Changing Ways

by Comma Typer

Winging the Plan

Thorax looked at himself in the mirror, seeing his reflection.

Standing on top of a raised platform, he mulled over his appearance. The face was the first part of himself he thought about: his complex, gradient eyes; his sharp and vicious teeth, the fangs its prominent members; his horn, which he glowed green once in a while, tilted upwards, possessing a slight curve; his ears and the fin-like membranes running down the back of his head and neck made him resemble a black fish. After that, he looked down to his legs, his incomplete legs; he lifted a holey leg up to his eyes, and saw his reflection through it. He spread open his wings, seeing their fragile yet graceful composure in their cyan glory.

“So, Thorax,” Pharynx said, flying up to the platform from the ground, “what’re you going to wear?”

The room was quite pink. In fact, there was too much pink. The walls were pink, the ripped curtains hanging over the walls were pink, the floor was between violet and pink, the platform was pink, the ceiling with more ripped curtains were pink, and the wilting flowers by the staircase were pink. Coupled with the stink of a smorgasbord of perfumes and colognes stashed inside a broken cardboard box lying by the doorside, the barren boutique reeked of pink.

Past the wrecked windows, a gray day. Light drizzle continued, gently lavishing Ponyville with its tender strokes.

Pharynx flew out of sight, pulled in one of the clothesracks which had fallen, and examined the clothes therein. It was a neat collection of suits and ties of standard styles, some with the soft touch of silk woven into them.

“Nah.”

He discarded them, throwing it back by the wayside.

Pharynx flew back to his brother who was still inspecting himself in front of the mirror.

Placed his mouth close to his ear.

“Now, you listen to me, Thorax,” he said, loud and clear, “I don’t care if you’ve done this a million times. I still don’t trust you a hundred percent when it comes to jobs like these. You’ve blown our cover one too many times, and I want to make our training clear to you again. Got it?”

Thorax nodded, whining through his teeth; he gave his elder sibling a loud, drawn out moan which was enough to elicit a groan of a reply from Pharynx.

“OK," Pharynx went on, "let's get it over with: where are we going?”

“To Appleloosa,” Thorax said, then coughed. “Get any escapees on the way there, take my mark out, blend in, and stay there until it’s taken over. If I could find a way to manipulate one of their messengers into our hooves, so much the better.”

Pharynx grinned. He poked him on the chin. “That’s the brother I should know! What else?”

“Be memorable, but not too memorable,” Thorax said as if repeating from memory. “You are a rounded personality, not a flat one. You may be distinguished by certain traits, but you are not just those traits. Get involved in a few outlying hobbies, even learn some new ones. Don’t reveal too much of your changeling knowledge.”

Pharynx patted him on the back, viewing his brother's reflection on the mirror and noticing the glass’s lack of cracks. “Good, good! I wish you were this dedicated from the very start!”

“Don’t be too quiet, but don’t be too talkative,” Thorax continued, ignoring the comment. “No matter the pressure, stay calm—an innocent pony should not be afraid if he’s not hiding anything, so mimic that.”

Pharynx’s smile grew. “OK, I think that’s enough. Just recite it to yourself on the way. We’ll be en route by nighttime.” He paused, taking in a huge breath. “You’ve got the selection of three different refugee groups coming in from Manehattan, Choctown, and some random village up from Dodge or whatever.”

“Choctown is the best choice,” Thorax said, still looking at himself, scrutinizing his eyes. “Manehattan already has lots of suspicion from being beyond our borders. The area from Dodge, due to its sparse population, has a notorious reputation against us. However, Choctown provides a balanced demographic which could prove difficult but provides the best hiding conditions in plain sight.”

Pharynx covered his mouth. “Woah, woah, woah there! I know you want to best me, but this isn’t a competition. That kind of thinking is what makes younglings fall so hard.”

“I know that,” Thorax said in a gravelly tone.

Pharynx spat on the mirror, disfiguring that clear impression on the glass. “Nevermind. Just show me what you got.”

Thorax looked away from his brother, then back to himself, to his reflection on the mirror.

He closed his eyes.

With his own hoof, wiped the mirror clean from the spit.

A whorf sound, a blue glow coming all over his body from top to bottom.

The glow disappeared.

He opened his eyes.

Saw his reflection.

But not his own reflection

He saw a short, lanky pony. His gray blue coat complemented his dark blue mane which was adorned by a headband raised over his forehead. His eyes were still blue, but they had pupils and a polygonal sparkle on them. His cutie mark was a vase.

Pharynx furrowed his brow. “A Crystal pony? Not my first pick. Are you sure?”

Thorax, in his pony form, turned to him. “I mean, I’ve never tried a Crystal disguise before. I could call myself, uh...”

He looked at himself on the mirror.

Then, at his hooves.

“...Crystal Hoof.”

Pharynx snickered, trying to muzzle it. “You’re still bad at names, eh? Good thing I wasn’t with you the past nine days, else I would’ve done nothing but endure your lack of creativity.”

“Hey, I was creative enough to think of being a Crystal pony!” Thorax complained, waving his hooves about in the air.

Pharynx laughed, smacking him on the back of his head hard enough to make him teeter. “Well, how many Crystal ponies are still alive today? A hundred? Fifty? Ten?”

Thorax sighed, rubbing that back in pain. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

Pharynx shook his head. “Too risky.”

Thorax’s ears drooped as he covered himself in that glow, the whorf coming in again.

The glow disappeared, and he was back to his changeling self.

A white glow flashed from outside.

Kryow!

Thorax jumped, flew to the ceiling and stuck himself there. “No more thunder, please!”

Pharynx sighed, flew up as well, and towed him back to the platform and the mirror.

His brother made a sheepish grin. “Uh, sorry?

“Let’s pretend that never happened,” Pharynx said as he turned Thorax’s head towards the mirror, forcing him to see himself. “Remember: be memorable but not too memorable. A Crystal pony is too memorable. They’ll be curious since they think you’re one of the last Crystal ponies in existence and—“

“—they’ll ask me questions about how life was back in the Crystal Empire a thousand years ago, how Sombra took over, blah blah blah.”

Pharynx growled, taking a step in front of him. “You’re getting too smart for your own good. What’s the use of memorization if you don’t remember it? Goes through both ears, Thorax? Is that how it’s done inside your convoluted brain?”

Thorax opened and closed his mouth fast, his first words fizzling out. “Uh, n-not really?”

Pharynx shook his head again. “OK. Think of somepony else. Not too average. Remember the list of candidates we’ve received from those three places. Try to think hard.”

“I know!”

“Then, why aren’t you doing it?”

It was Thorax’s turn to roll his eyes.

He covered himself in that blue glow.

Then, out of the glow, a yellow pegasus with cloud-like hair—not just in color, but also in fluffy shape; he sported a mountaintop covered in clouds as his cutie mark. His stature was that of a young fledgling pony—no sags on his limbs, his wings and legs well-rounded, even his white hair burning a peculiar sheen that distinguished it from that of those more senior than him. Overall, Thorax's form might not be spectacular in appearance, but it was not ugly.

“Ah, Swift River,” Pharynx said, scratching his chin. “An ambitious pony hailing from Stratusburg who was trying to apply for a spot in the Wonderbolts before we came along. All went downhill from there, and he’s now down in the dumps—some poor old border guard.”

Thorax spread open his wings, now filled with feathers. “Anything else about him?”

Pharynx looked up, seeing the glittering jewels hanging from ropes of fabric. “Had to resort to being a newspony for various camps, too, scrounging around for money if for some reason they win. Had a wife—had, before she perished in a fire way back. Foalless, so he’s just a solitary survivor. Still feels remorse over her, which is why he gets big packages sympathy from the friends he still has.”

Thorax sprung up a smile. “He’s not half-bad. Does he receive lots of pity?”

“Of course, he does! Those dumb Equestrians let that get in the way of staying afloat! It’s a weakness, makes them more perceptible to our powers...but, what does that matter to us?”

Pharynx kicked the mirror, cracking it and distorting Thorax’s pony reflection.

His smile disappearing.

“Let them be!" Pharynx shouted direct to his face. "I’d fake the dead in a funeral if I have to!”

Thorax shivered, his yellow hooves in a shaking fit.

“And, you’re gonna do it, too, sooner or later!” Pharynx spoke, sticking a hoof between his eyes. “It’s more than a coincidence that we have these disgusting bottles of colorful water...” and looked off to the box by the doorside. “Are they scents? Perfumes?!”

Thorax coughed again, eyeing the fragrant box. “I think they’re called ‘perfumes’.”

“Right, right…‘perfumes’….”

Thorax snickered, closing his blue, pupiled eyes.

“What’re you laughing at?”

Pharynx seized him by the ear.

"Ow! Pharynx, stop!"

“I have more important things to think about than smelling fancy and caring about your ears!”

Thorax wiped the sweat off of his yellow forehead which lacked his horn. “Well, the only thing that’s holding me back is him wanting to rise in the ranks.”

Pharynx rubbed his hooves, loosing a hearty, sinister laugh. “Correct! You remembered all the essentials about him. However, you could change that.”

He set his hoof on Thorax’s white mane, ruffling it about.

“Give him a change of heart! Make him better than the old pony he always was. Soon, they’re going to like you so much, they’ll hate it when the original Swift River comes back with his cranky personality, and they’ll think he’s the changeling! A cruel twist, and they won’t see it coming—they’ll never realize they’ve just rejected him and accepted the very changeling who’ll wipe them out!”

Thorax smiled, sweat emerging on his disguised cheeks. “Yeah...I think that’ll do.”

The both of them looked at Thorax’s reflection on the mirror, staring at it for a while—rain’s pitter and patter coming back to them.

“Ready to go?” Pharynx said, glancing out the window and seeing the shriveled grass by the muddy street assaulted by the drizzle.

“I th-think so.”

Pharynx patted him again. “Don’t you worry. You got your older brother behind you!”

Thorax grinned. “Why, thank you! I honestly didn’t expect those words coming out of your mouth—“

Grabbed by the tail and smacked on to the floor, cracking it.

Thorax laid down there, prostrate and rubbing his throbbing head—vision blurry. “Wh-Why did you do that?”

Pharynx smiled, looking down on him and raising an eyebrow that was not there. “You forgot to change your voice. Better pay attention to the finer details. Now, get up.”