Inappropriate
From the outside, the filly's behavior appears normal. It could be argued that she is beginning her investigations rather earlier than the majority, but her mother is among the strongest, her mother pushes and so the filly feels that anything she does too soon already has a countering vote for too late. In any case, it's something which just about every filly in the herd eventually does, because it's expected of them. She just happens to have taken an interest somewhat sooner than the rest of her generation.
Her mother -- doesn't object, because that curiosity shows that the filly is taking responsibility. Of course, responsibility is the sort of thing which you're just supposed to take more and more into an even-increasing burden while no one ever carries the smallest part of the earlier weights away, so the new isn't permitted to claim any time away from the old. The filly is training and studying and competing and trying to steal hours in which she can just read -- but now she's doing this too.
Then again, it's not as if it's taking time away from being with her friends.
Her mother permits the new activity, for it is something the filly will be expected to do as an adult and there's nothing wrong with taking an early interest. Of course, even a filly for whom the expectations are high (too high, forever too high, and the moments when she feels she's getting close to any level of true accomplishment are immediately followed by the ones where the goal line moves kilometers away), there's only so much a girl of her age can do, and so it isn't taken all that seriously at first.
Well... her mother takes it seriously (because of course her mother does) and so the girl is given her first practice sword. But for those she's accompanying... they're reluctant to expose a child to danger. Not that danger generally intrudes, but -- no one in the herd can ever be sure of when the next breach might occur, and few like to think about the things which might need to be done in the name of keeping their gap secure. Those actions haven't been necessary in generations, especially not with alcohol among their supplies to go with well-trained skills in inflicting concussions, but -- they can't be sure, and it's nothing which should ever be done in front of a filly.
Additionally, she has a bedtime.
So she accompanies the day patrols during what have always been the lowest-risk hours, and they aren't entirely sure what to do with her. One of the strongest has told them to allow the trot-alongs, but... well, she's too young to truly participate, they're not comfortable with discussing certain realities of the duty in front of a child, and centaur culture hasn't really caught onto the concept of 'mascot'. There's a distinct level of discomfort when she goes along on the routes, and it's something she can't figure out how to overcome. She's getting better at leaping physical hurdles (except that whenever she clears them all, her mother almost immediately raises the ones along her training runs until the parent finds a height which the filly can't reach), but she has no idea how to get over social barriers. The other fillies don't talk to her because of the way her mother pushes, she hasn't tried talking to the colts because all such meetings are closely supervised (and colts are stupid anyway), and when it comes to adults... the years form a chasm which can't be breached.
Still... she's allowed to accompany them. They answer a few questions, and while she's not really good at the subtleties of prying without having her inquiries being identified as exactly that, those on patrols frequently have very little to do other than speak with each other. The tones may be low and hushed (because if anything did happen, giving an intruder sound to move towards is a double-edged blade), but they still form words, and the filly knows how to listen.
There are times when the mares almost forget she's there, start to discuss matters occurring within the herd which might qualify as gossip for the more inquisitive adults. (Even with the great formality required by the pressure exerted from the gap, gossip still exists: every society needs its pressure valve, and many half-whispered words emerge as something close to hissing steam.) If the filly had been old enough to understand some of the terms, she would have been able to acquire an impressive range of blackmail material -- but it's not what she's there for. Adult matters belong to mares and stallions, those who've been trapped within for so much longer. She's a child, and that means she can think more clearly. She can prioritize. And what she's really interested in is the patrols themselves.
She examines the equipment they carry, those things used to disable and discredit any intruding humans. She listens to discussions of tactics. She follows at a distance of a few hoofsteps as they check the borders, because just about every adult mare spends some time on the patrols: it's the only way to try and maintain the security of their land. She's just learning about everything sooner than most, because she's taken an interest. As far as she's concerned, it's something she has to do, and it has to be done now.
The filly has realized that her world is a prison.
There are certain obligations for those trapped within prisons. They begin with exploring the limits of the cell.
And if those who keep you within are willing to let you memorize their patrol routes...
The mountain which hosted the capital had a surprising number of plateaus. It was more than enough to allow multiple facilities to operate on fairly level ground, there always seemed to be just enough of those surfaces available for whatever ponies might need to do, and just about nopony had ever questioned that.
Under normal circumstances, traveling about a third of the way around the mountain's curve would discover the Guard training area. There were obstacle courses, training dummies which had been kicked by generations of ponies who were both trying to master combat and very actively imagining that every hoof was actually slamming into their drill instructors. There was a group canteen, although it was seldom used: Guards were generally trained in fairly small numbers, and the march back to the city in search of real food served as bonding time and additional exercise. For the same reason, the barracks mostly served as a place to store your day clothes (for the few who wore them), although the showers saw a lot of use. Hot water always seemed to run out a little too quickly, and the massage setting on the showerheads had been installed as an act of careful cruelty.
Nothing about the training area was classified. Very few Canterlot residents had bothered to learn where it was, because Guards were mostly something which existed as background scenery: where you had Princesses (or rather, for a very long time, the singular), you were going to have Guards who moved with them, kept an eye on them, and as long as those Guards remained background scenery, it could be presumed that the world was operating at something fairly close to normalcy. But for those who knew the location, the only thing which generally prevented them from visiting was the length of the hike. As the area was seldom under active use, multiple centuries' worth of adolescents had decided the place was their exclusive playground: races would be conducted through the obstacle courses, training dummies were granted multiple names at the moment of impact (along with multiple degrees, because all the years of taking on new identities meant the wooden simulacrums were now theoretically qualified to teach every school course which existed), and more than a few fumbling attempts at romance had been launched within the barracks. A very few would come back as adults, and generally found that they'd improved in everything but the last.
Under normal circumstances, anypony could potentially visit at just about any time they wished. In this case, the approach was being made at two hours before Sun-raising, and the oldest mare in the world had just found a dark shield dome in her way.
She slowly shook her head as she looked up at the slow-rising curve, and the borders of her mane twisted a little faster. The white horn was carefully angled forward until it was a few tail strands away from contact, and the lightest touch of sunlight was allowed to manifest upon something which was not quite bone. A little more leaning, just enough contact for the caster to recognize that a rather familiar signature was making itself known, and then she waited until the energy directly in front of her shimmered, thinned, and ultimately provided a hole which was just slightly too small for ready passage.
The elder grumbled a little, because there was nopony present to hear such a mundane expression of simple emotion. (Additionally, it was her sister, there was every chance the size issue had been a deliberate one, and so she was entitled to grumble.) And then she bent her knees, awkwardly angled her head, tried to compress wings beyond the normal rest position and did so against a rib cage which had just released every last tenth-bit of air...
Eventually, she found herself at the track.
The ground-level racing area was one of the constants: a basic oval where the turf had been pounded into solidity by generations of racing hooves. (The sky version, for pegasi being timed in their flight, was intermittent: any pegasus cloud construct needed regular use in order to maintain itself, because the magic of the molding requested its long-term power from those in attendance. To abandon anything made of clouds for too long was to find no more than dissipating vapor when you got back, and those who liked to indulge in long vacations took house sitting very seriously.) Just about any Guard had to be capable of moving quickly: a candidate needed a lot of talent in other areas before a below-average hoof speed would be overlooked. Hundreds of ponies had been timed on this track, enough of them had passed their tests in order to maintain that constant background presence, and... some of them had died because in the end, they had been exactly fast enough to get in the way.
The elder closed purple eyes for a moment, witnessed the too-long procession of the lost moving across the inner stage. And when she opened them again, she was watching a centaur run.
Her sibling was standing within a designated spot a few body lengths away from the right outer edge of the track, something which had been used by those who often shouted their criticisms to the world and so was perfectly suited to host that pony. The dark horn was lit: maintaining the shield, along with simply holding a small flattened mostly-steel circle in a bubble at her right. And she paid no visible attention to the ongoing approach of the elder, simply choosing to watch the girl who was galloping around the track, with those dark eyes seemingly focused on pounding hooves.
The girl was running, and it was just about all she was doing. The blue eyes (so much worse at checking to the sides than those of a pony: a special vulnerability of so many predators) were doing little more than watching the path in front of her. Arms shifted in strange ways, because bipeds naturally moved those limbs as they walked or ran, an extra means of keeping balance and -- this was a sapient with four legs. It changed the pattern, and even a mare who had known more than a thousand years of life hadn't seen enough centaurs to have those motions memorized.
There was some sweat on her skin, with more saturating her clothing. Even under the light of a shield-distorted Moon, a portion of the latter was approaching translucency: she had clearly been moving for some time. Every so often, little drops were blown off her body by a breeze from overhead.
Purple eyes watched the girl run, and had to shift fairly quickly in order to keep doing so. Most of that attention was committed to the movement: a portion kept going back to the clothing. The majority of the soft whistle was suppressed. But every so often, she would focus on her own sibling.
"You are up rather early," the younger said, not bothering to glance back at the elder. "Surprisingly so. I would expect your normal excuse to be an inability to sleep, but as you have a distinct habit of interrupting whenever I am attempting to do or see something interesting..."
She didn't bother to dignify that part with a response. "Why is she out here?"
"Stable Syndrome."
The elder blinked. "You think --"
"-- I have reason to believe she is susceptible," the younger quietly said. "There are things she has in common with us, and high among them is the need to run. Those who have committed no crimes should not be confined within cells, her situation is unique, she has a desire to simply see anything new and... she has been trapped within the walls for far too long." A slow breath. "Additionally, I recently -- and inadvertently -- caused her a degree of trauma, and I have yet to find a psychiatrist whom we could sufficiently trust to treat her. There are worse ways to deal with the residue of such an experience than movement."
"What did you do?" Because the younger had many (generally deliberate) ways of inspiring terror and in the modern day, the worst was completely inadvertent.
Luna sighed. It was a rather soft sound, especially coming from a fairly large body. It was also something which most ponies didn't expect from that half of the Diarchy: anger, frequently, eyes fading to white, in the worst of their nightmares, but something so simple as a sigh...
"Attempted to arrange for her clothing," the younger softly replied. "Let us leave it at that for now, except to say that her reaction was -- significant. Enough so that I felt it best to simply finish the process of measurement immediately rather than subject her to multiple attempts."
Celestia blinked.
"She was wearing clothing when she reached Palimyno," the elder observed. "Does she only get dressed when she's going out for runs?"
There was just enough of a laugh to identify the mirth as having been derisive. "She in no way qualifies as one of our own extremists." With the snort being even more so. "Those who insist that all clothing exists for the sole intent of sexual enticement, cruelly forcing the viewing parties to fantasize about what cannot be seen, and that even the thickest of garments worn for the coldest of winter days do not represent an attempt to ward off frostbite so much as unlicensed prostitution." And that was followed by a slow head shake. "I was rather hoping that they would have died out during abeyance, but the lifespan for that level of idiocy appears to be indefinite."
"I did manage to get the protests down to an annual event," Celestia sighed. "So how normal is clothing for --" and stopped, having spotted the potential violation of her sibling's code just a little too late --
-- but there was no reaction. "It is normal for the females of her species as a whole," Luna replied. "It does not breach her privacy to tell you that, sister. Under normal circumstances, she is clothed, and would only be found nude in situations of privacy, medical needs, or --" the hesitation went on for a little too long "-- embarrassment. We would do well to avoid situations in which others decide they must see what level of horror exists beneath her garments, especially as she currently has no defenses against the rudest of unicorns. It is not the clothing she fears, Tia: she needs that. It was having to be fitted."
"Why?" A simple question, and a risky one.
"If I knew that," the younger evenly said, "then the answer likely would qualify as a breach of her privacy."
The centaur approached, and focused blue eyes failed to notice the two alicorns standing off to the side. Then she was in front of them, hair and tail streaming out behind her. Then with a gust of wind and rustle of feathers, she was beyond.
This time, a little more of the whistle made it to open air, although it wasn't quite enough to mask the tiny click.
"It is more impressive than you might think," Luna observed, and took a glance at the circle: one of the little brass plungers along the top had just been pressed down. "A fine piece of clockwork, this stopwatch... and it continues to demonstrate what I had verified on previous passes. She has been maintaining that rate."
"That fast," Celestia said, and didn't bother to repress any of the stun.
"We had already gained some idea of her ground speed during the search for her arrival point," Luna reminded her sibling. "It now appears that I should have factored in an increased subtractive variable for her wounded state. And given that she has some healing distance to yet cross before becoming fully restored, it may be safe to assume that her true maximum is somewhat beyond this. Not faster than either of us, Tia, and hardly able to outrace a pegasus -- but I can think of no unicorn who would be able to match her pace, and any earth ponies would only accomplish the feat within the safety of legend."
"Without magic," Celestia quietly observed. "Without being -- us. It's just her."
"Simple biology," Luna agreed -- then added "I imagine the clothing helps."
It was instinctive. It was also inevitable, and it took an effort to stop looking.
"Well..." The sudden awkwardness didn't seem to know what to do with itself (which did feel oddly appropriate). "She's not... shifting..."
"As is the purpose of the underlayer," Luna agreed. "Clearly well-constructed, as befits an expert."
"But the outer..."
"Provides coverage. The draping of her flanks is rather well done, is it not?" Luna's gaze followed the centaur around the far curve. "Although the designer did leave those small windows of exposure. I suppose she is simply used to doing so, even when designing for a child --"
She stopped. The dark eyes briefly closed.
"-- I believe I now understand why I continue to say that," Luna softly observed, with her eyes once again tracking the run. "A portion of her form matches ours, and so I think of her in our terms. And I wonder how that will taint the ways in which others treat her, for those who find a means of not perceiving her as a monster..."
"Some ponies have the same problem with Saddle Arabians," Celestia quietly reminded her sibling.
"Yes. Well, in that instance, it is more towards both sides having found a reason to look down at each other." Which triggered a small snort. "Which is somewhat easier on their end, at least from the physical aspect. Still, with her, it may become a factor. And now that I have realized what is happening, I shall do my best to guard against it."
And then they were watching her run again.
"There is something rather strange about her breathing," Luna frowned. "Did you notice?"
Celestia tried to focus, and found her attempt hindered by the obvious. "It may just seem that way because of what she's wearing --"
"-- no: the undergarments continue to succeed at their task," Luna decided. "Watch her ribs, Tia."
After a too-long moment, "...which set?"
"The lower," Luna clarified.
The elder frowned. "Luna, her breathing is --" and went through several hasty internal revisions before finishing with "-- kind of obvious."
"I am uncertain," the younger replied. "I have been watching her run for some time, and -- there is something which takes place in the lower. Something which has only happened during the run, and that has been both intermittent and partial. But I am convinced there is a degree of shift, of a sort which would be associated with breath."
"Her lungs," Celestia firmly said, "are in her upper torso." Even with the undergarments performing at peak efficiency, there was a certain amount of rather visible movement.
"Yes," Luna agreed. "They are. Two of them are."
"...Luna?"
"The Doctors Bear," the younger reminded her, "indicated that they had discovered at least one --"
She paused for a moment, as the girl ran by them again. (There was another click.) This time, a few small drops of sweat hit the siblings from overhead.
"I cannot fault her for that," Luna passively said as she indulged in a light full-body shake, trying to get rid of the moisture before it could fully soak into her fur. "This has been proceeding for some time and regardless of her own speed, she has never been an endurance flier."
"I'm surprised you brought a Guard for this," Celestia admitted. (Evaporating the water was easier, and so steam briefly rose from the white coat.)
"She asked to come," Luna explained. "In fact, one might say that within the bounds of protocol, she was somewhat -- insistent."
Which brought out a small smile from the elder. "It's a good sign."
"Yes." But it didn't prevent the sigh. "And an entire continent remains."
And back to watching.
"It's warmer than the schedule dictated," Celestia observed. "Especially for autumn."
"The weather team only maintains this area when training is in progress," Luna responded. "Additionally, I tweaked the local conditions somewhat, to increase her comfort. As her current garments lack something in the way of insulation."
All right. Let's just get it over with.
"Luna -- there's been... certain changes in fashion. I know you haven't exactly had the chance to see this -- version of it --" and who had? "-- especially for her kind of form. But when it comes to what she's wearing, she's in..."
It was surprisingly hard to say. Part of it was simply due to the nature of that lone listening audience, and the rest came from the sudden realization that she'd fallen into the same trap as her sibling: something which was all the more apparent as the remaining deliberate gaps in that garment shifted with the run.
"I am aware," Luna steadily replied, "that she is wearing a negligee. Based on the degree of red which was suffusing her skin upon meeting her in the cell, the same can be said for the wearer."
"...did you ask for one?"
"No. I commissioned the services of a pony whose talent is for a foreign art, and her first efforts naturally delivered the things she knew best. The price of a specialist. I have already informed her that based on the wearer's reaction, something less -- sheer would be rather desirable, and so we now await cotton and linen." Luna slowly shook her head. "I look forward to the end of the Bearers' current mission for many reasons, Tia: to know that they have succeeded, that they are alive and safe and whole. But to a much lesser degree, I simply wish for the Lady Rarity to take up some part of this task."
"Oh." Celestia squinted a little. "Are those torso ties -- upper torso... part of the design? They look a lot rougher than the rest of it."
A soft snort. "Nightwatch is of the opinion that the centaur used some of her hairpins and the fringe of a towel to sew the most prominent deliberate gap shut. Neglecting to do the same for those on the flanks is simply a matter of not having perceived the need."
More watching. The centaur accelerated a little. The pegasus, whose wish for water was now beginning to radiate from her feathers, did her best to keep up.
"Rarity?"
"Are you now doubting her ability? Admittedly, you were somewhat tentative during the original proposal."
"I've mostly been afraid to commission her for us because we might lose the first six workdays to the faint," Celestia admitted. "But when it comes to designing for someone who isn't a pony... let's just say I got a scroll about sandals. And it wasn't a particularly happy scroll."
Luna frowned. "What are sandals?"
The elder, who was still thinking about the too-small gap in the shield, kept the reply at "Exactly," and took some small pleasure in the younger's snort. "Luna?"
"Perhaps not the best of times to ask a question," her sibling decided. "Not if you truly have a reasonable expectation of not being sent to find your answers within the Archives --"
"-- is she beautiful?"
And for a moment, the only sound left was pounding hooves.
"That," the younger slowly said, "strikes me as a rather odd query. The rationale for your inquiry?"
"Because I've been watching her run," the elder replied. "And if she was a pony -- a pony displaying that kind of speed and strength, with that form --"
"You were never much for mares," the younger harshly broke in. "In fact, disallowing one rather recent and somewhat artificial exception, you have never been anything for mares, and this is not even --"
"-- which doesn't prevent me from seeing the beauty in athleticism, Luna," the elder quietly cut her off. "Not just the body, but the way that body moves. It's part of what draws so many to the Games: the joy of seeing ponies performing at their peak. There's something to that. There always has been. I've seen it in so many species during their own events. A griffon going in for the swoop, a minotaur executing a pin, a zebra heading for the finish line in the Ziara Kuu -- athletes all. And watching her run... that's as close as I've come to seeing her as a pony, because that part of her, when she's exerting herself... it's something to see. It's... beautiful."
Silence.
"The experience begins to lose something," the younger tightly said, "as one's gaze moves up."
It couldn't be argued, and so the elder didn't try. Trotting on the absolute edge of her sibling's code was hard enough. "You said that wearing clothing was normal for the females of her species."
"Correct. The males frequently prefer to go shirtless." The younger frowned. "I have just experienced a realization: our rather dubious fortune actually could have been considerably worse. Our chances of successful introduction into our society would have been decidedly lessened with a male."
It took a moment before she decided not to ask -- at least, not just yet. "That means you've seen enough of her people in her dreams to have some idea of what's normal for them."
Far too many seconds passed. It was enough for the centaur to go by them again, and the stopwatch distractedly clicked.
"To a degree." The younger watched the girl move towards the first curve. "I am beginning to wonder if we should attempt to adjust her hairstyle before introducing her to the public. Make it into something which has some resemblance to a mane." With a tiny snort, "Additionally, assuming that the translator ended its overlap on the proper term, I overheard enough discussion between herself and Nightwatch to learn that her current style is referred to as a ponytail. I can almost guarantee that somepony will be offended --"
"-- to watch her gallop," the elder broke in, "is to recognize a sort of beauty. It takes an effort, but... it's there, Luna. And you're the only one in the world who's seen enough of her species to have some idea of how they might perceive each other. So I saw the harmony in her movements, and I wondered... is she beautiful?"
The half-tangible tail twisted, and six of its stars slowly dimmed.
"I do not know," the younger softly answered. "There is only one sapient on the continent who could answer that question, and she is exactly the wrong person to ask. Let her gallop, Tia. She needs to gallop, in the last nights when she can do so without price or penalty. For there will be times to come when her deepest dreams arise from the desire to flee."
Like so many things, it started with something small.
Technically speaking, couriers were supposed to stay within the air paths, and it was the sort of speech which the true professionals regarded as a mere technicality. Yes, it was true that the sky had its own share of monsters, and air paths had been constructed in order to create the same kind of relative safety which the roads and rails offered to the ground. There were protective techniques woven through layers of atmosphere: carefully-set border temperatures discouraged some forms of intruder, wind shear deflected a number of others, and if all else failed, thunderheads were set at regular intervals to allow just about any pegasus access to near-instant offense.
But as with roads and rails, part of that safety came from the routing: if there was a known problem area, something impossible to completely clear out, a constant source of risk -- then the natural solution was to divert around it. It meant very few of the paths were perfectly straight lines, because a continent where so little had been truly tamed had a lot of risk to offer. And for a courier who was trying to shave some time off their route, with one package to drop off in a given settled zone, three more to pick up there and the delivery point for the smallest new one was three gallops away, with only so many hours they could safely spend in flight per day...
They were supposed to stay within the air paths. A true professional would look at their target schedule, think about the weight and distance added to the sheer number of deliveries plus ponies who were oddly slow on the payments if they believed the package to be so much as a single minute late -- although such receiving parties always managed to get the complaint letter to the head office in record time -- and then they would do what they insisted their mark required. (The arguments of their empty tip bag were vocally regarded as secondary.)
Couriers left the paths all the time. There were ways in which they arguably served as scouts for new air paths: any route which could be crossed in safety over and over again would be extensively discussed at those eateries where couriers congregated (because the other things you could always count on a courier to gossip about were bad clients and cheap food). Knowledge of the trail would spread, an increasing number of couriers would use it to the point where somepony in government noticed and, rather than deliver a chew-out lecture which was just going to be ignored anyway, would simply draw the thing onto the next route expansion map and start arranging for thunderhead encampments.
This route, however, was nowhere close to that level of recognition. In fact, prior to the desperate diversion which cut through the wind shear and sent a single young mare into the unknown, it hadn't existed as anything approaching a route, or a trail, or anything except a really bad idea. Couriers tended to ignore the warnings on those parts of the map which existed between destinations -- but that had limits. Because there were places you weren't supposed to go, areas which the air paths went around for a reason. Chaos terrain wasn't limited to the ground, because that would be a rule and as such, went against the general principle. A deep place could be found at high altitude. And some sections were simply forbidden, with the map saying no more than Classified, at least where the warning symbol didn't read Death.
But she was new to the job. She had the mark for the work, and was still in that stage of youth where she foolishly believed that the icon would protect her from anything so mundane as a mistake. She was new and inexperienced and didn't have the maps memorized yet, had barely spoken to anypony at the best eateries because she was still learning where those were, it was one of her first major assignments and the tip bag around her neck was empty and she was going to be late.
She was many things. For starters, she was completely unaware of her own mortality.
So she took what she perceived as a shortcut, because there was a Point A and a Point B and all she had to do in the name of making up for lost time was to take the shortest distance between them. Any monster which was already occupying that portion of the map was something she could outfly. It wasn't even that much to cross, compared to the winding route which went around... whatever was in the center, because that was Classified. But she had no intention of intruding on the government's privacy and, if caught, would just say she'd gotten lost and clearly the best way to get her out of the area was through escorting her to the other side of the air path.
Fly straight through. Keep her awareness focused on the atmospheric currents, trying to pick up on the presence of monsters before they ever saw her. She wasn't about to spend much time looking down because that was probably where the Classified stuff was, plus she'd grown up in a cloud city and still couldn't quite see 'down' as being important. Just -- go from one side to the other, with her mark guiding the way. There couldn't be anything easier.
So she flew.
As it turned out, she couldn't have seen much of anything. She told herself that it was wild weather, that the heavy clouds around her were a good thing. Wild weather outside the air paths and settled zones was a normal occurrence, something so natural that ponies who were far too used to control saw it as being just the opposite and in this case, they would have been right.
She kept her attention on the air currents, because the potential ammunition all around her was incidentally preventing her from seeing anything. She didn't look down, and she wouldn't have spotted much in any case, for the heavy cloud cover of the air was just about matched by the fog along the ground. (The first visual indicators were some time away, and they too would be missed.) She just pushed her body forward, and she was enjoying herself, because the feeling of being the first to take this shortcut (she'd told herself that she was the first, and she was very close to being right) was just too good. A little risk, a touch of potential danger which wasn't actually manifesting, combining into a very special sort of adrenaline high --
-- she was in the center of an exceptionally thick cloud bank when it happened, something where all she could truly see was the cloud itself. Even pegasus sight revealed little more than the uniform damp chill of the moisture, and she was mostly thinking about how with a good tip from the job, she could pay for saddlebags which had been worked to be waterproof, was just glad that her current shipment couldn't be damaged by the moisture --
-- and then the world twisted.
It would be a long time before she described it to anypony. She didn't know that many couriers yet, and a mare who was still trying to establish her reputation wasn't going to talk about a moment of weakness. Yes, couriers passed on information about potential shortcuts, and that included the reasons why some were never taken, but -- she was desperate, she'd been flying for longer than she should have, and so when her ears roared and her sense of balance seemed to drop away, the sleek torso wracked by sudden contortions as her wings became twin pieces of dragging weight and the fall began...
She wasn't thinking: a pegasus in midair trouble frequently didn't. Her body was trying to recover on instinct alone, find a wing configuration which would allow for an emergency glide, something which could bring her to safety within whatever Classified thing was below --
-- and it ended.
Orientation came back, all at once. Her wings flared to their full span, flapped, the empty tip bag swung to the back of her neck and she was fine.
She spent most of the remaining crossing watching herself for signs that it was happening again. Her first suspicion was Manière's disease, and that was a fear which put nearly all of her focus onto her own body. But she reached Point B without any further incidents, got all the way to her destination, collected a fairly decent tip, found a place to stop which had a mirror and the pink eye tinge wasn't there. She didn't have to spend three days in bed, barely able to move towards a restroom without tripping over her own hooves. She was fine.
So she told herself that she'd been a little tired. She'd been in the air for too long, she'd ignored the signs which were telling her to rest (which a marked courier could just push through anyway), she'd lost it for a second (only a second!), and she didn't tell anypony because admitting to weakness wasn't the best way to build her reputation. Besides, an error which had been survived was also called 'experience'.
So she splashed some water in her face, watched as that which landed on the vapor floor was reabsorbed by the cloud, then left the restroom and went to order her meal.
It started with something small.
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Well, that's not ominous...
Aah... A person that regards themselves as beautiful would react negatively to disgust.
And also illusions?
Man, oh man, when Luna finally sees a human...
----
Second Half is very mysterious. And Something Small and following her movements so much, makes me think some kind of infection.
That last line...I've got a bad feeling that we may get an unpleasant reminder of the works of H.G. wells.
It returns once again! If the sister's are impressed with Cera's running now, just wait until they find out how long she can keep that pace up.
But the clothing, oh dear. Poor girl, even in a completely different universe she is pursued by the narrative tropes of her home reality.
It really only takes one person...
Nice conversation between Luna and Celestia. But wait until they see her sparring with a weapon, now that will be something.
Now, about that pegasus, I am not sure if she saw something or not or if she was infected with something by passing into a chaos terrain.
As a human sufferer of that, I can testify that it sucks rocks. It doesn't matter how big you are, how strong, how smart, how much willpower. When you're having an attack, all you can do is lie there absolutely still and pray. Thank God for Valium.
I don’t recall... was Twilight’s adventure in the Equestria Girls movie ruled out of this continuity? Even if so, I’m with Luna in wishing that the Mane Six would return and join in on the story.
In any event, glad to see it continue!
"interested in is are the patrols"
"interested in are the patrols"
"I've seen it in some many species"
"I've seen it in so many species"?
Thought I'm not entirely sure if that's indeed what was meant to be going on there.
...Interesting... :)
Inadvertently my ass, you did it on purpose Luna, and with full knowledge of what you were doing!
Bad things are coming
9848486
Monster Girl is in its own side continuity, so consistency with the Triptych Continuum is not guaranteed.
Word of Author about the Continuum proper is that the mirror does not exist — but Sunset Shimmer does. Estee tends to conserve setting detail, so that probably holds here. But it might not.
9848378
Oh! I was wondering what Celestia was getting at.
Wow, they've really got to consider everything, don't they?
i.pinimg.com/564x/08/23/0e/08230e7b3dff0254c87e7d8cf28c84e5.jpg
Yes.
*gasp!*
media1.tenor.com/images/0d46536a92351a8f26a57ad85460a714/tenor.gif?itemid=11478573
Aww, come on sweetheart! There's no reason to be embarrassed. It's just a fact.
I wouldve thought that maybe, somewhere in the Dark Clerks Courier division, there was a notice board with a small collection of names and images on it.
The Marathon Memorial Board.
Because the Dark Couriers ALWAYS Deliver.
The Shield has been discovered, survived, and now the rumors and stories and scouts and expedititions and research groups and security starts? Or did she just break a Seal at the weakest part?
9848421
Likely neither. Likely a Breach, a small one... For now.
I'm not sure of whatever effect disrupts magic is about plastic specifically, anymore. Whatever the courrier ran into sounds similar. Maybe the effect follows them because plastic was the only thing Centorea had on her that was artificial and therefore doesn't likewise exist in Equestria?
Heh. Shades of the Treehouse of Horror.
"Ah! What are you soaking me with?"
"Rum! So no one will believe your story!"
Yes, lots of plateaus on that mountain. Completely unsuspicious plateaus that were there the whole time.
I'm pretty sure you've covered this, but I find myself wondering who holds Dash's house together when she's on missions.
Fascinating tidbit with the extra lung(s). A second thoracic cavity means there's room for further redundancy. May as well use it.
I don't think anypony's going to be offended by the ponytail unless they find Applejack especially noisome. Though I could certainly be wrong.
And that end bit... What's the thaumic capacity of plastic again?
Nice chapter!
So... Maybe the magic of Equestria is leaking out through the portal?
Or the ritual is just so draining that it taps out the local Mana as well.
So... What else got summoned?
9848612
I get that it likely doesn’t matter either way, as it seems that if the Mane Six were going to play a role in this story they wouldn’t have been specifically excluded this far into it. And I knew (or thought, at least) that the Continuum stories only promised to be true to seasons 1-3 and anything afterwards was up in the air. But since this was a one-off dealing with a lone traveler between alternate dimensions where the predominant species were human and pony respectively, it seemed like if any story was going to include the Equestria Girls continuity, this would be it... so I wondered if there had been a specific note about it one way or the other.
Ultimately, I just would be really curious to see the reaction that a Twilight who had experienced a human world would have to Cerea. Would being familiar with both halves of a centaur make her see them more as we readers do (not that we’ve ever actually seen one, but depictions don’t generally disturb us), or would she still be so thoroughly weirded out and disgusted as the rest of her species? There are already so many part-pony species (at least in the show) that ponies don’t bat an eye about... seaponies and hippogriffs, for example. Does it matter which parts are which species? Could Twilight recognize if she was beautiful, or are humans still too alien to her? What about Spike’s viewpoint, who would be familiar with each species and yet not either one of them himself?
And really, after reading this the sympathetic side of me just wants Cerea to have a friend who has at least some understanding of what she’s going through.
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If there has been such a note, I haven't seen it.
I made a similar observation a few chapters back. Monster Girl is a sort of twisted, inverted take on Equestria Girls. Sunset Shimmer is thematically appropriate. She's also on my short list of known characters that could pull off the summoning ritual that started this mess.
"Ain't no such thing as seaponies!"
Which means that there absolutely is, because irony.
9848888
Extra lungs are very interesting and probably necessary given her body mass. It does make me wonder if they draw air from the same passageway or if she has a second set of 'nostrils' somewhere which the lower lungs draw air via. If the two systems are separate then it would be interesting to know if centaur some some sort of wind instrument which requires both sets.
9849326
"Do centaurs have spiracles?" is not a question I expected to ask today, but it makes for a pleasant surprise.
While they're trying to help, the fact that they still seem to have that... distaste for Cerea's appearance is pretty damn surprising considering how diverse the species in their world are. I mean, do they look at griffons or hippogryphs as being monsters? Yes yes, there was Tirek, but this amount of revulsion? Still, as I said earlier, they're at least TRYING. Something tells me the rest of the population won't be as understanding.
I kinda like how the chapter titles are all words that would invoke disgust or abject horror... and then we have Cerea running around (literally) in a nightie and we just get 'Inappropriate'.
Is there a term for someone who is more Woobie than a Woobie? That's the territory Cerea's headed for. That girl needs something to go her way big time.
Maybe the Diarchy should introduce Cerea to Discord. If there's another creature who could sympathize more with a (from the ponies' perspective) mismatched creature like a centaur than the Lord of Chaos, I don't know who it is.
Then again, maybe it's a good thing Discord isn't there. No telling what that draconequus would do -- including poofing off Cerea's bra and parading around Canterlot while wearing it as a hat, causing the poor centaur to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
Nope, nothing ominous about that last line. Nothing ominous at all...
Is this the first time one of your stories has explained air paths? Ratchette mentioned them in Mechanical Aptitude, but an explanation wouldn't have even almost fit in there, so...
9849395
I think it's an uncanny valley affect combined with strong negative associations with Tirec. Even those who know she isn't related still have a disconnect from how her bottom half looks very pony to the upper half looking like a strange ape, and I imagine they've all had enough nightmares about Tirec that most of them have developed a phobia in the clinical sense of the word.
And it ended with the entire population of the eastern sea-border infected with the Disco Fever Virus.
9848440
Is it that only pegasai can get it, or does being the only ponies experiencing extreme rapid altitude changes mean they're the only ones who do?
9849326
Secondary lungs would certainly help with stamina. If they're arranged in a Hazelhoff loop with cross-connections like the lungs of crocodillians it would improve efficiency as well as capacity.
https://svpow.com/2013/12/11/unidirectional-airflow-in-the-lungs-of-birds-crocs-and-now-monitor-lizards/
The following illustration should help imagine just how a centuar looks to a pony.
https://66.media.tumblr.com/9158fa099abb18194adf51bcf4e1072c/tumblr_inline_mjtuuwDWrd1qbzfxw.jpg
Hmm ... the guards walk around in armor all the time. Luna knows shes not really dangerous. She should offer her a job as a lunar guard or her personal bodyguard once word gets out shes working for the princesses she might even get to walk around on patrol.
Also if rarity gets involved the fact that she wears clothes from another nation might actually be the next big thing if she can recall enough. Its new its different its ... fashion. Word will get out about her species view on nudity.
Damn... got this feeling shes gonna be blamed for a antimagic epidemic
9850910
Um. She's *bigger* than Luna, quite possibly stronger (if Luna doesn't cheat), and has a plastic sword that goes through magic like cheese puffs. She's also emotionally fragile on a level that makes Luna look like the sane one. 'Dangerous' is relative. (And in case of most alicorns, Dangerous is also relatives.)
9850820 Not sure how that works in the Continuum. In real-world terms, Meniers is terribly non-picky on who it affects, and has a wild spectrum of symptoms so every case is different.
9850264 Bring on the Versebreakers and their sub-branch, the CDC (Center for Disco Control)
9849224
Clarke's First Law (of three)
When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.
-- Arthur C. Clarke
9850820
That’s definitely a creepy illustration, and probably does help convey what the ponies are feeling, although not quite in the same way. For us, I suspect that the pony part of the creature is the least disturbing bit considering the human part is in an unnatural pose (walking on all fours) and in a state of undress, which suggestively reduces it to the status of an animal. The horror of it is inspired by a human who has lost its humanity. (Were that part of the creature standing upright and wearing clothes, it would seem like some weird furry creation, but much less of a horror.)
The ponies aren’t really dealing with any of that... the horse parts of a centaur are behaving just as horse parts should. The off-putting part for them is the human part, which... fair enough. I’ve often thought that the patchy, mostly hairless nature of humans would have to be off-putting visually to most any other species.
9851157
Estee's shown ponies reacting to baseline humans over in the Canterlot Deportation Agency stories. Tales of the CDA: Melissa is probably the best example. Spoiler: humans look really weird to ponies.
And I just noticed that story shows a pony having a negative reaction to physical contact with what is probably plastic.
9851157
Oh if you look up "reverse centuar" you can find stuff that's way creepier. I picked one of the less icky ones.
9851033
Luna also knows she took a hit to save two ponies who thou not directly came from the same group who captured and mistreated her. Plus she can be captured by non magical means easily. When you think about it she's actually the one in danger. You hurl a rock going 50 mph at a person anti magic or not that rocks gonna hit her going 50 mph then lose the magic. It's the old way to get around antimagic 101 trick. Theres also dropping things on her like nets or bolas. Shes pretty much immune to magic beam lasers due to the sword and probably mind control as long as she has the plastic bobbypins on her. She fought well against the monster because she had its bane ... plastic lol.
9851157 9851552
May I introduce to you, Behold Reuben. https://twitter.com/MomoDriller/status/1018074847258214400 https://www.furaffinity.net/view/31561462/
9851379
IMO, I've always thought that ponies thinking humans look weird, makes about as much sense as us thinking they look weird. Between the fact that we shouldn't be anywhere near the uncanny valley, and that their world is inhabited by other sapients, it just doesn't make much sense to me. Unless mange is a thing in their world, then ok, maybe you could make the argument we look like we got mange.
Damn, that gives me a story idea.
9859163
9851379
Speaking of which, while humans looking weird to ponies is understandable, the common fanon of ponies being baffled specifically by hands always confused me. Minotaurs are a thing in Equestria after all. Have been since season 2, and nopony batted an eyelash at Iron Will and his hands, so where does the common fanon that ponies have never seen hands before come from?
9876590
That has never made sense to me either. Spike has hands. He's got claws instead of fingernails, but they're clearly hands. Same for Gilda.
And ponies have fingers. One on the end of each leg. With a giant fingernail.
9878919
The anime is only the early bit of the story, there's quite a bit more although at heart Monster Musume still is light hearted comedy but it does have a good sense of character and growth. I do read Blank Slate. I love the fic (However, I hate how the author used mero but that's a personal thing.).
9876811
Which means every time a pony waves at you, they're giving you the finger.
I can see how anyone outside of Ponyville wouldn't be familiar with dragons in general or Spike in particular, but yes hands shouldn't be unknown with griffins and minotaurs having regular contact with ponies. Though it's understandable that ponies who haven't met one personally wouldn't grasp (pun intended) just how much hands can do.
What are deep places? Sorry if it's explained later.
I have to admit, this story is very difficult to read for some reason... It takes a lot more than I'm used to, just to understand what is being said. It sometimes takes a paragraph to explain what I'd say in a single sentence.
Some seem to forget that any time you might gain from this (and probably more) would likely be lost in being detained and questioned...
10549112
The general vibe I'm getting is "MLP meets H.P. Lovecraft", if somewhat lighter to account for the MLP side of the equation. Imagine if the aftereffects of Discord's reign from centures prior had remained all the way to Sparkle's era. A "deep place", in this context, would be a sort of "inbetween" world you could inadvertently step into just off the beaten path - a place where rules of reality need not apply.
At least, that's my impression so far, for things not spelled out. The neurocipher provided a big push towards this interpretation, I will admit. ;)
Honestly this takes real effort to read like instead of just looking at it and absorbing the words I have to sit up and process every word in my head
Well that's an interesting phrase I'd not noticed my first time reading this chapter.
It suggests that there's something there to be questioned; Is the mountain like a stony TARDIS with new plateaux springing up as required without the mountain's size visibly changing?
Or is it the more prosaic possibility of a number of plateaus having restricted access and being obscured from casual sight?
Hmm. Well it's not the latter. Maybe the sentence is just highlighting the average pony's apathy about things that aren't of immediate interest/concern.