Uncivilized
The mirror had been placed at what was, for her, a fairly awkward height. It meant some fairly uncertain adjustments of legs and overall posture were required in order to get the relevant area within the reflection and even then, certain portions went off the top and, because it was her, the sides.
Even so, she carefully worked on her overall position until she had the maximum possible aligned with the silvered glass. And then Cerea bounced.
It was an extremely rough, very limited sort of bounce: the starting bend of her knees meant she really couldn't get a lot of upwards momentum without completely abandoning her hard-won position and in any case, truly exerting herself in that direction would have meant cracking her skull on the cell's ceiling. But it was still a bounce, and her stare stayed focused on the reversed results in the mirror.
Nothing broke. There was no sound of rent fabric to go with the metallic screech of dying hooks. Nothing came crashing free. The bra, and that which it insisted on containing, remained exactly where it was. There was simply a little bobble of soft flesh along the artfully-exposed upper regions, because such could be desirable for those required by species to wear the things and so the creator had (wrongfully) decided that Cerea might like to indulge in low-cut blouses now and again. The dark Princess had already sent back a request for something more enclosed (especially with winter on the approach): the unicorn had responded with the first sweater and, apparently still working under the same impression, had made sure the upper part included easily-opened buttons.
Cerea's relationship with her own build could be readily described as 'convoluted'. There was pride because at the absolute minimum, her body was that of a proper centaur -- and one who hadn't exactly completed puberty just yet: given enough time, she fully expected to match or surpass her mother's size. But it was a centaur's body, she'd left the herd, and when you went among...
It doesn't matter.
(Or it mattered more than ever, as a subset of an issue which could never be overcome.)
There were a few who were larger than she (and her feelings about that were decidedly complicated): she hardly represented the farthest end of the bell curve. But even so, anything she tried to wear would quickly surrender: there was rather more vibration and jolting from a centaur's movement than a human's, largely due to the additional pair of legs. There were times when she'd sworn that there was no physical contact required and bras sundered in her mere presence. It was just one of the factors which kept her out of lingerie shops, added to the reluctance to be measured (because Japan's residents had what she felt was a completely unhealthy fascination with those numbers) and the fact that she... wasn't with her herd any more.
Realistically, she recognized that a bra which hadn't died during that first gallop (and it had felt so good to run) wasn't going to be defeated by a mere bounce. (And bounced again anyway.) But the fact that nothing had torn yet was making her wonder if magic was involved. And just that it was just so well-made...
She more-or-less stood in front of the mirror, clad in nothing more than the soft white bra, and thought.
The Princess mentioned other species. The existence of her first loaner shirt had suggested something existed which had arms: the services of the visiting unicorn told Cerea that at least one of them had humanoid mammary glands. She was starting to wonder just where (and what) they were, and -- whether having her own bras being so well-made meant the majority of their females were built on her own level. It was possible that the unicorn had simply upscaled, but that had never worked with anything made by humans. Or the mare's experiences could be limited to a single previous client --
-- would it have been easier? If I'd reached a biped village first? Because I'd be a little more familiar, at least for one portion, and...
No. She'd been told that the entire world knew of Tirek. There were no humans, which meant nothing fully matched her from the waist up. And in any case, it seemed likely that every species Cerea might encounter would regard her as having too many limbs.
Still...
The centaur girl slowly shook her head (and watched the movement of Too Much Hair in the mirror: that needed a trim). She was among ponies. The Princesses were the ones who were willing to welcome her, and while she might eventually meet someone from a biped species, this was where she had to take her first chance. To simply abandon this nation for another without even trying -- it was something much less than honorable.
They had given her clothing, and new pieces arrived every day. They were semi-regularly taking her out to what she'd been told were training grounds, giving her that chance to run. She'd even mustered the courage to ask about her sword, because she'd wanted to practice -- and that feeling was something she hadn't experienced in years. Training with the plastic blade had been entertaining enough for a child: the teenager had eventually started to see it as an insult, while the exchange student perceived nothing more than an endless exercise in frustration. But now that it could serve as an actual weapon...
But all they'd told her was that it was being moved, and the process was apparently taking a while. The palace was trying to have the blade travel under heavy security: some of that meant using routes no one would ever think to watch, with other portions of the path requiring that the escorts abandon roads entirely. It slowed everything down. And since no magic could be used to speed that movement, the transport needed more time.
They hadn't told her exactly where the sword was, and...
They want me to take it back to Japan. If I go home. (She could try to think of it as 'when,' and doing so sent waves of pain through her soul.) Because they don't want it here, any more than they want me here. They want me to take it back -- but it doesn't mean they'll let me have it. Not for as long as I'm in their nation.
Asking to practice with it had effectively been asking for a weapon, for she was going to be introduced into a nation filled with those who were afraid of her for the second time and... there were certain memories of Japan which made possession of a usable weapon into a comfort. But when it came to any imminent return... the Princesses hadn't said a word.
She didn't know what they intended for the sword, and she was unsure as to whether she should even ask. They were giving her so much: clothing, a chance to run, and those felt like debts which needed to be repaid. But she had no magic of her own, nothing which could fight back against anything fearful ponies might try against her. It was, in some ways, worse than the laws: at least those had offered the opportunity to trade integration for deportation in a single flurry of striking hooves.
She missed her sword, and that was a strange feeling indeed.
Clothing. Exercise --
-- a hoof rapped against the cell's door, followed by what was becoming a very distinctive whinny. It was easy to know when Nightwatch was announcing her arrival, if only because no other pony's vocalizations had so many awkward pauses.
Cerea carefully took the disc from its resting place on the edge of the sink, held it to her throat, and winced in discomfort as silver crawled up to her ear. It was an experience which didn't seem to become any less awkward with repetition, and the nature of the visit meant there was a lot of that ahead.
"I'll be out in a minute," she called as her left hand went for the newest blouse: something tan in hue, and only twice as sheer as she would have wished. (Sadly, this represented an improvement.) "I'm just getting dressed."
"Oh," the mare said from the other side of the cell door. "Um. Take your time. We can start the lesson whenever you're ready."
-- education.
The black pegasus' latest nicker went on for a little over a second. There was a bit of rise to the first part of the sound, followed by a tiny click as the tongue touched the roof of the equine mouth, and the whole thing ended with a hint of snort.
Nightwatch nodded to Cerea, who carefully put the disc back on. The pegasus took a breath.
"'Directions'," the mare supplied, and briefly glanced down at the lesson planner again. "Because you're probably going to get lost a lot. It's a big city, at least when you get close enough to see how big it is." She hesitated. "Um. There's a natural optical illusion at the main entrance. The whole city just sort of dips behind the Gate, so if you're looking at it from a distance, you mostly see the Gate and the palace. Not that you've gotten the chance. But it's most visible if you're seeing everything from Ponyville."
"What's Ponyville?" felt like a perfectly natural question.
"The closest settled zone to us," Nightwatch replied. "You can get there in a few hours on hoof. Less if you're flying, or if you're taking a train." The dark features twisted into what Cerea could now identify as a full wince. "Um. Not that you can fly. And trains might be a bad idea for a while, because it could be a lot of ponies in what's going to feel like a very small space --"
Which was the point where Cerea recognized the need to save the little knight from herself. "Lady --"
"-- where they can't get away from you, except that the pegasi might go out the emergency windows and I guess if the train isn't going that fast yet, some of the earth ponies could just jump for it -- oh... um..."
"-- it's all right," Cerea sighed. Trains -- steam-powered ones -- but not anything automotive. They pull their own carts. A previous vocabulary lesson had established balloons, and Cerea had been proud to hear they existed because they were French. (This had led to a natural inquiry regarding zeppelins. As it turned out, the ponies had them -- and typically treated them as a means for day cruises which carried passengers, refreshments, and very little else because even with magic, the basic rule for a zeppelin remained the same: you could have all the space you wished, as long as you didn't fill it with anything.) But air power, when it came to Equestria, seemed to be mostly limited to the possession of wings. Then again, the ability to control winds meant the potential to make a balloon go where you wanted...
But the disc's desperate, frequently-failed attempt to translate concepts had eventually taught Cerea that there was just about nothing around which was purely mechanical. No airplanes, a complete lack of trucks, and 'gasoline' had apparently been rendered in Nightwatch's ears as 'smelly liquid fire which makes things move when it explodes': that hadn't exactly helped.
Still, there were a thousand kinds of innovation which could be introduced to the ponies -- by a trained scientist holding degrees in at least six different fields, and that worthy would need to either possess a fully-eidetic memory or have arrived carrying a tablet which was holding a full library's worth of reference guides. The latter required working rather quickly, although Cerea supposed the sheer level of improbability which had already been met wouldn't need to stretch all that much to include a solar charger.
She was an exchange student whose truest field of study had been aimed at what she'd hoped would be her eventual knighthood. This meant cultural studies, art, etiquette (not that her lessons there were being allowed to locally hold), combat, and linguistics. Technologically speaking, Cerea knew how to operate a smithy, and the only thing any human ever needed to solve the mystery of Damascus steel was to ask a centaur. Personally introducing the quadruped equivalent of a Model T wasn't going to happen and given what the quest for oil had done to her own world, Cerea suspected the ponies might be better off.
"So the full sentence is 'I need directions'," Nightwatch awkwardly (and only partially) recovered. "Now you try it."
Cerea carefully took the disc off.
It was a tedious process. The only way to hear the full complexities of the pony language was to do so with unaided ears: with the disc on, the overlapping translation masked out some of the subtleties. Learning which word she'd just been given meant letting the wire crawl up the side of her face again, reviewing meant doing it all again for every single term, and it made extended lessons both repetitious and discomforting.
The centaur girl took a slow breath (which didn't sunder anything either), carefully arranging mouth, tongue, and vocal chords into what felt like the proper pattern. ("Sny hinhah cwseeeort," was the closest phonetic approximation to the result and at that, the alphabet was lacking at least six letters. It also presumed that in the event of having gotten it right during an appropriate situation, anyone she addressed would be willing to do something which wasn't fleeing.)
The pegasus proudly nodded, then pointed her right forehoof at the disc. Cerea put it back on.
"You don't even have an accent," the mare declared. "Um. Well, you probably do. Mine. I just don't hear it because it's mine and hearing your own accent is harder than hearing your own voice on a phonograph." A little more hesitantly, "And you're still listening to us when we're outside, aren't you?"
Cerea nodded. She was nowhere near the point where she could guess at what a new word might be through breaking down its components (and it was possible the pony language didn't function that way), but the more familiarity she had with the basic sounds, the better.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," the little knight timidly proposed. "At all."
"Why not? The more exposure, the better: that's the same for mastering any language. I didn't really start to master Japanese until I was hearing people speak it every day --"
"-- because we're Guards," Nightwatch carefully cut in. "And Guards say things."
Cerea blinked. Frowned. "Palace secrets?" was her first guess. "Information which is classified, but everyone can discuss it outside the door because they know I don't understand?"
"Things," the pegasus awkwardly repeated. "Just.. things. Um. Ask me for directions again. I think we need to repeat that one a few times." She glanced down at the vocabulary sheet which had been placed on the center mattress in front of her extended forelegs: Cerea wasn't using the bed, and the mare felt more comfortable on top of the sheets. "We've got nine more words after that. Followed by reviewing the last three nights. And then we'll work on reading some more."
That was easier, because no disc removal was required and it was something Cerea could study on her own. Nightwatch would nose the paper over to Cerea, then read the first word on the list. Cerea wrote down the meaning in French, and then she had her own vocabulary guide. Reading was proceeding faster than speech, in no small part because there were still completely unfamiliar books in the cell and it was giving the centaur incentive.
The little mare softly, unexpectedly sighed, and Cerea's attention immediately focused on lowered ears and a drooping tail. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not good at this," the Guard quietly replied. "This should be done by a real teacher. But the Princesses still can't find one, because just about everypony attending the weather colleges already speaks Equestrian. It's the same for the Gifted School."
Which led to the first phrase Cerea had asked to be taught, followed by her very first word. The ones she'd felt she was going to need more than any others. "I don't understand..." had no companion more natural than "Sorry."
"Weather colleges are for pegasi," Nightwatch explained. "Mostly, and it's not only about weather: it's just what they're called. It's where our strongest master their magic. Sometimes there's a griffon taking notes, because even if they can't do any of it, they want to find out how it's done. Or someone from another nation sits in for a while. But the Gifted School is for unicorns, and it's for their own magic."
"And earth ponies? Where do they study?"
The mare's features were unreadable, and might have remained so long after Cerea learned every basic pony expression. You didn't often encounter someone trying to deal with a concept for the very first time. "...at home? I guess their magic doesn't require a lot of specialized tutoring. You don't need classes in how to be strong, and when it comes to the Effect --"
"Sorry?"
But the mare was fully self-distracted. "-- that's sort of automatic, isn't it? I mean, there's stuff like wasteland. Arcolith can do wasteland. That's part of why she came along, when we were trying to find your arrival point. But I never really thought about where she would have learned it. Maybe it's like a unicorn's trick: she just knew how to do it at the moment her magic appeared...?"
Cerea felt as if she was at least ten questions behind, which wasn't much of a change over the usual eight. "What's 'wasteland'?"
"She gets close to a plant and it dies," Nightwatch stated, and Cerea could hear the sincere admiration in the pegasus' voice. "If she wants it to. It can be better than hitting it with lightning, because a lot of the most dangerous plants are electrically resistant. Um. Probably because we've been fighting them with lightning for so long. But nothing stops wasteland. She just doesn't like doing it because it makes her feel sick." Which was followed by a sigh. "It doesn't change my being a lousy teacher. I don't have the mark for this and sometimes, if you don't have a mark, you shouldn't be doing it at all --"
Twelve questions back, losing ground coming up on the turn. She'd learned what a mark was: the icon near the pony's hips. She understood that it was important, that it seemed to focus magic in some ways relating to a pony's skills -- but it didn't define everything an individual could do, and Cerea had no idea how a pony got one. It was possible that they were present at birth, sorting the entire nation into predetermined castes. Or they could appear later in life, it was possible that some ponies never got one...
But there were hundreds of things she needed to know about, and marks felt as if they were pretty far back on the list. Right now, she needed to learn how to speak and read. And no matter what Nightwatch might feel --
"-- I'm learning," Cerea quietly answered. (She tended to keep her voice low around the pegasus, moved a little more slowly so as not to startle the one who wasn't quite as afraid.) "I think that means you're teaching."
Silver eyes blinked. Slowly, the dark features worked into what Cerea now knew was a pony's smile.
"What else are you doing tonight?"
"One more lesson. Then I have to meet Mr. Guard for more paperwork." Both of which were being done upstairs, because her cell needed cleaning and the best way to do that was for her not to be in it. There were members of the maintenance staff who were aware the lower levels were currently in use, and none of them were even remotely comfortable with the prospect of working while Cerea was carefully cringed into a corner or, given her size, against most of a wall. "And then I'm back here."
"No doctors?"
"Not tonight." The two unicorn stallions had come down on the previous evening, spending nearly two hours in the cell -- and the initial round of questions had centered on herbs. Cerea had already been through one medical crisis (and wasn't entirely sure how it had been resolved): the physicians were trying to prevent a second. This meant asking her what centaurs ate when they were feeling ill. She'd been able to provide a few names, and some of them turned out to be plants which grew in both worlds -- but there were others which seemed to be unique to her own, and she didn't know how to synthesize the drugs which various herds had worked out across centuries of liminal history. At best, she'd been able to give them a mild stomach tonic, two antihistamines, and a rather dubious chance at a sleep aid. They'd already known how to work with willow bark.
"I'll see you when you get back," Nightwatch offered, and inclined her tail towards the nearest bookshelf. "We'll pick up from Chapter Four."
Cerea smiled (while being careful not to show teeth), because the first three had shown it to be a good story. The danger was just beginning to appear on the horizon, but she had some concept of its scope and possessed no idea for how the protagonists would deal with it. She wanted to know the rest and until she picked up a lot more vocabulary, that could only be done through having the pegasus read to her.
"Thank you," she said, because it was the thing she was most thankful for. Just having someone willing to stay in the cell with her, reading a story. The one who wasn't as afraid.
"So what's your next lesson?"
Cerea winced.
"What are you doing?"
"My torso's too low --"
"-- which torso?" the old earth pony mare demanded, and gray-white fur rippled from the sheer indignity of it all. As with every other pony, Cerea could scent the fear rising from that coat, and she wasn't sure it would ever change -- but for this pony, there was a chance that the primary terror had a different source. Spending the vast majority of her life in a society with no room for change had introduced her to those who liked it that way, and she suspected this mare's greatest fear stemmed from the chance that every day wouldn't be exactly like every other: learning that the most recent calendar spaces now included the need to teach a centaur had already fulfilled that. It didn't take the disc to hear Tradition in every word, because Etiquette arose from Tradition and when the mare spoke, so did the capital letters.
This was etiquette training, because Someone Who Is So Different needed to be among the Common Folk without Disturbing Them Any More Than Necessary. It meant learning about body posture, and so much of that was natural to Cerea -- for a certain majority percentage of her form.
Ponies had their own body language, and some of that matched Cerea's own. But there were other sapients who had to learn how to go among ponies, communicating as naturally as possible, and that meant cross-species etiquette advisors existed. Cerea suspected this specimen was a permanent part of the palace staff, and so might be similar to what was encountered in the United Kingdom before a meeting with the Queen: this is where you stand, you can only raise your head to this angle, and you never, ever spoke first. This was an etiquette advisor who had apparently met dozens of visiting dignitaries, hastily training bipeds and quadrupeds alike before meetings with the two royals could begin. The mare was used to all of that --
"The upper," Cerea awkwardly said. "I'm dipped too low." The bra wasn't fully designed to prevent that angle of movement. "I'm..." and the blush began to rise "...sliding. This is just blocking --"
"So use your left foreleg! As a Civilized mare would!"
"My legs don't bend that way," the girl desperately protested. "Ms. Manners --"
"-- then what exactly," the mare huffed, "are we supposed to do with your arms?"
-- but her training was intended for those who either had a pair of legs and arms each, or four legs and 'arms' were distant rumor. Cerea's natural count was four legs and two arms added to a single perpetual burn of embarrassment and no matter how Ms. Manners worked the math, the centaur wound up being over the limit.
"This," the earth pony stated, "is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. How is anypony supposed to operate under These Conditions?"
Cerea, whose too-low dip was progressively causing more and more blonde hair to slip in front of her face, was starting to ask the same question. And some of that fall was now dragging on the floor because she really needed a trim, plus this wasn't a good position to be holding, her forelegs were bent far too much, but she still had an arm free and there was a table edge nearby. If she could just brace herself with the palm --
"What is that arm doing?"
"It's --"
"-- I am certain," the mare declared, "that if I was so Unfortunate as to possess arms, I would know where they were at all times. Seeing as how they are rather permanently attached and since they are extending from your shoulders, I don't know how you're losing track of them." Followed by, in the tones of highest offense, "Also, in that position, with your arm outstretched, your horns would be gouging the edge of the table. Are you aware of how old that table is? The damage you would be doing to a Historic Heirloom of the nation itself?"
"I don't have horns..." A dark thought was allowed to flash a frozen image within inner vision.
You could have gotten Tionishia. She has a horn.
She would have curtsied. Bowed. Jumped up and down in delight just to meet you, because I'm pretty sure she would just love ponies. It wouldn't be Etiquette, but it would be Sincere.
You would also be down by one chandelier and most of what's in that china cabinet, because when an ogre jumps up and down, the vibrations have to go somewhere.
Oh, and then there's Rachnera. You would either be bound in silk by now or trying to figure out a courteous position for pedipalps. The silk would be easier.
"I fail to see how that is My Problem," Ms. Manners huffed. "I am pointing out what would happen if you did. So you should avoid that, in case you ever do." The mare sniffed. "Six limbs. Six and one or more forehead protrusions would naturally be next, if only because the world sees a lifetime of Service to the Thrones and wishes to punish it. So I fully expect you to grow a horn, as that is what would inconvenience me. Move your hand."
"I -- " Her foreknees were beginning to shake. "I should straighten up --"
"-- a proper Greeting Stance," the earth pony stated, "would not straighten until released. And would be performed using one torso." She took a measured, angry step closer. "Move the hand."
Cerea moved.
Then she moved again, with the second shift considerably more involuntarily.
"OW! HOW DARE YOU! THE PRINCESS WILL HEAR ABOUT --"
"Sorry!" About several things and her new position wasn't the least of them, because her torsos were connected and the only way for the upper to slam into the floor like that was to have the lower assume a posture which could only be maintained for a split-second before the whole thing crashed sideways, which was why that one presumably-equally-important-bench wasn't any more and the china cabinet had gone through the sort of internal redesign generally associated with a color-blind earthquake. "I'm sorry! I'm --"
And she was in fact sorry about the damage, along with how horribly awkward she looked and the chance that someone who wished to be a knight wouldn't be able to learn etiquette. There just happened to be a moment when she wasn't completely sure she felt the same way about the inadvertent snout slap.
"Have you ever been arrested?"
She was still learning pony expressions. Body posture was easier: so many of those echoed the horses she knew, while others could be found in centaur forms. This one told her that Crossing Guard was tired, and it also let her know that absolutely nothing had changed because he'd been tired during every meeting.
He was part of the Solar staff, and Cerea now understood that to be those who worked the majority of their hours during the day. But he'd been coming to the palace at night, because that was when he was available. For Cerea, it was a little easier: she had to be fully alert during Nightwatch's teaching sessions, and so her waking time had slowly been sliding into the Lunar shift. But he was seeing her after having already put in a full workday, just to make sure her paperwork was sorted out. That everything was legal, and that was part of what made him tired.
"Er," Cerea said.
Her answers usually made it worse.
"So you've been arrested," the weary unicorn stallion translated from the awkward. His eyes briefly moved around the temporary workroom, visibly searching marble walls for something which might save him from the details. The decorations had nothing to contribute.
"...yes. A few times." Which was being rather generous towards 'few,' along with mortally offending any dictionaries in the area.
Steadily, "Any convictions?"
"...no." Technically, the entire household had once been assigned community service, but it had been revoked after the community had realized having seven inexpert liminal girls trying to serve it wasn't the best idea. (No one had ever figured out what Suu had done to the park's flower clock, although Papi's signature had been writ large in talon scratches all over the merry-go-round.) "It was mostly just temporary holding."
"Mostly," Crossing Guard repeated. A bright red corona briefly flickered around his horn, and another piece of paper came off the top of the desk's tall stack. Three meetings had brought it about a third of the way down, and Cerea wondered why the light was showing spikes around the edges.
"The mother of one of my friends had us imprisoned for a while," Cerea awkwardly said. "Without charges."
The unicorn took a slow breath, and a "Because...?" beckoned Cerea to her doom.
"Because she's the queen of her people and she can do that. Until someone finds out about it, anyway." The blush was working its way towards her neck. "There was nearly an international incident once we got out, and some countries stopped taking exchange students from her area. A few more cut off trade. Because she's --" it was hardly polite, but Meroune had given her permission to say it "-- sort of... crazy?"
The previous breath was repeated. There was a chance that it had been exactly the same breath, because the head of Immigration didn't seem to be getting any oxygen out of it.
"A queen," he carefully attempted to summarize. "Put you in a cell."
"With my friends," Cerea added. It would have been 'helpfully added', but she wasn't really sure it was helping.
"With no charges."
"And then she tried to drown us," the centaur girl said, mostly for the sake of completion. "But it all set off a lot of political problems. It's not as if there's going to be a war, but no one wants to deal with her now."
"Because," the pony tried, "she's crazy."
Cerea nodded.
"And you're friends with one of her children. Still."
Again, only with extra awkwardness.
"That's queens for you," Crossing sighed. "I think I can put that down as 'detainment only'."
"...okay," was the best she could initially do, and the eventual "Thank you," felt ill-timed.
The unicorn slowly shook his head: a mane which had already become disheveled over the course of too many normal work hours failed to settle back into any kind of groomed position. "I'd normally say we had an advantage here, since it's apparently impossible for anypony to contact your homeland and check any of this," he said, "but it also means I'm relying on you to be completely honest with me."
"I'm trying --"
"-- I believe you," he crudely interrupted. "Some of what you've been saying is too embarrassing for anyone to just make up."
The hornlight picked up a quill, and he scribbled a few things on the paper. The only word Cerea recognized was 'No.'
"Is anyone --"
"-- anypony --" came in on the downbeat.
"-- going to try and check?"
"Yes," Crossing Guard starkly said. "I would reasonably expect that when the palace sees fit to grant a centaur immigrant status, somepony is going to investigate -- no, wait. I lied."
Cerea, feeling he hadn't, just waited for the rest of the sarcasm.
"It's going to be a plural. Lots of someponies. Combing the world for hints of a centaur nation and when they can't find one, they'll just use the lack of confirmation as freedom to start some really interesting rumors." The spikes around the enveloped quill began to display ragged edges. "We're going to do our best to suggest you're a singularity: something which isn't likely to be repeated. But they already know about Tirek. One is an aberration. Two gets that much closer to population. It means ponies are going to be looking for the third through thousandth, and some of the papers will tell them to check in every shadow." He snorted. "They'll have a nation in their heads, too many of them, and the invasion will start from their own closets. We'll be lucky to keep things at one riot..."
She'd been trying not to think about that, ponies getting hurt because of her, and so she desperately tried to change the subject. "I understand why they'd be afraid of more centaurs --"
"-- oh, good," was the desert-dry response. "You understand."
"-- but maybe if you implied a mixed nation? One where I'm just part of a really small minority? That's how it was in Japan." Which was when the idea kicked her in the right flank. "What if you said I was a diplomat from that country --"
"-- if you're looking for diplomatic immunity," and he ignored her frantic nod, "we don't use it. Too many problems. And even if we did, we'd need an exchange of papers between nations. Also an exchange of diplomats. So we're forging a country out of paperwork and asking somepony to get lost for what might be a very long time. And again, somepony's going to go looking." More scribbling ensued, and Cerea's twitching ears picked up a tiny cracking sound from the quill. "That's this section done. Next up is --"
A sheet floated down from the stack. He glanced at it.
The words were far too quick. "-- we can skip this part for now." And the next piece of paper slammed down on top of the ignored one.
"What is it?" Because there was a new scent in the room, something which had only arisen when he'd seen the words. "Is there a problem?"
"It's something we can't deal with yet," he harshly declared. "We'll answer this one when the time comes. And that time isn't now."
He smells worried...
Had there been anything on that page she'd recognized? One small word had looked vaguely familiar, but it had been covered so quickly --
"It's not a concern at this time," the unicorn stated (and now that scent was increasing). "Leave it at that. We've got enough of this to get through as it is." He glanced at the covering sheet. "Which brings us to detailing your previous travels --"
It was a half-second away from being a simul-wince.
"-- through nations nopony has ever heard of," Crossing Guard finished, "in a place we can't reach."
The quill broke in half.
The hornlight winked out. Separate sections of feather dropped onto different parts of the page. The ink simply went everywhere.
"I'm going home," the unicorn stated. "It's been too long a day for this, and I'm not going to let it become too long a night on top of it. I'll take you down to the cells, and then I'm leaving."
"We're supposed to call for a Guard," Cerea quickly said. "To bring me down --"
"-- I know where the cells are," Crossing Guard snorted as he started to turn away from the desk. "I've also been in the palace enough times to know how to reach them. And you, as an immigrant to Equestria, are my charge, which means that in appropriate circumstances, you follow my orders. I want to go home and I'm not waiting half an hour for somepony to finish their wake-up juice break. So I'm giving you an order. Follow me."
He had authority and in that, he was much like Ms. Smith. With both officials, the alternative to doing what they ordered was to not do it. In fact, you could expect to never do anything they told you again, only at a distance of several thousand kilometers: the explanation for why you hadn't done it would be directed at a parent, who really wouldn't want to hear any of it because Cerea would have failed.
Her eyes briefly closed as her head dipped forward, and she meekly followed her superior out of the room. Eight hooves began to work their way down what was becoming a familiar corridor. Cerea had been brought through what felt like every cleared backroad for the lower levels of the palace, and that meant she knew to turn left --
-- he turned right.
"It's that way," she risked, and let one arm point because that was just part of what arms were for and if the disc hadn't made another mistake, then Ms. Manners was the worst-named pony in the world.
"It's faster this way," the unicorn countered. "That path winds around too much."
"But --" was an even bigger risk.
"I'm pretty sure I gave you an order."
Cerea knew about orders. Her herd had a great need for formality, and one of the ways it ensured the maintenance of a confined community was through expressing ideas as orders. And she had been in training to become a knight, you couldn't even think about that kind of goal if you weren't willing to do what your liege commanded...
A knight had to know everything about orders. And the first thing the books taught you --
"It's the wrong thing to do."
"So is losing your paperwork," Crossing Guard darkly said. "Mostly because I'd have to fill it out all over again, from scratch, and we'd also lose all that time. But it's an interesting thought. Now are you coming or not?"
I'm not supposed to move around the palace by myself.
There's supposed to be at least one Guard, or one of the Princesses. And there always has to be some warning.
This is wrong.
A knight obeyed orders. But a knight also had an obligation to evaluate those commands. And that was why the books taught you to watch out for the stupid ones.
"I --"
He snorted, and did so at the same moment his horn ignited. A spiking red loop of light projected around her right wrist, then yanked.
It gave her an instant impression of his strength, or at least the amount he was committing to the effort. His current power didn't match that of the dark Princess: in Cerea's opinion, he wasn't capable of lifting her. But that didn't seem to matter very much, because she had no natural defenses, no way to get the light off her body, and what strength he did have had just yanked on her arm.
She felt the strain in her right shoulder, and instinct shifted her forward in the name of preventing injury. But he kept pulling, not even looking at her, angry hooves pounding against marble as he marched ahead, and her own hooves were skidding --
"-- we shouldn't be doing this!" she tried again, because words were most of what she had left. Cerea didn't know if it was possible to fight against the pull, to break the light with effort instead of sword, or what would happen to the unicorn if she somehow managed it. That seemed to make talking into the primary option. "There's a reason --"
Another snort as he went around a corner, she wanted to plant her hooves and push backwards, so much of her wanted to test and see what happened next, but he was her superior and the order was stupid and she didn't know what disobedience would bring --
"-- bad things happen when you go out of bounds!" Cerea gasped, and that was where words momentarily ran out because the next yank felt as if it had almost dislocated her shoulder. She had to go forward, just to stop the pain. "We can't --"
It put her around the corner, into a part of the palace she'd never seen. It let her get a view of the unicorn's corona, the light now oddly double-layered around the horn, with the lower portion fading towards white.
It also gave her a view of the opening door. The unicorn mare who casually poked her head out into the corridor, a pony she'd never seen before, one whose expression took no effort to recognize as a sneer.
She automatically looked to the left, checking the hallway. Examined the right --
-- there was a moment when she had only seen Crossing Guard, and Cerea didn't recognize the way in which that sneer began to distort. The air currents in the corridor were wrong for her to scent any degree of confusion, and no pony around her had behaved in a
manner which would let her learn disdain.
Then the mare spotted Cerea.
There was a scream.
It was a very familiar scream, because Cerea had heard it coming from more than a dozen pony throats at the moment she'd vaulted the greenery into that first town. It was loud, it echoed, it lost nothing to the sound of desperately-racing hooves, and it seemed to go on for a very long time.
The unicorn stallion blankly stared after the now-departed source, and the loop of light vanished from Cerea's arm, even as the sound of hooves pounding towards them began to cut through the noise.
"You were trying to tell me," he slowly said, "that the Guard makes sure the path is clear before you move. That anypony who sees you is a pony who already knows you're here. That's right, isn't it?"
"...yes." She had to fight the urge to rub her shoulder, and was rapidly losing the battle against the one which insisted that she cry.
Softly, "I'm sorry. I should have thought about that. I should have listened. I --" and his spine slumped "-- treated you like you didn't know anything. Like a disobedient child." Barely a whisper now. "Why would I...?"
"Mr. Guard?"
"Bad things happen," the unicorn quietly continued, "when I try to get home. I'm sorry."
"Who -- who was that?"
"That," the stallion said, "was the worst-case scenario." His ears moved in concert with Cerea's, orienting on fast-approaching ponies. "I'll tell the Princess exactly what happened. I'll make sure she knows it was my fault. But this was supposed to be about introducing you to the nation, when everything was ready..."
His head slumped, and did so at the same moment the hornlight vanished.
"I'm not going home, unless the Princess fires me. And even then, I'll ask for one last shift. Nopony's sleeping much tonight," Crossing Guard quietly declared, and did so at the moment a panicked Nightwatch came flying down the corridor. "Because there's only one chance to make the smallest portion of this work again."
It felt like far too many other moments in her life. Every last one had her knowing what was coming next, feeling it was all somehow her fault, and finding herself with no means of stopping it...
"You're making your debut tomorrow."
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Still think the best approach is the Mysterious Noble From A Distant Land scam with a dozen Royal Guard behind her, while she wears every single piece of floating silk and jingling bells including a veil and silver shoes and about five hundred gemstones on her outfit, and one pebble.
Been a while, but I'm glad to see the update! So yeah. Crossing Guard is a massive dickhead here. I don't care that he was tired, or if he gets chewed out, fired, or even ends up doing a stint in a cell of his own. He was utterly disrespectful, and totally fucked up Cerea's debut, which will undoubtedly hurt everyone to a degree. You could even say the way he handled her bordered on assault. So I can't find it in myself to feel sorry for the moron. Anyway, excellent chapter!
Congrats Crossing, you have officially single-handedly screwed over Cerea. You ass.
Poor Cerea. Fan service is drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet.
I can think of at least one pony story with said equipment. Though the protagonist would really rather just go home.
Ah, the beauty of an outside perspective.
Dang it, Crossing.
Though honestly, Ms. Manners seems more at risk of getting dismissed than he does. At least he's trying most of the time. Still, the timetable just got reduced to a timenightstand at best. This is going to be extremely tricky...
Let me guess, Wordia Spinner of the Murdock’s press. Yep, that’s bad...
Aw, Equestria doesn't have Hydrium.
Not just a population, but a breeding population. It's not enough members to actually be successful, but there will be those who will see it a such none the less.
I have some sympathy for Crossing Guard, but this crossed the line. The guy needs a SnickersTM.
Coming to Crunchyroll, Winter 2020: Dr. Pone.
9968147 Then again, it could be a Mark-Based action. Remember, one of Murphy's Laws goes:
Ponies live on a balance between curiosity and terror. The Princesses are so concerned about the one that they may not be properly considering the other.
9916543
One of these days someone has to write a fic about Willard Wigan going to Equestria.
That's a nice little handwave for the cartoon visuals.
I'm sure that little musing isn't at all important. Or rather, not important for this story.
Crossing you big dummy. And it's true he was really treating her like a child the whole time and condescending too.
Perhaps you could give Cerea a wooden training sword? It would be enough to let her train.
9968210
Definitely one thing too many anime, light novels, and fan fictions gloss over.
The best most of us could do, when transported to another world, is give rough sketches of some technology way too advanced to replicate by a society which does not even possess the tools to make the tools to understand the tools needed to make the tech.
9968456
Most answers to questions of how our technology works comes to a crashing halt when we get to the point of plugging it into the wall...
Loving the Chapter Theme Naming!
Woo! Cerea's getting good clothes! Or at least, a good bra.
...
Hmm... I'm wondering why too...
She *is* still a child, right?
I wonder if they can lean on that, and have Tirek be a hypothetical Sombra of Centaurs, not a representative of the average for his species...
Any leaning on trying to blame it on Discord is a bad idea because he's not gonna roll with that.
"meet someone from an biped species"
"meet someone from a biped species"?
"That's why part of why she came along"
"That's part of why she came along"?
"ogre jumps and down"
"ogre jumps up and down"?
Aww
Poor girl.
*Me glaring at Ms. Manners* You utter fool! Centaur stances are the most respectful in the world!
i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/facebook/000/995/007/07d.png
"Bad things happen when I try to get home"?
That's a lazy excuse.
I feel like the princesses are not taking seriously this entire situation. I mean, the pony responsible for Cerea's paperwork keeps working on other matters instead of being entirely focused on her case? Surely they can spare more resources considering how delicate and important her integration is.
Jeez. Felt really bad for Cerea here. I feel kinda bad for Crossing Guard, since I understand his POV from past stories, but he really behaved like an asshole here. It's honestly understandable that he would be over-worked and stressed trying to handle both his usual duties and the complicated process of ensuring full, legal citizenship for a brand new species, when there's a translation barrier there as well. Maybe he should be allowed to focus exclusively on Cerea for the time going forward and get a substitute for his usual position? Assuming he keeps his job after this cock-up. Either job, come to think of it.
Anyway, thanks for the update! I hope things settle down and you get a chance to properly rest soon.
Crossing Guard is a lightning rod for trouble. Poor guy just wants to get home to his family occasionally. Still, he went overboard here. The descriptions show he was not only dismissive, but caused physical harm. He needs a couple weeks of mandatory vacation, perhaps without pay, to sort him out. His usefulness is past now that her debut must come immediately.
I fully expect us to learn it was his kids birthday or something like that to justify his attempt to leave.
9968559
No, she is a young adult, pass being a teenager.
"Does everything in your world run on explosions?!" -Princess Etherea
"Not sex. Usually." -SevenFates
remove or add "..." after
jumps up
9968456
Well... sometime just knowing that something can be done is one hell of a first step. And there you have things that you may remember that works well. Those lesson to get a driving license on the working of an engine may come back useful ^^
I'm just getting burnt out on how almost every single pony has been incompetent, an asshole, or an incompetent asshole, and how often it goes unpunished when by all reason it shouldn't.
Yeah... the Princesses didn't really choose very good individuals to help Cerea did they? One does nothing but insult their charge and the other physically harmed her. They seriously need to be more careful in regards to this whole situation. And now after Crossing did that to her, the fact/thought that she has absolutely no way to defend herself in the case she is attacked is going be constantly in her mind.
I gotta say, while your story is very well written and immersive, it's also quite depressing...
9968456
True for some things, but the earlier tech is easier to duplicate, and there are some tech trees they simply didn't go down. Ponies do have scientists and engineers so once you explain the idea, they're perfectly capable of working out the details. For instance, If you have the industry needed for a railroad system, you have the ability to make diesel engines with a bit of experimentation. Air compressors and the tools that they can power are also no problem. Basic electromagnets and electric motors for pony scientists to study are easy to make.
One thing in particular that small businesses would love is a cheap air-wagon.
The enchanted variety of flying chariot is apparently expensive and hard to produce, or they would use them for more than sky limos.
Build a wood and fabric wing like WWI planes used, and strap it to a light cart. A griffon or pegasus can now tow it through the air. It's not as good as an enchanted sky chariot, but it's something easy to mass-produce with their existing infrastructure, and cheap enough for the common individual to afford. With so many using them, landing fields would pop up all over making it easy to find a runway.
Griffins would be all over this idea because they don't have the ability to make enchanted chariots in the first place.
It felt kinda stupid that 3-4 meter tall Centaur can't incapacitate a pony just with physical strength alone. She is not responsible if the guard who is escorting her fucks up some simple orders that he was supposed to be following. That includes incompetence of an accidental exposure to the public.
9969547
She's not that tall, she's just 2~2.2m. She can incapacitate a pony with strength, yes, but she's a seventeen or do years old girl that doesn't like to hurt other people. Violence rarely is anyone's first response.
Small typo.
9969778 She's a Knight. Violence is our vocation.
9968559 Actual, presenting Tirek as a Sombra-equivalent Evil Overlord could work really well (and it wouldn't even be stretching the truth all that much). The problem would be selling it to the easily frightened populace.
9968799 Actual, Cerea (and her fellow linimuls) are all in their late-ish teens. According to the manga (as best I recall), they are supposed to be going to high school, but none of the local schools are equipped to deal with them, so they are currently being home-schooled (that way they have more time to get into trouble and have adventures
).
C'mon, Cerea, dude, lass, this is getting old. It's time for character growth, so grow some balls!
Those little fluffy horse thingies are so punchable. It's time to realize what they are doing to you is not simply unjust, but unjustifiable!
You're not some criminal scum, you did nothing wrong. You don't deserve to be imprisoned and tortured. If they are "afraid" of you for random reason - that's their problem, not yours. They are afraid of cloaked zebras, for Cthulhu's sake! I knew one horse who was afraid of aluminum foil, so what? If they attack you "because they are afraid", they must go to jail, not you!
Alright, I've been thinking. When life gives you ponies, don't make lemonade*1! Make life take those ponies back! Get mad! Demand to see life's manager! Do you know who I am?! I am the centaurus who will burn your castle down!.. with lemons!©
_____
*1. Ponies, while definitely squishy, generally are poor lemonade ingredients.
9970079
Huh, I figured they were in the 17-20 range, or whatever age is considered a legal adult in Japan. It's hard to tell in manga because they get adult boobs at 12 but don't have visible lips instead of a line mouth until 30. Agent Smith did say that Papi was an adult in spite of her childlike build due to being a harpy. Suu's appearance, maturity, and intellect varies depending on what she absorbs so it's impossible to tell if her species ages at all.
There's an interesting story there because centaurs are mythologically Greek and Persian but said steel was Indian in origin.
9970089
Yeah, half the chapter was just her taking their crap basically because she has serious self esteem issues. I feel like that facet of the story has been beaten to death by now.
9968145
I feel like to really pull that scheme off you need a blue genie.
9971663 and ten thousand camels...
9849142
Your comment makes me wonder what would happen if Cerea went through the mirror portal. Would she end up looking like Bojack Horseman?
Fucking. Twit.
Because Im currently tired, and so more paranoid, my first thought would be to Investigate that guy, and all those associated with his work load, to create this situation in the first place.
I miss being young and healthy, and being able to remember everything Ive read in books, publications, magazines etc.
The Joy Of Knowledge, Complete. the Readers Digest Home Maintenance Manual. The Oxford English Dictionary. New Scientist, Scientific American, 4 months electronics magazines, 7 monthly computer magazines, Electronics Catalogs componant pinouts and circuit diagrams and at least 1500 assorted Scifi, Fantasy and University course books in my personal collection.
But, Ive forgotton most of what I have, never mind the contents. You ahve to find out whats available before you can really suggest tech tree improvements.
One of tech trees branches lost to history would make Equestria too advanced too quickly because of how simple it is. Instead of Enchanted air Carriages, Autogyros with folding or inflatable blades. Leads to Inflatable structural designs. Floaty Bridges etc. Can easily pass them off as just watch the Sycamore seed fall, then tow it with a thread like a kite. above a certain speed, it flies.
Now they have to work out how to display Cera to the public, and what machinations are being set up by intrested parties to make sure thats a disruptive as possible?
9968145
When the truth won't set you free, lie your ass off.
Better make that pebble an Everlasting Gobstopper.
9972186 I'm certain the phrase 'Topheavy' would be involved. Strongly involved.
He had one job don't fuck up and what does he do he fucks up
9969318
Welcome...to the Triptychverse (and it's subsidiaries) Depressing is the default setting here
9980169
Triptychverse? I don't think I've ever heard of it, but I'm guessing I just need to go to the author's page right? I'll give it a look.
9980261
Estee's writings are somewhat different from most others, somewhat more grounded in reality, with a big dose of dark/cringe comedy added. Read some of Estee's blog posts as well, to get an idea of where they get their stories from
9980261
The bulk of Estee's stories are in a single unified continuity centered around the story Triptych. The stories are usually reasonably standalone, but contain a lot of callbacks (and callforwards and callsideways) to each other.
Monster Girl isn't actually canon to it, but it's using the same setting. I'd recommend reading Naked Lunch, as it's the big Crossing Guard story.
9968147
Fuck him, he screwed up life for the person he's supposed to be taking care of, his god-queens, and is about to start a panic in his country's capital. All of which could have been avoided if he hadn't manhandled her like a prisoner.
9971604
I think I prefer this to whole chunks of the chapter that are just breakdowns and clashbacks. I don't want the break from the present events she's in to last any longer than they are here. But I would like to see chapters where she's actually confronting her issues, or at least recognizing them. You know, character development. I could see how it would become really irksome for some when it keeps getting inserted into situations where you're already trying to move forward a different element of the story. Although I do like the references to the friends she has.