Foreign Nationals of Unusual Importance

by Dave Bryant

Coda

From my perch on one of the picnic tables I surveyed the idyllic panorama surrounding me. Evening shadows chased golden afternoon sunlight from the nearby orchards and the hills beyond. Strings of outdoor globe lights, competing with fabric shade canopies for space in the limbs and boughs overhead, were beginning to wink on. At the far end of the yard, opposite the back of the Apple farmhouse, stood a temporary stage, the Rainbooms’ racked instruments and equipment still cluttering it and a space clear of tables before it.

Snatches of talk, laughter, and music, none so raucous as they had been earlier, echoed the relaxed mood of a long, exciting day gradually winding down. Children pelted amongst the inadvertent obstacle courses of tables, trees, and adults or teens standing in clumps conversing, guffawing, gesturing. I smiled in a mellow contentment, then started slightly as the table bounced and thumped under the sudden weight of another body plunking down beside me.

“A bit for ’em,” a slightly sweaty Sunset said in a laughing undertone as she bumped her shoulder companionably against mine. One hand gripped the handle of a metal stein, foamy head overflowing its lip; the other steadied the vessel belatedly against any more sloshing.

I couldn’t help a bark of surprised laughter at her inside joke. “Do you still have any bits?”

She shrugged, not quite hiding her own smile in a swig of her fresh mugful of beer. “Yeah, some. I couldn’t bring myself to part with all of them. Besides, it was getting harder and harder to find ways to move them, even melted down. Coin and metal dealers goss—uh, talk to each other, y’know, even back home.”

“I imagine so.” We paused for a beat or two, simply enjoying the moment, and I took a pull from my bottle of Sweet Apple Acres hard cider. “‘Cook’s Summer Cook-out’?” I mused at last in answer to her original question. “Really? I just about choked when I saw the banner on the front of the house!”

Sunset rocked with laughter and slapped her knee. Once she was able to stop cackling, she replied, “I thought you were going to explode right there on the spot. The name was Pinkie’s idea.”

“Of course it was,” I observed wryly. “I was expecting . . . I don’t know. Another quiet family dinner or something like that. Not a picnic with half the city!”

Sunset’s eyes danced with mischief. “It wasn’t even a hundred people, Cook, let alone half the city. We only invited people who were in on the story—at least part of the story—and we were careful about it.”

I had to grant that one. Twilight, I suspected, was the mastermind behind the brilliantly simple solution to the problem of knowing what one could say to whom. Everyone wore a name tag garnished with a cheery ribbon rosette—Rarity’s contribution, no doubt—but the seemingly random distribution of colors was nothing of the sort. Red ribbon, wound in one pattern, signified those who knew only the cover story; blue, in another pattern, was reserved to those who had the whole truth.

“Still, it can’t have been cheap,” I pointed out. “As much as I appreciate all this, I’d hate to think you girls blew all your cash on it.”

“We didn’t, I promise.” Sunset held up her free hand mock-solemnly. “Some of it, yeah, but not all of it. We told people the party was a potluck and asked for volunteers to help with contributions and set-up. That worked pretty well. Even the Crystal Prep families and the principals pitched in.”

I grinned. “I was a little surprised by that. I didn’t exactly make a good first impression on Celestia, Luna, or Cadance.” After a brief hesitation, I added, “And I wasn’t sure how the CPA parents would react to a shindig like this. They struck me as more the sort for champagne and cavier in marble halls.”

“You’re a fine one to talk, Mister Highfalutin’ Diplomat. They’re not all like that, at least not all the time. I mean, look at Sci-Twi’s folks. And, hey, it gave you a chance to make it up to the principals, right?”

“I guess it did at that,” I said slowly. “Not that you seven had anything to do with it.” Throughout the late morning, one or more of the Rainbooms periodically all but bodily carried me off to meet some new arrival, including the three schoolmasters. In fairness, the latter trio had been gracious, willing to give me the benefit of the doubt thanks to the character witnesses accompanying me, and I’d made the most of the opportunity to adjust their perspectives. Celestia in particular seemed swayed by my genuine credentials as Sunset’s case worker.

Sunset snickered, then cleared her throat and asked more seriously, “So did you have fun, Cook?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly without any hesitation. “I did. More than I thought I would. It’s been a wonderful day and a wonderful gesture. Thank you, Sunset—all of you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s the least we could do.” She fell silent and took another sip.

“What, to make up for doubting me?” I asked gently. “I don’t blame any of you for being upset, even angry, when I disappeared without even a puff of smoke. I didn’t like it one bit either, but orders are orders. I’m just glad to be back here, and back on the job.”

Sunset’s smile turned crooked and she crossed her ankles. “You shoulda been around when it dawned on us why we were so mad at you. You probably woulda laughed your a—head off. It was mental whiplash. Who’da thunk we’d make friends with a guy sent by the government to spy on us?”

All the girls had been furious from mingled hurt and worry when I reappeared from nowhere; none had been inclined at first to accept what little explanation I was allowed to offer. Of the fraught confrontation in Pin Stripes’ office I said nothing beyond a brief sardonic mention of a performance review. The rest of my trip I passed off as administrivia, awkward but necessary for my job and position, which at least came within shouting distance of the facts.

Twilight and Sunset in particular had expressed dark and all too accurate suspicions I was glossing over more than I was telling. The former’s comments had been merely trenchant, the latter’s unfit for polite company. Applejack had limited herself to a passive-aggressively dubious “If’n ya say so.” The others had been nearly as skeptical, if less outspoken.

Only after I groveled verbally with abject apologies, confirmation my assignment would continue, and promises I’d be permitted to let them know of any future absences did they relent. Even so, I hadn’t been able to see them in person before today, though that had more to do with frantically busy lives—on my part picking up the threads of my interrupted work; on theirs summer employment, a fast approaching senior year at CHS, practice for a music festival in the late autumn. Not to mention all the secret preparations for the massive picnic and party.

The pair of us held court there on the table, chatting with individuals or groups who happened by. Some wandered over more or less randomly, while others beelined specifically to us. The other Rainbooms, a few close classmates, the girls from Crystal Prep whom they’d befriended after the Games; all three groups had brought their families to the grand affair. The three principals. The siblings from Camp Everfree, who I was sure were invited partly to give Twilight a chance to make time with her boyfriend—I’d spotted them hand in hand several times over the course of the day, which never failed to raise a smile. Even Spike eventually curled up on the table nearby, yawning sleepily after a busy day playing with the Apples’ dog Winona and some of the kids, who thought a talking dog was the best invention ever.

As the skies darkened and the lamps brightened, snacks and finger foods appeared on some of the tables nearby to tide over those who hadn’t gotten enough already from the gigantic afternoon meal that had stood in for both lunch and supper. I was still pretty full, but Sunset skipped off briefly. When she returned with a plate piled high, I shook my head. “Good grief. Where are you going to put all that?”

She snickered but declined to answer, instead kicking her heels under the table and glancing up toward the stage. At its front edge the blue-haired DJ in mirrorshades, invited in her own right, was setting up her portable deck—complete with decorative façade and banner—and surveying the cleared area between her and the rows of tables. It seemed the evening would end with dancing.

I woke the next morning, later than usual, sore from a slight sunburn and an unusually physical day, not to mention a bit of dehydration. Attending to my discomfort in a sleepy mental haze took rather more of the remaining morning than I’d intended or desired. After a salve, some stretches, several glasses of water, and a hearty breakfast at the same coffee shop I visited on arriving in the city, I felt better, but that didn’t mean I felt great.

Thus it was with an unpleasantly powerful sense of déjà vu I greeted an unexpected text message from Sunset, almost identical to the one that had summoned me to meet Starlight and Juniper. I groaned and rose creakily from my couch, hoping I wasn’t headed for another sudden crisis.

By the time I’d driven to the school’s neighborhood, found a curbside parking spot, and trudged to the campus, it was midafternoon. As I approached the plaza and the plinth on it, I could hear a couple of familiar voices chatting in low tones, presumably from the far side of the stone block. “Hello?” I called out. “Sunset? Twilight?”

Two figures stepped out from behind it, and I blinked. “Wait—”

Sunset grinned crookedly. “Hi, Cook. I’d like you to meet Her Highness Princess Twilight Sparkle. Twi, this is Cookie Pusher, the diplomat I wrote to you about.”

Her companion extended a hand. “Hello, Mister Cookie Pusher. Sunset’s told me a lot about you. Things have been pretty busy for me lately, but I had an appointment in town earlier today, so I thought it would be a good chance to meet you. Shall we talk over a late lunch?”

Author's Note:

A thumb’s-up to whomever can figure out why the colored rosettes are in different patterns, and to anyone who can figure out what Princess Twi’s previous appointment was.
   I fear the story ends a bit abruptly, but I stewed over this chapter for weeks trying to figure out a more graceful conclusion, to no avail, so here it is.
   Chronological order: post-contact 8 (overall 13)

Comments

[EchoWing]

Wait, the story's over? I mean, I know this little universe isn't gone, but still, I feel like this is just the tip of the iceberg.

[Dave Bryant]

8391854
This story is over, certainly, though of course Cook’s assignment isn’t. I’m debating whether to close Foreign Nationals with the end of the scene in “Recall” taking place in Pin Stripes’ office, and moving everything after that to a new story taking place between it and Diplomatic Overtures. What do you think of the idea?

[FanOfMostEverything]

Naturally, the princess is here discuss Cook doing some work in Equestria itself. As for the rosette patterns, I'm afraid I can't say for certain.

In any case, a most enjoyable collection of moments in the most unusual diplomatic appointment this nation may have ever seen. Thank you for it.

[EchoWing]

8392058
Well, whatever you decide, I'm looking forward to it. These have been fantastic.

[Dave Bryant]

8392059
The rosette patterns are for the benefit of any color-blind attendees, who might not be able to distinguish between red and blue. Princess Twi shows up after her appointment with Sunset to see Rose Brass in Amphorae.
   I’m debating whether to close Foreign Nationals with the end of the scene in “Recall” taking place in Pin Stripes’ office, and moving everything after that to a new story taking place between it and Diplomatic Overtures. What do you think of the idea? I value your advice on such matters! And thanks so much for the kind words as always.

[FanOfMostEverything]

8392073
Hmm...

Honestly, I think leaving it as is and doing a bit of recap in the next story will do more for you. Leaving it off at "Recall" will make it seem like the next story will be about Cook's efforts to get back in his superiors' good graces.

[Dave Bryant]

8611472
I try to keep things as canonical as I possibly can—for a value of canonical primarily based on the hints Lauren Faust has provided, in Q&A sessions and interviews, of her pitch-book and initial world-building. Hasbro’s imposition of untenably unworkable anachronisms absolutely break the world for the sort of serious detailed storytelling I prefer, which is why I stick with Ms. Faust’s original vision of Equestria—it is infinitely more self-consistent and, in my view at least, far more charming.

[Super Trampoline]

Nice story.

[Dave Bryant]

9283334
There’s the original installment of Lectern’s New and Used Books told from third person that covers Cook’s initial meeting with the girls, but nothing else so far.

[Vaguely Demented]

Nice. Love the dance he has to do throughout of professionalism versus affability.

[Dave Bryant]

9875503
Thanks very much, and thanks for watching! Cook is a fun and fascinating personality to write, in large part because of that balancing act.

[redandready45]

Good story, good story.

[PonyofEntropy]

Another awesome story!