood out to me were the stripes running across the back of her neck, under her eyes, and mingling with her mohawk. Beyond the fact that they were black stripes on white fur, they looked nothing like a real zebra’s might. They were too thick, too ordered, too unnatural, more like some sort of tribal tattoo than any sort of natural camouflage.
The second thing I noticed was, now that she was wearing some sort of combination of a wizard's robe and a doctor’s lab coat that fit far better than the shapeless pink fluff of last night’s bathrobe, showing just how feminine she was. The clothes doing nothing to hide any of her curves, or the flatness of her stomach, or the soft sinuous movement of her legs as she stepped back from my sudden appearance.
The third thing I noticed was the fact she was staring at me as I stood there, all but skyclad save for my heart print boxers, still blinking the sleep from my eyes, and reeking of stale sweat from the day before.
It only took another few seconds for these facts to enter my brain, where they were seized by my two currently active brain cells, and rattled around until I realized what they actually meant.
“Well, this is awkward.”
“Quite, you make a frightful sight in dawn’s first light,” she chuckled before picking up a teaspoon and a sugar bowl. “An undead horror fit for Nightmare Night, now would you like your coffee sweet or with a bitter bite?”
“Two sugars, no milk please ,” taking the proffered mug, I sipped gratefully at the elixir of wakefulness while ignoring the occasional floating coffee grind, before my brain slipped back into gear. “Thank you, Ma’am”
“Zecora is what ponies call me, a name you can use freely.”
“...Thank you, Zecora,” I paused to sip at the coffee again. “I’m just going to get dressed, then we can talk about those chores,” I started to turn only to see the mare smirk at me.
“I’m afraid you’ll find that you cannot, for all your clothes are in my washing pot,” she turned to check on the bubbling pot of oatmeal hanging where the cauldron had been last night. “With your height it was a challenge true, but I have found some spares that will do.”
“You just happened to have spare clothes in my size?” I responded with a mix of incredulousness and irritation. This was starting to feel just a little too good to be true again, and I made sure that my staff was still standing by the door where I had left it last night. My coat was nowhere to be seen though, which was just as worrying as my staff going out for a Mister style ramble.
She just rolled her eyes at my question. “For bandages old sheets and clothes oft come my way, when ponies discover their ailments are not long to stay, of your options it is for the best, unless you would like to go through the day so lightly dressed?” She quirked an eyebrow at me, somehow making that tiny gesture incorporate the spreading patches of blue, black, and yellow bruises that were my ribs, my bare feet, and my arms.
“Or you could have not washed my clothes.”
“While you may have been able to ignore how sour they smelled, they had a reek that would’ve left a Diamond Dog felled,” Zecora cringed momentarily, her entire muzzle wrinkling in distaste. “I shall not have a stench that will last forever fouling my hut, now go get dressed so we can fill your gut.”
“And my coat?” Folding my arms over my chest I did my best to loom over the mare. Washing my clothes was invasive, but they could be replaced, eventually, assuming this place accepted dollar bills, and she hadn’t left my wallet in my pockets.
My duster was a different story. It was a gift, one of the few things I had to remind me of Susan, it had a timeless style regardless of how many ‘El Dorado’ jokes I suffered, and it was stuffed to the brim with enough defensive enchantments to make me more impervious to bullets than the average Hollywood action hero.
My duster was important.
“It is safe upon the line outside, no beasts come here lest I tan their hides, now in my bedroom you’ll find clean clothes freshly pressed, so cease your complaining and go get dressed.”
And so it was I found myself wearing the Hulk’s hand-me-downs, a bowl of oatmeal gruel in one hand, and a washcloth in the other, doing housework for a Zebra Witchdoctor.
By the time lunch rolled around I was seriously wondering when I’d get my Pumpkin Coach, and if I should be on the lookout for glass slippers.
Not satisfied with just cleaning up the resulting mess that my quagmire coated clothing had spread across Zecora’s floor, I had made the mistake of asking if she needed anything else done once I’d finished.
Her smile was not comforting.
As it had turned out she still had a lot that needed doing. Windows washed, cookware cleaned, potions polished, herbs handled, and my rags rinsed out just a small selection of the tasks she sent my way. I had forgotten just how demanding housework was after having a Brownie cleaning service maintain my apartment for the better part of a decade. The bruise that was my body hadn’t stopped complaining the entire time I had been doing my best Cinderella impression.
Now I was stuck chopping firewood as I waited for my clothes to dry in the growing summer heat.
I had managed to build up a decent sized stack of kindling, and was in the process of taking a rest when I heard the voices approaching the hut.
“Ah keep telling ya, AJ, Ah can walk to Zecora’s mahself.”
“And Ah’m telling you, Bloom, whatever attacked Ponyville yesterday escaped inta the Everfree. Ah wouldn’t take any chances with that, an’ Ah sure as sugar ain’t letting you take chances with that.”
“Ah wouldn’t be taking chances!”
“Bloom, what’re you do... Bloom you slow down an’ get back here right now!”
Voices which apparently had southern accents. Of all the cockamamie things to show up in this realm I was not expecting the horse version of Texas, especially considering Humansville was in Missouri.
While it was good to know that naming conventions could be just as idiotic across dimensions, at least I had enough time to prepare myself for what fresh, new, equine, abomination was approaching this time. The sound of galloping hooves against the dirt path coming closer by the second.
Thankfully it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before this time. Just a pair of plain “horses”—I really needed a broad mythological equivalent for them just to keep the theme going. Mearas, wasn’t greek but it’d do—running along the path as if they were out for a day in the park, and not the Mirkwood.
The first one to reach the clearing was the youngest one I’d seen to date. Couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old, pale yellow fur, amaranth mane and tail, almost stereotypical farm girl clothes topped off with a pink bow that was peeking out from behind her head. Oh, and her bright orange eyes were staring at me as I sat on the chopping block.
“Ah swear Bloom, when we get back to the farm Ah’m gonna tan your hide.”
And that was when the second mearh came crashing through the underbrush with the speed of maternal worry and rage.
Okay maybe that was unfair. I wasn’t sure how well my judgement would carry over, but the newcomer didn’t look much older than her early twenties. Even if she wasn’t visibly aged by farm labour, it would mean that she had gotten pregnant at an uncomfortably young age. It was more than likely they were sisters or cousins.
I watched as the newcomer rounded on Bloom, anger in her eyes, before she noticed that the kid wasn’t paying any attention to her encroaching doom and lifted her head to look at me herself. Which in turn let me get a good look at her.
She was a real southern Belle, if you were into the horse thing I suppose. A bright orange coat mirrored the younger mare’s eyes save for patches of whites ‘freckles’ that were dotted around the corner of her eyes and the bridge of her muzzle. A blonde mane loosely tied in a, heh, ponytail fell out from beneath a stetson that was tilted back on her head, upright ears keeping the brim from falling over her face.
Her clothes weren’t anything special. I’m fairly certain I had the same checkered shirt somewhere at home and the work trousers were just that, work trousers, but something about the way she wore the outfit just screamed confidence, that she didn’t need the false elegance of perfectly tailored dresses or the protective image of being something she wasn’t. She was what she was, and damn anyone who told her she needed to be otherwise.
But the most striking thing about her were her eyes.
They were they green of freshly cut grass, bright and intelligent and alive, but faded somehow… loss, isolation, worry, sleepless nights and restless days. Like she had carried a burden by herself too long and just didn’t know how to put it down again.
At the moment however those eyes were narrowed at me.
“Good day miss, can I help you?”
I took how she relaxed slightly at my question to be a good sign. Her eyes were still narrowed, but she didn’t look like she was ready to try and kick my ribs in for merely existing anymore.
“Ah reckon you can. Mah sis has a lesson with Zecora right about now, she in?” The yellow filly peered out from behind her, now definitely, sister’s legs, to stare at me with a mix of fear and wonderment.
I started to answer before I caught a hint of motion in the corner of my eye, the door to the tree gliding open on freshly oiled hinges.
“Apple Bloom, Applejack, and Dresden too, come on in, come on in, lunch awaits you.”
“Well that answers that,” reaching out I grabbed the door handle, stopping it from swinging shut behind Zecora as I gestured with my free hand. “Ladies first.”
The older mearh, Applejack I was guessing, just snorted as her sister scurried along behind her, keeping as far away from me as possible. “Ah ain’t no falutin’ high-society lady, but thanks anyways.”
I waited for a second as the two of them scuffed their hooves on a worn welcome mat, before following the two of them in. The door clicking shut behind me, sealing me in with the three mares.
The lunch that Zecora had prepared was pleasant. While I doubted she would ever be able to beat Mac’s steak sandwiches, grilled cheese and tomato soup was a classic that bridged dimensions, and I proceeded to keep my mouth full and my ears open as Applejack and Zecora chatted away like old friends, just letting the calm atmosphere wash over me as I relaxed for the first time since I’d arrived.
It worked for about five minutes before Apple Bloom decided to involve me in the conversation.
“Are ya some kinda monster, Mister Dresden?”
Both the mares stopped talking as she spoke and I only just caught their reactions out of the corner of my eye, both of them perking their ears. Even if Applejack fixed her sister with a disapproving glare that made her wilt behind her half finished bowl of soup.
“Ah didn’t mean it like that, sorry, Mister Dresden,” her ears fell to the side of her head while she looked away from the force of sisterly disapproval. “Ah’ve just never seen anything like ya an’ Ah’ve seen gryphons, donkeys, bat-ponies, changelings, an’ Discord”
I’d expected the question at some point, given the general reaction to me so far had been either fear or violence, but the fact she’d considered the possibility of me being a monster simply on first sight? I wasn’t that spooky looking, even without my dark and mysterious wizard get up, was I?
“I’m a human,” I answered as shortly as I could.
Blank stares and confusion were my only responses as I took the final bite of toast and cheese.
“That answer there’s as clear as sky an’ about as tangible, Sugarcube,” Applejack cut in. “What exactly is a human?”
“Well, what exactly is a mearh?”
“A mare is a female pony,” came the immediate reply. “Even if you’ve got a queer way of saying it.”
“Not a mare, a mearh, but fine. What are you exactly?”
“Ah’m an earth pony.” I felt my eye twitch slightly at that name. It was almost as bad as calling a chlorofiend a plant monster. Yes it was accurate, but where was the artistry? Where was the evocative imagery? Where was the pride? I’d stick with mearh if that was the alternative.
“And what exactly is an earth pony?”
I don’t think she liked that particular question judging by how her eyes narrowed at it. “Ah would ask how somepony ain’t ever heard of us earth ponies before considerin’ how much we do fer Equestria.”
Zecora chose that moment to jump in. “Applejack my friend, I would suggest you put that question to an end, after all before you continue on your diatribe, need I remind you how little you knew of my tribe?” The orange mare fidgeting under Zecora’s gaze until the zebra turned back to her soup, leaving Applejack to shuffle in her seat.
“Fine, if’n ya don’t want to answer Ah’ll stop askin’ about it. But Ah do want to know what’re you doing here?”
“An accident with a Way dumped me out on the outskirts of this forest, I spent most of yesterday either running for my life or hitting things in the face so they would stop chasing me and then running for my life until Zecora was kind enough to offer me sanctuary for the night.” Wasn’t exactly wrong, and I kept my answer as casual as possible, despite having to force down the guilt at the memory of who exactly I had to hit.
“And it is on that note, that Applejack and I have spoke,” Zecora turned to face me before I could continue further. Probably for the better as I was about to get wildly sarcastic, it would have been a speech for the ages, but I don’t think it would have gone over well at that moment. “I have no doubts that you can see, on us both how stressful continuing this arrangement would be.”
“And that leads us to the fact she asked me to take you in,” The orange mearh looked uncomfortable at the idea as her muzzle scrunched up like she’d bitten into something rotten, but buried it under the least sincere smile I’ve seen. I should’ve tried to make a better first impression, too late now. “Ah’ve got no real problem with that, if’n a philosopher like you can do honest farm work that is. We don’t have no idle hooves at Sweet Apple Acres, guest or otherwise.”
My own smile was just as innocent as hers was sincere. “My mentor owned a ranch and taught me magic between making me take care of the, uh, livestock,” my voice stumbled as I choked back the word ‘horses’, no way to tell how anthropomorphic horse people would take that particular idea beyond ‘probably not well’. “Hogs, sheep, cattle, etcetera, and he made me do it all by hand, always telling me it was to help me understand ‘why to use magic, rather than just the how’. It took a while, but it did sink in, eventually.”
“That so?” The raised eyebrow combined with the smug skepticism in her voice said it all. She no doubt expected me to fold up inside of a day of her ‘honest farm work’ which wasn’t going to happen. If I could get a shower, a decent feed, and a safe spot, getting back to the Nevernever should be a snap, even after a couple of days of ‘grueling’ farm work. It was where I was going to end up that would be the real problem. “Ah gotta get back to the farm, chores wait for no mare after all an’ Ah need ta set up the guest room for you,” Applejack popped her spine after shuffling out from the alcove table. “You want to come with me now, an’ help me get you situated, or do you want to stay here an’ Ah can pick you up when Ah come back for Apple Bloom?”
I shook my head apologetically before answering. “My clothes, the only things I had with me when I got dumped here, are still drying out there. You can see why I might be averse to leaving them behind.”
“Suit yourself.” The mare snorted at me before turning to Apple Bloom. “You behave yourself Bloom, you better believe Ah’m going to be adding to your chores after that little stunt earlier an’ if Ah hear of any of your shenanigans from Zecora, Ah don’t think you’ll be going on any of your crusades for a good while.”
The filly shrunk in her seat, pinned under the older mearh’s glare before she muttered something that sounded like a “yes sis”.
“Good, Ah’ll see the two of you in a few hours so you better have your things together by then Mister Dresden. Ah don’t want to be out in the Everfree after dark with that thing that attacked Ponyville yesterday still around, even on the paths,” She turned her glare on me, before her eyes softened a little. “An’ Ah’ll talk to a friend of mine, if it’s a magical accident that brought you here, Ah can’t think of a better filly than Twi to help get you back home.” With that she turned on her heel and walked out, the door falling shut behind her swaying hips and waving tail.
Why did I notice that?
I was broken out of my self-recrimination by the noise of Zecora gathering up the dishes as the serious expression she’d been wearing throughout Applejack’s little speech twisted itself into a mischievous grin.
“And now that Applejack has taken her leave, it is time for your lesson I believe.” Apple Bloom’s head shot up, all traces of childish guilt scrubbed away. “Now while I did have a plan for today, having Dresden here has given us another way.”
“And now I’m being volunteered for something else on the Cinderella chore circuit” I muttered loud enough to be heard. My statement exacerbating Zecora’s smile as her ears perked.
“If you do not want this task, all you have to do is ask, but otherwise you’ll be sitting watching your clothes dry, outside under the open sky.”
“Do you mind if I borrow a book?” A read and a snooze sounded really, really good right then. My body had started to stiffen up again after being folded into the corner of the alcove and the bruises on my everything were aching even through my, unfortunately, well-tested pain tolerance.
“Ya don’t want to teach me?” I was beyond glad I had my eyes closed as I stretched my back, the noise of snapping celery making me wonder if I’d actually managed to break something in there when that clown-wigged idiot dive-bombed me. I’d seen the result of Michael getting swarmed by his kids when they were wielding that voice. Seeing the Fist of God laid out on his couch as the endless balls of energy and crazy cavorted away, giggling like the children they were disguised as, was a terrifying sight. All I needed to do was not look, and I wouldn’t be caught in her diabolical trap.
Of course, not looking had been going great for me so far.
I opened my eyes only to be immediately met with a pair of big yellow peepers, framed by tears, ears pinned to the top of her skull, and a pout that could melt the heart of Mab herself. I think I felt my heart expand three sizes in my chest before I tore my eyes away and slammed them shut again, hissing like Bela Lugosi recoiling from sunlight.
Really didn’t want to get into a soulgaze with a kid, even an inhuman one. It wouldn’t be pretty.
“Dammit, Zecora!” I yelled from behind the arm thrown over my face. “I thought I told you about Soulgazing last night.”
A sheepish silence descended over the rapid heartbeats and panting breaths as I tried to force myself to calm down, just letting the sudden burst of fear drain away, as the sound of hooves meeting floor echoed around me in the quiet room.
“My apologies, Dresden, on that subject you taught, in my haste for this jape your aversion to eye-contact I forgot.” I lifted my arm to see a worried Apple Bloom hiding behind the legs of a contrite looking Zecora, her arms crossed over her chest as she refused to ‘meet’ my eyes. “However I meant it when I said, this lesson would benefit from your aid.”
“And what makes you think I can help with whatever you have planned?”
Just for a second her smirk returned before she started speaking again. “One doesn’t advertise for a service they can’t provide, to do so openly is deeply unwise,” and then she fished out a small piece of card, one that I recognised having carried at least one of them on me at all times for the last decade. “No endless purses, parties, or love potions, now what could give your customers such notions?”
“Maybe the fact it also says Wizard right across the top in big, bold letters?” I supplied right back. “Please, get to the point.”
“I was prepared to teach Apple Bloom my alchemy today, however with your help I can show her another way. When I studied under my master, he apprenticed me to others to help me learn faster, however as you will plainly see, in these lands there are no shamans but me. I do not wish to steal the secrets of your craft, but simply aim to aid my student in the mixing of her draughts”
I stood there, trying to puzzle my way through what she was saying, although I’m fairly sure my height made it look more like I was looming over them in judgement, given the way Zecora started fidgeting with my card.
Before I could give any answer though, Apple Bloom decided to use that moment to put her two cents into the ring, and decide it for me.
“Why don’t ya want to teach me, Mister Dresden?”
I tried not to look, I really did, but the moment I heard the filly sniffle I felt my eyes creeping downward, only to take in how truly and utterly crestfallen she looked. Her eyes were still framed with tears and her ears were plastered down to her her skull, but her entire body seemed to slump down in disappointment like she had just watched her favorite seal pup get clubbed. It was all I could do to not completely shatter my manly image by kneeling down and promising to make everything better, actually following through on my threat of taking a nap wasn’t in the question.
“Fine,” I grunted, doing my best to make it look like I was doing this under duress, which I was. “It’s no skin off my back either way.”
Zecora at least tried to hide her smile as she turned around and started to clear away a bunch of the omnipresent clutter that was found on any workbench, but Apple Bloom didn’t see any point in disguising her feelings. Teary eyes instantly dried up, ears perked up in joy, and her wobbling lips transformed into a smile that looked like it was going to take the top of her head off as she bounced in place chanting, “yes, yes, yes.”
Grimacing in trepidation of the oncoming disaster, I trudged across the room behind Zecora and set to helping her clear enough space in the cluttered workbench. “So, what do you actually want me to do? Because I’m not exactly the greatest alchemist around.”
“Just a single demonstration of your skill, whether theoretical or practical will fit the bill, this is of course, so long as you do not use up too much of my resource.”
“Using up your stock shouldn’t be a problem,” I rubbed at my temples, trying to remember any potion that didn’t require motor oil or caffeine, as Apple Bloom bounced up behind me still quietly chanting under her breath. “It’s whether or not you have the ingredients to begin with. The stuff I use can be extremely esoteric and hard to come by, even among other alchemists.” Okay that was a lie, I couldn’t actually afford the more esoteric stuff most of the time, but nobody else I knew made their potions out of bottom shelf energy drinks and their used bus tickets.
“Don’t worry Mister Dresden, Zecora’s got the biggest collection Ah’ve evahr seen, it’s even bigger than Twilight’s, Ah’m sure she’s got what ya need.” Damnit Apple Bloom, stop poking holes in my escape plan. Then again if I couldn’t get my nap now, may as well try and fry two nasties with one fireball.
“Okay then, how’s about I show you how to make a sleep potion, Dresden style?” I asked as I ran through the list of ingredients in my head, there wasn’t anything that should be too much of an issue there, and as an added benefit it was near impossible to overdose on the recipe I had planned. Something that had been tested pretty extensively seeing as it was made for the Wardens dealing with the aftermath of outsider psychic attacks. Those who got nightmares were the lucky ones.
Apple Bloom was nearly vibrating in place with excitement, her eyes and smile cartoonishly wide, while Zecora just sighed good-naturedly at the filly’s exuberance. “A slumber potion does not pose too much risk, although I will make sure of your thrift.”
“Well let’s just make sure you have what I need first,” was the reply as I pulled a smallish cauldron and an oil burner out of the pile, setting them up as I ran over everything one last time in my head. “The eight ingredients for this potion are fairly common so there shouldn’t be too much hassle, but I’m going to need about a pint of hot cocoa for the base, a sleep mask for sight, a few drops of eucalyptus oil for smell, some shreds of a blanket for touch, forty winks worth of snoring for sound, some valerian root for taste, a carving of a sheep for the mind, and a written lullaby for the spirit,” checking around on the work-table for a jar of fuel for the burner I ignored the lack of noise for a few seconds, before turning around to see both Zecora and Apple Bloom staring at me like I was out of my mind. Glad to see I wasn’t the only one who could pull off a convincing guppy impersonation.
“What?”
Apple Bloom just continued to look at me like I was insane, but Zecora managed to swallow her first response which, if her lashing tail had been any indication, would most likely have been harsh enough to make Charity’s regular lecture sound tame.
“By your requests I will admit to being confused, from these items how could any potion be brewed?” Her restraint didn’t stop her voice from sounding strained and incredulous. Molly had been like that too when I’d started to teach her potion brewing. Apparently telling her not to touch my stock of depleted uranium only introduced more questions, such as why I had depleted uranium in the first place.
“I’ll explain as it’s brewing, but first I need those ingredients, please.” She continued to stare at me for a second until she snorted and turned to the shelves of urns and jars, a barely concealed grumble keeping pace with the slow flicking of her tail.
Hunting down the ingredients didn’t take that long. For all the chaos that the room seemed to be in, it had taken Zecora less than a minute to pick out a pair of jars, find a wooden sheep, throw Apple Bloom a bag full of rags to sift through, and start brewing up a cauldron of hot chocolate over the central fire pit, bustling through the room a like a black and white striped Flash. All before I’d even managed to touch quill to ink-well to scribble down the simplest lullaby I could remember.
It might have been a testament to just how out of practice I was with the blasted things that I’d only just finished my scratchy and blotted copy of ‘rock-a-bye baby’ when Zecora was lifting the hot chocolate from the fire, carefully balancing the cast-iron cauldron on the burner stand, next to the six carefully measured out ingredients she and Apple Bloom had found for me. Unfortunately she didn’t have any captured snoring, instead giving me a look that made it clear she thought I was insane for asking. I was going to have to fake it and just hope it worked as advertised, which wasn’t a given. Potion making could be deceptively tricky even with the simplest recipes, and while it didn’t get much simpler than what I was doing there was still plenty of room for error.
“Are we gonna get started now, Mister Dresden?” Apple Bloom was almost bouncing in place with enthusiasm as she passed me the final item like it was the most holy of relics. A freshly cleaned wooden spoon. Very important, you don’t want to stir your potions with a dirty spoon.
I didn’t miss Zecora’s tiny smile of pride at her apprentice’s eagerness as I turned back to the cauldron, making sure the burner was going at a nice low simmer, before I started to add all the ingredients I had. The liquid taking on a warm glow when I dropped the wooden sheep in, much to the curiosity of my audience, and I had to hold up a hand to ward off Apple Bloom’s questions before I could add the final ingredient. My fake snores.
Leaning over the cauldron I took a deep breath, which may have been a mistake as a wave of cocoa and eucalyptus assaulted my lungs nearly making me cough instead of snore as I forced thoughts of sleep to my mind. Lazy afternoons spent napping under one of the oak trees on Ebenezar’s farm. My almost too small bed and sleeping diagonally to keep my feet under the covers. Just stretching out on Murphy’s sofa and grabbing what rest I could during cases. Combined with my current exhaustion, I had to fight against my eyes flickering shut as the sound of sawing logs rasped its way out of my throat and into the brew.
Now for the normally boring part, although given that Apple Bloom had been near vibrating with excitement I doubted I was going have much chance to be bored. “Okay, fire away.”
“Is that it? Ah was expectin’ something more showy.”
Stupid TV, and stupid movies. Ruining everything with their flashy CGI and special effects. I am literally turning household detritus into a magical potion, but if it doesn’t immediately sparkle or glow people want their money back.
“No, I’m not done yet,” I said, trying and failing to push the scowl from my face as Apple Bloom hid behind Zecora’s legs, before I slumped back into the chair like the grumpy old man I was slowly becoming. “There’s one more step, but this has to sit and simmer for a while first.”
“So you can finally answer my confusion, to why such miscellany is needed for your infusion?”
“Potions, at least the way I was taught, are more about the magic than the chemistry. Granted there’s a lot more precision in alchemy than there is in evocation, but without adding magic to the mix, which is the final step, this is mostly just a foul smelling, inedible mix that not even the strongest fae glamour could make appetizing.” I tried to remember the way I’d explained this to Molly.
“The thing is that it’s a carefully chosen mix of poisons because this method of potion making is notoriously tricky. Each and every potion requires exactly eight ingredients, a base liquid, one ingredient for each of the five senses, another ingredient each for the mind and spirit, and even then these ingredients need to be symbolic of what they represent to the individual.” I paused for a second to stir the bubbling potion behind me, it already smelled bad enough without me burning it, and pushing just a tiny trickle of magic in, something to start the mix. “Sleep potions are universal enough that most practitioners can get away with the recipe I just showed you, but there are people who get better results using ovaltine as the base, or can substitute valerian for passion-flower, anything trickier than this and most wizards end up just experimenting to make their own personal recipes.”
“I see, so this exact recipe will not work for me?” I had to take a deep breath to keep myself from snapping at Zecora’s questioning tone.
“Not as well as it would for me, and that’s even assuming you can activate the potion, but as I said, sleep potions are fairly universal, and just knowing how I do it can give you an insight as to how you’d follow the same method.”
“I believe I understand the notion, although what is you mean by activating the potion?”
“It’s like mixing oil and water,” I stirred the potion mechanically while putting the answer together in my head. “Normally the two refuse to mix unless you add another chemical. Potion ingredients act the same way, they’ll refuse to mix without magic acting as a bridge and the ingredients will separate out in a few sunrises without proper storage.”
“Like an emulsion?” Apple Bloom asked, before she shrank back behind Zecora again, continuing in a low mumble. “Ah mean Ah always have to stir the paints before Ah use ‘em and Miss Cheerilee said it’s ‘cause they were emulsion paints that separated over time.”
“Exactly.” I agreed with the filly, it was a good enough comparison for now. “The only difference is it’s impossible to stir a potion back together, so you either need to know what you’re going to need in the near future, or they need to be really carefully stored.” I could already see more questions bubbling up in the filly’s mind as she peeked out from behind her zebra shield.
A zebra shield who decided to voice her own opinions on the matter.
“I must confess, to being unimpressed, why put yourself through so much stress, when a regular brew could stand time’s test?”
“Could you brew an anti-gravity potion?” I did my best to keep the irritation out my voice, so of course Zecora fixed me with a glare as I continued. “How about capturing sunshine in a handkerchief? Turning yourself into the wind for a moment? Making it so that people will simply ignore you? Heck, I made super-coffee one time. Theoretically there are very few limits to what can be done with alchemy.”
“Can ya make a flight potion?”
Turning back to Apple Bloom I smiled gently “I haven’t made one in a long time, but that was one of the first potions I learned to make.” I hit the wooden spoon against the rim of the cauldron, sending a few stubborn droplets back into the swirling, velvety, liquid before I set it aside and shifted my chair so that Apple Bloom and Zecora could get a better view. “Although first, we’re going to do my favorite part of this thing.”
So far I hadn’t lied about how finicky alchemy could be, the wrong ingredient in the wrong place and the entire thing was likely to go boom in a multitude of interesting ways. I’d once spent a week fumigating my lab because I’d accidentally used cat fur instead of dog fur, and what was supposed to be a tracking potion became a stink bomb.
Activating potions however wasn’t complicated, it was just tiring. All the magic in the potion was shaped by the ingredients yes, and normally forcing the magic into a specific shape was one of the more rigorous aspects of any spell, but that magic had to come from somewhere. A special location, a ritualistic focus, or a sponsoring spirit, but the best magic comes from inside people. There’s more magic in people’s emotions and willpower than they ever realise, similar to how an icecube has the same amount of heat energy as a lit matchstick and I’d always used that internal energy when making my potions.
The downside was just how exhausting it was. I was using my body’s energy and I wasn’t exactly being gentle with it either. Master alchemists might’ve been able to make a potion the same way that a wilderness survival expert could make a fire out of two branches, a magnifying glass and whatever they had in their pockets, working the power expertly with as little effort as possible to create something beautiful.
Compared to them I was a monkey with a jerry can of gasoline and a lighter.
On the upside I normally had plenty of fuel for the metaphorical fire.
Worry, anger, fear, pain, regret, all of the emotions that had been bubbling through me since yesterday, welled up under my metaphysical senses, tumbling together into a ball of energy inside my mind. Until, with a burst of fake latin, I released all of that energy into the inert liquid, the words helping to shape the energy with my will, forcing the raw potential of my emotions to comply with the structure of the spell contained in the potion.
I slumped backwards in my seat as far more energy than I had thought I would need rushed out of me, my reserves emptying into the incomplete potion, and I swore I heard Zecora start to scoff before the potion exploded into a cloud of thick orange smoke, froth creeping over the cauldron’s lip.
I was too tired to do much more than wave my hand and wheeze out a ‘ta-dah’, but I could imagine the look of surprise on both of their faces at what should have been a complete impossibility.
“I feel I must apologise for my scorn,” I heard Zecora shuffle closer as the potion’s bubbling died down, “never have I seen such magic without a horn.”
A wheeze let her know I accepted her apology, even as Apple Bloom bounced her way up to me, chattering so fast I couldn’t get a reply out. “That was amazing, how’d you do that thing with all those little flickerin’ lights, and the chantin’, and the...”
“Apple Bloom can you not see the state of my guest, it is clear that he needs a rest.” That felt like the understatement of the year as I struggled to pull myself back into a sitting position, muttering something that I think was along the lines of ‘how’d you guess?’, if you spoke caveman grunts.
“Need to bottle this first.” My hand flopped in the direction of the cauldron as I teetered myself upright.
“Leave that to me, Dresden, just rest your head and sleep again.” I slumped down as a striped hand wrapped across my back and Zecora settled under one my shoulders, half supporting me, half dragging me to her bed as I stumbled through the bead curtain.
It was when we reached the bed that Zecora let me go and I toppled forwards like a scarecrow taken off its pole, flopping onto the mattress as my eyes fell closed.
I was asleep before I even stopped bouncing.
“Mister Dresden, Ya need ta get up now”
I grunted in neanderthal as something tried to pull me awake, one hand waving for my trusty mickey mouse alarm clock as I swung my feet off the mattress only to come face to snout with a tiny horse, person, thing.
My brain didn’t actually stall at the sight this time, although I did avert my eyes from Apple Bloom’s, my earlier warning having been apparently forgotten.
“Come on Mister Dresden, mah sis is gonna be here any minute.” The filly tugged at my wrist as I levered myself off of the bed. The overalls having shifted enough while I was sleeping to pinch uncomfortably helping me wake up at several rather personal sensations as I shifted into a sitting position. “Yah need to get dressed ‘fore Applejack gets here.”
The noise of fabric hitting fabric caught my attention as Apple Bloom dumped my clothes—which were attempting to revisit the one time they’d been neatly folded— on the chair alongside my wallet, my revolver the box of ammo, and the generic wizardly detritus that I never left my apartment without anymore I’d had in my duster pockets, before running back out of the room.
It was almost indecent how quickly I found myself struggling out of the overalls I’d been wearing before slipping back into my actual clothes. The noise of an opening door, followed by the familiar drawl of a southern accent making me pull everything on faster.
“Oh it feels good to be back in the saddle again.” I said to myself as I slipped my duster back on, the heavy leather settling down against my shoulders, before the southern twang of Applejack’s voice came through the bead curtain.
“Hey Dresden, would ya stop muttering ta yerself an’ hurry it up? Ah’d Like ta get back to the farm before Celestia sets the sun.”
I bit back a retort as I checked over my pockets, making sure that I had everything I’d brought with me, before I strode out to the main room, pushing aside the bead curtain as if I was some old beast rising from the depths.
Which was why Applejack fell over laughing the moment she saw me.
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8289379
I don't die, I just lie in wait.
More seriously I am a slow writer, keeping me on any sort of favourites list is going to take up some serious space.
8372370
A new chapter? You're still alive?
Wonderful!!! Glad to see this story update!
Totally worth the wait. The world building/canon is fascinating.
that was a cute chapter with the alchemy bit and sad about the cutie marks bits and apple jack just being rude to the foreigner on that cliff hanger left me going why you do that???
I feel sorry for Dresden for having Apple Bloom fostered on him but he was a help. Your stuff about cutie marks and ponies place in it is depressing in a sense but it seems to fit the universe.
It's here! I loved it! Thanks for the update!
Took me awhile before I noticed it was anthro, im complaining, but it's still good, so I guess Ill read it.
Anthro is just cheating.
I disagree strongly with your view of cutie marks. because when the Mane 6 - Twilght got their cutie marks switched they acted with their marks and still couldn't do anything right and were going a little nuts, and when Celestia and Luna got their marks flipped their stress was from different duties not different marks
Amusing lesson in comparative alchemy. Dresden's conceptual approach vs Zecora's more practical method.
8372450
Celestia and Luna in "A Royal Problem" I have no answer for, "Magical Mystery Cure" however...
The best way to look at this is the same way Enthralling or Psychomancy (Mental magic) works in the Dresden Files. You're not just affecting the cutie mark, you're affecting the psyche, and the soul as well, and it affects the target/victim on a subconscious level.
You can give Rainbow Dash Fluttershy's cutie mark, but she's not Fluttershy. Rainbow doesn't think anything is wrong even as she continues to fuck up and up because she's acting on the cutie mark attached to her rump, her psyche and soul on the other hoof, they know something is wrong, and they're fighting back against it, because she doesn't have her cutie mark, she has Fluttershy's cutie mark.
In the Dresden Files this sort of magic gives the victim a quick one way trip to a padded room or a cheap coffin, (even when used with the best of intentions) because the mind can only take so much of that kind of strain against the very fabric of what makes it it, which is why psychomancy of that type considered Black Magic, and punishable by a quick chop at neck level. In MLP, this leads up to Cutie Mark Failure Mania and the resultant damages/psychopathy that brings about.
8372473
I'd considered it to be Dresden takes mundane items and makes them magical by forcing the magic into them, Zecora take magical plants, herbs, roots, and powders, and then carefully mixes them to get the right kind of magic out of them.
It's the theme to the conflict of magic that's floating about, for ponies the magic is inside and they need to push it out, for Harry the magic is outside and he needs to move it.
8372488
Inequal Rites then. I predict Twiligh will be very, very interested in Harry´s magical theory and practice.
mlpforums.com/uploads/post_images/img-2301688-1-174132__UNOPT__twilight-sparkle_animated.gif
Glad to see this beauty of a chapter published. Really liked the interaction between Harry, AJ, and Apple Bloom, especially when AB tried to pull the puppy eyes on Dresden. That being said, the potion making scene was entertaining as I always loved that scene in the books, especially when Harry explains how it differs from the Alchemy that Zecora practices. The ending with AJ laughing at Harry's clothes made me smile and hope to see what shenanigans Harry will have to do in the next chapter.
In regards to what the actual species of what a pegasus is, the best word I've come across was Pterippi.
As for cutie marks, I'm sorry but I also must disagree with ponies not having Free Will; or rather I must say having zero free will. I would say that they have less will in cases and actions that have to do with their mark, and more with actions that don't. And that's most mostly for marks that have a action to them, like going fast or playing the harp. For other more abstract marks like, magic, or fire or sun, said pony might have much more latitude. In short I think there is a range of how much free will ponies have.
ITS ALIVE wonder if anyone know were that meme came from but in all seriousness I'm glad that he is back with this story
8372616
I don't know if it's in the book this is based on, but the movie definitely popularized it.
The more you know.
8372588
I figured the way Wind King interprets the laws is that if you don't have 100% free will you ain't mortal.
8372370
In his House at FiMFiction, dead Author lies dreaming...
I swear I took this off my favorites because it had died. You used wizard powers to put it back didn't you.... Oh well, I've got 20 minutes to kill, let's read.
Add space.
What is Dresden using for shoes? Everyone else has hooves and aren't his with the rest of his clothing?
Also, obligatory 'it lives!'
8372483
In fact, I'd say that the Cutie Mark swapping proves the fact of cutie marks influencing their bearers.
Rarity gets Rainbow's mark, and is compelled by it to attempt to control the weather, despite her own personality requiring her to make it... fashionable.
Applejack has no idea how to 'fashion', and so despite her being incapable of it, she feels compelled to try to sew and make beautiful dresses.
Again, personality clashing with incompatible destiny. But because they lack the 'Choice', they are compelled by the mark to do their best, even if their best falls far short. This leads to the inevitable; they fail to do the job right, cause catastrophic problems, and cycle downward into depression, self loathing, and general psychological malaise.
It's important to note that most cutie marks complement the personality of their bearer; the Cakes enjoy baking, and their marks encourage baking.
Shining's mark is a shield; he's naturally protective and self-sacrificing.
This means that both, the Cutie Mark forms a positive feedback loop, and that the pony is unlikely to notice the compulsion to utilize the talent boost, given that it's what they do anyway.
Which makes sense, if we assume that the marks are Fate magic... though the implications there point towards ponies being thoroughly bound in destiny even before they gain their mark.
Refresh is just a tradeoff between one way of being Cool and Awesome for another. After all, a mortal PC who dips down to 0 Refresh is still a mortal and subject to the Laws, they just become an NPC.
From the POV of the RPG, I would call these all Compelled Aspects. Essentially, the pony's Special Talent would be an Aspect (possibly even their High Concept Aspect). When a pony does something aligned with their Special Talent, they can Invoke it, spending a Fate point and getting +2 to their roll (or a reroll). These instances of "Cutie Mark Failure Insanity Syndrome" would then be the GM compelling their Special Talent Aspect while the pony player either doesn't have any Fate points to ignore the Compel, or doesn't want to spend any of the Fate points they do have. The pony player plays out the complication (CMFIS, in this case) and gains a Fate point.
Unicorns do not appear anywhere in Ancient Greek mythology. Greek works that describe unicorns are works of natural history, where unicorns were actual, real animals that lived in India. (It is generally accepted that the animals described as unicorns by the Greeks were various other actual horned animals, such as rhinoceros, oryx, etc.)
The unicorn as a mythological creature is from Medieval and Renaissance Europe. Some of these variations are rooted in the KJV Bible, which translated "re'em" as "unicorn" (most likely, re'em refers to the aurochs, an ancestor to the domestic cattle; the aurochs went completely extinct in 1627).
8372642
Nice guess but no I was talking about robot chicken
You say those laws define mortals. But, all the creatures you listed are still mortal. Case in point with the deaths of AJ's parents for example. And though the cutie marks guide them and influence them, they don't define everything about them too.
But, other than those points, got to say, loving this fic so far. Very creative.^_^
8372968
Well... yes, but it's still assumed in the books that they are beholden to the source of their power. In Marcone's case (the normal example from "Our World") it's guessed at that he has to spend all his time and effort keeping his Mafia & legitimate businesses going, getting rid of competitors, and maintaining his political influence.
He's still Mortal, but he's beholden to his power's Rules and cannot break them lest Bad Things (TM) happen. (In this case some else taking over his position and sending the outfit down the Handbasket express)
Ah. What a lovely surprise. And just as the Dresden-withdrawal was really starting to get to me.
You make some very good points about the applicability of the Laws to Ponies, et. all. If you'll forgive someone who clearly hasn't thought about this as much as you have a moment to ramble: It would seem to me that the best comparison is that the Cutie Mark is similar to (if usually much less violent than) a White Court Vampire's Hunger. it influences how them, and denying it for long periods of time can have disastrous consequences, but it doesn't completely rule how the attached individual thinks and behaves.
8372887
Fixed, thanks man.
8373017
Whether you meant to or not, you asked for the origin of a meme much older than the internet, and I gave it to you. That's all I have to say about it.
And where do you think Robot Chicken got it from?
8373272
Ponies as nice vampires who feed from Friendship?!
I admit I didn´t see that coming 
It's Alive!
Huh. Zombie fic.
8373468
You thought I was dead?
I have too many things left to do before I die.
Great to have you back writing this again. I really like Dresden's Potion making lessons. I feel you really captured his 'teaching methods' from the books.
Also I can't wait to see why Applejack is laughing so hard. Probably because Dresden looks like a dork.
8373501
You maybe not, but the story could be dead.
Write more, write faster! Or I'll sacrifice you to the god of time to pull chapters from the future into the present.
8373352
Personally I prefer this one.
Also don't get mad at him, it's not his fault that culture has so moved on that one of the most powerful moments from the first speculative fiction novel and all of its adaptations (good or bad), has been reduced to a "Robot Chicken" skit.
That is society's fault, just like the fact that "Literally" also means "Figuratively" accoring to Mirriam Webster.
I have never been closer to killing someone than I was when I first saw that.
By any chance have you read other Dresden Files/MLP crossovers? One or two in particular, the Dresden Fillies by psychicscubadiver, might capture your interest.
8373935
Oh yeah, I've read those.
Although to be completely fair I do prefer "Horse Feathers" and "Dark Horse" by Lord of Dorkness (and not just 'cause he's pre-reading for me). I find the switching perspectives of PsychicScubaDiver's stories just slightly off-putting.
Honestly the only Dresden Files / MLP:FiM story I well and truly dislike would be "Agent of Chaos".
8373950
Huh, never heard of those first two. I'll have to look into them.
8373968
Horse Feathers is currently on Hiatus, until he finishes Dark Horse, but they're both well worth reading now.
8373849
I'm not really mad about that part, but I said I'm not saying more. Also, good clip.
Mirriam Webster is garbage and has been for decades. If anyone tells me that such and such word means X according to Mirriam Webster, I just tell them to look it up somewhere else and that I don't acknowledge Mirriam Webster as a valid source of knowledge. They add the dumbest slang and use the word they're trying to define in their definitions!
Excellent chapter. Really happy to see this story is still alive.
8372370
I <3 u
8373364
Well, I wouldn't take it as canon on my word. I'm just some guy in the comments, not the author.
My attempt to press the Next button wiffed... Because there was no Next button...
Y U DO THIS TO ME!?
why did it take so long to update
8373950
My least favourite one that I've read on this site would probably be Flesh Masks. It's a long and technically well-written story, but it just takes too many liberties with its setting that I dislike - such as declaring that vampires have souls (that wizards just can't find) when the fact that "being soulless" equates to "having no real free will" is one of the central facets of the setting's metaphysics and the big thing that makes vampires both more and less than human; or having Harry decide to stay behind in horsieland instead of returning to Earth when it's his central defining trait that he would never ever leave the people that depend on him hanging.
It's a bunch of small things, but it adds up enough that I'd consider it the worst of the otherwise good stories.
8374523
8374515
Because my short attention span currently has me dancing to this
8375043
You seem to have published the same chapter twice, under different titles.
8375403
That may have been me changing the title to "Chapter 3 - Beseech, Beseech, Toil and Teach", cause I forgot the chapter number.
Otherwise, details, please