Memoirs of a Minutor Crystallum

by Witching Hour

Ch 6 - The Status Is Not Quo

Mayfair Apartments, #4
Oxton, Canterlot, Equestria
Sunsday, 28 Rose Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

Needless to say, Rose Moon was not a good month for my relationship with the Honorable Witching Hour Grey, M.D. For the first week or so after the Summer Fun Fly-Meet, I kept finding that damned trophy in random places in the apartment, and our (rather heated) discussions on why I kept throwing the cursed thing in the trash each time never resolved anything. There was one point where I told her that the trophy was actually hers since it was her wings that won that prize, not me (even if it was me using said wings). Witching Hour, of course, never got the message, but it didn’t really surprise me that she couldn’t understand. She was a unicorn after all.

I probably could have launched into a massive metaphysical discourse as to why the wings weren’t really mine, and would be akin to Witching Hour having some foreign object permanently attached to her that enhanced and improved her magical abilities. However, that was not my character as ‘Monkey Wrench - erstwhile patient, roommate and friend’. My ‘ignorance’ of the unicorn arcana was usually easy to maintain, but my frustration made it difficult to bite my tongue. The only way this theoretical Hope could ever understand is if she somehow fell into possession of Hope’s relic, which I considered (at that time) to be about as likely as Pommelpei’s survival against Mount Vulcanius down in Istallia. The only relic that’d come back since the Fall of Equus was Love’s crystal heart.

Again, these were things I couldn’t actually say to Witching Hour… But that didn’t stop me from thinking such things… really hard.

“Monkey? Are you home?” my infuriating surveillance target called as she entered the apartment… As though she hadn’t already memorized my schedule and which days I tended to go out on my own, and didn’t already know perfectly well that I was home.

“My room!” I called back, closing the folder with the latest reports of unusual events around the globe and sliding it under several books that my fastidious and uptight doctor wouldn’t be caught dead looking at. Alright, she wasn’t a prude, but her interest in any, let’s call them “romantic recreational activities” was strictly clinical and mechanical, and there was no way in Tartarus that she’d be interested in the (very steamy) “Silk and Saddles” novellas.

“Can you come out here please? I need to talk to you about something.”

Inwardly, I groaned and pushed myself away from the small desk I’d put in my room. ‘And here we go again…’ I thought, sighing heavily. Opening my door and stepping into the main living area, I blinked in surprise as Witching Hour was not taking her usual belligerent stance that presaged our recent disputes. Instead, I find my doctor sitting on the couch, looking vaguely green and staring into the distance, giving her the appearance of nauseated shell-shock.

“Yes?” I drawled, leaning against the wall casually.

“Monkey Wrench? How much do you know about the Wonderbolts?” Witching Hour asked and I just about choked.

“How much do I know?” I repeated, almost dumbfounded at the utter inanity of the question. “You’re seriously asking me that, after how hard I turned into a fanfilly over your grandfather?”

Witching Hour clearly attempted to shoot one of her better withering glares my way, but it was completely ruined by whatever had upset the minute balance of her carefully formulated and curated existence. “I’m asking because of how much you made a fool of yourself over Grandpa Fluffy.”

I winced. That moniker just… hurt to hear when I knew it referenced one of the all-time greats of the Private Royal Air Force. “Alright, I yield. You win… So what do you want to know about them anyways?”

“Well… not the Wonderbolts exactly… But… How much do you know about the Auxiliary Corps?” Witching Hour queried. Immediately, I was wracking my brains because, for the life of me, I knew very little about them.

“Well… I know they’re the support staff for the Wonderbolts…” I ventured, a little hesitantly, since I wasn’t entirely certain. “It’s not restricted to pegasi, and they take care of the logistics of their shows, payrolls, and security… Beyond that? They’re the ponies behind the proverbial curtain, so there’s not much known about them. It’s not like there are recruiting posters advertising everything they do.”

“Fair enough,” she sighed, leaning back into her seat and staring at the ceiling. “Princess Luna wants me to work for them.”

BOOM.

If you can imagine a barren wasteland, devoid of even insect life, you might have a good idea of how blank my mind went at that point, while simultaneously racing in about fifty different directions, mostly involving how this would impact my own mission to stay close to her. Could I join the Auxiliaries too? No. I don’t really have any applicable skills for that sort of job, to say nothing of the fact that it might literally destroy my brain to be that close to a goal and lifelong dream but never actually being part of it.

“Oh.” Was that the best I could manage? Seriously? “Sounds interesting?” I added, lame even to my own hearing.

“It’s a step-down from the hospital is what it is,” Witching Hour grumbles. “Oh she wants me to branch out and all that, but what can I do for a bunch of strained muscles, twisted joints and maybe a scrape on an exciting day, that someone else couldn’t do? I’m doing some real good at the hospital!” She shoved herself upright and off the couch and started pacing.

“I’m sure the princess has more in mind for you than just the usual injuries from what Wonderbolts do.” I offered tentatively. “I mean… You’re good at other things beyond your medical skills… maybe that’s what she means by branching out?”

“I haven’t sung in years, the only instrument I managed to learn with any proficiency was a bit-whistle, and I somehow doubt that perfect pitch will be useful to them,” she ranted, adding dramatic hoof and arm movements to her near-frenetic pacing.

“Whoa… easy there, Twitchy,” I joked, trying to placate her. “I’m sure they can find something for that ridiculously organized, logic-obsessed brain of yours to do… Maybe find another material for them to make their silly costumes out of… Spandex is definitely stream-lined, but not very helpful otherwise. The Air Guard’s struck the balance between protection and aerodynamics… Why not the branch that spawned them?” A thought occurred to me then. “And who knows? Maybe Princess Luna wants them to stop being useless one-trick ponies and actually go back to being a military force again,” I added dryly.

A wistful expression crossed my doctor’s face as she froze and thought about that idea. “Grandpa’d like that,” she murmured, almost too soft for me to catch, but just like that, she’d dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. “I’m not a leader. I don’t want that sort of responsibility. It’s bad enough when people start expecting me to be like Princess Twilight Sparkle when they find out I’m Princess Luna’s special student.”

I sighed heavily. This would be perfect. Of course this as-yet hypothetical incarnation of Hope would abhor the limelight and being in leadership, nevermind her tendency to take over things if she saw things not going right. “Witch… Just… give a shot? Don’t think I don’t know about that eclectic pile of weird projects waiting for you to have time that work at Canterlot General doesn’t let you have. Something a little more low-key might, I don’t know… actually let you live instead of just exist?”

“Says the mare who’s denying-”

Okay… I’d opened myself up for that retort.

“Witch… Please? Not tonight? I don’t wanna be adding to your stress over your reassignment from Princess Luna.”

Obviously, my doctor was more upset than she was willing to admit, because she did, in fact, let the matter drop. “Fine… The next few weeks are still going to be a nightmare. Gotta turn in my notice and then start filling in other doctors on my cases…” I tuned out her rambling as she made her list of tasks to do at the hospital. Those weren’t my clowns and that wasn’t my circus…

What was my circus, however…

---

The Dogs of War Bar
Hackney, Canterlot, Equestria
Metalsday, 4 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

Five sleepless nights, four shifts with the weather team, three trips to the castle library, two absolutely useless (to my purpose, anyways) military history books, and almost a week later, I still didn’t have any better idea of how to follow Witching Hour to the Wonderbolts.

“And… why exactly is it that you can’t join the Auxiliary Corps?” Victoria Veritas, known to me as simply Veevee, asked over her stein, a highly dubious expression in her brown-black eyes. “You’re more than qualified to be Security for them… Your record from Coltenhagen is more than enough for that…”

I groaned in frustration at my mentor’s obliviousness. Not that I shouldn’t have expected it. Earth ponies were generally worse at understanding flight issues than unicorns were. “Don’t you see, Veevee? You know my cell’s been trying to infiltrate the primary Wonderbolts for like… five-hundred years. Going into the Auxiliaries is like some cheap Vietmanese imitation of a name brand designer. It’d be like ‘Welp! You can’t join the Wonderbolts but here’s this shitty consolation prize where you get to see them every day, but never actually get to do anything that the Wonderbolts are known for.’ It’d be worse than if I wound up a Reservist like every other pegasus Ipsum who’s tried.”

Veevee merely raised a skeptical eyebrow at me, brushing a lock of her absurdly pink mane away from her chestnut face. “And why can’t you join the Wonderbolts? I know tryouts are already done for the year, but it-”

“Because anyone who takes one look at these after I’ve shown what I can do with them will think they’re like some performance enhancing drug, and punt me out the door faster than you can say ‘Moire Calix’!” I ran over Veevee, and gestured jerkily over my shoulder while spreading my wings slightly. Even in the dim lighting of the bar’s backroom, light still danced off the crystal edges of my wings with any movement.

“Why are you so sure of that?” Veevee asked. I figured she was at least trying to understand, and, unlike with my doctor-slash-roommate, I could actually tell her why.

“Because they were made by bucking Hope, Veevee!” Despite myself, a small wailing tone crept into my voice as I explained. “Normal magic detection might not pick them up but they are magic! Virtue magic! The regular cone-head magic doesn’t even come close to being able to compare!”

“I feel like I should maybe take offense to that…” A very familiar voice commented with a hint of amusement. “However, in the interest of academic rigor, I would ask you to please continue your statement to its full conclusion, if you would Miss Wrench?”

I could feel my mouth working, but absolutely no sound beyond an occasional squeak escaped… It was remarkably similar to what I imagined the sound the gears in my brain suddenly in overspeed were making because of the abrupt lack of resistance. Just like “Oh here Monks, let’s just have you shove your hoof down your throat up to your shoulder in front of your boss again.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Wrench, but was that the entirety of your argument? I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, if it was.” Earl Toffee replied patiently, although I swore there was a glimmer of amusement sparking behind his eyes. “If not, please continue, as I’m quite invested at this point.”

“Well… Fine then. Would you think your magic could actually compare to the magic used by the Virtues?” I snapped, somewhat irritably. One day, I didn’t know when, I would stop digging my own grave with Canterlot’s Capo Minutor… But obviously, today was not that day.

“In form or function? Or perhaps you mean factors of magnitude?” The Earl asked rhetorically.

“Don’t give me those horse apple questions.” I snarled, even while some part of me was desperately trying to hold the rest of me back, pleading that this was basically my boss… The boss I really didn’t want mad at me... but to no avail. “You know as well as I do that the magic wielded by the Virtues, particularly Hope’s in regards to healing magic, is well beyond the means or even the comprehension of normal magical healers.”

“Your point stands well enough, but I find it most puzzling that you assume great arrogance that you could wield such power by proxy with Hope’s gifts, and yet paradoxically assume self-deprecatingly that you are incapable of such feats on your own.” replied Toffee as he took a seat at the table, briefly taking a moment to clean his wire-framed glasses.

“First off, I don’t wield it myself,” I snarled back. “Second, you do realize I couldn’t do half of what I can do now, right? I didn’t have the speed or agility. Oh I had some, but I couldn’t make a textbook perfect run of any obstacle course set before me. And it’s obvious what’s different.” I jerked a hoof at my wings, which were now half-spread again in my agitation. “These.”

“I see…” frowned Toffee as he put his glasses back on, satisfied that they were no longer smudged, apparently. “So you posit that the new Virtue of Hope has cursed you with unparalleled ability simply because you have achieved something that you’ve never before achieved? Or are you discounting the potential effect that the trauma you went through itself may have awakened said new potential?”

I threw my hooves up. “Sweet merciful gods… Here I am, trying to figure out how I’m going to keep tabs on Witching Hour while she goes and works for the Wonderbolts, and…” I threw my hooves up again. “You’re worse than talking to Witching Hour! I’m saying I couldn’t have done it without her intervention! I’m done with this… I’ll figure it out on my own!” I declared, stomping out into the main bar.

“I think she might be upset.” I heard Veevee comment dryly just before the door closed behind me.

Author's Note:

Last chapter before the big KABOOM!!! Have I mentioned how wretched it's been to try to recapture this mind-set of Monkey's? It's SEVEN YEARS OLD!!! Add on that I've always been more in Witchy's camp of "She's being several shades of ridiculous over this...", and writing this phase of Monkey is... Difficult to say the least.

ANYWAYS... One more chapter of Monkey's head being in her ass, and then I can go back to easier shenanigans... Well... easier by comparison anyways... As stated, it's been a while since I was at this stage in Monkey's brain.

See y'all next time!
~Witchy