• Published 4th Nov 2017
  • 3,698 Views, 562 Comments

Inevitabilities - Sharp Quill



Nearly a year has passed since the events that had brought two realms together. Each had kept the other a secret until now, two worlds separated by a certain cartoon. Finally, both are ready to deal with the inevitable complications.

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38. Centaur's Gambit

Meg stood in front of the door to Andy’s hotel room. She looked down the hallway. There was not a soul to be seen, of course, as the whole floor was off-limits to the public. It took a special key to get the elevator to stop here. Agent Reubens was in the next room; she had just come from there. It was as safe as it was going to get.

I’m being silly.

However much he had been portrayed in the cartoon as the one-dimensional villain, she had spent enough time in his presence to know he wasn’t a monster. Just… out of touch with modern sensibilities.

She shifted the weight of her backpack, ladened with four seasons of DVDs.

Just get it over with.

She knocked on the door.

Eternal seconds passed.

The door opened. On spotting her, Andy opened it all the way and stood aside. “You may enter.” The robes were gone. He now wore a conventional shirt and pants. There’d be no trouble blending in now.

“Uh, thanks.” Meg entered, at the same time taking off the backpack. “I’ve brought the cartoon. We can watch them in order, or jump to the very last one—that’s the one you’re in.”

“The last one, as it has the greatest personal relevance to me.” Andy closed the door. “But let’s talk first. It’s the first private conversation we’ve had since Tartarus.”

Meg noticed the TV was already on, though muted. It was tuned to CNN. Andy was evidently catching up on current events. “We could do that,” she said noncommittally.

He sat down in the recliner, leaned back and pushed a button on the side. His feet came up. “It’s amazing what people have thought of,” he said. “I’m sure something like this could have been crafted in my day. At great cost, surely, but nothing a king could not commission; it is certainly fit for a king! But no one had ever conceived of such a thing.”

Meg sat on a sofa, laying the backpack by her side. “I have something like that recliner; most people can have one, if they wanted one.”

“So I understand. But enough about furniture.”

She opened her backpack and pulled out the box of DVDs, hoping that was what he meant.

His eyes were on her. “I never expected you to be a part of this realm as well.”

She fished out the last DVD of the fourth season, and left it on the sofa. “It’s complicated.”

“Such things usually are.”

She never had the chance to get an alibi from Yearling. How much did it matter anyway? After all, nothing could happen that would invalidate the time loop, to keep her from breaking him out of Tartarus several years ago.

Naturally, there was no way she’d mention time loops to him. I just hope he doesn’t mention it to me!

“I’m human,” she admitted, “one of the first Twilight met in this realm. It’s a long story, and I’m not at liberty to discuss much of it, but on our first visit to Equestria she turned me and my husband into ponies—at our request—to fit in, because we were bronies ourselves. I’m still coming to terms with the cutie mark I acquired soon after.”

He grunted. “Perhaps I should count myself lucky I never had a cutie mark.”

“It’s… proving to be more than I could’ve anticipated.”

“You’re clearly on good terms with the princesses. Why would you have chosen to help me? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

Why indeed. What had she told him during that first breakout? “I have my reasons.” She hoped she sounded convincing.

He exhaled. “It’ll have to do. I have too few allies as it is to squander them.” He pointed at the TV. “Perhaps you could explain what all this DNA talk is about?”

Meg look at the screen, trying not to think about being labeled an ally. CNN was running a clip of Senator Routledge. The sound was still off, but the chyron at the bottom mentioned the Equestrian DNA scandal. The senator had used that leak to initiate a congressional investigation into what the president knew and when he knew it—especially concerning those two human samples.

“DNA… that’s modern biological science.” She struggled to come up with an explanation. “It’s the mechanism behind heredity. Why children have characteristics of their parents. We’ve identified the specific substance—that is, DNA—and can decode it, even modify it… a bit. The science is in its infancy.”

Andy shook his head in awe. “Incredible.”

She internally debated whether to say more. Might as well, she concluded. He was going to hear about it regardless. It should come from herself, to build up trust. “A while ago, many Equestrian animals and plants had their DNA sampled. It showed they were indistinguishable from their counterparts here, those that had counterparts. It was done in secrecy, and the results kept secret.”

“Until someone talked.” Andy sighed. “I don’t know whether to be happy or sad that human nature has changed so little.”

Meg didn’t know what to say to that.

“And this talk about strikingly similar human and pony DNA samples,” he continued. “Would I be surprised by the identity of one of these humans or ponies?”

Meg cringed. “I… would say not.” It was becoming terribly clear that she had better avoid getting on his enemies list, and she had little doubt he had one.

“I wonder how magic rewrites this DNA when changing you from a human to a pony; alicorn magic is powerful, as I know all too well.” He leaned back. “Or me from a human to a centaur.”

Poison joke magic evidently being just as powerful. “That was why I was persuaded to participate. What was changed, and what was left unchanged, by the… ‘rewrite’… is being studied.”

“If I had known, I think I would have offered a DNA sample before my humanity was restored. There are no other centaurs left to my knowledge. How is this DNA acquired?”

“It’s completely painless and harmless. Just rub something against the inside of the cheek.”

“What about plants, which do not have mouths?”

“Just about every part of the body, plant or animal, has DNA.”

He smiled at her. “You have done much for me, Meg. I’ll do what I can for you, and I’m sure there’s much you can still do for me. I’d like to give this ‘social media’ a try, for example. But for now, let’s watch a cartoon.”


“I knew I was going to earn my spot in the history books because of ponies,” Serrell said, almost facetiously, “but hopefully not as the first president to be impeached and removed from office.”

Twilight found it a bit difficult to meet the eyes of the human president sitting across the Oval Office from herself. She was somewhat to blame for the predicament he was in, after all. “To be honest, I don’t understand your optimism.”

“That’s because you don’t understand how the political game is played here. It’s mostly grandstanding. Senator Routledge, for example, wants my job. Sure, they might try to impeach me—hell, they might even succeed—but even that’s pretty meaningless. It’s just an official ‘we disapprove of you,’ unless they put some teeth into it, and that has never happened in the history of this country.”

It was a game she had no interest in playing, and fortunately it was not played in Equestria. It made the jockeying of the Canterlot nobility seem so… relaxed in comparison? “I still can’t believe a flightless bird could cause all of this.”

Serrell waved it away. “To be fair, I didn’t see it either. Maybe it would’ve happened regardless; this just made it happen sooner.”

Twilight sighed. “I could handle it if it was just about cats and dogs, apples and bananas, but accusations of humans being turned into ponies? What could I say? They’ll only hear that it’s true; they won’t hear that it was voluntary, that those were the only two, and that they can return to being human whenever they please!”

“And the very next question they’d ask is ‘what are their names?’ Fortunately, that information is not there to leak.” He looked down at his clasped hands. “It’s probably best for you to continue avoiding the media; it’s simply a no-win situation. I, alas, do not have that option.”

She wondered if she truly had that option either. The situation wasn’t going to fix itself. She just wished she knew how to fix it.

A change of subject might improve the mood. “I’m hearing from Meg that SILICon tickets sold out within hours once Andy’s booking was made public. Tickets are even being… ‘scalped,’ I think? Resold at huge markups. ”

The president’s mood had not improved. “About that.”

What could possibly be wrong with that?

“A lot of tickets are being bought by bad actors.”

He let that sink in.

“What do you mean, ‘bad actors?’”

“Exactly what you think. You know all those concerned citizens protesting for the cameras? They intend to make an appearance at the convention. We know this because we have undercover FBI agents planted in many of those groups.”

Her wings sagged. What was she supposed to do about this?

“You might want to consider pulling all Equestrian guests appearances.” Serrell looked at her hopefully. “Unless there’s something magic can do about this?”

Canceling all pony appearances wasn’t going to fix the situation either, but… “No, there isn’t. What about Andy?” The former centaur was no longer her problem, of course.

“Still keeping our options open—and… You haven’t checked out his new Twitter feed by any chance, have you?”

“Uh, no?”

A grim smile. “Let’s just say I don’t think he needs to be terribly concerned about anti-pony protesters.”


“She can’t do that!”

How much longer do I have to put up with this crap? Meg levelly stared across the table at the convention president. “Andrew, have you listened to a word I said? There will be major protests at the convention. They have tickets. What do you expect Twilight to do?”

Andrew was unfazed, lifting his glass of beer. “Then get a list of the ticket holders from the FBI and we’ll cancel them, refund their money. Problem solved.” He took a drink.

“Uh, this won’t affect the items being put up for auction, would it?” Penny said.

Well, Penny was the Head of Charity and Sponsorships. “I see no reason why it would,” Meg told her. To Andrew, she said, “The FBI won’t release that information. First, because they don’t have a complete list—so they say. Second, because it would compromise their undercover agents. And third, it won’t stop the protests; it’ll just move them outside the convention hall, where they can harass the other attendees as they come and go.”

Joe, the convention vice-president, shook his head over his own glass of beer. “They’ll at least be present to help maintain order, right?”

How much longer was this going to drag on? “The FBI? No. They don’t do that. It’ll be up to the local police—and the cops won’t stop them from protesting, they’ll just try to keep it from getting out of control. What about our security? Have we hired some professional outfit?”

“I’m looking into that,” Joe said. “The only ones returning my calls are asking big bucks.”

“And how big will the bucks be if something happened?”

“Secret Service?” Andrew quietly asked. “Why aren’t they at this meeting anyway?”

“Only to protect Andy. Which is what they’re currently doing at his undisclosed location.”

“But you know where he is,” Elaine asked. “Right?”

Meg looked straight into the eyes of the Head of PR and Marketing. “I will neither confirm nor deny that.” It felt strangely satisfying to utter that cliché. She just hoped it wouldn’t backfire on her.

“The point is,” Andrew said, “is that Tirek, or Andy, or whatever his name is today, is still on—correct?”

“Yes, Andrew, he’s still on. For now.” Meg punctuated that by loudly munching on some nachos.

“I guess we should be thankful for small miracles,” Tyler, the Head of Events and Programming, said. “This fiasco is creating enough holes in our schedule as it is.”

“Why is he still on,” Elaine asked, “when Twilight has pulled the plug?”

Did she really have to explain everything? “Because,” Meg said, “Twilight has no say concerning the former Lord Tirek. He’s no longer her responsibility.”

“Even so, hasn’t it become too dangerous for him too? The Secret Service are still okay with this?”

“You haven’t been following his tweets, have you?”

“He’s been tweeting?” Andrew asked.

Meg sighed. “He sure has, starting with ‘Never underestimate Celestia hashtag beware Celestia.’ He’s looking into starting a YouTube channel as well.”

Andrew was speechless for a moment—but only a moment. “Will he be tweeting about his upcoming appearance at our convention?”

“I think everyone already knows,” Meg dourly replied.

Joe finished off a few sweet potato fries. “I guess that’s why they’re not too concerned about his safety. With tweets like that, those protesters will mob him in a good way.”

Elaine looked concerned. “Is that really the right messaging we want for a bronycon?”

Andrew shrugged. “We sold out, didn’t we?” He finished off his beer and threw Meg a smug smirk. “‘May You Find What You’re Looking For,’ wasn’t it? Can’t say I have any complaints.”

Meg didn’t know how much more of this she could take. “How about when those protesters start disrupting the convention? Will you be complaining then?”

“No such thing as bad publicity,” he replied. “Besides, I have full faith in the police’s ability to keep things under control.”

Meg couldn’t decide if he was incredibly stupid, or just incredibly optimistic. She got out her phone. “Let’s just hope that bad publicity doesn’t scare off all the true bronies.”

“Too late for them to get refunds anyway,” Andrew said as he reached for some fries.

“No,” Meg said as she checked YouTube. “They’ll just resell them, to be bought by other protesters.” She still hadn’t told Dinky her human birthday party was off. At best, she’d have to find another venue. I suppose my brother’s house is still an option. “Wow. That was fast.”

“What was fast?” Penny asked.

It already had tens of thousands of views, and it’d been up for barely an hour. How did so many stumble on it so fast?—assuming “stumble” was the proper word. “Andy’s first video blog,” Meg replied. She silently read the description. “Looks like it’s about the portal he used to enter Equestria.” A certain pony needed to know about this ASAP. She texted a message to Twilight.


“I reckon it ain’t none of our business,” Applejack said. “You’re a princess of Equestria, Twilight. Don’t get so caught up in their foolishness.”

Twilight glumly stared at her apple fritters. “I’m afraid their foolishness is my business. Their Congress is demanding that I appear before them to answer questions about how dodos wound up in our realm.” DNA testing had confirmed it was an actual dodo.

“Will you do that?” Fluttershy asked.

“They certainly can’t force me to.” Twilight sighed. “However much they wish they could. But I’m afraid refusing may be worse than consenting.”

“I don’t envy your decision,” Rarity said.

Rainbow Dash knocked back a mug of apple cider. “I’m just glad they can’t come here by their own means. Who knows what they’d do to us, here, if they could?”

“Yeah!” Pinkie shouted. “They’re, like, you’re turning us humans into ponies—and we are!”

Rarity magically dug her fork into a slice of apple pie. “That’s taking things completely out of context, darling. You make it sound like we’re turning large numbers of humans into ponies against their will.”

Twilight hesitantly lifted a fritter in her magic. “Unfortunately, that’s exactly what a vocal minority is accusing us of, or of planning to do, and accusing their own president of being our accomplice. Taking facts out of context is something they’re quite good at, when it serves their purposes.”

Rainbow pounded the rustic table with a hoof. “Then forget about them! Give those yucky pills back to Discord and be done with them. Yeah, sure, they got some interesting stuff, but it’s not worth the headaches.”

Fluttershy quietly nodded in agreement.

“What about Meg and Steve?” Pinkie demanded. “Will that make them happy?”

Rainbow shrugged. “They’d have a decision to make. I’m fine either way.”

“We all would be fine however they decided,” Rarity said, “but let’s not be hasty about it.”

Twilight finally bit into her apple fritter. Perhaps she was letting it all get to her. After all, the sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, a gentle breeze was rustling through the apple trees, and Celestia cared for her little ponies… none of that would be changed if Serrell was removed from office.

Her phone buzzed. She lifted her foreleg to check it. A message from Meg. A video blog from Andy? “Just what we need.” She clicked the link with her magic. “The portal? This is how he tells me? By sharing it with the whole human world?”

“Well, don’t make us wait! What’s the varmint saying?”

“I haven’t… here, we’ll all find out together.” She turned up the volume to max, set the phone on the table, and hit play.

Andy’s face appeared. It was easy to forget it was no longer attached to a centaur body. Behind him was an abstract painting; it was in his hotel room, she knew.

“Greetings to all who are watching this,” he began. “Back when I was a Minoan prince, no one could conceive of even our Gods doing what I am doing right now: sending a message directly to uncounted people across the entire world. What humanity has accomplished during my absence never ceases to amaze me.”

He looked down for a second. Checking his notes?

“There’s a bit of unfinished business I need to take care of. It is not widely known, but my release from Tartarus was contingent upon the completion of a certain task: to tell all that I know about the portal that had brought me to the other realm. That task I shall fulfill now.” He smiled, as if at a private joke. “I was only required to provide this information to Princess Twilight Sparkle, but nothing prohibits me from sharing it with all of you.”

Applejack snorted. “Now that there's a loophole you could stampede a herd of buffalo through!”

Twilight sighed. It had never occurred to her he would inform her in this fashion. But did it really make a difference how he informed her?

The former inmate continued. “At my first press conference, I said all that I knew about the portal that once connected our world to theirs—all that I knew at the time I had passed through it. During the long centuries I was imprisoned in Tartarus, however, I had the opportunity to learn additional bits and pieces from other inmates. There’s no need to name them, nor shall I, for what I have to say does not depend on their credibility.

“Once I had accumulated enough of those bits and pieces, it had all become clear.”

He paused for dramatic effect, peering at the camera.

“Here’s the short version: if you want that portal back, talk to Discord.” He bore a grim smile. “Not what you wanted to hear, Twilight, am I right?”

Twilight hit pause. No. It wasn’t what she had wanted to hear. She got up and stomped towards the orchard, looking up into the sky. “Discord! We need to talk!”

“I knew he couldn’t be trusted,” Rainbow Dash muttered.

Fluttershy cringed. “I’m sure there’s an explanation,” she whispered.

“How do we know he’s even telling the truth?” Rarity asked.

Applejack pulled down her Stetson. “Oh, that’s the varmint’s honest truth, all right.”

Not that Twilight could image Andy lying about that; he knew they would bring this accusation to Discord’s attention.

Who still hadn’t appeared.

But he had been avoiding everypony—everypony but Celestia, apparently—for some time now.

“Huh,” Pinkie said. “That means Discord could’ve returned Andy to his world whenever he wanted.”

Twilight spun around to face the pink pony. “Is that one of your hunches?”

“No, just a logical inference.”

And it was a good one—an inference that Andy, or Lord Tirek as he called himself then, should have also made. “Maybe we should hear the rest of what he has to say.”

“I reckon you’re right.”

Twilight returned to the table and resumed playback.

“Now I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Did I not say the means of traveling between our realms was under the control of the alicorns? Indeed I did, and it now is, for the magic of friendship has somehow put Discord at the disposal of the alicorns.”

“For some definition of ‘disposal,’” Twilight muttered.

He leaned forward. “I know, Discord, that you’ll see this. You want to know the reason I betrayed you? Because you claimed there was no way to send me back to my world, when you had that power all along.” He leaned back. “I was never anything more than a pawn in one of your games, right till the very end, when you let me ‘steal’ your magic so that I could fight Twilight to a draw—and only to a draw.”

Twilight’s jaw fell. “What?”

“I do regret it, betraying you that is. Maybe it was just a game to you, but it was a game I had undeniably benefited from, enormously.” He shrugged. “I still should have asked you. Perhaps you had a legitimate reason, maybe even a good reason. All I can offer as an excuse was my questionable mental state—eternal incarceration can do that, you know.

“Anyway, considering where I ultimately wound up, in a time when men have literally walked on the moon, I’m not sure how much I’d do differently.” A chuckle. “Besides not spending so many damned centuries in Tartarus, of course.”

He briefly paused. “I have yet to complete my task. Here’s the remainder of what I know about that portal, belatedly uncovered during my long internment.”

Six ponies fixed their attention on the phone.

“A portal cannot directly connect our two realms. I am not sure why, but I was assured it is a fact. There exists another realm that serves as an intermediary. You don’t experience it passing through the portal, perhaps because the portal has no perceived thickness.

“There are other realms, of course; Tartarus is one, the breezies live in another. Why this particular realm exists, I do not know, nor do I know what exists within it. I have learned from others that Discord learned of the existence of this mysterious and created a full length mirror that granted passage into it. From within, it is possible to somehow interpose this realm between ours and Equestria’s to form a portal. These portals had existed, on and off, over many centuries, perhaps even millennia, until I was trapped. No portal has been in operation since. Discord presumably had his reasons.

“Nor do I know the means used by Twilight to cross between realms, except that it does not involve portals. Nonetheless, I’d wager a large sum of bits that Discord was somehow involved.

“And with that my task has been completed. Goodbye for now. Be sure to subscribe to my channel.” He grinned. “You don’t want to miss out.”

The video concluded.

“Are you okay there, Twi?”

Twilight couldn’t peel her eyes off her phone. “No,” she quietly said. “I’m not.” Her battle with Tirek managed to a draw? Discord responsible for the very portal that gave him entry? Responsible, perhaps, for all the portals that had allowed humans, and who knows what else, entry to the Equestrian realm in the forgotten past—no, not forgotten, erased. The Smooze more or less confirmed that.

Rainbow Dash took another swig and slammed down her mug. “So that mirror really was connected to the actual human realm somehow. Go figure.”

Twilight returned her phone to its holder on her foreleg, at a loss to do anything else. She could guess what purpose that mirror realm served: to permit physical contact between their realms while avoiding the sort of catastrophe that the Pinkie Pie doll almost caused—if the time loop hadn’t guaranteed its timely prevention.

“We should talk to Discord,” Fluttershy firmly said. “If we don’t, we may wind up regretting it, like Andy did.”

“I’d love to,” Twilight said in exasperation. “If he’d only show himself!”

The draconequus did not oblige.