Notes Inégales
He remained in the courthouse for some time. The Princess had to leave: the call of a nation for the attention of its rulers was never-ending, and that cry had to be heeded. But before she departed, another pony arrived: a surprisingly tall white unicorn stallion who was at least three decades older than Snowflake. He had an oddly elegant manner of speech, something which would have so often put the listener at ease just from listening to the near-musical cadence of the words -- and in this situation, simply made Snowflake feel as if the part of the patient gaze which was being conducted through the monocole wasn't the full equivalent to perceiving him as an insect beneath a magnifying glass.
That stallion had questions. Patient, almost gentle questions: words which knew their very nature was doing injury, and so the tones wished to convey that the unicorn himself wished to inflict no more pain than was necessary. But some of them were simply repeating what the Princess had inquired about, only with fresh phrasing and more time in which to draw out the answers. And the majority were still things Snowflake couldn't say, because he simply didn't know.
(He would soon know a little bit more.)
Unusual magic? He could fly when flight was impossible. He was strong, but that still mostly seemed to be the exercises and when looked at through the fractured lens of a new perspective, it had been years of effort for nothing more than turning himself into a trotting, flapping parody.
The limits of his talent? He didn't know. Most ponies spent the first few moons after manifest exploring new magic, some doing very little else until the moment those who loved them finally dumped the contents of several personal wake-up rainclouds into their fur. But for Snowflake, that had meant flight. He could set a physical goal and as long as it was remotely within his body's capabilities, he would eventually reach it. But in terms of consciously exercising that talent... the most it felt he'd done was deliberately turn himself, at least for the short term, into an endurance flier. His personal possessions had been transferred from Las Pegasus to Ponyville by air freight (and theoretically, there was a chance that he might eventually finish unpacking the last boxes): he had flown ahead of the shipment. It had been a multi-day trip, spending hours in the air with Sun for company, sleeping at rest encampments provided by tacky clouds which had a few extra standing protective techniques woven into the vapor. For a trip of that magnitude, many pegasi would have gone by carriage or train, simply to avoid spending their first days at the destination in recovery.
But perhaps such flights had always been within his capabilities. Or it could have been his magic. He simply had no way to be sure, especially when he'd been carefully overlooking the true operation of that talent on a near-daily basis for years.
Was it possible for him to contribute any names to the list?
That question only came after the unicorn had been talking for some time, offering up calm reassurances that no harm would come to anypony simply for being one of the new, telling him that the Princesses were carefully drafting the first of what might need to become multiple protective laws. It was followed by repetition: the idea that it was being done, in large part, to make sure those ponies would be safe, and it ended in a long silence while the other party waited for his answer.
But he didn't know what to say.
The doctor had spoken of his (and that term was beginning to sicken Snowflake, made muscles feel as if they were collapsing from within). But it hadn't been too often: most of their time together during the foal years had been checking on Snowflake's progress, seeing how that one youth was managing, offering advice on ways to move forward or -- open, joyful pride at the accomplishment which had finally come at the end of a long road.
He was almost crying, after I finished showing him. His eyes were so bright, and some of that was moisture. He just kept nuzzling me, he was whispering about how proud he was, and then he wanted me to put him into a pressure carry and show him what Las Pegasus looked like from above because he just knew I could manage his weight.
We went flying together, with my legs pressed against his barrel. I was afraid to do it, but he insisted, he said he had faith in me.
It was a good day...
(And now that one had shattered with the rest.)
There had only been some talk of the others, and most of that had come just before Snowflake had moved to Ponyville. Names the palace already had.
But still... there was at least one. And --
-- she thinks she's normal.
(Did she? Had anypony realized just how strange they truly were? Not the cause, but that they were not what they should have been, could never be...)
If the palace finds them, lets them know what really happened, what they are, they'll know they aren't normal. They never were, they never can be. They aren't --
-- real.
In a way, he did trust the palace, didn't believe the Diarchy intended to harm the experiments: there was no way to tell what the herd might do. But he also understood pain, knew when it was necessary. And that was part of why he didn't ever want anypony to experience what he'd just gone through.
In time, every name would represent a broken life.
The unicorn was patiently watching him. A field-held quill was hovering over a glowing notepad.
"I know it's hard," the calm voice said. "Take your time."
Snowflake swallowed, watched dust dance in the air: the Princess had told them to keep using her chambers. "How many ponies have you spoken to?"
"About the matter in general?" was the first part of the measured reply. "Or to those who represent the new?"
'The matter.' "The second one."
Fancypants sighed. "Pinkie and Fluttershy, on that first night, along with the doctor's daughter. Over the last few days, to four who turned out to live in Canterlot." He took a slow breath, and a flicker of corona adjusted the monocle. "Only two are adults. One is a cinematographer. She wound up being moved to the palace for short-term medical observation."
Oh no. "What happened?"
"Stress," the unicorn sadly said. "Simply stress. She has no living family, almost no friends, nopony to truly offer her comfort. And it gave her the chance to spend time with our second adult, who is..." Another sigh. "...the youngest of the Lunar guards. Hired all of two moons ago. A pony who wishes to continue in his service, and is having trouble believing that the Princesses wish to retain it. You are welcome to meet with both, of course. I feel they would welcome the company."
He slowly shook his head. "Not yet." He didn't feel he was very good company right now.
"I understand." Another breath. "The other two are younger still. One has only had his mark for five moons, and he thought he was going to become a jeweler. The last is far too young to have manifested. In both cases, we also had to tell their parents -- well, mother alone for the filly, and... the secret is being kept, but it's also being spread, Snowflake. We have to spread it, in order to protect those whom it affected. And so there is only so long it can hold at all." And one more sigh. "The hardest contact will be the youngest. Princess Twilight was unknowingly present at the birth of the newest hybrid. A foal named Dawn Sky. Too young to understand anything at all, but the first who will eventually spend all of her years knowing what happened to her. As soon as we locate her parents. And..."
Blue eyes briefly closed.
"...Princess Twilight told me how happy that mother was, to see her daughter brought safely into the world," Fancypants softly added. "I'm hoping that means it'll go well, especially when Shining Sky learns it was the only way for her foal to have seen Sun at all. But for the ones who are too young to make their own way, there will inevitably be parents who are more -- closed-minded. Fearful, because there are always those whose first response to the unknown is a desperate gallop. It'll be harder to keep the secret there, and..." He opened his eyes again, gently looked at Snowflake with no visible repulsion at all. "...I've been clearing rooms in my house."
His jaw almost dropped. "You've been --"
"-- I never had foals of my own," the unicorn calmly stated. "Just an older student now and again. So the rooms have to be cleared, with their contents altered. They'll have to stay somewhere. It's not as if I don't have the space."
Snowflake's head tilted slightly to the right, then shifted left. Looking at the elegant cut of the stallion's jacket. The wealth on low-key display. The patience.
"You don't know anything about them. Who they are, what they might be able to do --"
"-- I know," the noble gently interrupted, "that they're children."
And then there was a moment when all Snowflake could do was stare at a greater strength than his.
"I'm glad you're part of the palace staff," finally emerged.
Fancypants chuckled. "Not quite. I'm simply Princess Celestia's friend. And this is how I can best help my friend today, along with what I'm expecting to be a few ponies of somewhat lesser years. But there have been some preliminary talks of forming a new government office, and -- well, if she asks, I'll do my part." More thoughtfully, "And I occupy a certain social position, largely through the luck of birth. It's rare that I get to use it for something real -- but in this case, I can do my best to pave the way." The well-maintained tail shifted across the carpet. "Snowflake, I've spoken to several ponies over the last few days. I haven't personally been through the fear, and I'll never pretend I fully understand what you're feeling. I've just watched it emerge, over and over. And do you know what they say about ponies who ask you to trust them?"
He did his share of reading. "That they're the last ponies you should ever trust."
The unicorn nodded. "So I think I have some idea of why you might be afraid to turn over any names you have. That you see guarding them as protective custody, because the truth will wound. But wounds heal, and..." It was the only time he openly looked at the distortions in Snowflake's form. "-- I'm told that so many are stronger for the healing."
Who are you?
He didn't know the stallion, not for anything beyond the short time they'd been in the soft chambers together. But he still felt as if he had the answer.
"I won't ask you to trust me," the older stallion said. "But I hope you believe in them. All of those in what the doctor's daughter sees as family. That they'll get through it -- and in the end, they might be better off." A brief pause. "I feel they have to know. But you may disagree, and I'll understand that. You can go your own way, silent, and nopony will ever ask again. What do you want to do?"
Snowflake took the deepest breath of his life, slowly released it and watched the dust shift.
"When he visited, he was usually focused on me," came out first. "I think because I was one of the most unusual. I know he only had one other capless birth, and that was with a unicorn filly: she wasn't at risk, her mother was. So he wanted to see how I was doing, and that was most of what we talked about. The rest came when he found out I was moving to Ponyville, and I'm sure those names are already on the list."
The unicorn simply nodded, and a steady corona began to put the notepad away.
He took a deep breath. "But there was one day where he did bring somepony up. I got the impression she was about six to eight years younger: I was just thinking about moving for the first time --" or rather, was approaching the age where he could freely do so "-- and she'd just gone through manifest. Put together with what he said about her classes -- six to eight. I know she was in Stratuston at the time..."
Another nod: a much slower one. The other pony in the office listened, wrote a few things down, and then elegantly sealed the inkwell for the quill.
"Tempi Fugit," Fancypants calmly said. "I'll protect her, Snowflake, as best I can." With a faint smile, "It has been some time since my last cloudwalking spell. Hopefully it hasn't been too long since the last time she saw one of mine trotting across vapor. I don't want to startle her in the very first second." Thoughtfully, "A bulky jacket, perhaps, to go with a hat. Something which makes it look as if there's space for wings, just to relax her that much more..."
You're everything Doctor Gentle should have been.
And then they were leaving the building. (Fancypants had insisted on walking him out.) It started by passing more office doors, used by those judges who saw cases more than once per decade. There was a built-in law library. Jury deliberation rooms, something Snowflake had never reached. And then the courtrooms began to appear.
He'll be on trial soon. It was impossible to see the verdict as anything other than 'guilty'. Who'll testify?
It was hard for Snowflake to imagine anypony calling him to the stand: he'd been no part of the final events, and it was hard to phrase 'Yeah' as testimony. He was just... living evidence, and he'd already been admitted into the record.
Fluttershy and Pinkie would probably have to testify, though. With Pinkie, the main issue might be keeping the sworn statements at a rate which the court stenographer could match pace with. Fluttershy was going to need help...
"How are you getting home?" Fancypants asked as they both passed the Juror Information booth, approached the exit. The pegasus mare attending the mostly-sealed window paid no attention to their passage: they weren't jurors, and so they weren't important. "It's been a long day for you." With a sigh, "And yes, I know that was an understatement. Sometimes, the language isn't up to the task."
"I flew in," Snowflake softly replied as he pushed the closest door open. "I can get home the same way."
"Do you want to get some food first? I know several good restaurants in the area." Smiling now, "I realize we've only just met and I did say something about bewaring of those who ask for trust -- but my ability to gain a pair of benches without an advance reservation is usually more of a fact."
He couldn't quite smile back. "No. But thank you. I have to --"
collapse
fall into bed and never get out again
scream
keep screaming
"-- take care of my pet," Snowflake finished. "She hasn't been with me that long. I don't think she's ready for me to spend that much time away from home."
"Another time, then," the noble offered, and a thin slice of corona passed over a calling card. "That's my address. Please drop by when you're next in town."
He managed a smile, then focused his attention on the sky as he flared out amputations to their joke of a full span --
-- wait.
Feathers vibrated. It didn't seem to be with expectation.
...how does this actually work?
Was he supposed to -- focus on his talent? No, that couldn't be it: he'd never done that before. He'd just -- flapped, usually kicking in a hard jump to start because it saved a little effort on the takeoff. And then he would be flying.
Except that he couldn't fly, not through sheer strength, and never had. He was supposedly summoning a Surge, at will. How was that supposed to happen? Nopony could just call up a Surge: for infants, they were more or less random, then those going through their manifests would have the True Surge and after that, they were lost forever because adults didn't have Surges. He certainly couldn't remember any sensations associated with having been through one: according to his parents, he'd been one of the world's quietest infants, not a single Surge at any time, and they'd assumed it had been due to having his birth double as a near-death experience. It was impossible for nearly any adult to bring back true memories of their time as the youngest of foals, and he certainly couldn't call on an experience he'd never had. If he'd been Surging the whole time, then a Surge felt like nothing, except that it had to be something because the Princess felt that was how he was doing anything at all except that he suddenly had no idea what he was doing and...
"Snowflake?"
He glanced back over his left shoulder, catching the briefest glimpse of an awkwardly-trembling partial limb. He had no idea how long it had been doing that.
"The palace issues rail passes to those who are called in on urgent government business," the noble calmly said. "Why don't you ride home?"
It was his first time on a train, and so it was also his first time having that particular type of padded bench entirely to himself: nopony was comfortable sharing a seat with him, not even during the relatively-crowded late afternoon commute going back to Ponyville.
If they knew what I was...
He could easily picture his presence having emptied the car, although it would have taken something of a group effort to actually kick him off the train.
The railway was saving him from taking the trot home, and he was grateful to Fancypants for the kindness shown in offering the pass. But the ride itself... there was too little to do. Flying required the constant processing of information: wind speed, picking out thermals as they moved through the atmosphere, recognizing what every little change in layering might do to a traveler and preparing to compensate or counter. Even trotting required keeping an eye on the path and for the old road between capital and a relatively young settled zone, safety wasn't quite guaranteed. When he was just occupying a bench...
A number of ponies were reading, and some of them were taking great care to look at books, magazines, newspapers, and one graphic novel because it wasn't looking at him. Others were directing their attention out the windows, watching the view change in the same way it did during every commute. He'd seen one mare simply fall asleep.
But there was too much in him to allow any chance at rest. He hadn't had enough bits available to spend anything for reading material and at any rate, that level of attempted self-distraction would have proven futile. The view was the view, and there didn't seem to be much point in watching it. The wheels turned, the steamstack vented, and Ponyville got closer. He trusted the train to do its job without his having to supervise any part of the process, because he understood the force which powered them. There were ways in which he respected trains, and he might have welcomed a few minutes in the company of their inventor. It was just that... there was nothing to do during the journey.
He wasn't trotting. Flight seemed as impossible as it had ever (and truly) been. All he could do with his time on the train was think.
He had a lot of things to think about.
Snowflake's bench was right over one of the wheels. It was easy to hear the clacking, to feel the vibrations of the movement: both came up through walls and floor. He looked out the window because he happened to be facing that way, and most of what he saw had originally been in Las Pegasus. Some of it had been below, for a colt had often stared down at what could be seen of the shaded ground community from an unattended edge. At a world which offered soil everywhere. True support. A place which had always felt as if it was calling to him, asking him to come --
-- home.
How much of his life had been defined by that desire? He'd never considered moving to any other pegasus settlement: he'd gone directly for ground. His house had a basement, most pegasi
real pegasi
suffered from a degree of claustrophobia: they would never voluntarily place themselves underground and he found his basement comfortable. He loved to fly
I don't think I can
but he loved to stand upon the ground just as much. Simply standing upon something truly solid, his mass lightly pushing against the world and feeling it buoy him up in return. Clouds had always been tacky, and ground -- welcomed him.
Most pegasi who made the switch spent weeks to moons limping about as hooves which had rarely known anything harsher than vapor tried to deal with moving on rock. He'd never even been sore...
(His body shifted in time with the wheels, working with the vibrations when that was more helpful to a comfortable ride, moving against them when it wasn't. He didn't notice.)
All there was to do on a train was think, and it was easy for thoughts to fall into a pattern. The hard part was keeping them from being locked within rhythm, for the wheels provided a beat to follow and --
-- he was tired.
He had never been so tired.
Resisting the beat required strength. He was the strongest pegasus --
the strongest freak
-- he had strength. But it didn't seem to mean anything.
He looked out the window because he happened to be facing that way, never seeing much of what was truly there. And deep within, thoughts moved to the beat of the wheels. Another kind of vibration.
not real
not real
not real
He felt as if he was coming apart.
He didn't know how he was supposed to live among ponies. To pass for one of them when he'd barely fit in to begin with, the one in the herd who was only tolerated as long as he moved on the outskirts so that everypony could pretend he wasn't really there at all.
He'd never been so tired. So hurt.
He didn't know how he was supposed to heal.
He...
Feed Genova.
...wasn't allowed to completely fall apart, not when there was an obligation to be met. Because he'd been Fluttershy's first choice of substitute for some time, had held down the cottage as best he could on multiple occasions, understood so many of the responsibilities involved -- but that moment on the courthouse steps, looking up towards a Sun which was so far along its path, had been the first time he'd truly understood one of the things his near-sister had told him about animal companions. How they were more than sources of unquestioning love. The way they could anchor you. Provide a single stable point within any storm.
Because ultimately, it came down to this: he could be having the single worst day of his life (and it wasn't over yet). He could be traumatized, internally shattered, lost with no idea of what was supposed to come next. He could freely wish for the future to contain nothing more than dark vacuum absorbing the screams of somepony who could no longer see himself as being fully real.
He could go through all of that. But he still had to feed his hare.
A number of ponies looked at him as he got off the train, but they were all Ponyville residents who were probably just wondering what he'd been doing on it in the first place.
He made his way home under steadily-dipping Sun: the moment of formal lowering was fast approaching, and Moon would be right behind. But he wasn't moving all that fast. He was tired, and -- he didn't commute. The most he'd had to do with the rail lines was serving as a temporary hire for a work crew which was replacing some trestle ties: strength was welcome there, if at a moderate distance. He'd flown to that worksite. And now, on hoof...
He'd been in Ponyville for over two years, worked in so many places around the settled zone. It felt as if he should have had the town's layout memorized. But he was tired, he'd never been so tired and... he didn't seem to know the fastest route home from the station, not on hoof. It was as if familiar streets had become bent while he'd been away, buildings normally known on sight distorted in colors and boundaries. The entire world with a layer pulled away to show the warping underneath. Something which had always been there and he just hadn't possessed the mindset to see it until that nearly-night.
Feed Genova.
It was starting to become a mantra.
He moved with his head down, for it seemed he could no longer bear the weight of his own thoughts. Forced his gaze up just enough to look at one of the few signposts. There weren't many in the settled zone: summer tourist traffic followed its own flow, and Ponyville residents generally knew where they lived.
Was it left or right from here?
He couldn't seem to remember, and so he went left. It was left because he had to go somewhere, and there was a hare who was waiting to be fed.
He could have gone right.
Feed Genova.
Go to Fluttershy's tomorrow.
It was a new thought, and the mere presence surprised him.
I... I don't think I opened the door.
I have to fix that.
I need to talk to her.
I need...
If he'd gone right, none of it would have happened.
The response upon seeing that particular shade of red was an automatic one, something he'd been doing for just about his entire time in Ponyville, and therefore something which had sunk deep enough to occur without conscious thought. He saw red, and his dipped head raised just enough for a small nod, something which had always been meant as a token of respect.
He'd never talked to the other stallion. (Cumulatively, he'd done more talking on that day than in the last week, and he was on the verge of setting a personal record.) He seldom talked to anypony. But he'd always felt he understood the earth pony, just a little. Strength acknowledged strength.
Later, he would wonder if the nod had been the only thing truly spotted. He was large, larger than just about anypony, but his posture was partially collapsed, his head had been lowered, and some portion of the herd had still been flowing down that street (mostly from the train station, commuters getting close to their homes), with the earth pony unsteadily coming in from the opposite direction. To that extent, he'd been partially camouflaged. But there were ways in which pony eyesight naturally oriented on movement, he'd nodded...
They passed each other, several body lengths apart: one moving with the flow of traffic, the other against. A deep part of his mind distantly noted that the farmer hadn't favored him with the usual nod back and added the minor hurt to the pile which had accumulated during the day. It didn't seem to put it any closer to collapse, but he wasn't sure that was possible with something which was effectively acting less as a tower and more like a waterfall of pain.
Feed Genova.
The intersection he was moving through looked familiar. He had to be getting close --
He was facing the wrong way to see the earth pony's head snap up, sudden emotion pushing back the exhaustion created by the length of the previous night, which had been added to certain ill-advised self-administered failed treatments for those feelings during the day. He only heard the results.
"Hey, you!"
And didn't recognize them as having been meant for him. There was a moment where he couldn't even identify the voice, which generally had a public dictionary which was exactly two hundred percent of his own. He didn't know what the accent did to any other words.
Bring wood tomorrow. Hoof-hammer shoes. Fix the door --
"-- hey, SNOWFLAKE!"
It had been a shout.
Anger blasted against the brush cut of his mane, went through the bandages which still wrapped his wounded ear, and Snowflake looked up. Slowly, carefully turned, and in doing so, saw some of the herd starting to pull back towards the edges of the street. A few of those who'd been near the farmer had been close enough for scent to pick up what was backing the words, and so moved all the faster.
But for the most part, they were staring. Some of that was presumably for the unexpected expansion of vocabulary.
The two stallions were facing each other across a distance of roughly ten body lengths. The white, who just barely passed as a pegasus to most eyes and could no longer apply that definition to himself, was the bulkier. The red was slightly taller and about four-fifths as visibly muscular, only in what appeared to be a more balanced and natural way.
The red also happened to be an earth pony.
"Yeah?" Snowflake wearily inquired. Part of him was wondering just what that anger was about, for he was too tired to remember any potential reason. The rest simply wanted to get home.
A huge right forehoof stomped against a cobblestone. The disheveled orange mane was tossed back by a mighty heave of the big head, and red fur stood out all over the earth pony's body. A big stallion who was starting to look somewhat bigger.
"Heard mah sister asked y'out!"
The resulting gasp from the sudden audience had emerged from multiple throats, losing no strength to the subdivision. And Snowflake --
-- blinked.
I -- I forgot...
It was, in its way, a reasonable thing. He'd been meaning to speak with Fluttershy about it, and then -- everything. Having let what might have been the first true (pity) date of his life slip his mind -- that could just about be expected. But there was a fumbling second when he was also failing to remember that Applejack hadn't finalized time or activity, she'd said she'd get back to him with that later and just wanted to make sure she'd asked, a moment where he thought he'd missed everything and the older brother was simply upset because a sibling had been stood up.
Snowflake knew what it felt like to be stood up. Intimately.
"Yeah," he apologetically declared, embarrassed features dipping in concert with Sun. Did he even have enough in his budget for a 'sorry' bouquet that large? And what was the traditional flower involved, anyway? He had a vague recollection which suggested it might be purple hyacinth, but that same memory said it wasn't edible and an apology arrangement you couldn't eat just didn't make any sense --
-- the next words weren't a whisper. Something about the tone suggested one, as if they had originally been meant for his ears alone, and everything about the volume stated they'd been meant to get past the sound of hard-stomping, fast-approaching hoofsteps.
"-- what did y'do to her?"
He blinked again, quizzically tilted his head to the right, watching the farmer close the gap.
"Y'did something," the farmer half-hissed. "Ain't been nothin' before you, nothin' but ponies who couldn't keep a honest day's pace, but at least she was lookin' at the right ponies..."
It created a moment where Snowflake thought the farmer knew. Had found out what he was and was about to shout it to the world, for to hold a secret was to wait for everypony to learn, and it made him pull back by half a hoofstep as red fur loomed larger in his sight.
Then he realized what was going on.
He doesn't want her to go out with me.
Something he could understand completely.
"Back off," the farmer declared, now a mere three body lengths away and moving fast. "Back off her, forever. Don't want t'see y'near her. Y'can move your tent t' someplace else in the market, somewhere y'can't look at her. Y'back off, y'go away and y'stay away." One body length. Then less. "Do y'understand me?"
Hot breath blasted into Snowflake's nostrils. Close enough to smell the rage within it, along with --
fear?
-- and a very distinctive overlayer, something which instantly told Snowflake to be very careful about what he did next.
How much would it take, with an earth pony his size? Mugs upon mugs. He's angry enough for the adrenaline to be overriding any physical issues, but it's still hitting his brain. He's not going to be thinking straight until he sobers all the way up. Just --
-- give him what he wants.
It was the easiest way. The one which negated conflict. And it wasn't as it would have been a real date anyway.
"Yeah," Snowflake quietly stated as he looked directly into slightly-bloodshot green eyes. The same shade possessed by the older sister.
Big Mac blinked. Hooves awkwardly scraped at the road.
"Y'ain't gonna go out with her."
Snowflake nodded. He wouldn't.
"You'll back off."
Again. It wouldn't be that hard to ask Ms. Colwood for a spot switch.
I won't get to see her when she pulls the cart in on her mornings --
-- it didn't matter.
The farmer's snort came across as sarcastic: the fumes added semi-soused. "Should Ah ask y'for anythin' else? T' move outta town? Give me all your bits on the way out? Bein' as how Ah'm only getting the one answer an' all."
Snowflake shook his head.
"An' y'think that's it," the farmer said. "Y'stop. Y'don't see her again. An' we're done."
There was a perimeter now, a rough oval about fifteen body lengths across at the widest point, six for the most narrow. It wasn't fully solid: there were multiple gaps present. It extended partially into the air. There were some houses behind it, with lawns. (He would always like lawns.) It was comprised entirely of watching ponies and but for the little shifts in those who hovered, none of them were moving.
"...yeah."
And that was it.
He wouldn't go out with Applejack. He would never be with anypony, and nopony should ever be with him. But he had a hare, and he had to feed her.
Snowflake turned away. Began to trot for home, for the sky had been lost.
One body length. Two. Three. Four...
"Ah don't believe you."
He didn't see the forehoof come down: he was facing the wrong way. He only heard it.
Then he heard the stone crack.
He turned back. It felt as if it was taking a while: there was a lot to move, and most of it didn't seem to be fully responding. Looked at green eyes which were no longer capable of fully seeing the real.
He seemed to be outside the realm of situations for which 'yeah' would have been suitable.
Softly, carefully, doing everything he could to sound calm, "Mac --"
Two ponies nearly fainted.
"-- well, will'ya listen t' that?" the farmer hypocritically shouted. "Guess that explains everythin', don't it? Sure can't get by on his looks, but ain't he jus' the smooth talker?"
Snowflake waited for the last echo to fade, then tried to start over. "Mac, I swear by --" 'Cadance' would have been appropriate for anything related to dating, and it also felt as if the name was the springboard for voluntarily diving into an active volcano "-- Sun: if you want me to stay away from her, I will. That's all."
"An' what did y'do in the first place, t' get her all bothered 'bout you?" the huge stallion barked. (Just about all of his fur was standing up now, with so much moving against the grain.) "Tell me that!"
"Nothing." He took a deep breath, wondered if the next words would be the ones which helped. "I -- I think somepony asked her to do it, as a favor to me." And then realized he might have just passed the blame. "Somepony you shouldn't be mad at, because that pony didn't know how you'd feel. Mac, it's over --"
"-- like Tartarus it is, y'buckin' LIAR!" The left forehoof came down this time, and a deep chip flew from the impacted stone.
Okay, a well-trained part of Snowflake's mind observed, which also happened to be the only part which was still capable of any true evaluation at all. That's his weaker side. I could get that balanced out in about two moons --
"Her idea!" It was getting close to a scream. "Ain't nopony's but hers, an' you put it in her head! Y'don't know what it cost her, how much it took, how much it's gonna keep takin' until she gives you up! Y'don't know what's comin'!"
Some of the earth ponies around the perimeter had an odd expression: fear overlapping a sort of full-body denial. Snowflake could empathize.
He wasn't a natural talker. He'd never been good with words, and it was all he had to make the farmer back down.
"Mac," he softly, desperately tried, "you're drunk --"
"-- am not!" roared the pony who no longer had a true means of judging.
Snowflake pressed on. "-- and that means this isn't the time or place to talk. I won't go out with her: I told you that. I can swear on Sun and Moon until you're satisfied. But we shouldn't do anything else until you've rested." More softly still, "Go home, Mac. Please --"
The snort contained no words. The blast of purest sardonic sarcasm hadn't left any room.
Silence, at least for speech. Ponies breathing around the perimeter: sharp bursts which Snowflake recognized as being on the verge of panic. A distant, familiar-seeming buzzing. And Sun getting lower all the time.
"Y'want me t' believe you?"
He nodded. It wasn't speech, so it stood some chance to work.
"Fine." And each syllable was bitten, kicked wounded into the world to bleed all over stone. "Move. Leave Ponyville. Yer out by Sun-raising. Y'leave t'night."
There were other settled zones. He was among the world's slowest unpackers: that meant some of the boxes were already prepared to go. He could just --
Fluttershy.
Scootaloo.
It was, perhaps, something he'd subconsciously learned from his first friend. The means by which a word became a statement.
"No."
He had about two seconds in which that word echoed within his soul. Two seconds to wonder where it had come from, and why it insisted that he stay. And then the charge hit him.
There was no chance to dodge, no means by which to do so: he was too big to move all that quickly, not on the ground, he'd seen the earth pony's eyes narrow, the big head going down as forehooves pushed off stone, the amputations had instinctively flared out, there had almost been a jump and a flap but he'd realized it was impossible and by the time he wondered why he was so certain of that, the top of the farmer's skull had gone into Snowflake's sternum.
It knocked him off his hooves. Not very far: it was mass at speed meeting weight at rest, and Snowflake had enough weight that sending him into the only kind of flight remaining just wasn't going to happen. At most, he was shifted by three hoofwidths. But he was falling to the stone, he would need some time to recover and he didn't have it, the earth pony was stronger because no matter how big Snowflake was, he could never be an earth pony, not the race where some extra strength was built into their very being and the farmer was huge to begin with, the red was always going to be stronger and he didn't have time and the big right forehoof (the strong side) was being raised over his head but it didn't matter because he wasn't real --
"-- her!" came the shout. "Always HER! Always what SHE needs, never --"
And somehow, through all of that, in the last moment Sun held the sky, he still heard the scream.
There were sounds which preceded it, along with a scent. Buzzing, going faster than ever. Axle lubricant flash-frying into smoke. A crash of metal hitting stone as the filly pushed, using the deliberate dump as one more means of gaining momentum as she launched herself from the falling scooter, new feathers flaring out into a configuration which allowed for a glide and a little bit more, the little body coming directly at the farmer's tail --
"-- LEAVE HIM ALONE!"
It could be said that the farmer responded purely to the sound. Nothing more. That the huge right hind hoof had instinctively kicked backwards at nothing more than noise.
There was another sound after that. A brief, repetitive one with odd, uneven beats, because a small orange fallen body wasn't meant to tumble across cobblestone. And then it stopped.
The farmer turned his head. Saw what he'd kicked, and green eyes widened as the last wisps of inner fog dissipated.
Sun had been lowered. Moon had been raised. The night had simply fallen.
"No," the earth pony whispered. "No, no, no..."
He was moving towards her, and that was all so many ponies saw: the ones who were already clustering around the filly who'd caused so much damage during her mad Crusade, checking her breathing, helping her as she weakly tried to raise her head, because she was used to crashes and she was probably about to insist that this one had just been a little harder than most. Shielding her.
The living wall formed against him. The furious stares of the herd drove him back.
"No," the red stallion breathed. "Ah -- I didn't mean -- I didn't --"
And then he heard hooves scrabbling against rock. Turned towards the sound.
Snowflake wasn't looking at the farmer, not at first. His outer sight was focused on Scootaloo, and that within him which was used to assessing injuries had already diagnosed a glancing blow -- but one from a huge earth pony: her wings would be all right, the frequent crashes meant she knew how to roll, but she would be bruised for weeks and there was a chance of cracked ribs.
The inner was focused on something else entirely.
There were ponies taking care of her. Ponies who would, if necessary, get her to the hospital, and he could see two mares breaking from the back of the group, presumably galloping off to fetch help. She would be all right.
But the farmer had attacked her. (On sound, possibly purely responding to the sound, but that didn't seem to matter just now.) Attacked his friend.
I want...
He was in pain. He drew on it, and then he was upright again.
I want...
A golden forehoof hit a cobblestone, and the rock split down to the base.
I want...
Muscles expanded, and all he could see was red.
"I want to beat you."
Snowflake charged.
No pegasus could ever be as strong as an earth pony of equal size. He had spent years in exercise, even more in maintenance, and that fact remained true: it was impossible for any pegasus to match that level of power, not when strength was a known part of earth pony magic. The farmer was a little taller that he was, and nearly as bulky. A pegasus facing that kind of purely physical presence was supposed to get some vertical distance, moving well past high jump range. Use wind, use hail, use anything which didn't require proximity, because close enough to be kicked was close enough to have already been beaten.
That was what a pegasus would have done.
But he wasn't a pegasus.
The white body met the red, lowered head going directly into the mark. And for all of two body lengths, a distance which witnesses would later swear had taken several minutes and gallops to cross, an earth pony learned to fly.
Snowflake didn't gave him a chance to stop skidding across the cobblestones. He'd barely lost any momentum to the impact: it let him give chase and once he caught up, years of studying pony anatomy and the best ways to avoid damaging it were abruptly kicked into reverse: the same could be said for the farmer's right hind knee. Snowflake aimed a forehoof at one sensitive area, aimed a hind at another, and then it distantly occurred to him that being in the ideal position for the latter required getting into the air and therefore he was flying.
He didn't have time to think about that. He didn't care. He was flying, and so he got all four legs against the farmer's body, squeezed in the tightest pressure carry of his life, something where any damage he was doing to the ribs was just equaling what had been inflicted on Scootaloo and so that was fine. And then he was ascending, going up and up and up, he was already past the point where the earth pony could hope to struggle free because the fall would do its own damage and so the red body (a burden which seemed to weigh nothing at all) was just about paralyzed, he could feel the tremble and he didn't care, he went up a little more and moved into a loop, gave the briefly-inverted farmer a whole new perspective on Moon and life, and then he came back down.
It wasn't a full circle. More of a horseshoe shape, because to return exactly to the start would have put them on the cobblestones. Snowflake understood force, had a very good idea of just how strong the farmer was, had already factored in for earth pony resiliency, and so he knew the stones weren't an option. Instead, he directed the descent until it put them over the largest of the lawns, he made sure he bled off some speed during the drop, and he released the other stallion when they were a mere full story above the ground because he wasn't intending on killing anypony. He just wanted the farmer to hurt.
Snowflake wanted to see pain, and a full slam into stone might have been fatal. But a dump into the dirt was something else entirely, especially with soft soil absorbing and dispersing part of the force. Stone was deadly. Earth was a cushion.
But Snowflake wanted to see him hurt, and so it wasn't.
The earth pony hit the soil, and dirt which should have absorbed so much of the hit didn't. Physics inverted, and the vibrations which had been created by impact went to just one place: the original source.
The farmer was still for a few seconds, lying among the stilled blades of grass. Then the right hind leg twitched, and the big head slowly lifted.
"...what are you?"
There seemed to be two answers which could apply.
A hybrid.
Snowflake softly went with the second.
"Angry."
The earth pony stared at him. Began to get up, because it seemed as if Snowflake had been a little too forgiving, and so the hybrid started to dive --
-- an oddly dark grey-green flashed into sight next to his left eye, just before it wrapped around his entire body and did the same with the farmer. They were both inside the same field bubble and it didn't matter because he was mere hoofwidths away from his target and --
Those ponies who'd just moved into the settled zone, the ones who were trying to adjust to Ponyville life and everything which Bearer presence seemed to bring to it -- they often wound up having a few questions. Among the most frequent was a rather specific subset of 'Who's trying to keep control of this chaos?' They would have inquired about the effectiveness of law enforcement, they might have seen the chief, and for the most part, they would be unhappy with the answer. The majority would openly declare that the mare was too young to be occupying such a position, that there was no way she could be effective. It gave them a whole new set of questions to ask, most of which concerned any upcoming elections.
-- the field flashed. Split, the blended hues separating from each other: the green enveloped Snowflake, the grey went around the earth pony, Snowflake was still descending, the farmer making one last desperate effort to regain his hooves --
-- the colors touched.
Then they repelled.
Snowflake's back hit the wall of the nearest house, two stories up. The farmer, who was on the receiving end for the opposing angle, went partially into the dirt and mostly into a fence.
Ponies had a lot of questions, when it came to Miranda Rights. The few who'd seen her trick never asked anything else again.
"You're DONE!" the mobile patch of shadow shouted: the oddly-hued unicorn was often just barely visible under Moon and she'd deliberately taken the most light-obscured approach route, moving across dirt in order to keep the sounds of her hooves muffled. Most of what a hard-pressed Snowflake could see of her was furious eyes, bright badge, and a hard-spiking double corona. "And you're both --"
Which was as far as she got into the speech (about five seconds after the slam) before they heard fresh hooves and wingbeats coming from those who'd had no interest in concealing themselves.
"-- Miranda, Ah don't know what happened, but Ah've been lookin' all day an' -- it's a family thing, Ah can explain if'fin y'jus' --"
"...please, he wouldn't hurt anypony, not unless they were trying to hurt him, please..."
There were also several other ponies trying to talk, those who'd been watching the whole time. Their voices overlapped, and frantic babble filled the lone exposed white ear.
The dark eyes flashed, added extra spikes to the glow. "No." And just like that, everypony shut up. "They're under arrest, both of them. We'll sort out who did what to whom at the station, along with the order. They can explain themselves in the holding cells --" which was when the police chief looked at Scootaloo "-- while somepony gets her to a doctor. And somepony else finds her parents, if they're actually in town tonight." With fast-building fury, "If they've ever been --"
From street level, a weak, almost frantic "I'm... I'm okay -- I can get home by myself --"
"Wrong. Hospital. Testing. Right now. And you two --" the dark head tilted up, and the blazing corona let Snowflake see the snarl "-- are coming with me, because that's the only way I can guarantee neither of you gets out. Any attempt at struggle is an additional charge for resisting arrest. Do you understand?"
I could get out of this.
Snowflake wasn't sure why he believed that, much less why it almost felt more like knowledge. That if he simply desired it strongly enough, made the effort, he could push through the field bubble. He could escape.
But Scootaloo was going to be okay. And...
...Fluttershy, visibly terrified, sick, was huddled near Miranda.
She saw me attack a pony.
And his near-sister was next to Applejack. A mare who looked more desperate than anypony he'd ever seen.
She saw me hurt her brother.
He hadn't been able to protect one friend. He had been violent in front of another. There was no point to fleeing. There was nowhere he could ever go.
His body went limp. Unresisting. And the field bubbles towed them both to jail, accompanied by the sound of the farmer's weeping.
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He reminds Celestia of Kindness, doesn't he?
That's not Nightwatch, but I'm eager for more chanced for Luna to make friends on-screen.
This isn't a hero moment, but
My prediction was right, Mac was out drinking. Oh boy that fight is going to be in Ponyville memories for a while.
And he still didn't feed Genova.
Finally noticed the short description! Nice!
...
Music Titles! 'Cause Earth Pony magic is musical in terminology!
...
And we see Snowflake inadvertently testing his talent!
So glad Scoots is gonna live... I thought she got head-bucked...
Lol + sad if Scoots parents were / are like Joyous's.
9655155
Given that the final act happened in front of Fluttershy, it's safe to assume the hare will be looked after for the evening.
Dang Snowflake just can’t catch a break
Big Jackassintosh
Holy fuck, Mac...
D: !!!!!
This problem is called
Centipede's Run
ICR the whole poem, but it's about a centipede that could always run ….
Until someone asked her, all in fun,
"Pray, which leg goes after which?"
Which raised her mind to such a pitch
That she lay distracted in a ditch
Wondering how to run
Scootaloo will be alright. It was just a flesh wound (in the fleshy part of her head)
It's not a vital part -virtually unused
Oh boy. There is a lot to unpack there.
Fancy Pants is too wholesome for words. And Mac just f
ed up royally. Poor Snowflake.
Well, that’s how it is.
I was really hoping the big philosophy pony would get a better shake than “bigot pony gets drunk and gets his ass kicked.” Ponies in the ‘verse have always been well characterized and multifaceted. It’s like being used to the Mona Lisa and getting an emoji.
The fight itself hinted at some use of song but that didn’t materialize either. Yell drunkenly, sucker punch, kick a child, get beat up. Mac is less likable here than Coordinator. Him being drunk is a weak excuse. I’ve tried to see both sides of the coin here but it looks like that’s not what I’m supposed to do. I don’t see redemption being in the cards. Big Mac is a villain, and irredeemably so. That takes a lot of the narrative interest out of the story for me.
It's been 24-ish hours since Mac went "out". I don't buy that he's been drinking that whole time. What else has he been up to?
I suspect a good chunk of that time was spent at the graveyard.
Well then. Looks like Snowflake's mark is talking to him.
9655455
To be fair, we don't know what kind of philosophy Mac's into - and an intellectual person will still act irrationally when distressed enough. Then you have Applejack breaking tradition, and the whole Secret deal, which are deeply ingrained cultural values that Applejack herself only broke from after her world was unraveled in front of her and Pinkie was going to tell anyway. Given the line about "It's always HER" there's probably also some sibling resentment festering in there too. Toss family values being flaunted, those values possibly/probably conflicting with other things you've learned, and sibling tensions into a hot pot and stir it around and your brain is going to be all kinds of muddy - and while I don't condone it, that's the sort of thing that drives people to find a way to turn their brain off. That doesn't make any of his choices or the resulting consequences okay, but they're the sort of thing that happens. Disappointing, but not surprising.
Oh this is really heating up!
One of the things I like about the 'verse is that there are some benefits to age, if one bothers to learn. Look at the list of Cool Old Guys (or at least Cool Late Middle-Aged Guys) we've seen. Fancypants. Filthy Rich. Cranky.
And the fewmets have most definitely hit the windmill.
Holy fuck, exhibits A and B that Estee don't fuck around with those wham moments. When you hit em they break the meter. Damn!
Really pulled this off well. The exercise in contrasts with the slow introspective beginning and the hard-hitting fast-paced ending was amazing. I loved the scenes with Snowflake on the train and how feeding Genova gives him something to force himself to keep going when he thinks he can't. Really powerful chapter here.
I suppose Snowflake was the first to try and see Gentle Arrival, then? Or I wonder if Celestia wasn't able to speak to the other four in person, just leaving it to Fancy Pants.
"Just a older student"
"Just an older student"?
"Others were directly their attention"
"Others were directing their attention"?
"felt as the name was"
"felt as if the name was"?
Wheeeeeeew. Well. That was quite something. Very intense scene; well done. :D
(And good chapter overall, of course.)
I can't wait until Twilight has to get envolved and all that baggage gets drug out into some very uncomfortable places.
So, Mac and Snowflake are going to be spending the night in the cells (I hope Miranda’s station house has more than one). An abundance of witnesses (not all of them reliable), and a lot of them are going to want to cement their place in the town gossip circles by getting their names on offical statements.
Who does AJ bail out, and who does she yell at through the bars?
And I think the countdown timer on Fluttershy going all momma-bear over Snowflake has just started. Don’t forget that she’s had practice with actual bears...
9655179
Yeah, Mac managed possibly the worst timing for a confrontation.
Damn. Just damn. That fight was intense. I had to force myself to scroll down line-by-line, to take it in properly, and not just skim ahead and spoil myself. After all that lead up in the last chapter and this one, i really thought The Secret was going to come out. Unlikely Mac would be drunk enough to do it, but there seemed to be the chance that Snowflake might inadvertently reveal it by tapping into it somehow. Though now that I think about it a little more, it does seem that these Hybrids have the racial magic of whichever race they were born as, even if their Talent-related magic is dependent upon the essence used to save them.
That raises a question for me. I wonder if the Talent of the Hybrids is linked specifically to the essence in question. i.e. was whoever Ratchet's essence was harvested from a device repairpony? Or does the soul of the individual still have some say in it?
All in all, awesome chapter. Would totally upvote and fave for this one alone, if I hadn't already.
One more thing. A possible typo.
I think that should read 'Others were directing their attention'. Other than that, though, nothing caught my attention enough to bother remembering.
9655616
Fancypants is having the initial "you are the victim of illegal magical experimentation" conversations. Same as the one Fluttershy had with Snowflake (although with less door-smashing).
Celestia was waiting for someone on the list to visit Gentle Arrival. Snowflake is explicitly stated to be the first. I can only speculate as to her purpose in choosing that selection criterion.
9655691
I'm pretty sure Snowflake did tap into The Secret, but the only pony who realized what happened ("...what are you?") may not remember in the morning. The other witnesses are Snowflake himself (who wasn't conscious of it), Chief Rights (a unicorn), and a bunch of Ponyvillians a block or three away. If any earth ponies in that last group noticed, they probably blame Mac.
9655388
Oh boy HOWDY is there. I somehow feel like that’s the crux of Mac’s issues and not hick racism.
Fancypants is wonderful.
Poor Snowflake.
Goddamn, Mac, you big blockhead.
Scootaloo to the rescue!
And finally, the police.
Well, this was an intense and eventful chapter. I hope the next couple of chapters will be all about AJ and Fluttershy getting to the bottom of what the hell went on here and why.
In this and many other things, thank goodness for Fancy Pants.
Yup, Centipede Dilemma. I was afraid of that.
Ah, the magic of alcohol, which can make that statement seem perfectly logical.
Oof. Yeah, this isn't just about Snowflake. And Mac may be referring to more than his college career.
The fight was honestly terrifying, not least because I didn't want either to get hurt. Though the most interesting part may be seeing Mac's reaction to hearing Snowflake.
Also, that's one heck of a trick on Miranda's part. Break it up or get it broken.
Looking forward to more. Especially since Scootaloo's situation may end up collapsing as collateral damage.
9655111
This may be more appropriate:
9655455
He definitely has reasons beyond simple bigotry. Beyond what's already been said, consider "Y'don't know what's comin'!" For all that Mac may resent AJ being the one in the spotlight, he still cares about her and knows that this is far from the worst consequence of her decision. Even as she's driven him to drink, he's still trying to protect her from the backlash of her actions.
Idiot! Does he think that his tribe's secret is going remain one forever?
9655341
It's also known as the Centipede's Dilemma.
Ah, Big Mac was deep into the “I’m desperate for the release of a fight... don’t you dare try to de-escalate things!” stage of being drunk. That’s unfortunate timing.
A really gripping confrontation... I’m eagerly awaiting the next bit!
9655897
I get there is more depth to his anger than bigotry. I’ve been playing defense for the guy the whole story. I’ve been very excited to see the complexities of this situation come to a head. Therein lies my... disappointment... with how this played out.
Coordinator had more positive traits given to him than Mac has. He’s not had a moment in this story that hasn’t shown him in a negative light. The only positives in the ‘verse that I’ve been able to use to try and validate him as being on the better side than Tirek has come from single sentences spread out in other works.
I guess what I’m trying to say (and poorly) is that my expectations don’t align with the direction of the story. Which isn’t a knock on the author. I expected ambiguity and an exploration of both sides of the issue. I’ve been trying to read a more balanced narrative into the words written. After this chapter, I can’t make that stretch anymore. Where I expected nuance and subtlety I’m getting ‘Red Stallion Bad’.
9656097
Right now, all I can say is:
* We haven't had a chance to explore Mac's perspective.
* The chapter ended where it did for a reason, and the chapter-at-a-time posting can leave issues dangling. (It's a flaw in the system. Or the author. Possibly both.)
* There's more to come.
If you can, give it a little time.
Oh, and --
...really?
And the same thing happened to his sister over on Triptych. Some people hated AJ -- until the full story emerged.
Somehow, I just know that their were at least two ponies in that crowd at the end exchanging bits or arguing about "interference".
9656129
I’m not going anywhere. I love the ‘verse. I want it to be clear how much I’ve enjoyed the stories and that I’m a tremendous fan. I know a lot of my disappointment in this last chapter is entirely on me and my expectations. Afterall, I spent several years swearing Godzilla (2014) was a better movie than Pacific Rim. Was it? No. I was hyped for Pacific Rim and it being just average left me feeling disappointed more than a movie I thought would be average managing to just be average.
The framing of the story doesn’t really allow for Macs perspective, it has two focal characters and it would hurt the structure of the story to have the perspective switch to a third. That said, what do we know of Mac? He gave up his dreams for his family, but he’s obviously spiteful about it so that doesn’t chalk up to a positive. He’s run ponies out of town on threat of violence for years. He’s been referenced as big and dumb repeatedly. Here he proved to be an angry, abusive drunk. He picks a fight, assaults a child, and gets his teeth kicked in. This story hasn’t given him any redeeming qualities that aren’t immediate invalidated and undermined by his actions.
Coordinator at least had a reason, self promotion at any cost, for his actions. That comparison is admittedly weak and doesn’t draw a real parallel. It would be better put that he is the equivalent of Pinkie’s father and comes off just as irredeemable at this point. It might be necessary to shovel this much bad on him to distinguish him from the show version, but as someone who has tried to balance this as two struggling but inherently good ponies on different sides of tradition, I’m finding it hard not to just accept that one side is bad and the other is right.
I tend to ramble when trying to get my thoughts together, I apologize. The short version is this: I came into the story believing the antagonist would be the situation not an individual. Big Mac being equivalent to Coordinator or Pinkie’s father is disappointing.
AJ had enough goodwill and did enough good to offset her break. When she got violent with her friends, it was believable and her emotional turmoil had buildup. It was easier to defend AJ. Mac hasn’t built up any goodwill or done any good so he comes off just as the villain. To me, anyway. He’s like the narrative opposite of your Fluer in Anchor Foal, who is demonstrably bad but likable enough to root for.
9656129
AJ never harmed a child. A lot of people consider that kind of thing unforgivable no matter how sympathetic the perpetrator is otherwise.
Also legally assault and battery against a minor is a big deal. Realistically Big Mac should be in so much trouble that even AJ's Princess boons might not be able to get him out of it. It's the kind of thing that it's hard to see how it won't eclipse all the other drama and take over the story.
9655730
Ah, thanks for adding weight (and detail) there. :)
9656592
It was accidental, though, while drunk, fighting someone else, and having no expectation a child would be there. Oh, Big Mac will still be in trouble for it, I expect, and not arguing that he shouldn't be, but I'd also expect it to be significantly less severe than if those three weren't true. His own feelings on the matter seem pretty likely to be a worse punishment than anything the law does.
9655730
9655691
Snowflake wasn't using Geomancy it was an extension of his Mark altering how the laws of physics normally function.
9656383
There actually has been a lot of buildup for Mac's break, it's just been scattered through several chapters and hasn't been focused on.
First was him having to give up his dream because he was needed back on the farm.
Then AJ points out that the farm is legally hers, and that she can boot him anytime she likes.
That makes it look like she's treating that sacrifice, (and by extension him) as meaningless.
AJ decides to date a pegasus instead of an earth pony who could help keep the farm going, so not only is she risking the farm, there is fuck all Mac can do about it. Frustration builds.
Snowflake is gonna get such a lecture, but legally he's more or less in the clear as everyone saw him try to deescalate before delivering a beat-down to someone who just punted a child across the street.
I think Mac's incredulity is due to the fact that somepony as big and strong as he knows himself to be, could so badly lose a mano a mano (hoofo a hoofo?) type fight to a pegasus.
9656713
I think that could very well describe the result of Snowflake…doing the other thing. I see a number of parallels between what happened here and the part in Triptych where she forms the ravine while mid-air, falling to her death. Coupled with Mac's reaction, that paints a picture.
But I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. Snowflake hasn't touched the ground since he did whatever it actually was. If he doesn't notice anything different about the world after Chief Rights puts him down, then I'm probably wrong.
9656993
That actually wasn't quite what I meant in my original post. I meant something that outed The Secret to everypony. Something like a literal 'mountain out of a molehill' moment. Something that couldn't possibly be explained away by anything else. Extra-firm dirt, while it could easily be Snowflake's Voice, it could just as easily be explained away--truthfully or not--as an extension of Snowflake's Talent, if/when the truth of what his Talent really is gets out.
Honestly, I'm not convinced it wasn't his Talent. As an earth pony, Mac knows soil. He knew it should have had more give than it did. So as an earth pony--especially one who's at least half-drunk--I can see him automatically assuming any oddities in the soil are because of somepony's Voice, whether or not he actually heard it. In fact, the absence of any Voice might confuse him even more. Hence his 'What are you?' Not necessarily 'How did a pegasus Sing?', but 'How did anypony affect the ground without Singing?'
Also, as for kicking Scootaloo, I'm willing to forgive him for that. Assuming, of course, that Snowflake's read of the situation was correct, and Mac reacted to a sound coming from his blindspot. In that case, honestly, it's mostly her fault. You DO NOT sneak up on--or startle--a horse from behind for a reason. Honestly, humans have enough sense to figure that out. The ones who spend much time around horses, at least. A whole society of ponies really should have something about those circumstances built right into their laws.
Of course, if it turns out Mac did know who it was behind him, and chose to kick anyways...Then, yeah, no, sympathy's gone.
Oh shit, a pegasus/unicorn hybrid with time magic???
Hmm. That name has a few possible implications. (Even overlooking the actual meaning.) She was named with words from the 'verse's Latin equivalent, which, if I'm not mixing it up with someone else, was the griffons' language (which I thought I remembered the name of, but searches for it have been fruitless).
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Well, there are two kinds of relevant ponies who would visit Gentle: Those of his, and relatives or friends of same, and the latter could lead to the former, with the right question(s).
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You remember the language stuff correctly. Took a bit of digging to find, but it's in Goosed.
As for the other thing, I don't think that's it. Celestia was fine letting Fancypants ask about other hybrids.
IIRC the little dash of chaos magic in hybrids is why Pinkie can cast without a horn, and has interesting implications as to just how far Snowflake's talent can fuck physics.
It lets Fluttershy do her eldritch gaze thing which is a separate ability from her animal talking and pegasus abilities. The stare is effectively a second spacial talent.
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Oh right, I forgot the "an" in "Griffonant". I guess "Griffont" is what you'd type it in.
I'm probably in the minority here, but I find Mac unwillingness to listen to be far more unforgivable and rage-inducing than kicking Scootaloo. People who won't be reasonable make me REALLY angry.
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I would disagree with you. I feel like Mac's actions through this whole thing make perfect sense if you consider how this looks from his perspective. He drops out of college and works day and night for years to try and keep the Acres going and preserve his parents' legacy. Then Applejack disappears on a mission, and when she comes back something's clearly very wrong with her, so Mac is already worried and stressed. Then, out of the blue, Applejack announces that not only does she intend to debase herself with a Pegasus, but she has decided to remake the Acres to run on science, utterly erasing their parents' legacy and spitting on everything that Big Mac did to keep the Acres going. Then she proceeds to rub his face in the fact that there is absolutely nothing he can do to save the Acres, not even sell it to other earth ponies so that something of their parents' legacy can be preserved.
So he goes out to get blind stinking drunk, because what else can he do? And then he sees Snowflake, and he suddenly realizes that he might still have one last chance to save the ponies and places that he loves. If he can only get rid of Snowflake, drive him out of Ponyville, then maybe Applejack will come to her senses, the Acres can yet be saved, and he can have his sibling back.
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And Mac is operating on drunk logic for that last part, so it makes sense to him despite being really stupid. That said, Mac's on board with the science. It may be a sort of Ship of Theseus thing. He knows that the farm has to change to survive, but it's everything at once and he can't handle it.
In-universe, there's only been a near-literal 24 hours between the dinner pronouncement and the arrest. I figure Big MacHangover is going to be in a very different mental place. One where maybe he and AJ can have an actual conversation.
Especially since the collateral damage probably means Mac isn't getting out of the cell first thing in the morning.
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It’s not that there isn’t narrative reasoning for him to act this way or that there isn’t sound logic to get from point A to point B that has been my issue with this confrontation, it’s the lack of positive characterization for Mac. There hasn’t been any sympathy built for him and he’s only been displayed as a villain or a boob. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that either, it’s just not what I expected. Anyone who has watched a Star Wars movie after the original trilogy can probably relate to the disappointment of shattered expectations. There’s nothing wrong with having him be the big, dumb bigot that the protagonists have to overcome. I just expected a bit more nuance to his character. He reminds me of a bad guy from one of Bill Burr’s sports movie skits. “Get out of the gene pool!” (No one is going to get that reference and I’m sorry that only I will find it clever or funny).