Society as We Know It

by Comma Typer

A Time with Changeling Culture

The sun rose behind the horizon's mountains. Sunlight poured in to the forest and its various animals. Birds flew, bunnies and rabbits hopped. The leaves of the trees and the grass of the ground, with their morning dew, reflected the sun's rays. The light sparkled on the dewdrops.

Sunlight broke through the thick foliage and to the vast swaths of dreary, dry, gray wasteland. Thorns, weeds, and dead trees decorated the wastes. Craggy rocks were abundant. Farther away, there was more of the same. There was more thorns, more weeds, more dead trees, more craggy rocks. No buildings, no houses, no homes. There were no streets, no roads—only one. It was a paved road. A lone changeling in armor flew his way above the road.

Up ahead, two changelings carried on their backs a huge sack as they flew slowly, fighting to keep the sack upright while keeping themselves upright in flight. Ahead of them were two more changelings carrying another huge sack. Ahead of them was another pair of changelings carrying another huge sack. Ahead of that pair were more and more changelings carrying sacks and bags and other sorts of containers. Ahead of all of those changelings was a tall gray wall surrounding the changeling hive itself.

The hive had wooden scaffolds littered around it. Several changelings wearing hard hats and orange construction uniforms were carrying buckets of paints, hoofuls of tools such as hammers and screwdrivers, bags of materials like steel and timber.

The hive itself had numerous holes in it. Debris still surrounded the hive. A hole opened. Another closed. The hive's shape was irregular, but it reached up to the sky. A few spires arched upwards. The central spire, the tallest of all of them, towered above all the makeshift houses and stores whose holes occasionally opened and closed, whose walls were slanted and also curved.

Flying above the spire was a green changeling. With orange antlers, purple and sparkling insect-like wings, purple eyes with no pupils, King Thorax was bigger than the rest of the changelings now. He looked up at the changing sky. Gone, for now, were the stars and the moon. A happy bright blue sky arrived with the sun to greet all that was under its sky.

Though Thorax was king, there was no crown that adorned him.

"Another beautiful sunrise." He looked down. The barren wastelands were now more visible. So was the beautiful grass in the kingdom. The sign of civilization in a dreadful land made the Changeling Kingdom stand out.

He lowered himself down the hive. The sounds of construction and repair re-entered his head. He wasn't looking at the hive nor at the construction workers. He stretched his head, eyeing a certain green changeling wearing glasses. He was holding a bunch of books.

Thorax flew towards that changeling.

Many of the construction changelings stopped their work and turned to see Thorax, their king. "Hail, King Thorax!" they said in unison.

"Thanks, everyone!" He nodded and went back to chasing. "Bookworm!"

The changeling paused his flight and landed on the road. "What? King Thorax?"

"Uh, yes." Thorax gulped. "Remember the meeting I want to have with you...that we planned yesterday?" Thorax turned his head to the hive.

"I remember it, King Thorax," Bookworm said. "What is it that you want to talk about?"

"I want to talk to just you about something."

---

The library, like the hive and the rest of the kingdom's buildings, had an irregular shape. Curved stone columns surrounded the small door.

The two changelings went inside.

"So, what is it, King Thorax?" Bookworm said. His voice echoed through the library.

Thorax closed the door, making the grand background of roads and establishments populated by busy changelings working or having fun disappear.

"It's...something I've noticed a few days ago." His voice quivered but still stayed firm.

Soft green lights turned on. Hanging from the ceiling were lights the shape of larvae. On the stone floors were tall empty bookshelves—there were a few that had books in them.

The two walked under the green light, between the empty bookshelves, surrounded by the stone walls.

"In my visit to Canterlot, I overheard that we changelings don't have 'culture.' I...didn't know what the word meant but I didn't want to appear to the ponies that I didn't know a lot of things and fancy words. I was able to ask for a dictionary and I thought it meant that it was how a society lives its live, what it believes in, what art and books and other things it produces." He paused. "I think that's what it meant."

"That's the informal definition of culture. You want to know the formal definition, King Thorax?"

He waved a hoof. "I don't need to know the formal definition. When I saw that meaning, I looked at the library I was in. There were bookshelves and bookshelves of books! There were sections for books of the same kind. There were books about history, books about geography, books about cooking—books about cooking? I didn't believe that these ponies need books to teach them on cooking! That's just the non-fiction ones. The books of fiction, they were even more interesting—I didn't read them but I read the backs of the books. They told me of love stories, adventure stories, stories about ponies going to space. There were old books and new books there. Almost everyone of them was different. And look at our bookshelves!" He waved another hoof at the empty shelves. "We produced no books at all! We've lived for centuries, even thousands of years, and what did we make? No books! The only books that are here are the essentials of pony literature that I'd ordered. No changeling book at all."

"So, do you want to establish a policy of encouraging changelings to write books?" Bookworm was grinning.

"It's not just about books, Bookworm."

They stopped in front of the desk. A changeling sat on the chair, just staring at the shelves. Around the desk and the lone changeling were more empty bookshelves. A big green light shone on him, making the desk's changeling the star of the library. The changeling sat up and saluted. "Hail, King Thorax!"

"You don't need to hail me every time, Arthros."

"But,"—Arthros pointed at Thorax—"you're our king! We're supposed to hail you!"

"I'm not like Chrysalis, and you should know that."

Arhtros bowed. "I see, Thorax. So, what's your business here?"

"We're just walking around, talking with Bookworm about some important matters."

"Do you want me to do something for you?" He beamed with a smile.

"Are you that desperate for orders?"

Arthros nodded. "Yes, yes I am desperate for orders from the nice King Thorax!"

"Uhh." Thorax looked to his left and to his right. There was only him, Bookworm, and Arthros. He looked back at Arthros. "Go sleep and don't listen to our conversation, OK?"

"Anything for Thorax!" Then, he slept, his face on the desk.

Bookworm turned to Thorax who had a mean look at him. "I didn't know Arthros would be here!"

The mean look disappeared. "Well, everyone's going to know about it, sooner or later." He watched the snoring changeling. "He's not going to wake up soon, is he?"

Bookworm shook his head.

The two walked again between the bookshelves.

"Like I said, it's not just about books. There's the music—other creatures have all kinds of music. Ponies have classical and whatever the DJ pony is pumping out. What music do we have?"

"I'm not a music changeling. Go ask Tick Note."

"I don't need an exact number, Bookworm."

Bookworm gazed up. "We have...zero songs?"

"Then, we get to art. Ponies, griffons, and others have museums that treasure their works of art. Changelings? We don't. There are even no plans for a museum anytime soon—no one's expecting it, anyway. What games do we have? Just look at the Equestria Games. There's aerial relay, running, displays of magic, ice archery—and there's the board games. Chess and checkers are the only the most popular ones. In Canterlot, I saw arcade machines—they made video games! What games do we have? Only the ones we learned from others." Thorax sighed and looked at another empty bookshelf. "Then, there's our traditions. What traditions do we have? We don't celebrate Hearth's Warming Eve, we don't have our own flag, I didn't know there was a thing called a hoof-shake until my first infiltration mission—"

Bookworm laid two hooves on Thorax. "Calm down, king!"

Thorax was breathing fast. "Sorry, Bookworm. It's just, we're so different from the others not because of our culture but because we don't have one!"

"Well, if you place it that way, King Thorax—" He paused and looked at the bookshelf beside him "—what about we make new kinds of culture? Something other than literature or art?"

"I don't think it's easy to think of something else." Thorax halted. He looked at Bookworm.

He trotted back to Thorax's side. "I remembered something, Thorax! One of the changelings told me that he's making a play!"

"What's his name?"

Bookworm contorted his face. "Uh...I'm not sure...he didn't tell me..."

Thorax groaned and sticked a hoof on his face. "He's one of the changelings who haven't given themselves a name yet, isn't he?"

"King Thorax...maybe...I'm uncertain..."

"It's OK, Bookworm. But, think about it—we don't even have names for every one of us while all the other creatures in Equestria have names for each other!"

Bookworm gasped.

"Sorry for that, Bookworm." He looked down, pouting. "I want us changelings to be special in Equestria, but it's...it's hard when the only thing your species have been doing for centuries is thinking of the best way to steal love from the next town." He sat down on the hard floor, resting on the bookshelf. He gazed silently at the other bookshelf in front of him. That bookshelf, like most of the others, had no books.

Bookworm sat down beside him. "And maybe that could be the solution to our problems."

Thorax glared at him.

"That's not what I mean!" He held up two hooves in front of him. "What I mean is that, since ponies and griffons and dragons and others haven't lived in a state of war all the time and we changelings have warred for...ever, that means that the culture we can produce would be very different from the others!"

"War books?" Thorax asked. Then, he hissed. "I don't want the changelings to be known as those kinds of creatures."

"Well, I don't have much of a solution, to be honest with you."

Thorax sighed. He stood up. "I'll think about it." He turned to see Bookworm. "So, what about the changeling that's making a play?"

Bookworm stood up happily. "He's gathered a group of changelings—three males, three females—and he wants to show the play to you as gratitude for what you've done for us changelings!"

Thorax didn't smile. "At least it's some relaxation, but do they have to thank me so often?"

"Don't you see it, Thorax?" Bookworm placed a hoof around Thorax's head. "You are seen as the savior of the changelings! You freed them from the tyrannical Chrysalis! You've given them freedom! That's why they made you their king!"

The king sighed again. "I didn't know being king also made you work almost everyday."

"That's only because you're the one who is managing the entire Changeling Kingdom! Don't you think that's awesome?"

Thorax looked towards the door. "I'll have some rest by watching the play first, Bookworm."

"Can I go with you there?"

He nodded.

---

On the green, open field of grass was a huge wooden platform. A thin wooden wall stood tall, painted with various colors to form only one background—a street with a few houses under a blue sky. Speakers lined the stage. The curtains were already parted, the chatter behind the stage was quiet and mumbled, the ruffles of paper were heard as many changelings took their seats on no seats but the ground. Many had a smile on their face but they weren't looking at the stage.

Thorax was flying to the back of the audience.

Stomps and claps of hooves thundered the field. Even the changelings who were passing by on the sidewalks paused to say "Hail, King Thorax!" and to salute the king.

Thorax wore a sheepish grin. He wiped off the sweat on his face.

He looked around him. There were at least a hundred changelings either sitting on the grass or hovering above it. There were no trees, no flowers—the only plant on this field was grass.

The streets had changelings eating food, exchanging items, buying things from street vendors and paying for those things with bits, carrying on the roads and sidewalks sacks of items. The atmosphere was amicable—most of the changelings were smiling. They smiled even more when they looked at their king, assured that he would lead the Changeling Kingdom to a prosperous peace.

The curtain closed.

Every changeling was silent.

Bookworm sat down next to Thorax. "I heard that the play is going to be great!"

"Let's hope it's great," Thorax said.

Spotlights turned on in broad daylight and focused on the floor. Nobody was there.

Loud microphone feedback echoed through the speakers.

"Ahem, sorry for the inconvenience!" a voice announced. "So, welcome to the first ever changeling play made by changelings, for changelings!"

The cheers and the stomps and the claps returned. Thorax and Bookworm clapped.

"I'm glad that you're all excited for the event! With no more delaying, we present to you: Beginnings!"

The changelings clapped and cheered and shouted.

The curtains opened to show the background of houses and a street. It was lit by redirected spotlights, redirected by changelings flying and holding the tall lights.

"In the city of Changeling, many changelings lived there." The narrating changeling paused. "From a time long ago, several migrating changelings decided to settle in the wonderful mountains. Then, time flew by, and now we're here. Many move here and there, minding their businesses and their leisure. Carraiges roamed the streets. In the city, there was a changeling known as Changed Chanticleer. He had lived in the city for all of his life. He liked playing the drums and selling ice cream to every changeling that passed him by. The smiles on their face saw the smiles on his face and that was nice."

Thorax sticked a hoof to his face again. "I hope I can still enjoy this play."

"And, when changelings decided to go about their daily business, they would usually go towards Changed Chanticleer to buy his world-famous wares and goods—"

"Can you move to the actual play?!" a voice yelled from the audience.

"Uh, OK."

Ruffles of paper were heard through the speakers. Whispers behind the walls were amplified although they were only heard as mumbles.

The spotlights focused on a yellow changeling beside a pink one.

"So, how was your day?" the yellow changeling asked.

"Changed Chanticleer said," the narrator said.

"I'm fine, Changed Chanticleer," the pink changeling said. "How are you?"

"The pink changeling said," the narrator said.

"Does the narrator have to do this every time they speak?" Thorax said.

"I'm telling you, the script is great! It's not perfect, but it's great!" Bookworm smiled.

Thorax sighed and looked back at the stage.

Another changeling, a red one, flew into the stage. "Give me your money!" he yelled.

"The red changeling yelled."

"No way, thief!" Chanticleer said. He flew straight to the thief.

"Chanticleer said. He flew straight to the thief."

Immediately, the two got into a fight. Flying Trotter, the pink changeling, gasped at the fight going on.

"Immediately, the two got into a fight. Flying Trotter, the pink changeling, gasped at the fight going on."

"The narrator should give time for what's happening right there," Thorax said. "He's just narrating what we can already see right now! Are you sure this is a good play now? Did he even show you the script?"

"He only told me that the play was going to be good." Bookworm smiled. "But I trust him! We've been best buds ever since we met!"

"When did you meet?"

"A few days ago!"

Thorax rolled his eyes.

Several changelings were flying from their houses and their stores to the field and the stage. The phrase "Hail, King Thorax!" were said, shouted, yelled, cried out. All that went there saluted to their king, many bowed down on their way. Thorax kept saying "Thank you," trying to focus on the play.

The rest of the play's troupe arrived on the stage. More joined in the fight, one thief versus four good guys and girls. The stage and the background trembled under the ferocity of the fight. Only Flying Trotter stayed behind, sometimes stepping back, sometimes stepping forward, never getting too near to the fight.

"This is just a brawl, Bookworm."

"This is just the first part," Bookworm replied, not turning his focus away from the stage.

The fight seemed to go on and on. There were throws, shouts, punches, even aerial combat.

Thorax looked away from the stage at the audience. They were all enamored by the fight in front of them.

Then, finally, after minutes of brawling, the thief fell down.

Surprisingly, Changed Chanticleer helped the evil thief up to his hooves.

"Suprisingly, Changed Chanticleer helped the evil thief up to his hooves. Ahem." Papers were ruffled.

"Don't worry, you can join our group of good changelings!" Changed Chanticleer gave the thief a hoof.

"Changed Chanticleer gave the thief a hoof."

The spotlights now faced the red thief. He looked up to the sky, to the spotlights, to the background, to Changed Chanticleer. With a shaky hoof, the two shook hooves.

"My name's Rednosed Rob, but you can call me Rob!" And Rob smiled for the first time in his life.

"And Rob smiled for the first time in his life."

The curtains closed.

All were silent on the grass under the sunny sky with the sun shining on them. There were no clouds.

"That's a little play," Thorax said.

"There's more after that. I promise!" Bookworm stared at the stage, waiting for the next scene.

Then, the curtains opened.

All six changelings were lined up in front of the backdrop. The spotlights shone their bright lights on them. They took a bow together and closed their eyes, smiling.

The audience roared its approval with cheers, whistles, shouts. Confetti was thrown at the actors and the actresses. The six changelings on the stage took another bow, revelling in the applause that everyone was giving.

Then, another changeling appeared on the stage. He held with his hoof a microphone. Like the others, he was smiling. "How do you like the show?"

The audience roared and shouted and cheered again, ringing the sounds to all of the Changeling Kingdom.

"I'm glad that you enjoyed the first ever changeling play!"

Thorax and a trembling Bookworm walked to the front. The audience, while still cheering the performers, made way for their king and the changeling wearing glasses and holding a book. Thorax flew to the stage along with Bookworm. Bookworm now held a sheepish grain, trembling a little while he landed on the wooden floor. Thorax held a face of disappointment, looking down, from his height, on the nameless changeling narrator.

"Hail, King Thorax!" The narrator bowed down. He stood up. "So, what did you think of our good play?"

"Uh..." Thorax placed a hoof on his chin. "I'm not sure." He saw the audience. He looked back at the narrator. "I'm not sure?"

All the audience gasped at Thorax's statement.

"The king disapproves of the play?" a changeling cried out from the crowd. "Then, we've cheered on garbage!"

Thorax turned around to the audience. "Don't worry, uh, guys! It's alright to like the play if you liked it. It's that I expected a lot from the play and it turned out that...it wasn't as good as I thought."

The narrator dropped his jaw and his microphone. The loud feedback blasted through the speakers and to the open grass field.

Thorax sighed. "I know, it's hard. It's the first ever changeling play, made by changelings, for changelings. It's also your work, and I can see that you worked hard to make the play and the backdrop and to hire the right changelings for the roles. But...you could've done much better."

The narrator looked down and frowned. "I...I thought you would love it!"

"Well, Bookworm finally got angry and he told me that, one, you narrated too much in the beginning; two, you narrated too much through the play; three, the story was extremely simple; four, the dialogue was very typical."

Bookworm was still trembling. He waved a hoof at his narrator friend.

"But, that's only the surface of the play. Inside the play are symbols and allegories. The play may seem simple, but the meaning inside must be unlocked through interpretation of all elements of the play!" The narrator laughed and cackled.

"And why are you not giving us the meaning of the play?"

The narrator gulped and his grin disappeared.

"Why give us a hard time trying to find the play's meaning? You know the meaning, so give it to us."

The narrator stammered. He finllay shrugged. "I don't know the meaning. I made that explanation up."

Thorax groaned. He turned to the audience. "You can go home now, everyone. The show's over."

The audience bowed down and then went up and left the field, going back to the streets, the sidewalks, and the buildings.

Bookworm shot a glance at his friend and flew away with the rest.

Thorax turned to the narrator who was now shivering and bearing his fangs, although his eyes were downcast. "So, Bookworm told me that you don't have a name yet. Why?"

"I-I don't know..."

Thorax patted him on the head.

"You want to give me a name?"

"I'm not so confident about that..." He gazed at the backdrop still showing to the world a painting of a street and a few houses. "I can't just give every changeling here names. Besides, why not give yourself a name? You have the freedom to do that here." Thorax smiled.

"I'll call myself 'Critic Steno!'"

Thorax winced. "Why 'Critic Steno?'"

The yellow changeling, from his group of performers, raised his hoof. "Changed Chanticleer is actually my real name!"

"I knew that," Thorax said.

Comments

[Xanderfox]

Baby steps Thorax, baby steps. Of course the first changeling play sucked, creating culture from scratch is a monumental task really. Just remind you people your not mad and they shouldn't give up, they are going to fail a lot. Only infiltrators know what culture is, mzkeing their own and teaching others will take time. A really fasinateing topic for stories

[Brony1314]

I don't understand why this story doesn't get more views. It's a great story and it deserves more attention.

[Rathalos122]

In a hundred years after a showing of "The Tale of Changed Chanticleer" a group of changelings aproached king thorax and (after giving the traditional hail) told him theyre trying to rediscover the original version of the play.
He was so elated the he gave them all a three month long vacation to zebrafica.

[Stellar_]

The Changelings should build more monuments. That will get their culture up.

[Seaside Skies]

The streets had changelings eating food, exchanging items, buying things from street vendors and paying for those things with bits, carrying on the roads and sidewalks sacks of items. The atmosphere was amicable—most of the changelings were smiling. They smiled even more when they looked at their king, assured that he would lead the Changeling Kingdom to a prosperous peace.

After Season 7, I'm still hoping that this is cannon. Afterall, everytime we've visited the changling kingdom (which is to say so far, once), we've only seen the entrance, and the upper levels of the "Main Spire" that houses Thorax's throne, the arts and crafts table, and the Feelings Forum. So it's still possible that there's a bustling little town and marketplace within the lower levels.