Society as We Know It

by Comma Typer

Discourse

The pegasus stallion, white in coat and black in hair, held up a potted plant on his hoof as he sat down right in front of a table with stacks of paper—disheveled and messy, scattered about on the table.

The nameplate on the table proudly displayed the pegasus's name: "House Style."

Along with the papers, several photographs were peeking out of a folder; on that folder were written the words: "For immediate addition."

He could make out who were the figures portrayed in those photographs even without fully pulling them out: here was a unicorn with a broken horn (most probably Tempest Shadow—or, as they now called her, Fizzlepop Berrytwist) and with her some kind of gray creature holding a slice of cake (most probably Grubber); here were the six Pillars of Equestria smiling rather awkwardly for a camera and among them was Stygian who, out of the posing ponies there, made quite a modest smile; here was that cat with a coat (and there were some words written in ink on the photo: 'Capper, con artist; take statements with salt and sugar'); here was a group of parrots wearing pirate garb—an eyepatch was there, for one—and brandishing a couple swords (without a doubt Captain Celaeno and her crew); here were the Cutie Mark Crusaders having a joyful time in Camp Friendship, helping other colts and fillies find out what their talent was; here was King Thorax and Dragon Lord Ember shaking hoof and claw respectively; here was Princess Twilight Sparkle smiling beside the Friendship Journal; here was Prince Rutherford and several other yaks standing still in front of the camera and smiling normally—normal according to pony standards, that was.

"When can historical events catch a break these days?" House Style moaned, slumping on to the table. "When I got on the editing team for 'The Complete History of Equestria,' I wasn't expecting to have a slew of world-changing occasions on hoof every year! Now, this is the craziest one, yet! Besides legendary ponies turning out to be real and alive and being with us, there's another invasion of Canterlot, another defeat of some major enemy, a defining publication from a Princess—what else is gonna happen?"

The door opened, creaking.

"Oh, it's you, sir."

"I don't like just being called, 'sir,'" the newcomer said—an Earth pony with short mane and short tail; his coat was yellow and his hair was also black.

"Right, Volume Number," House Style said.

Volume Number sat down with a sigh. "Sorry for the grumpiness, House Style." He rested a hoof on the table. "When a pony on the history team just had a talk with a Pillar, a lot of things change for him. Want proof?" He pointed at himself, smiling.

House Style gasped. "No way! Which one did you talk to?!"

"None other than Star Swirl the Bearded."

"Did he bring the rest with him?" He hastily added, "And Stygian, too?"

"Mostly relaxing in the lobby," he said, pointing at the door. "Downstairs, chatting with whoever else is on the team. And visitors—you've got to see their faces when they come in and see the Pillars sitting on couches. It's a sight to behold, trust me." He then snickered.

House Style replied with a snicker of his own. "We've got one of our photographers downstairs, correct?"

"Two of them are on it."

"The couple recruit?"

Volume Number nodded. "Hired them only a few days ago. You know—" straightening himself up on the chair "—it's kind of heartwarming to unite two married ponies with very similar cutie marks. Whoever handled their marriage must've had felt the same way I did when I brought in two natural cameraponies into the same job with the same working hours, even."

"But, you're sure they're downstairs, taking pictures of unwary visitors?" House Style prodded.

Volume Number groaned. "You certainly don't have a desire for light stories."

"Too sappy for my taste," House Style said, ending his words with a "Blah!" of the tongue.

"Still same old you."

House Style nodded. Then, he eyed the folder of photographs. Pushing it with a hoof, he said, "So, you're the one who sent me these photos and files."

"I bet you know the situation we're having here," Volume Number said. "Too little time between significant events—no need to further clarify without repeating myself. We want to do this as fast as possible and finish the twenty-ninth edition of this thing by Hearth's Warming—a good gift for all of us."

"Wait, we have a deadline?"

"We're in full gallop for this one," Volume Number said, slamming a hoof on the table yet keeping his calm composure. "New biographical sections on the Pillars and associated figures—the biggest change in our Pre-Equestria and Early Equestria chapters since the twenty-first edition. At the end, a very short piece on how their modern lives might work out—and, for this edition and probably the next few, warnings to respect the Pillars and Stygian for the ponies that they are. Besides that, under the Modern Literature pages, we'll need a thorough analysis yet condensed for the Friendship Journal—we need to conduct one last interview for Princess Twilight about whether she'll make another edition with new friendship lessons for next year. We need an update on Prince Rutherford's recent acts—we've been playing too much catch-up on that line ever since Subheading got lost in the snow on the way there."

"Wait, do we have any update on him?"

"Recovering in a Crystal Empire hospital since yesterday. I sent him my good wishes via letter." Then, perked eyes. "Oh, and the second modern invasion of Canterlot—almost forgot about that one." With an increduluous face, he said, "Can you believe almost nopony in Equestria has heard of the Storm King until then?"

"That's what you get when you don't send historians out to the lands beyond here."

"That reminds me of the new locations we have to document in this edition," Volume Number went on, resting his hoof on the table again. "Abyssinia, Klugetown, Mount Aris with Hippogriffia and Seaquestria, Basalt Beach—and certainly even more when we ask the locals of those places. We're still receiving reports of Abyssinia trying to recover from their own invasion, by the way—wanna be the one out there and ask the cats about some good ol' history of their own?"

"I think I've got my plate full with all the homework," House Style answered, spreading his forehooves wide as if emphasizing the folder with photos and files on the table.

Volume Number rubbed his head. "Sorry. It's just—it's hard for me to cope with the influx as well. Teachers, librarians, casual readers, hardcore readers or fans—they've been waiting up for this one since months ago."

"Don't we do this yearly?" House Style asked, raising his head.

"Yes—looks my mind's getting scrambled out of all this. Ugh." The Earth pony rubbed his head again—eyes closed.

"You need some medicine?"

"I'll be fine," Volume Number said, holding out a hoof. "Besides, it's break time already. Nothing's gonna defuse my headache like talking with legends—and medicine, although I won't talk to medicine." Then, he stood up from his chair.

"I've got some medicine for you," House Style said, picking up something from behind another stack of papers

"It's alright. You've got your own for your headaches, not mine. I have mine."

With that, he exited the small room.

The door closed.

House Style sighed and slumped on his table again.

He looked at all the photographs and at all the papers in front of him and on the table.

"All I know is that I have to get this done sooner or later. I'm gonna do nothing if I only sleep here. Not to mention having to face disciplinary action, among other things that's gonna happen. I can't blame it on all the creatures who are causing all of this. They're not working to make us work."

His ears perked.

"Wait, didn't he say it was break time?"

He looked once more upon the folder with its photographs. He placed them all fully back inside the folder, closed it, organized the papers to neater stacks.

He hovered to the other end of the room, beside the door.

One look at his work table with his nameplate: "House Style."

He smiled as he opened the door and left his room.

"At least I'll talk to some of the Pillars—that would be nice."

---

"Grilled Vegetables" was a generic name for a restaurant whose specialty was, well, grilled vegetables. Yet, there it was, the name for such a restaurant in front of a busy street in Manehattan, beside a chocolate shop and a newsstand building as these and more basked in the nightlights and the nightlife of the bustling city that did not want to sleep.

The floor was checkered, the tables were white and green, and the aesthetic of the place was like that of a run-of-the-mill diner: tacky yet homely, urban yet cozy. More than several ponies occupied the tables and the counter—and the customers who were at the counter were in for a good treat since they would order, wait, have, and eat without having to walk a single meter.

Besides the general chatter going on, sizzles and fizzles were heard—one could see, even from a table, the cooks grilling various vegetables such as lettuces, cabbages, tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, garlic, and so on. Some fruits were also being grilled such as apples, oranges, strawberries, and so on. Some cooks were using charcoal grills, others were using gas grills. Common words that went around between customers and order-takers were "Charcoal!" and "Gas!" which was usually followed by a nod from the order-taker who then relayed the word (plus the rest of the order) to the cook who would then respond appropriately by placing the ingredients on the appropriate grills.

The smell of the place was faint—there was not much in terms of a culinary aroma going around, but it was there.

As one of the counter customers left his seat with a burp, House Style took over and rested a hoof on the metal counter.

An order-taker—or a waiter—walked over to him. "Ah, House Style! How are you doing?"

"Lots of work for this year's edition, Char Broil," House Style said in a raspier tone.

"Not too hard?" she asked.

"It should be par for the course by now," he said, smirking.

"So, any extra job you're gonna have besides editing?"

"Volume Number suggested that I go out to Abyssinia and interview the residents there." He rested his head on a hoof.

"That far?"

"That far, but he understood that even I couldn't handle that considering the rest of the workload."

She nodded. "Want your usual?"

"I want something heavier for tonight," he said. "The usual plus a few charcoal apples and charcoal onions—full onions. And a few charcoal peppers."

"Hefty bite, no?" she said, curling her lips and raising an eyebrow in curiosity. She turned back to shout: "House Style's usual with extra charcoal apples, onions, peppers!"

"House usual, extra charcoal apples, onions, peppers!" a deep baritone voice called out from the unwalled kitchen.

She rested her hooves on the metal counter, with him right across. "I've heard rumors and hearsay that the Pillars are staying there. Is that true?"

"True," he curtly replied.

Her eyes widened—gasping. "Really, now?"

"I already said 'True,'" he said, smirking. "Aren't you gonna believe any of my words?"

"It's just...unbelievable, House," she said. She looked up dreamily. "Could you just think of yourself standing right in front of somepony who mom and dad told you about endlessly during story time? I certainly can—although Rockhoof and Meadowbrook were just two among the many bedtime stories they told me—still, it's just—it boggles my mind, really, how some of my bedtime heroes can—"

"I've heard that story a ton of times already," House Style cut in, waving a hoof in the air as if dismissing something. "It's always at the top of our 'Most Talked History Topics of the Day' list. Ponies come to our town just to see our reaction to all that's been happening—from truly interested ponies who want to know our honest opinions and the objective facts about it to those who have their fill by just seeing our faces to whatever story they can concoct whether real or not. This...return, so to speak, is just what broke the floodgates."

"Lots of mail?" she asked, raising an eyebrow again.

"Lots of mail," he answered. "And there were yet more after the whole Storm King thing ended. This thing is not yet over, though—even with all the mail overflowing from our mailboxes, there will be the massive news coverage during Hearth's Warming. There will be speeches by the Princesses during that time and certainly at the end of the year." He raised a wing and counted that item with one pinion, ready to count yet more. "No doubt there will be at least a few delegates from throughout Equestria visiting for the grand Hearth's Warming celebration in Canterlot. We have to record that as well." Another pinion counted. "No doubt newspaper will also be reporting on the Dragon Lands' second Hearth's Warming celebration—or, whatever they could pull off during the time." Another pinion counted. "Then, there comes the Changeling Hive's first Hearth's Warming celebration." Closed three pinions on one wing, restarted with the first pinion. "Almost nopony—well, nopony in the public—knows what they're gonna do. We have guesses and approximations judging from their usual behavior." He retracted his pinions.

"Like lively parties and telling their feelings to each other?" she asked.

"That's an approximation," he said. "Only some know for sure what's gonna happen there."

"Wait a minute—that's reserved for the newspaper ponies."

"Some complications with the newsstands here, if you haven't noticed," he said. "A lot are on strike—even though the fire was completely by accident."

"There was a fire?"

"It was controlled before it blazed outside, but it burned more than enough equipment and personal property to enrage the writers. Some of those writers moved to our offices—and, what else can I do for them than to gather info?"

"Yikes." She raised a hoof to her mouth.

"It's going to be fine," he said in a matter-of-fact way, casually fixing his posture. "As long as we all work together and co-operate, we're going to bring the newspaper ponies back to the fray and we're going to publish the twenty-ninth edition—eventually."

"Hah. Eventually." She sneered at that. "You've delayed it three times this year! If you guys keep this up, this year's gonna go edition-less!"

"Oh, no, ma'am!" he said, imitating another's accent. "That would be a disaster if we happen to release it on the first day of next year!" He placed his hooves on his cheeks as if to prove his point. "Oh, no! What are we going to do, ma'am?!"

She giggled at that. "Stop it—you're making a fool of yourself!"

"Well, I don't have much to do until I get back to work," he said—an air of dreaded anticipation. "The next few weeks are going to be difficult for all of us—rushed papers, hasty interviews and talks, fast editing."

"But, don't forget that we're here to cheer you up while you're at it," she said, smiling.

He sniffed the air.

A plate down in front of him.

"It's already here?" he asked, amazed at the sight of the plate and its grilled contents—with steam still rising from them and a bit of carbon on them. "Wow, that's—"

"You don't have to say it," she said.

With that, she went to the customer who had just arrived right beside House.

"Ah, hello! You must be new here, sir...?

"Blue Alarm," the changeling replied. "I'm Blue Alarm."

House looked at him—and had a little surprise on his face.

He did not say a word. He just watched the changeling.

"What's the bestseller here?" Blue Alarm asked. "Or chef's recommended item? Hm—could there be a waiter's recommended item? Isn't their opinion as valuable as a chef's?"

"I'm not so sure, really," she said. "And, before I forget, my name's Char Broiled."

"Fitting that you work here," Blue Alarm said.

She smiled with closed eyes. "I guess it's my talent that led me to this place—I've done a fair part of grilling and broiling myself. Also charbroiling."

"What does it feel like?" he asked, tapping the metal counter with his hoof. "Living up to your name in the literal sense of it, I mean?"

"It's pleasant, to say the least," she said. Then, she cleared her throat, looking back at the menu above her before looking back at the changeling. "But, I don't wanna waste your time—we could talk more after you place in your order."

Blue Alarm nodded. "That's good. I've already decided, though: just three stalks of celery, gas grilled."

She smiled once again. "Coming right up, sir!" She turned around to one of the cooks at the back. "Three celery stalks; gas!"

"Three celery stalks; gas!" he replied—that same deep baritone voice.

She turned back to see Blue Alarm. "I noticed that this is your first time here in Grilled Vegetables."

"I haven't had many chances to try out grilled food," he said. "Our methods of cooking in the hive are limited—we sent some of our idealistic chefs to some cooking schools throughout Equestria."

"Don't you think that's too much?" she asked.

"Might as well make a good impression on everyone else, don't you think?"

"Mm-hm."

He looked around, seeing the various ponies who sat and ate their grilled vegetables on the tables. A few met his gaze—one sheepishly waved at him with an clumsy, stiff smile. Blue Alarm waved back.

"How's the hive?" she asked. "How's living there?"

"It's not as radical as some make it out to be," he said. "Most of us got used to it at this point. Thorax being king is one of the best things about it, though—when you consider that he's had lots of friends in the Crystal Empire back before he became our ruler, he's had more than enough experience in the art of friendship."

House Style was still watching the discourse unfold, slightly leaning closer, straining and stressing one ear.

"Speaking of friendship," she said, "care to tell me who your closest friends are? I'm sure you have many friends both changeling and pony—but, what about the names to begin with?"

"Easy." He smiled. "Red Noise, Humerus, Neon Guard. Stuck with me even before the entire change."'

"You used to be, uh, squad buddies or something?" she asked, a twinge of nervousness in that question.

"Yes." He nodded with that.

"Oh, uh...." She cleared her throat. "Well, uh, ah, that's...nice to know."

"I know you're uncomfortable with me telling you that," he said. "Just to let you know, Char Broiled—right, is it?"

"Don't worry," she said, clearing her throat right after that. "It's all in the past—it's all in the past and I don't have to think too much about that right now." Then, she smiled.

A tap on her shoulder.

A big and muscular Earth pony wearing a pair of thick glasses had, on his hoof, a plate of three grilled celery stalks. "Here's three celery stalks, gas!"

"Thank you!" she said as she took the plate and placed it right in front of the changeling.

It was hot.

"Careful, Blue Alarm," she said. "If you aren't, you might end up burning your tongue."

"I've seen something far worse than just burning my tongue," Blue Alarm said, "so I think I'll be very careful this time."

"Now, what could be possibly be worse than burning your tongue by some stalks?"

"Seeing your friend breathe fire out of his mouth and ears?"

"It's not that an uncommon occurrence here," she said.

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" House Style interrupted, raising a hoof as he faced the changeling and the waiter.

He gulped.

She looked surprised.

The changeling looked at him.

"Ah, you're her friend," Blue Alarm said, turning fully to him. "I've seen you chatting with her right before I came in. I bet you're close friends with her."

Moments of silence. "Yes, I am close friends with her."

"That's good," he said. "You must be a regular here, then."

"Yeah, I am." He rested a hoof once again on the metal counter. "And, I bet your travelling around in Equestria—sight-seeing and all—brought you here."

"You're correct. You have good observational skills—" pointing a hoof at him, though an uncertain one for he hesitated "—you're probably an investigator, working for the police department here in Manehattan."

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me. I'm just an editor for 'The Complete History of Equestria.'"

"Not bad!" Blue Alarm told. Then, a bigger smile. "If you're willing, I could have, say, twenty minutes of my time for some talk with you." He picked up one grilled stalk. "I'll nibble at this—I can make this last for twenty minutes and more. It just takes expertise and patience."

"It'll grow cold!" Char Broiled complained. Then, with a change of face—a smile—she said, "But, I think this will be very interesting."

House Style nodded at that. Then, he narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that I needed such an interview with a changeling like you?"

"Wanted to buy a newspaper and I overheard some tidbits about some newspaper staff forced to move to a history building or something."

House Style's eyes opened wide at that. He glanced at Char Broiled. "Small world, huh?"

"For all you know, House," she replied, beginning in jest, "your parents might have secret connections to the Royal Sisters!"

"Very funny. My parents are definitely not related to either of the Princesses at all. Otherwise, I would've been a real Prince by now and I wouldn't be here talking to you two!" He pointed at her and Blue Alarm.

"What you're saying is that the Princesses are worse at friendship than you are?" she asked—still in jest.

"Still funny."

"Come on! You know it's just a joke!"

"I know it, I know it, I know it!" he yelled, raising his forehooves in the air.

A few seconds of silence.

"We'll start?" Blue Alarm asked, positioning the stalk near his mouth.

"Why not?" House Style answered.