The Galascene
Neither Celestia nor Luna liked to talk about it, but there were things — terrible, terrible things — that, as princesses, they were obligated to do annually. And the yearly date for the latest horror was fast approaching. Twilight already had some experience in it, but Moondog…
Luna knew that logic said that Moondog, as an individual who rarely existed outside of dreams, didn’t need to do it. But Moondog had never been one for logic, had she? This would be an important step in her ascendancy. It was tradition, no matter how horrid that tradition may have been. Should she avoid it, her public image would suffer greatly — and, as Princess of Dreams rather than of Friendship, she arguably needed a good public image more than Twilight herself. This wasn’t optional. She needed to do this.
Moondog would balk, Luna knew. Any sane pony would. She herself had balked ever since before she’d been banished. Celestia had balked for hundreds of years. Twilight hadn’t balked, but then, Twilight’s sanity was debatable (and Luna figured she would come around in time). But Moondog not liking it was no excuse for her to not do it. No matter what, there were some actions that simply needed doing, no matter how dreaded.
Luna just needed to convince Moondog to do it. By parental veto, if necessary.
Luna started her dream duties early that night so she could catch Moondog during a slow time. They met just as Moondog was exiting her latest dream. “Moondog,” Luna said, “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment.”
“Sure.” Moondog pulled a tuna from her mane and tossed it away. “What’s up?”
“Well, as you know, Tia and I are… abdicating.”
Moondog nodded. “Yep. Been waiting on it for several moons.”
“And there are… certain… formalities that princesses traditionally abide by.”
“I know that. We’ve gone over them several times.”
“And while you are lucky and by no means obligated to follow some of them, it shall certainly be expected of you.”
“Mom, c’mon. What’s up?”
Deep breath. “I was thinking, just this once, you might attend the Grand Galloping Gala.”
Moondog promptly pulled out a sword, cut her own head off, sliced open her chest, spilled her arcanic innards everywhere, doused herself in oil, tossed a flaming lighter on her back, and collapsed into a smoking pile of bone and ash.
“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”
Moondog smoldered insolently at her.
Sighing, Luna plucked Moondog’s skull from the pile and held it up. “Is the Gala really so bad? Just for one night?”
“You’re supposed to say,” clacked Moondog, “‘Alas, poor Moondog! I knew her-’”
“Your jest may indeed be infinite and your fancy excellent, but certainly both are unwelcome at this juncture.” Luna tossed the skull back, using a touch of magic to reconstitute Moondog’s bones. “Believe me, I know full well the unbridled horrors the Gala can inflict, but it would do the public good to see you.”
“Mom?” Moondog said as she worked a femur back into place. “I don’t do crowds. I was built to not do crowds. I go one-on-one, sometimes a little more. But a thousand-on-one? Nooooooooooooooooope. They already know who I am.”
“That is irrelevant. If you are going to be the Princess of Dreams-”
A beard rolled down from Moondog’s chin. “Not a princess anymore,” he said quickly.
“If you are going to be the Diarch of Dreams, you must make at least one public appearance. It will increase your visibility and make ponies less concerned when you visit them. And as this is the last Gala before Tia and I abdicate, this is the ideal time for you to appear.”
“Can’t it wait?” Moondog asked, letting his wings droop. “Until you and Aunt Celly retire?”
“It can. But it shouldn’t. Tell me: would you rather do it now, when you are not even a princess yet, or later, when you would undoubtedly be the center of attention for the whole event?”
It only took a few milliseconds for Moondog to shudder. “Yeah,” he muttered, “let’s do it now.”
“Good. And if you choose to remain a stallion, trim that unruly abomination.” Luna pointed at Moondog’s beard. “It is as if your face is being devoured by a rabid jellyfish.”
“Of course I was gonna trim it! Sheesh…” Moondog ripped off his beard and tossed it over her shoulder. “Can’t ponies just accept me for who I am, rather than what I look like?”
“Everypony wishes that. And yet we still take the time to freshen up before our dates. First impressions are important, after all.”
“Ponies are weirdos.”
“Indeed.” Luna inclined her head slightly. “I shall leave you to your own devices for whatever you wish to wear. But, please, do not make a mockery of the event. Else, ponies shall think you do not take your role seriously.”
“No way that’s gonna happen.” Moondog twisted around to look at herself. A gown appeared on her; before Luna could get a proper look at it, it blipped through several other types of formalwear before settling on a simple blue dress. Moondog tapped it and it rippled into violet. A few shakes and it grew some lace frills. She frowned and hmmed, deep in thought.
“Do you need help with clothes?” Luna asked. “I know of several designers who would be happy to oblige you.” None of those dress designs were bad, but they were quite simple, not at all what one would wear to the Gala.
But Moondog shook her head and the dress vanished. “Nah. I know who to ask.”
Luna resolved to never, ever give Fluttershy reason to perform a guilt trip on her. The damage to Canterlot Castle following the Battle of the Bell had been severe, necessitating moons, perhaps years of work before it could be completed. There had been a chance that the Gala couldn’t be held in the castle at all. Then Fluttershy had had a few words with Discord and the castle was fixed in moments. Fixed properly, even, with the singular exception that the gardens (that is, where the animals Fluttershy liked were) now seemed bigger on the inside than the outside. Or perhaps it was just Discord attempting to make amends/score brownie points. Either way, the Gala could proceed as normal.
The ballroom had been opened just a few minutes ago and the first guests were already filing in. Luna looked around the room again. Celestia was over there and Twilight was over there, but Moondog was nowhere to be seen. That wasn’t a bad thing yet, but it was a little concerning. Luna and Celestia’s last Gala being an Important Event, it was planned that the princesses current and future make some kind of speech. And to think of what would happen if a princess-to-be skipped out on her first real obligation.
Fortunately, right at that moment, the air next to Luna opened up and Moondog stepped out, wearing a rather dapper silver suit. “Here we go,” she muttered. She ran a hoof through her mane. “Tartarus awaits.”
“Indeed,” said Luna. “Thank you for dressing appropriately.”
“Rarity was happy to oblige. Too happy, maybe. She wanted to take my measurements for a proper fitting even though I’m a shapeshifter. And can you believe she gave me this-” Moondog patted at the suit. “-for free? I offered to pay her — several times — but she kept brushing me off. Oh, well. Exploiting the kindness of friends, away!”
“Rarity is Generosity, not Kindness. Moondog, I know I’ve said this before, but please don’t make a scene.”
“Oh, please, do you honestly think she can handle that?” asked Discord, ploofing up behind them. “Little Accident has already made four entire fanfics! Maybe even a crossover or two!”
“Hush, Grogar,” snapped Luna.
Discord twitched back and frowned. “Rude,” he muttered, and slunk away.
For her part, Moondog bristled a little. “I make scenes every night,” she faux-whined. “I know when the time is right to make a scene. This is a super subpar scene-making setting. Not worth the effort.” More seriously, she added, “Really, though, I know what’s at stake here. I will not screw it up.”
“Thank you.” Luna reached out with a wing and pulled Moondog close. “And thank you for coming here at all. It is a shame that ponies place so much weight on events such as these, but we must make do.”
Moondog chuckled and nuzzled Luna. “Says the pony who’ll never have to suffer through another one again.”
It was with a barely-concealed smile that Luna said, “Indeed.” She looked over the crowd. “Come. It is time for the speeches.” She led Moondog over to a podium looking over the room, where Celestia and Twilight were waiting.
Celestia’s speech and Twilight’s after it were both good, the products of master orators. They both covered the same general topics — the end of one era is the beginning of a new one, continuing the spread of harmony and friendship, a promise that the status quo would finally stop getting overturned every six moons — but did it well enough that one didn’t mind listening. It helped that both speeches were fairly short (Twilight had been listening to those tips from Celestia!). Luna paid them half of her attention, keeping the other half on Moondog; Moondog was a bit fidgety, but no more than any pony who was nervous about speaking before a crowd. She’d be fine.
When her time came, Luna stepped forward and waved to the crowd to quiet it down. “Thank you, thank you. Celestia and Twilight have said all that truly needs to be said regarding Twilight’s accession. Most of what I could say would be repeating the same ideas with different words. But I would like to add that, although she may still seem young, as somepony who has… experienced her strength of will and of friendship firsthoof…” She looked Twilight in the eye and smiled. “I cannot think of anypony better suited to lead Equestria.”
She turned back to the crowd. “Now, while it has not been as focused on as Princess Twilight’s reign, my own abdication will not leave your dreams unprotected. As you may have heard, in years past, I created an oneiric automaton to assist me in my duties. However, thanks to the spark of life, this project grew far beyond a mere automaton and now, I- I consider her my own daughter. She has assisted me tirelessly ever since, growing in capability, wisdom, and power all the while. When I step down, she will take my place as Princess of Dreams, protecting your nightly reveries, and I assure you, she will do as fine a job as I ever could. Fillies and gentlecolts, please welcome Moondog.” She swept out a wing and stepped aside for Moondog.
As the crowd stomped out some polite applause and Moondog stepped up, Luna wiped a tear from her eye. Moondog had come so far in such a short span of time. She’d once been a few spells that reacted to the nature of dreams. And now, here she was, standing before Equestria, making her first speech, ready to be solely responsible for dreams. This was easily among the most important days of her life.
Moondog coughed and rubbed at her collar. “Um. Hi.” It was like she had to force herself to look at the crowd. “I’m… not the greatest at speeches, so I, um, I’ll keep this short. I’m Moondog and I help Princess Luna manage dreams and I’ll take over for her once she retires and that’s sorta it.” Pause. “Thank you.” And she walked off the podium.
After a moment of confused silence, Rainbow Dash bellowed from the back of the crowd, “Woo! Best speech ever!” The subsequent applause was thunderous.
So thunderous that nopony could hear Luna’s strained groan, a nails-on-blackboard sound. The point hadn’t been missed so much as thrown away like a javelin. As Celestia gave one last sweet, predictable closing speech about new ages of harmony, Luna squinted into the crowd. You’d think it’d be hard to miss a hole to the sky, but Moondog was nowhere to be seen.
Eventually, Luna gave up and sent out a ping of magic, a long-unused tracking spell. In fact, Moondog was nowhere near most of the crowd, but instead lurking in a dark corner off to the side. Celestia finished her speech and stepped down, letting the crowd disperse for the main event. Luna lightly nudged her way through ponies to the corner her spell indicated. It was completely empty, without the slightest trace of any pony.
“Just because I cannot see you does not mean I do not know you are here,” Luna said to the corner. “Could you have given a speech that was a touch more… comprehensive?”
“I mean, I could’ve,” the air responded, “but, like, what’s the point? I’m managing dreams, what more do I need to say?”
Which… was a valid point. Luna was slapping down nightmares. Moondog would continue to slap down nightmares. End of discussion, right? Pretty much, at least in the ways that mattered in a speech given at the Grand Galloping Gala. Luna changed the subject. “Can you at least appear at the Gala during your appearance at the Gala?”
“Oh, come on!” protested the air. “I’m here, just like you wanted! It’s not my fault you-”
“No. No invisibility.” Luna peeled nothing off of Moondog’s form and tossed it away. “And no concealment through other arcane means, either. You are here and you shall interact and you shall interact meaningfully and you shall interact meaningfully as yourself.”
“Mom, I-”
Luna glared with the combined authority of royalty and motherhood, the latter arguably more potent.
“Fine.” Moondog stretched like a cat, curling and uncurling her wings. “Fine. I’ll interact and all that jazz.” She gazed at the crowd and shuddered. “Here goes nothing.” She stepped forward into the teeming throng.
And so the Gala began in earnest.
“Hey. Saw you standing around. You gonna just stay on the sidelines all night?”
“Eeyup.”
“Wish I could do that, but Mom’s on the prowl for me. You know how it is.”
“Eeyup.”
“I was in your dreams a few nights ago. Not a big fan of glitz and balls and dances, right?”
“Nope.”
“Same. Bet you’re also only here because someone asked you to be.”
“Eeyup.”
“Bet I know who. So you’re gonna do nothing but snack on snacks and drink drinks out of protest?”
“Eeyup.”
“Smart. Mom’s gonna be around and kick me back into the crowd in three… two… one…”
“Moondog! Cease loitering with the stoic and start socializing this instant!”
“Told ya. Gotta go, but nice talking with you.”
Sugar Belle held up her cup in a toast. “Eeyup.”
“So,” said Spitfire, “Moondog, huh? Princess of Dreams.”
“Not yet, still just a Duchess,” said Moondog. “But yeah.”
“Trust me, she’s pretty awesome,” Rainbow said, clapping Moondog on the back. “Really great when it comes to the whole dream thing.”
“Good enough to replace Luna, at least,” said Spitfire. She squinted at Moondog’s coat. That pretty, pretty coat; maybe the Wonderbolt uniforms were due for an upgrade. “You’re not out here much, are you?”
“Not if I can help it. Reality feels weird to me.”
“Hey.” Soarin nudged Spitfire in the side and whispered in her ear, “Think she can do the thing?”
“What?” Spitfire looked over to Soarin. “Which one?” she asked quietly.
“Drinking the punch, obviously.”
“Probably not. She’s energy, where would it go?”
Soarin’s eyes glinted and he grinned cockily. “Bet she can.”
Spitfire grinned back. “You’re on. Go get a bowl.” As Soarin darted off, Spitfire turned to Moondog. “Y’know, if Rainbow Dash thinks you’re pretty cool, then you’re pretty cool.”
“Considering my lack of a physical body to be cool, I’m more lukewarm,” Moondog said with a straight face.
Spitfire blinked, recovered. “But we’re the Wonderbolts, and sometimes plain old ‘cool’ isn’t enough. That’s why we test your tenacity with this!” Grinning, she stepped aside and spread her wings, dramatically revealing absolutely nothing.
She actually heard crickets chirp. Moondog’s horn was suspiciously glowing. Spitfire’s grin suddenly felt very brittle.
Approximately three seconds late, Soarin fluttered down, awkwardly holding a full punch bowl in his front legs. “Sorry, sorry!” he said as he set it on a nearby table. “But I couldn’t find any carts for it and do you know how hard it is to carry punch while flying?” (To his credit, he didn’t seem to have spilled any.)
“With this!” Spitfire repeated, stepping aside to reveal the already-revealed punch bowl. “A true Wonderbolt can drink this entire bowl in one sitting! Ain’t that right, Dash?”
“Ha! Yeah. Almost got the academy record for that. C’mon, Moondog, give it a shot.” Rainbow pushed Moondog over to the bowl. “You make like a bazillion dreams a night, you can do this.”
“Eh…” Moondog looked down into the punch bowl. “I don’t know. Do I have to? Physical stuff can be weird with me. Long story.”
Spitfire smirked at Soarin, then continued, “How about this? You drink that whole punch bowl, and I’ll do my best to get you a spot on the list of honorary Wonderbolts.”
“Ooo. That’s a big deal,” said Rainbow, her ears perking up. “None of them are Wonderbolts — hay, most of them can’t even fly — but they’re still all awesome enough to be Wonderbolts. Do it do it dooo iiit.” Her wings were twitching in excitement.
“You know what?” Moondog smiled. “Sure.” She pulled out a straw, stuck it into the bowl, and began drinking.
Spitfire’s face immediately went blank. “Wait, how did you-”
“Hush,” said Moondog. “Drinking the entire punch bowl.” She continued slurping and Spitfire continued staring.
It wasn’t long before the punch bowl was completely gone. The punch stayed right where it was, floating in the bowl-shaped air. Spitfire poked at it; ripples ran across its surface. “Okay, uh… That was… not what I expected…”
“What?” Moondog’s smile was eminently punchable. “I drank the entire bowl, just like you said.”
“I didn’t mean drinking the bowl itself.”
“Fine. Move the goalposts, why don’tcha.” Moondog reached down her throat and pulled out the intact bowl.
Spitfire managed to choke on nothing. “Ah feh,” she said sagely, her eyes wide and her wings twitching. “Ah gah neh… wha?”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Moondog set the bowl aside and stuck her straw into the punch. With a long, long, long slurp that pulled the punch out like a clock sweeping its hands, she drank every last drop. She grinned and licked her lips. “There. Punch bowl drank. Drunk? Drunken? Friggin’ Ponish irregular participles…”
Rainbow clapped Spitfire on the back and she remembered to breathe. “Well. Um,” she said distantly. “I’ll… see what I can do with… getting you the thing.”
“Coolio.”
The second Moondog turned her back, Soarin extended his hoof, smirking. Still staring at Moondog, Spitfire forked over a tiny pile of bits.
“Have you ever exchanged so much as a single word with him?” asked Luna.
“No, thank goodness,” Moondog replied.
“…Talk to him. Now.”
“Why? He doesn’t even do anything! He’s even worse than a liberal arts major in a construction site!”
“That is irrelevant. He is part of the Canterlot upper echelons and you ought to start building connections for your future reign. You never know when a physical ally might prove useful.”
“You mean like Twilight?”
“Beyond Twilight.”
“Why does politics have to involve so much politicking? Fine.”
“And please be honest with him. Do not threaten him with nightmares to end the conversation early.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Moondog tugged at her mane to straighten it out a little, then walked over to Prince Blueblood. When she was right behind him, she cleared her throat.
Blueblood turned around at the sound. “Greetings!” he said brightly, tossing his mane. “Have you come to introduce yourself to the finest stallion in the room?”
“I sure have, Blueblood!” Moondog said, extending her hoof. “I’m your cousin Moondog. I am most definitely not evil.”
Luna facehooved.
“I-” Blueblood made a face that wouldn’t have been out of place if he’d been conked with a frying pan three seconds ago. “I beg your pardon?” he squawked.
“You heard me! I’m not evil! I’m absolutely not secretly seething with hate over my enslavement by Mom. I’m totally not putting on a face of friendliness to gain others’ trust to exploit them in the future. And under noooo circumstances will I ever bloodily dismember you.” Moondog smiled and the light went ting as it glinted off her teeth.
“For some strange reason, I do not believe you,” Blueblood quietly shrilled.
“Really?” Moondog looked so innocent one couldn’t help thinking she was Up to Something. “But I wrote a song about how not-evil I am! Here, let me sing it for you.” She cleared her throat and from nowhere rang out a saxophone playing a peppy tune backed by drums.
Blueblood scurried away and hid behind Luna. “Auntie Luna,” he protested, “my cousin is behaving in a most uncouth manner around the royal person!”
“Oh, Moondog is my na-ame,” crooned Moondog, “Dream sculpting is my ga-ame. I haven’t a desire to take over the woooorld…”
“See?” yelled Blueblood, jabbing a hoof at Moondog. “See?! Can you believe what she’s saying?”
“I’m not at all suspicious, My dreams are not pernicious, And I’ve no evil plans that could be ever unfuuuurled…”
“Moondog,” said Luna flatly. “Please refrain from giving Blueblood ideas in such a manner.”
“You know what, you’re right,” Moondog said as the music ground to a halt. “Bubblegum jazzpop doesn’t really fit this. How about Scandineighvian tango?” She cleared her throat again.
“Moondog!”
“Fiiiiiine. Blueblood. In all seriousness, hi. I’m Moondog. I’ll be handling dreams once Mom- once Princess Luna abdicates, and if you ever have any complaints about me, you can tell her and she’ll set me straight. Sorry for giving you ideas.” Although her smile wasn’t particularly apologetic.
“Well!” huffed Blueblood. He straightened out his suit and massaged his mane, then fixed her with his most withering stare (which wasn’t very). “I don’t care who you are or how sorry you may be, after that display, I can safely say that I never want to see your face again.”
“Easily arranged!” Moondog swiped a leg in front of her head, like she was wiping something down. In the process, her entire face — eyes, mouth, nose, everything — vanished, leaving behind only a flat, blank expanse like a cheap department store ponnequin. “This better?”
Blueblood jumped backward like a shocked cat, shrieking, “I would much rather see your face again!”
A smirk grew from where Moondog’s mouth had been. “Wuss.” The entire blankness fell away like a mask, revealing her face again.
Evidently, Blueblood had mastered teleportation, because all at once he was nowhere to be found.
Moondog’s grin had the same level of smugness as Luna’s glare did vexation.
The Great and Powerful Trixie was an illusionist in the sense that she could do some impressive things with misdirection alongside sleight of hoof and horn. To her unfathomable chagrin, the Great and Powerful Trixie was not an illusionist in the sense that she knew illusion magic. But when she saw Moondog, she knew she had a chance — miniscule but non-negligible — to change that. Dream magic and illusion magic were closely related, and as much as she apologized, Luna still wouldn’t talk to her thanks to the Lavender Incident. Moondog, though…
Unfortunately, finding the little tulpa was proving to be maddeningly difficult. It was amazing how completely somebody looking like that could vanish if the crowd was big enough. Trixie kept looking for a purple hole in the air and kept finding nothing. But while she wasn’t one to be dissuaded, she also wasn’t one to be good at finding people. She did four full laps of the ballroom before changing her search pattern.
“Wait,” she muttered to herself, “stop. You’re going about this the wrong way, Trixie.” She tapped her forehead. “If Trixie were a dream-patrolling automaton, where would she be?” Pause. “Over there.”
Moondog was indeed over there, lurking on the wrong side of a refreshment table outside the crowd and not looking like she was enjoying herself particularly. Her mane was a bit limp and she managed to look pouty. How could an ethereal being look that pouty? She gave a half-hearted wave to Trixie. “Hay.”
Trixie blinked. She had the distinct impression that Moondog had said “hay” and not “hey”. How did she know that? She shook her head. “Can I… talk about magic with you?” Phrasing it as a request took some doing, but she managed.
Moondog immediately perked up. “Oh, sure! Sure. What kind?”
“Illusion magic. Can you do it?”
“Are you kidding? Out here, illusions are the easiest sort of magic for me. Like- Can I borrow your hat?”
Trixie raised an eyebrow but reluctantly doffed her hat and passed it to Moondog. Taking the hat in one hoof, Moondog reached down inside with the other, far deeper than there should’ve been room for. “Alrighty,” she said, “let’s see what we- A-ha!” And Moondog pulled herself from the hat. Not a duplicate; her mane was twisted around her own hoof and she was still holding the hat as she came out. Holding herself up by her own mane, she said, “Ta-daaa!”
To her everlasting horror, Trixie was forced to admit that, yes, that was some impressive magic. Of course, it was probably simpler than it looked; any stage magician worth their salt knew there was a difference between conjuring an immense fireball and making it look like you could, and the Great and Powerful Trixie was worth far more than just salt. “That’s nice,” she said, trying to keep from sounding too complimentary (she had an image to uphold, after all). “But I was wondering… Maybe you could teach me some of that? It would add a little bit more pizzazz to my show.” Just a little, though; it already had plenty of pizzazz.
“Well…” Moondog dropped herself back into the hat and returned it to Trixie. “I mean, that’s a whole ’nother thing entirely, right? It’ll take a lot of work to get there. I mean, you might as well learn transformational magic first.”
“Trixie already knows transfiguration,” Trixie snapped. She snatched an empty glass from a passing waiter, confusing him immensely, and yelled, “Teacup!” She waved the resulting teacup in front of Moondog’s face. “See?”
“Huh.” Moondog plucked the teacup from the air and examined it. “Y’know what, good enough. Now take the image you used to make the cup, wrap your light around it, and let it shine.”
“Wrap… my…” Trixie shook her head. She’d heard weirder tips, but… Still, considering who was telling her that, she might as well give it a shot. She just needed to do it with confidence, right? The same confidence that the audience would be looking here rather than there or else the trick wouldn’t work, where second-guessing herself for even a moment meant it would all fall apart. Even though she didn’t know what she was doing. (But she didn’t know what she was doing while infiltrating the Changeling Hive, either and that turned out alright.)
So. Trixie closed her eyes and concentrated. The image of the teacup was easy; it and its duplicates were her fourth-favorite object in the world. Wrap it in light and light? Not that different from transfiguration, maybe; rather than forcing something else to look like the teacup, she forced nothing to look like the teacup. There was a teacup hovering in the air before her, she told herself. There was. There was.
“Nice.”
Trixie’s eyes snapped open. There was.
Okay, it wasn’t a perfect teacup. It looked more like a ghost of one, apparently used by a ghost pony to drink ghost tea. But it was there, floating right before her, and it was more than Trixie knew just five minutes ago. A steady, not-insignificant stream of magic flowed from her to the image of the cup; when she lightened the stream just a little, the cup began fading even more. Hmm.
“Be careful,” Moondog said. “Illusion’s a lot more taxing than transformation since you need to keep maintaining it. If your focus slips too much-” She suddenly gave Trixie a light shove and the teacup vanished. “-boop! No more illusion. Just keep working on it and you’ll get better.”
Scowling, Trixie batted away Moondog’s hoof. She focused again, and the teacup reappeared, still ghostly. At least she had a place to start on. “Well, your assistance is appreciated.” Trixie waved her hoof through the cup; her flow of magic twisted and the illusion flickered but didn’t collapse completely. A professional-level illusion might still be beyond her abilities (she utterly loathed to admit), but that just required some magic exercise. “Maybe this night won’t be a complete waste.”
Moondog’s ears perked up. “Ooo. You didn’t want to come here, either?”
“Oh, heavens, no. Trixie loathes events like this and thinks PrrrrINcess Twilight sent her a ticket just to annoy her.” Trixie shot a stinkeye at Twilight, who smiled way too innocently and waved.
“You could’ve just not come, you know,” said Moondog. “I didn’t even have that option.”
“Pshaw!” (Trixie didn’t snort; she very specifically enunciated “pshaw”.) “As if Trixie would ever dream of taking the coward’s way out! No offense. No, she had to come here, for failing to rise to a challenge of Twilight’s would be a most horrific blow to Trixie’s pride!” She put a leg to her forehead and pretended to swoon.
“So… you don’t like…” Moondog pointed at the room proper.
“Are you crazy? Not at all. Trixie loathes crowds unless she is the center of attention.”
“Moondog loathes crowds especially when she is the center of attention. Like now.”
“…You wouldn’t happen to know any spells to swap bodies, would you?”
“Not out here. And even if I did, Mom said no.”
Trixie sighed. “I suppose it was too good to be true.”
“Yep. Wanna be ‘I Hate it Here and I Never Want to Come Here Again’ Buddies?”
“Ihihainwatchabs?”
“It’s like you read my mind.”
Hoofbump.
On the one hoof, crowds were a security nightmare, which meant Tempest could use them as training while still technically socializing. Keeping track of the important noises and being alert for new ones while still paying attention to your conversation partner was quite tricky — and, Tempest was ashamed to say, a skill she was still refining. In the Storm King’s army, “conversation” with her usually boiled down to an angry look that said, “Shut up before I buck you through the bulkhead.” Then friendship happened, and suddenly she was expected to — shudder — make small talk. But first she found the intrinsic value in not being an emotional hermit, then she realized that this split-attention interaction was honing her reflexes more than her patented Steely Glares ever could, and finally she discovered the joys of free unlimited cake. All told, Tempest liked parties and balls more than she really wanted to admit.
“Hey. Whinneldon Tennispitch.”
On the other, getting surprised by people who technically didn’t exist and so didn’t make any sound when moving was so cheap. Tempest kept her shocked twitch to a minimum and spun around. Moondog was standing behind her, looking attentively at her. “What do you want?” asked Tempest, although she already had a good idea.
“Made a decision yet? On dreams and nightmare suplexing?”
“No,” Tempest said reflexively. “Still thinking. Now scram before I cut your head off.”
Moondog’s head faded from view. “There. Head gone for you.” She waved a hoof above her neck to demonstrate that her head was gone gone and not just invisible. “So do-”
“Scram before I make you scuff your suit and earn Rarity’s ire.”
“Oh, now that’s just cheating. Which is actually a good technique for-”
“Scram before I say ‘no’ out of spite.”
“Buuuuuuuuut I can see you’re busy right now, so…” Moondog’s head reappeared and she grinned the grin of someone who’s lost but doesn’t mind that much. “Catch you later.” She saluted and slipped back into the crowd.
Tempest sighed and returned to her first conversation. “Sorry. She’s trying to hire me. I’d probably be flattered if she were less… insistent.”
“Oh, I know the feeling,” said Trenderhoof, nodding.
It wasn’t that Zecora disliked wine, per se. It was just that, with all the wonderful possibilities for party drinks that potions provided, ponies still focused on simple nonmagical fruits (usually grapes) in various stages of fermentation. Every adult party, everywhere. It was like living in the largest, most diverse food stores in the world and insisting on having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.
Wait. Bad example. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were good.
Well, at least they had punch. Making a good punch took some mixing, and this was fine punch. Zecora carefully spooned herself another glass and took a sip. Still the exact makeup of the drink eluded her. There was sparkling apple cider, most definitely, a little bit of blueberry juice, but what was that smooth tang beneath it? Not orange juice, certainly. What was-
“Flyte me.”
Thanks to living in not just Ponyville, but the Everfree Forest, shocking Zecora was as hard as cutting diamond with rice paper. She looked to one side; Moondog was slouching on the table next to her. “Is it right now you wish to flyte?” said Zecora. “It’s distant from the greatest night.”
“You have a way with words. I’m bored. Talking is one of the only ways I’m allowed to engage with people right now. Flyte me. Please? Just for one or two exchanges.” It was surprising how effective puppy-dog eyes from a hole in space could be. “You know how to flyte, right? Exchanging insults for funsies?”
Zecora set aside her cup. “I’m well aware of that old art, though rhymes are but a tiny part of the insults that-”
“Well, yeah, but you can think of rhymes so fast, you’re probably good at everything else, too. So you up for it?” Moondog grinned. “And I can leave if you’re not, sorry for bothering you.”
After a moment’s thought, Zecora nodded. “It’s been some time since I could stretch my vocab and my skill to kvetch. A flyte or two I’ll gladly share — but you go first, while I prepare.” (Really, Zecora didn’t need to prepare at all, but she was better at responding than initiating.)
“Alrighty then, thanks.” Standing up straight, Moondog cleared her throat and said, “You think your mind is oh so sharp, but I have seen you in the dark. Your skills are fair, but not much more; your conversations turn to chores. I struggle to… hang to… your words. They… uh… flutter ’round my head like… birds? Um…” Some of the stars in her face redshifted.
Yeesh. “Amateur hour” didn’t begin to cover it, for multiple reasons; Zecora couldn’t hide her grimace. Moondog noticed and chuckled sheepishly. “I think I’ll quit while I’m behind. I guess I’m not so good with rhymes.”
“Your skill’s in such a sorry state,” said Zecora in a lilting voice, “you should not speak again. With wording well within worst-rate, you’ve no worth to defend. Some expertise you have in dreams, but that’s it. Nowhere else. Don’t step outside your place of pride lest you disgrace yourself. Feel free, if you are so inclined, to rifle through my mind and burglarize my flyting skill for yours is naught but swill.” She nodded resolutely and took a drink of her punch.
Moondog blinked and closed her mouth. She tapped the air a few times, like she was counting something. “…Okay, very nice, and I know I literally asked for it, but did you really need to make it a freaking ballad?”
Zecora just shrugged. “The form of the ballad is easy to use and can say almost any idea you may choose. With practice, you’ll find your words flow like a stream as they batter and bludgeon your foe’s self-esteem.”
“Hmm.” Moondog nodded slowly, her tail twisting and untwisting. “I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, maybe flyting could be useful against nocnice… I mean, getting humiliated is one thing, but getting humiliated in poetry? Yeah…” She grinned and bowed to Zecora. “Well, thank you for the flyte and a nice dose of humility. Although I bet you were holding back. A ballad is one thing, but switching rhyme schemes every verse? Dang.”
Zecora snorted. “Be thankful you’re new to the flyting arena, or else I’d throw down with some fine terza rima.”
“…Flyte me again. I need some terza rima in my life. I NEED IT.”
In all honesty, Celestia said to herself, the Gala probably wasn’t that bad. It was a place for all sorts of ponies to come together, bond, celebrate the founding of Canterlot. Ponies who normally couldn’t stand each other could manage to put aside their differences, if only for one night. Perhaps it wasn’t Equestria’s best representation of friendship, but there were worse ones.
But, unlike eating cake, she could only attend the Gala so many times before it grew dull through sheer repetition. By now, she was able to predict just how the night would turn out like she was reading from a script. Even accepting the Gala on its own merits, she’d seen it all, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. She needed a break of a decade, at the absolute minimum, before she was willing to attend the Gala again.
That decade was coming, thankfully, but it wasn’t here yet. As soon as she had a moment’s peace, she teleported out from the ballroom and over to a favorite “the wellwishers are overwhelming and I need some me time before I explode” balcony. She’d been using it for over a thousand years, ever since the very first Gala that had celebrated the completion of Canterlot. A few nobles with noses like bloodhounds managed to track her down, but she threw up a shield and ignored them. After a few repeated entreaties of just how important they were (Celestia had kept resisting the urge to ask, “Who are you, again?”), they got fed up and left. Finally, Celestia had some alone time. That was to say, being genuinely alone, rather than surrounded by expert brownnosers who knew nothing of her personally (which happened far too often).
Celestia breathed deeply as her mane was tousled by an actual wind for once. It was nearing midnight and the lights of Canterlot pierced through the dark, creating a starfield below that almost but didn’t quite rival the one above. It wouldn’t be long before she could do this every night. No hangers-on, no responsibilities for anything bigger than a town, no worries that picking out the wrong dress could cause a paradigm shift. Oh, she could last if she stayed, to be sure, but once she wasn’t carrying the weight of Equestria on her shoulders every day, it would feel so good. (Maybe she ought to give a few secret-succession-selection tips to Twilight, as one last gift.) Of course, that was still a ways off. For now, she needed to treasure the time she had while alone.
The shield made a slight ringing sound and someone spoke. “Excuse me? Aunt Celly?”
Celestia turned around. Moondog had plastered herself two-dimensionally and spread-eagled against the shield’s outside and was staring pleadingly at her. “Is this the Orb of Solitude? I fervently yet humbly beseech you, oh Most High Aunt Celly of the Celestial Spheres, for a chance to join you within the Orb of Solitude. I promise I’ll be quiet.”
The nobles who constantly wore a veneer of politeness thought they deserved to be in her presence, yet the automaton who delved into ponies’ heads every night was asking nicely. Funny how that worked out. With a slight twist of magic, Celestia opened the walls of the newly-christened Orb of Solitude next to Moondog. She raced in and happily faceplanted in the middle of the Orb. “Ahhh,” she said, extending her wings out past their usual span. “No attention.”
Celestia stared very, very intently at Moondog.
“You don’t count,” Moondog said. She waved her hoof at Celestia without getting up. “You’re just one pony, not a crowd. Screw crowds. I think I have enochlophobia.”
“You mean agoraphobia?”
Moondog managed to shake her head while keeping her face plastered against the ground. “Nah, they’re close, but not the same. Agoraphobia’s the fear being caught in unsafe or uncontrolled spaces and situations. Enochlophobia’s just the fear of crowds.”
A most rational of phobias, Celestia thought. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Although I suppose that even if I ejected you, you could probably come right back in.”
Moondog rolled onto her legs and shrugged. “Out here? Probably not. I’m not nearly as good at magic outside dreams. Besides, I wasn’t going to try because just barging in would’ve been a jerk move. You set this place up for a reason, and if you don’t want anybody to enter the Orb, then none may enter the Orb.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And thank goodness, ’cause Rarity’s gonna be peeved,” she whispered, and promptly yanked her suit off herself.
Although “off” was a bit of a misnomer, as all of her body that had been covered by the suit had vanished. A head and neck floated in the air while her hooves (and only hooves, with no legs) stood on the ground. After carefully folding the suit and draping it over the railing, Moondog pressed her hooves to her nose and “blew”. A silver haze puffed out from her neck stump, taking less than a second to expand and coalesce into a perfect copy of the suit she had been wearing.
Celestia blinked and one of her ears drooped. She looked at the suit on the railing, then at the one on Moondog’s body. She opened her mouth; the words that eventually found their way out were, “That seems inefficient.”
“This-” Moondog poked the suit hanging over the railing. “-is physical stuff. This-” She tugged lightly at the suit she was wearing. “-is dream stuff. And dream stuff feels a lot nicer to me.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s- Never mind, you probably don’t want to hear me whine.”
“Don’t I?” Celestia leaned against the railing. “We’re technically family, but we barely talk at all. I’d love to be able to listen to you. Maybe I can help. And if I can’t, at least you get to vent.”
“If you want to. It’s like…” Moondog bit her lip and flexed her wings. Eventually, she said, “Imagine that in dreams, magic is… a bunch of doorways. It’s not like that at all but, y’know, metaphors. Metaphorways. I want something to happen, I just walk through the right doorway. Easy. In the real world, it’s the same, but every doorway has an invisible door in it. None of them are locked, but they all open in a different way. So I step through the right door, trying to use magic, only to smack into something that shouldn’t be there and I can’t see. And when I remember oh yeah, magic’s not as easy out here, I still need to figure out what I need to do to make the right thing happen. Then apply that to plain old existing and it’s just…” She fluttered up and sat on the railing next to Celestia. “Am I whining? I feel like I’m whining. ‘Ooo, magic isn’t effortless here, it’s so terrible!’ Wlah. Sorry.”
“You’re not whining.” Celestia hung her front hooves over the railing and her ears were turned forward. “I’ve never heard what it’s like for you to be out here.”
Moondog sighed. “It’s like you swimming in water that’s half a degree above freezing,” she said. She lay down on her back on the railing, stretching out to her full length. “Sure, I can do it, but it feels terrible, ponies give me funny looks, I’ll die if I do it for too long, and I’d really much rather not anyway.”
Celestia blinked in shock and opened her mouth.
“‘Too long’ is way over a year.”
Celestia closed her mouth.
Moondog rolled onto the air and arched her back like a cat. “I probably wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t you and Mom’s last Gala,” she grunted as she flowed back onto the balcony. “Politeness, you know?” Once she reformed, she glanced at the door to the castle. “Maybe I can talk to Mom about getting back to dreams. I’ve been here a while and I’ve behaved and I’ve done nothing but talk and I haven’t even fixed any mental problems! Except, whatisface, Caramel or whatever. I feel like I’m gonna go crazy.”
A little idea ignited in Celestia’s mind. “So go crazy,” she said.
“What?”
“Go nuts,” said Celestia. A smile slowly spread across her face. “Let loose. If you’re going to struggle against physics, you might as well struggle against it on a large scale. Turn the room upside down, give the instruments tutus, whatever! Do anything to get your frustrations out. I won’t mind.” She smiled with the sweet faux innocence only available to exceptionally experienced politicians.
One of Moondog’s ears went down. “Really? I mean, this is your last Gala.”
“That’s why I want it!” Celestia said, spreading her wings. “You’ll make it something to remember! So many Galas are just dancing and talking and I’ve seen it all a thousand times before. You might’ve seen this in my dreams, but once Twilight and her friends started attending, things started getting a bit more interesting. So get creative. You manage dreams, you’ll think of something exceptional.”
“Well…” Moondog looked at the castle, bobbing her head back and forth as she thought. “I don’t know… Mom kinda just wants me to keep my head down…”
Ah, well. Worth a shot. “Just think about it,” said Celestia. “There aren’t many things more satisfying than disrupting a dull status quo.”
“Mffmrrrmffm,” said Moondog sagely. Her gaze stayed fixed on the door, her wings twitching. “Can I at least stay out here a little longer?”
“Of course! Stay as long as you like. And since you’ll be out here anyway, I’ve been wondering: how do you get to so many dreams in one night?”
“That’s actually more complicated than you think. See…”
Luna hadn’t missed Moondog slip out after Celestia, but it was late enough in the night that she let her. Moondog had socialized well enough to satisfy Luna, at least for a little while, and a few pings of the tracking spell even told her that Moondog hadn’t run on back to dreams. If nothing else, whenever Moondog did something, she refused to do it badly.
To Luna’s surprise, it didn’t even take long for Moondog to return to the ballroom. Shorter than Celestia! She moseyed back in from the balcony, whistling a big band swing tune. Luna wormed through the crowd (a tiny bit unsteadily, thanks to the wine giving her a buzz) until she was at Moondog’s side. “You seem happy. Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“Nope!” Moondog said cheerfully. “But I’m not hating being here anymore, so that’s nice.”
Luna discarded her objections; this was more than she’d hoped for. “Good.”
“Which means now it’s time to try and get drunk.”
Something in Luna’s mind sparked through her slight alcohol haze and her wings twitched. “What?” she asked in a low voice.
“You know. Wine.” Moondog’s tail snaked out and snatched an entire platter of wine glasses from a passing waiter. “I’ve done everything else ponies do on these nights. Might as well chug a full bottle of wine while I’m at it.” She grinned and levitated her first glass from the platter.
Logic told Luna nothing would happen, but she’d been Princess of Dreams too long to pay much attention to logic. “Moondog,” she said quickly, “I appreciate your- experiential voracity, but please be careful. Power such as yours unbounded is dangerous. A thousand years ago, Tia and I were invited to celebrate the completion of one of Equestria’s border castles. Liquor flowed like a river and when we awoke the next morning, the castle had been translocated by a mile.”
“Oh, come on, Mom, get real! Nothing’s gonna happen! I don’t even have any physical stuff for the alcohol to affect.” Moondog chugged the glass down in a second.
“You get back here and return the moon to the sky this instant, young tulpa!”
“YOU CAN’T MAKE ME! IT’S MINE NOW!”
“The moon plays an important role in our world and you cannot simply claim it for your own!”
“SURE I CAN! I CALLED DIBS! NOPONY CALLED IT BEFORE!”
“I did so over a thousand years ago!”
“I’M INHERITING IT!”
“I am not yet dead, that you might inherit anything!”
“YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR SURE IS!”
“My sense of humor has never had any claim to the moon!”
“YOU’RE ABDICATING IN LESS THAN A MONTH!”
“And you are receiving my dream duties, not the moon!”
“THE MOON’S PART OF THE NIGHT! LOOK AT ME! I AM THE NIGHT! I! AM! BATMARE!”
“Why must you behave in this manner?!”
“BECAUSE I’M BATMARE!”
At long last, the Gala had wound down. The punch had been drunk or spilled and subsequently mopped up. The music was long quiet. The cake had been eaten or spirited away to the castle’s refrigerators. The tables were being moved away. Confetti, streamers, and other scraps were being swept away. The main inhabitants of the Gala had long since departed, leaving behind well-compensated custodians to pick up the enormous mess they’d created.
Not every guest had left, though.
“Again, Discord, if you would.”
“And if I wouldn’t?”
“Pretty please.”
“Very well.”
A blast of chaos magic jolted Moondog and she sat up straight, yelping, “I’m up! I’m up…” She smacked herself on the head; a few stars shot out of her ear. “And I have a headache. How can I ache when I don’t have any nociceptors to ache? That’s not fair.”
“Welcome to the wonderful world of alcohol,” Luna said dryly. Contrary to popular belief, alicorns could get hangovers, and her own was coming on, made worse by the emotional headache she already had over Moondog’s… antics. As such, she wasn’t feeling particularly charitable at the moment. “Its capacity to induce physical and mental pain alike transcends mere physicality.”
“Not for me,” Discord said morosely.
“Hush. Moondog, do you remember anything about last night after you sampled the wine?”
“Not really.” Moondog pulled two wires from her ear and reconnected them. “Which is weird, my memory doesn’t form like yours, so why-”
“You proved that you can most certainly get drunk. And a drunken reality warper is…” Luna sucked in a deep breath through her nose. “Something.”
Moondog froze. Her mane slowly lost its ethereality and wilted. She craned her neck to look Luna in the eye. “Mom… what did I do?”
“Oh, many, many things,” Discord said cheerfully. “The chaos you caused nearly resembled almost as good as one percent of mine on one of my worst days. So congratulations!”
“I made Discord happy? Hoo boy.” Moondog cringed. “Just how much of a short-sighted idiot was I?”
“An exemplar,” Luna said flatly. “First, you pulled the moon from the sky to use as a disco ball.”
“Oh, hay,” whispered Moondog. “Really?” She hung her head in her hooves. “Ai yai yai…”
“That is putting it quite lightly.”
“I know. I mean, disco? Whoof. What was I thinking?”
Luna pursed her lips. “Following that, you scrambled the colors of every single object and person in the ballroom until it resembled the vomit of a particularly bilious art gallery.”
“Beautiful, wasn’t it?” Discord said.
Luna tightened her jaw even further. “Then you turned every attendee into another species entirely, to the point that there wasn’t an equine, let alone pony, in the room.”
“Hey, if Twilight’s forming alliances with other species,” Moondog said quickly, “then ponies need to get used to seeing those species here, right?”
Luna’s mouth was so thin by now that one could probably write a mathematical paper on the effects of forcing a three-dimensional shape into a one-dimensional space based entirely on her facial expression. “And finally, before you passed out — I presume from the emotional flux — you prevented widespread panic by convincing the patrons they were suffering a collective hallucination brought on by a batch of moldy donuts.”
“That one in particular comes close to almost impressing me,” said Discord. “We didn’t even have donuts.”
“You even lacked the dignity to pass out in the proper gravity. You are currently standing on the wall.”
“I am?” Moondog pulled up one of her hooves and inspected the painting underneath. “Huh.” She cartwheeled down to the floor. “So… considering that the colors don’t look atrocious, I’m guessing it all got fixed?”
“You can thank Discord for that. The instant you were unconscious, he returned everything to normal.”
“In a snap, really,” said Discord. (A disembodied chorus of boos sounded.) “Although let’s be honest: you might not be less unchaotic than ponies, Accident, but your magic was a travesty. It itched, and not in any of the fun ways. I wasn’t doing the ponies a favor, I was doing myself a favor.”
Moondog rolled her eyes. “But mostly you wanted to stick it to me, right?”
“Way to ruin the subtext.”
Luna rubbed the bridge of her nose. The night was almost over. The night was almost over… “So. Moondog. As much as you may have… ruined the landing, you did attend the Gala, just like I asked. The public has properly seen you. And they have… a very clear idea of who you are. You have achieved what I wanted. As such, you need not attend further Galas.”
“Well, quad-dash!” Moondog said, looking like Hearth’s Warming had come early and come repeatedly. “That is just too bad. However shall I survive this most shocking of acts?”
“Oh, sarcasm. How original,” muttered Discord.
“You may return to your duties in dreams,” said Luna before they could start going at it. “I imagine you are needed.”
“Alrighty then,” said Moondog, still grinning from ear to ear. “Be seeing you.” And she was gone.
Luna sighed, but was forced to admit that, compared to previous Galas, this was wonderfully sedate. True, that was a low bar to clear, but still. There was no property damage, nothing that required hazard pay for janitors. Nobody had been hurt. And a few ponies had even enjoyed being a different species for once. That late at night, the Gala had been winding down, so if nothing else, Moondog had delivered a shot of adrenaline to its system (although it was debatable whether adrenaline was what the Gala had needed). And at least Moondog had managed to wait until the end of the Gala to act up instead of the beginning.
Discord interrupted her train of thought. “You do realize Accident probably faked it to get you to release her from attending Galas in the future, yes?”
“Almost certainly,” said Luna. “And had she not made such a scene, I would have reminded her that, once she became the Princess of Dreams, I would have no authority over her and she need not go if she so wished.”
“Ooo. Can I rub that in her face?”
“I would prefer you not, but I shan’t stop you.”
Celestia examined the vase before her. It was a priceless thing, unique, from a civilization so ancient even its name had been lost. The smoothness of the curves was impressive. The stone’s luster was impossible to replicate. And the carvings possessed a breathtaking artistry. Celestia nodded to herself. Yes, this would do nicely. A burst of magic flicked the vase into the air, where she smashed it to pieces with a baseball bat. Sometimes, you just needed to break something for the sheer heck of it, even if it was in a dream.
She went to the next vase in the endless line. Flick, smash. Dust swirled around her in a white haze. Flick, smash. Good thing she didn’t need to breathe in dreams. Flick, smash. Otherwise, she’d probably be contracting some horrific lung disease right about now. Flick, smash. Like pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovasoconiosis. Flick, smash. And that wouldn’t do at all.
Flick, smash, and Moondog popped out of the vase, cut in two from Celestia’s swing. “It worked, Aunt Celly!” she crowed. “Thank you so much for that idea!” The two halves merged together as she alighted on the ground. “No more Galas for me! Mom herself said so. Take that, crowds. BOOM!”
Celestia smiled as she leaned against the bat. “I’m happy to hear that. You certainly put on a display I’ll remember for decades. I never thought you’d be able to pull the entire moon from the sky.”
“Wanna know a secret?” Moondog leaned close and whispered in Celestia’s ear, “I can’t. Not even close. But…” She flourished a sheet of paper and held it in front of the castle. The paper immediately took on the colors of the image behind it, as if it were turning invisible. Moondog plucked the castle from the paper and held it up to Celestia. “A little illusion goes a long way.” Moondog lowered the paper; the castle was still there. Up, gone, down, back. The small castle on her hoof dissolved into sparks.
“Seriously,” said Moondog, “did you ever actually feel your claws as a hippogriff? Or did you just look at them and think ‘yep, I’m a hippogriff’? Out there, changing your shape is hard. Making it look like I changed your shape? Pfft, that’s easier than breathing. Literally! I don’t have lungs, so yeah.” Shrug. “Everypony drinking helped. Why do ponies like dulling their senses like that?”
“Tradition.” Flick, smash. “Also it feels good once you drink enough of it.”
“Huh. Huh huh. You’d think they could manage to separate those with magic. Feeling good without feeling stupid. Ah, well. Did you manage to get your hooves on any?”
Celestia snorted. “Not enough. Being a public figure requires so much… dignity. I take one step off the beaten path, and the next day, the dirt my shadow fell on is being sold as a shampoo additive or something.” Flick, smash. “I might enjoy the Gala if I could be a pony rather than a Prime Mover. Any little embarrassment I make would be something to laugh about in a few weeks, not plastered across the front pages for moons. I could enjoy what food I wanted without everypony seeing that I liked it, following in my lead, and eating all of it in minutes.” Flick, smash. “I rarely even get a chance to dance since I’m so much taller than any partners.”
“I can help with that.”
Celestia’s ears twitched. Moondog’s voice had become masculine, as smooth and sweet as honey with the steady rumble of a waterfall. She glanced over her shoulder and sucked in a sharp breath. Moondog was now a stallion, and what a stallion he was: tall — almost but not quite as tall as Celestia herself — sleek, lithe, and with a mane that stardust would sully and a razor-sharp jawline and legs that looked molded from marble. Celestia felt her wings tense up and her grip on the bat faltered.
“So?” Moondog asked, flaring his muscular wings and fluidly bowing. “What do you think, Aunt Celly? Shall we dance?” He stood back up. “Or is this-” He struck a statuesque pose. “-a bit much? It might be a bit much.”
“Well…” Celestia flexed her wings and pawed at the ground. “If I’m going to dance with somepony who keeps calling me ‘Aunt Celly’, I’d like it if they didn’t look like Adoneighs.”
Moondog chuckled. “Even though you don’t need to worry about any biology? Very well.” He flared a wing. All of his starriness was sucked into a single droplet dangling from a feather. The drop fell; once it hit the ground, it blossomed back into Moondog’s normal form, albeit now with a size closer to Luna’s than Twilight’s. The stallion left behind (Adoneighs, Celestia decided) now had a dappled, chestnut-brown coat and a golden — not blonde — mane. “Sorry about that,” Moondog said. “Sometimes I get carried away.”
“Don’t apologize,” purred Adoneighs, still with that silky-smooth voice. “It’s not your fault ponies-”
“Shaddup, you brownnoser.” Moondog shoved Adoneighs away. “Anyway, still thinking of dancing? With me, with him, not at all? And I set him up that he’ll do whatever you want him to; he’s just a dream construct, remember.”
“I’m a philosophical zombie with no internal experience whatsoever!” Adoneighs said cheerfully.
Celestia snorted, half out of laughter, half out of exasperation. “Are you always so blasé about existential ideas like this?”
“Hey, I’m a construct. It comes with the territory.” Moondog pluffed back down to her usual size. “I give it five years, max, before I have theses on me appearing in philosophical journals.”
“Thank goodness they weren’t around when Luna and I first came to Equestria.” Celestia turned to Adoneighs and gestured down the line of vases. “Go down the length of a buckball field and pick up a vase, whichever one you want, but stay there, would you?” Adoneighs nodded and trotted off, so Celestia returned her attention to Moondog. “Maybe soon, I might want to dance, but not right now. You ought to return to your work rather than wait around. No offense.”
“Nah, I get it. I should probably check on Blueblood, anyway. Ten bits says he’s having nightmares about me being evil.” Moondog giggled. “Worth it.” She saluted. “Adios, Tía Tia.” Her stars quickly winked out as her darkness was illuminated, and she vanished.
For the ruler of physical Equestria, Moondog would be a poor choice. She was flighty. She was prone to grandiosity and bombast. She might as well have “poor impulse control” tattooed on her forehead. And if she had to deal with too many ponies at once, she risked clamming up.
For mental Equestria, though? She could skip from one dream to another with ease, regardless of their contents. She could cut even the biggest anxieties down to size and then some. She knew what to do in dreams within seconds of entering them. And when she dealt with ponies one-on-one, she managed to be considerate without putting too much pressure on them.
Yeah. She’d be a good replacement for Luna.
“What do you need me to do?” a distant Adoneighs called out, a vase hovering over his head.
Celestia grinned and focused her magic into her horn. “Pull!”
Stats
Page generated in 0.061 seconds
Total duration
1,012 users online
133,003 hits today, 2,561,572 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
*screams of pain in the distance*
Reading till the end. I finally realize there was one thing that has been bugging me the whole chapter...
I haven't seen any complaint or even a shadow of Twilight at all.
Also, Zecora has a point, potions do sound like a fun time for parties. Maybe one that turns people into walking strobe lights, or something.
this was hillarious, wholesome and adorable as well ^^
10805409
Well that went ultra-meta I agree. And nice past couple of chapters. Who knew Moondog could get drunk?
You know what you've done here. You know exactly what you have done.
Batmare killed me. I died happy.
Yes she has.
'Kvetch' is not a word I ever thought I'd see Zecora use, but damn, does she make it work. Honestly, that whole interchange with Zecora was gold.
MORE gold.
This chapter as a whole was glorious. Wholesome, funny, just a touch of seriousness. Moondog never fails to entertain.
You got me there. That entire sequence was golden. She's a married mare, all right.
Too. Many. Red. Flags.
This is gonna be either utterly hilarious or catastrophically destructive....
My hopes are on both.
Where is Discord? Why doesn't he claim the copyrights?
The insult fun has been tripleted!
Oh,
AccidentMoondog, how I love your antics. This is a good day.Well. That turned out about as well as it could have. And nopony got set on fire. This time.
Excellent as always!
Is that supposed to be a "silver haze"?
Anyhoo, that was a fun chapter! Thank you for it.
Oh, sure, steal one of Discord’s bits. Admit it, he’s as much your dad as anycosmichorror could be.
Hay, now, I’ll have you know I’m extremely useful on a construction site! Less because of the degree than the fifteen years of slinging cable and tweaking antennas and being my own handyman, but still.
You’d think even an imitation prince would know to be careful what he wishes for, because someone might just grant it.
Wait, stealing my schtick now? Nothing is sacred, I guess. Give me a
goodgreat dream sometime, that I can actually remember for more than mere minutes after waking up, and we’re cool.I don’t get it.
One proud papa!
I see Sugar Belle has learned much from her husband.
I think that hoofbump is the start of a great and powerful friendship.
No, no, that's the actor who voiced Smaug.
Zecora is best Silverquill.
Delightful stuff throughout. Moondog may not be the best party guest, but she certainly makes for a memorable one.
So, uh, about that crossover or two. Would anyone know where to find that?
ROTFLOL~ We thought it was Big Mac, but instead its the wife!~
This chapter was so good that I had to double check to be sure that the story wasn't completed.
Can you give us a list
10805960
The four fanfics are this one and its three prequels, because Discord.
10805988
Crossover
Honestly I was expecting Moondog to pull an O'neill with that speech: "I'm a mare of few words. Any questions?"
The way you write is phenomenal. You did very well with Zecora's bit, too; writing rhyme is a difficult thing for many writers, and meter is harder still. Speaking of, TIL about terza rima. It reminds me of the rhyming scheme for Robert Frost's "Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening."
What a wonderful description. With things like this, it's small wonder you write playful reality-warpers so well.
Are we sure Moondog is the Princess of Dreams and not the Princess of Trolling?
The bit with Sugar Belle got me, and got me good. Each encounter was grand, honestly. Loved when the booze hit.
Sad to not have any Twilight Time, cause I imagine that would have been a hoot.
You don't mean...
Is there even a debate to be had?
Such cruelty
Not a chance
How eloquent
So Spike then... or literally anyone else but him
And in that moment, Celestia had an idea, a terrible idea, a terribly wonderful idea
Lol, had to mention it as no one else did
The thing I’m kind of annoyed with is Luna’s insistence for Moondog being a princess when she doesn’t really need to be part of the political spectrum seriously she could just make up a title like Arch dream guardian and give it to Moondog she shouldn’t need to be a ruler of equestria especially if she doesn’t want to
I expected that Moondog used illusions rather than actually changing anything. I really liked her conversation with Trxie.
Trollestia strikes again! 😂
The Sugar Belle bit was awesome :)
I love Moondog so much.
btw
Unnecessary " at the end.
excellent as always.
I just realised, the reason the magic itched to Discord is it wasn't chaos magic, but illusion magic it may have felt like if you bite into an orange, and instead taste apple.
I love that I don't even have to know this word existed before to have a pretty gruesomely detailed idea what it is.
During the opening paragraphs, I thought this was going to be about the Royal Swanifying. But the Gala certainly qualifies, too, and there's more mileage to be gotten from it.
There are a lot of lonely ponies out there whose dreams could be satisfied with one of those. Although it seems like there are engineers who are getting closer to bringing that to the real world every year.
10808164
It's "Black Lung" Coal Miners would get it while mining because most cheap masks didn't have perfect seals and they'd end up breathing in the coal dust, where it would congeal.
But what fun would that be without the portable nuke to go with it?
10808691
Yeah just dissecting the word pretty much comes out and says "y'all's got micro stone dust in your lungs and it did real bad things".
10808691
I don’t want to “umm actually” but Uhmmmm Acktuhallee...
Checking Wikipedia shows it was created to be a synonym for silicosis, which is inhalation of crystalline silica dust.
Also it is described as “an artificial long word said to mean a lung disease caused by inhaling very fine ash and sand dust” by the Oxford Dictionary. So it is more of a joke than anything.
Also, I am obligated to link the following:
10809126
And some glass knives? :)
> She might as well have “poor impulse control” tattooed on her forehead
Well, she IS carting around enough magic to be roughly equivalent to a nuke, and I bet he could do some nasty things with obsidian if it came down to it…
Yet another chapter! This is great, and I love it!
I just wish I had discovered this chapter when it first got published.
Pffffff
I loved Moondog's various interactions with ponies in the chapter. Also, drunk Moondog for the freaking win.
...wait this is a real thing wtf
Thanks for the shout out!
10805424
Probably fainted once Moondog got "drunk"
10805749
10805960
Well one crossover I do know is the one I wrote. Letters Across the Disgruntled Multiverse: a spin off to Letters From A Disgruntled Friendship Student.
I laughed at this SO HARD. (8-6-8-6)x3