Team Quantum

by Impossible Numbers

A Guided Tour Of Stuffed Animals

The Museum of Natural and Unnatural History stood to attention, its main entrance as ornate and soaring as a cathedral of terracotta, its flanking towers aspiring to palacehood, its east and west wings a royal guard of archways and stained glass. Even the steps leading up to the grand entrance were subservient to a marble statue halfway up. This statue was of a grandfatherly unicorn, his hoof held aloft for a marble finch to perch upon, his folded college robes belying the rapier shadows of his crinkled gaze.

Twilight closed the iron gates behind her, and savoured the air of history, and then winced because Sweetie Belle squealed.

“And then she said, ‘Sweetie Belle, you’re simply too much’, and then she made me pick up all the ripped clothes, and then she threw them out! They only had the teeniest little rips. She could have sewn them together again, but she’s such a perfectionist…”

Groaning, Twilight stopped next to the statue and turned to face her. “Sweetie Belle?”

“Yes, Twilight!” Sweetie Belle was almost on tiptoe, as though her eyes were balloons floating her up and up.

“You’re sure you don’t want to wait outside? I have business to attend to.” Hoping this would help, she added, “Really, really boring, paper-worky, worse-than-homework-on-a-Monday business. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind!” said Sweetie Belle. “Maybe I could help! I used to help Rarity a lot with her paper thingies, but she said she didn’t want them organized by colour –”

“No, no, it’s not that. It…” Twilight groaned. Why me? “Sweetie Belle, I love the enthusiasm you’re showing, and any other day I’d be happy to find something for you to do –”

“I’m free today! Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh! Maybe I could, um… Maybe I could…”

“Look, please. I’m kind of in a hurry. This is going beyond my schedule. I can’t afford delays.”

For the first time on their walk from the university, Sweetie Belle frowned and pouted.

“What?” said Twilight. Sweetie Belle suspicious was worse than Sweetie Belle loquacious.

“Why are you coming here anyway?”

Don’t answer that. Do not answer that. She won’t understand. “J-Just, uh, checking up on something –”

“TWILIGHT!”

Hoofsteps galloped up to their level and then Trixie skidded to a halt. Great, Twilight thought. More complications.

“What a – coincidence – running – into you here!” Trixie broke off, panting heavily.

“Right,” said Twilight. “A coincidence I’m sure you didn’t engineer in any way.”

Trixie finally got her breath back. “Fate moves in mysterious ways,” she said, and then gasped because she hadn’t quite got her breath back yet. “So. Where is it this time? Inside? Outside? Half-and-half?”

“Trixie. This isn’t window-related.”

Sweetie Belle bounced up and down on the spot. “Trixie! Trixie! I just remembered! Dinky says she wants to know if you’re definitely, really, for-sure, absolutely, positively going to be there for her birthday party.”

Uncertainly, Trixie stared down at her. Then she looked up at Twilight.

“What’s she doing here?” she said.

“Nothing. She invited herself along. Will you please let me –?”

“Oh, oh. So little fillies are welcome, but not –”

“Is that a yes or a no?” insisted Sweetie Belle.

“What?” Trixie said, marching up the steps to lead the way. “Oh. Yes. Fine. Sure. Twilight, I could have sworn you said you were… ah, what was it now… busy, busy, busy. Had I but known you’d have time to visit museums for fun with little fillies –”

“I’m not visiting museums for fun. Will you just leave me alone?” Twilight paused. She took a deep breath in. She took a deep breath out. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have done that much.

Below, Sweetie Belle’s eyes quivered with hurt. Above, Trixie looked back with daggers in her glare.

“All right,” said Twilight, far more calmly than her bursting heart felt like being. “I guess it can’t hurt. Hoo boy. Let me do the talking, though.”

Through the gaping arches of the grand entrance, Twilight shuffled on. The marble floor clipped and clopped under her hooves. Soon, she heard Trixie’s strutting steps march like a drumbeat, and the crash of hooves as Sweetie Belle hopped into the dimness.

Trust Trixie to follow me everywhere, thought Twilight grimly. She thinks just because we know each other, she has a right to a share of my work. But it doesn’t work like that. There must be a way of telling her without offending her. I wish I knew what it was.

She strode over to the marble wall of the reception desk, which had the look and colours of fossilized cookie dough. Fundamentally childlike, yet hardened with age. That’s appropriate.

“Yes?” said the elderly receptionist. Her oversized spectacles blinked.

“I’m here to see Mister Pyre,” said Twilight.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. You can’t see the curator without an appointment, and his schedule didn’t mention –”

Not daring to look at Trixie, Twilight focused her magic. A puff of smoke later, her university pass popped into existence between her and the receptionist.

She hated doing this sort of thing. It fed the very impulse she wanted to starve. Unfortunately, it worked far too well, and since it was going to work anyway, maybe she might as well use that fact.

“I see,” said the receptionist, smiling. “Beg your pardon, Miss Twilight Sparkle. I’ll let him know you’re here. If I may so say, Miss Twilight Sparkle, you’ve done some wonderful work. I loved your book on the subject.”

A bright spot, at least. “Really?”

“Oh yes. Didn’t understand a lot of it, to be honest, but Winnifred and I were very impressed.”

A fading light, it turned out. “Which way to Mister –?”

“You don’t want me to take you to him?”

Twilight grimaced and the pass vanished. “I know where to go. Thank you, but I… wouldn’t mind taking the scenic route. I won’t be long. I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Bless you, Miss Twilight Sparkle.” The receptionist bustled off.

Further beyond the sunlit outdoors, Twilight passed through more archways and into a dim world of vaulted ceilings and the distant harsh glows of clerestory windows. Both Trixie and Sweetie Belle had already entered the next chamber; she caught the flap of Trixie’s cape before it vanished. Swiftly, Twilight followed them.

Despite the glare from the stained glass windows, this room was a genteel cave. Ornamental spikes hung from the ceiling in place of stalactites. The distant murmur of the vents spoke of winds sneaking among the crags. Shadows resolved into monsters.

Even with Trixie prattling and Sweetie Belle squealing delightedly, the old chill of ages slid down Twilight’s spine. In a strange way, she felt as though she were at the home of an extraordinarily good friend.

On a banner overhead were the words, “WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN”.

A tail on her right ran along to a sprawled, lizard-like body, but one big enough to engulf two ponies and wait patiently to digest them. Its head – large enough to rival hers – grinned with fangs. What caught the eye, though, was the sail on its back.

Sweetie Belle scurried over. She peered closely at the display beneath.

“Dimmet-rode-on.”

“Di-meh-tro-don,” corrected Twilight.

“What is that?” Sweetie Belle wrinkled her nose at it.

“That, Sweetie Belle, is how mammals started off. Like reptiles. Once, animals used to absorb heat from their surroundings, but pioneers like Dimetrodon needed more power sooner. Hence the heat-absorbing sail.”

“Huh?”

“You know. Bigger surface area. All it had to do was sunbathe for a few minutes, and it got its get-up-and-go faster than the other animals. That would have given it an edge in the competition.”

“What competition?”

But Twilight’s inner child gave way to Twilight’s inner secretary, which was coughing and waving a paper report meaningfully at her.

“Sorry, Sweetie Belle. I can’t linger.” She stepped around her.

“Was it a racing competition?” Sweetie Belle called after her.

Just as she passed Trixie, the latter piped up, “Do enlighten us, Twilight. What on earth is that?”

Cutting off her own growl, Twilight threw the thing a glance, and stiffened. Then she reminded herself that nothing in here was alive.

The thing was the unholy union of Komodo dragon and wolf. Four running legs held aloft a scaly torso rippling with a hunter’s strength, its thrashing lizard’s tail as delighted as its gaping jaws. There were no ears or wet noses, though; that mouth was pure, streamlined death with canines stolen from a sabre-toothed killer. It had probably eaten the last owner.

“A gorgonopsid,” said Twilight quickly. “Means ‘gorgon-faced’.”

“It doesn’t look anything like a gorgon,” said Trixie, eyeing it up critically.

No, but it sure petrified me as a foal.

“Ha. Not much of a coat,” said Trixie. She gestured to the sparse hairs sprouting up like a disease along its flanks.

“That was the next development,” said Twilight in a rush. “Insulating hairs. For the warm blood, though the technical term is endothermy. No serious scientist calls anything ‘warm-blooded’ or ‘cold-blooded’. Reptiles can get warm blood by sunbathing, but what makes us special is that we can generate our own body heat internally –”

“This one certainly would, running around like that!”

Twilight sighed. There was no point discussing the advantages of being an active hunter with Trixie, not in this mood. Besides, her inner secretary was tapping its watch hard.

As she hurried along, though, she did stop once or twice to catch more of the exhibits. There, a hulking mass on four legs, tipped by beak and tusk. Here, a doglike creature with a full coat but a sprawling gait. Everywhere, strange mixtures of sprawling and upright limbs, lizard tails and tufted tails, scales and hair, simple fangs and complex mouthfuls of teeth like toolkits, all in such a menagerie of sizes and colours that, if ever the lifelike models actually came to life, the room would probably break under the jostling and fleeing.

She was almost at the exit, heading into the next chamber, when Sweetie Belle scurried to catch up with her. Far behind, Trixie reared up, stretched forelimbs up, and measured the gape of a roaring, lion-like mouth.

“Twilight?” said Sweetie Belle. Noticeably, she was less bouncy than before. In the gloom, the room seemed to have sucked the colour out of her.

“Yes, Sweetie Belle? What’s wrong?”

Sweetie Belle glanced at the exhibits. “Why’s this bit called ‘What Could Have Been’?”

Not what Twilight had expected: the room was dark, sure, but the displays were shown off to good effect. Gorgonopsid aside, nothing was particularly scary, either. Yet Sweetie Belle seemed to have something unpleasant on her mind.

“Because it shows off how life might have turned out,” said Twilight, “if anything in history had changed. Things might have turned out radically different.”

“So instead of hooves and big flat teeth, we might have had claws and fangs?”

Something in Sweetie Belle’s voice caught. She sounded as though a lot was riding on the answer.

Ah, thought Twilight, spotting the problem. Now, how to convey to a child the nature of historical contingency and the immense probabilities involved? In other words, how to get across – without frightening her any more – the idea that even the tiniest change meant she might not have existed at all?

Time and nerves gave up on her. “Yeah. Probably.” Twilight hurried through the next archway.

Sweetie Belle went “phew”, and her hoofsteps resumed. She hummed thoughtfully.

“I’m glad we didn’t, then,” she said. “It’s bad enough brushing my teeth as it is without cutting myself on them too.”

---

Twilight had never quite liked the way the museum jumped from the reptile-mammal ancestors straight to horses, as though all that stuff in-between with the platypus, kangaroos, elephants, sloths, rats, apes, bats, hedgehogs, hippos, orcas, leopards, pangolins, rhinos, and so on was merely a tedious sideshow to whatever the horses were getting up to.

At least Sweetie Belle was proving to be good company. In some respects, she reminded Twilight of herself at that age –

“Ooh, ooh, ooh!” said Sweetie Belle.

– except for that.

“What’s that one?” She pointed.

Twilight looked at what appeared to be a cat with a pointy face and more tuft than tail. “It says Hyracotherium.”

“That’s what we used to look like?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Aw, it’s adorable! They should tidy up the fur a bit, though.”

“Some of these exhibits are hundreds of years old, Sweetie Belle.” To her surprise, Twilight was enjoying herself and barely cared when her inner secretary elbowed her brain hard.

“And that one?”

Now this one was pony-sized, true, but the long face and many toes suggested something just as happy being a deer as a pony ancestor. It even posed in mid-jump like a fleeing gazelle.

“Mesohippus, or ‘middle-horse’,” said Twilight, gearing up for lecture mode. “Of course, it wasn’t really middle-anything; it was its own animal.”

“Why did they get bigger? I like the idea of being cat-sized.”

Twilight covered her own chuckle. “Times were changing. Once, long ago, horses used to live in forests and couldn’t grow very big. Only when wide, open, grassy fields took over more and more of the land did we finally start living to our full potential.”

Beside her, Sweetie Belle waggled her own hoof, and then held it up to the three-toed ones of the specimen. “Huh. Weird. Can you imagine having more than one big hoof? Ew! That’d feel icky.”

“Not at all. You’d be quite used to it.”

“NNNNNNNo thanks…”

So predictable was the next question that Twilight mouthed it along with her: “And what’s that one?”

“That,” said Twilight proudly, “is where we come in.”

Sweetie Belle squinted at the little plaque. “Eq-woo-us caballus.”

“Equus caballus. Modern horses.”

“She looks like Princess Celestia. Only without the horn and everything.”

“Exactly! And there are a lot of theories about how we went from that to the modern pony varieties we have today. For instance, some believe that magic and culture took over and changed our bodies very rapidly in response both to the background radiation of celesto-thaumic particles and to our improved technological and dietary –”

“Where’s Trixie?”

Mentally stumbling, Twilight glanced about. There were certainly a lot of horses, if the models and skeletons were included, but no sign of a blue one with a flapping cape and pointed hat.

“I… don’t know.” Hating herself for it, but unable to resist, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Trixie can take care of herself. I’m sure she’s just –”

“Shouldn’t you be looking for her?” said Sweetie Belle, her suspicious squint returning.

“No. I should be heading for Mister Pyre’s office! We’ve wasted too much time!” Unimpeded, the inner secretary batted her about the head and she rushed along the aisle to the corridor outside.

Skittering hooves kept pace alongside. “But… she’s… your… friend…”

“She always follows me around. It’s her decision, not mine.”

“But –”

“I don’t ask her to! She just does! Why are you following me, come to that? This doesn’t concern you.”

Unexpectedly, she heard the tiny hooves scrape across the marble floor. When Twilight skidded to a halt and spun to face her, she was hit by a glare coming the other way.

“Well, I think you should go look for her,” said Sweetie Belle. “Friends stick together.”

“She is not my friend. She’s just someone I know from way back.” Oh, that’s not a good way to put it. “Look, if you want to, you look for her. That can be your job. Only I’m in a hurry, OK?”

“Fine. I will. Only I thought you might be a little nicer about it.”

Twilight blinked. “Nicer? Nicer than what?”

Too late: Sweetie Belle was a scampering blur running down the corridor. Frustration and confusion shook Twilight’s head back and forth before she shrugged helplessly and ran on.

What was that all about? It’s true; I know Trixie, and we go back a long way, and it’s not as if I try to be rude or nasty to her. I just don’t think that qualifies as being friends. Anyway, no one forced her to follow me all over the place. I certainly wouldn’t force her to do so.

She knew she was right, but she felt she was utterly wrong. It didn’t make any sense. From the way Sweetie Belle had gone on about it, anyone would have thought the two of them had been as close as sisters, or something ridiculous like that.

Twilight took the stairs two at a time and stopped in front of a door to catch her breath. Straightening up, she knocked three times.

The door opened a crack.

Twilight looked up and noticed the slit pupil. Definitely not a pony eye.

“Yes?” said a curt voice. Feminine, albeit the sort of female with fangs in every word.

Is this the right door?

Yes, there was the bronze plaque, bearing the correct name, on the wall beside them. But…

“Mister Pyre?” she said.

“Take a wild guess.” The voice had the sharp timbre of a teenager. It brought to mind untidy rooms, loud music, and the utter conviction that no one else had a clue what was going on, not even other teenagers. It also probably wrote nihilistic poetry when no one was looking.

“Sorry,” said Twilight. “Who are you?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m Twilight Sparkle. I’m from the University of Eohippus.”

“So what? I don’t remember seeing your name on the appointments list.”

“Let me in! I need to talk to Mister Pyre!” Those surly tones were getting on her nerves.

The door opened fully. A wall of sapphire scales barred entry. Clawed hands pressed into the doorframe. Around the sharp eyes were sharp head spikes, sharp horns curling forwards eagerly, and sharp teeth when she snapped her next words.

“I don’t think you do,” said the large dragon coldly.

She didn’t need to make any threats. Her entire body, from clawed feet to armed head, was one big threat. Twilight took a step back.

From behind the dragon, another voice – much warmer and almost chortling – said, “Ember, please. Miss Twilight Sparkle is my guest. Do let her in, now.”

Scowling, the large dragon stepped aside, wings whooshing through the air as she did so. “All right. Get in, then.”

Twilight snuck in while keeping her distance from a gaze hotter than any fire breath. It involved a lot of scraping against the doorframe.

While the dragon Ember eased the door shut behind her, Twilight turned to face a much warmer room of oranges and browns –

– and dead things.

Twilight’s hoof did not come down. She stared at the rearing little squirrel on the plinth. Nearby was a hulking bear, standing in for a wardrobe complete with handles on its belly. Along the mantelpiece, birds of all colours and postures lined up.

“Chill,” said Ember stepping around her. “It’s just the taxidermy collection. Nothing to worry about.”

There was no sign of the Curator. For a brief moment, Twilight saw Ember as the master of this room, surrounded by trophies of things she’d killed.

No, Twilight. You’re being ridiculous.

All the same, her inner child quivered and she found her own knees shaking. Horses used to be no bigger than some of the creatures here. Once, the reptiles had ruled the world. Looking at a towering hunter like Ember, it was hard to believe that reign had ended yet.

The dragon must have noticed because she raised a scaly eyebrow at her and said, half-embarrassed and half-annoyed, “What’s your problem?”

“Sorry.” Twilight looked away briefly, which didn’t help as her gaze fell upon the bear wardrobe. “Um. Where’s the Curator?”

“In the adjoining room.” Ember jerked her head towards a white door Twilight hadn’t noticed the first time. The chink of china and cutlery leaped out from it and patted the silence.

“How did you get so big? I thought dragon size was tightly –”

“Unless it’s about work, I’m under oath not to talk to you,” said Ember gruffly. “Not that I’d want to.”

The white door barely squeaked. Balancing a tray on his back, the Curator Pyre ambled into the room.

“Pardon the taxidermy collection,” said Pyre cheerfully. “I was checking a few specimens, and sort of got carried away. Anyone for tea?”

Facets gleamed. When he gave Twilight a chuckle, Pyre’s irises had edges and corners.

It was an odd place to find a crystal pony.

“Good morning?” said Twilight. “Mister Pyre?”

“Oh, do call me Pyrite. We’re not strangers here, Miss Twilight Sparkle. Dear me, no. Do sit down, do sit down. I’d hate for you to feel like a stranger. Now,” he said, placing himself delicately on a badger and placing the tray on a wolverine. “Pull up an aardvark. Incidentally, welcome to the Inner Sanctum! Quite a cosy little place, isn’t it? Tell me what’s on your mind. Dear Fluttershy settling in, is she? Marvellous girl.”

Twilight noticed the poor stuffed animal on the floor. Cringing, she eased her rear onto its back. Silently, she apologised to its dear departed soul. The sooner she got this out of the way, the better.

A teacup rose up before her. She hadn’t even seen Ember move, but a dragon tall enough to scrape her head spikes on the ceiling had shifted like a feather in a gust.

Pyre shook with silent mirth. “Oh, don’t mind her. Ember’s technically within limitations. Dashed useful girl she is too. Can’t find servants as good as her these days, so you have to hold on to what you’ve got. After all, what else is a museum for?”

Still, Twilight took her time accepting the cup, and she used her telekinetic spell to do so. Rushing back to the museum sounded like a very good idea right about now.

“Mister Pyre – I mean, Pyrite – I urgently need to discuss Fluttershy’s –”

“Oh, shush, shush, shush,” said Pyre, beaming over a steaming mug. “Tea first, then talk. No point rushing around all over the place, getting flustered. Very awkward, that is. By the way, if you want sugar, you’ll find some in the hedgehog. Just by your elbow there.”

---

Comments

[RTStephens]

Weird and intriguing.

I'm making the guess that Twilight is following the Friend's Journey. Look's like she's in the "Refuse the Call" stage. Break through it, Twilight!

Also, Sweetie is adorable. If her enthusiasm could be curbed, I think Twilight might warm up to her being around.

Oooh, more big dragons. Looks like they are strategically positioning themselves. What for, I wonder...

[Emperor]

I kind of feel like this would be a more amusing take on Sweetie Belle and Twilight's walk through the evolution exhibits

derpicdn.net/img/view/2012/6/20/11709.png