Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl

by Estee

Loathsome

She had been told to remove the translator: something which had come across as being all too close to a true order. And so when it came to speech alone, she could not truly understand what the dark Princess was saying to Crossing Guard in the empty conference room, not for more than one hard-learned word in twenty. Every so often, a soft conjunction or understated definitive article would rise from the flow of tightly-controlled neighs and whinnies, and their weight would press down on the black mane, put a middle-aged head that much closer to collapsing into its own neck.

He was staring at the floor as she spoke, with Cerea motionless on his immediate left. The black tail was completely still, and there seemed to be just a little more grey in his muzzle.

None of the dark mare's vocalizations were particularly loud. Her hooves did not scrape at the floor, and the horn never approached another's flesh. But the temperature was slowly, steadily dipping with every new set of incomprehensible words, eventually reaching the point where Cerea's right arm automatically went up in the usual pointless attempt to hide the results. And while the unknown terms themselves seemed steady and even...

She had the option of watching the mare's posture, even when all that indicated was simple calm. Scent told her very little, especially when the miasma of fear and shame rising from Crossing Guard blocked out so much else, and anything which came off the dark mare tended to die in the cold. But there was also that strange mane and tail, something no other little horse possessed, and no matter how the words came across...

The four minutes of questioning had seen several flares. A number of constellations had rearranged themselves. Cerea, who had never taken the strongest interest in astronomy, technically became the first centaur in over four centuries to directly witness a supernova and distantly considered the occasion wasted.

The actions of the false stars seemed to serve as a reflection of how the Princess truly felt. But all the girl could do was stand silently, with her left hand fallen limply open and her own head down, excessive hair occasionally falling before her eyes. Trapped in a room with artwork she didn't seem to be capable of appreciating, with benches she couldn't rest upon and books she was unable to read, listening to words she didn't understand coming from someone whose mood she fully recognized.

To Cerea, the mare was expressing the soft rage which came from someone who was dealing with a fundamental level of incurable disappointment and so in the whole of that strange world, she was the most familiar thing.

Finally, there was something which seemed to be a last word. This was followed by the mare's head tilting right, with the horn indicating the door. And Crossing Guard, never raising his gaze from silver-shot marble, slowly trotted out, a half-limp left hind hoof wearily nudging the door shut behind him.

The dark Princess shifted her head again: the horn pointed towards the translator, its wires strewn across the table. Cerea slowly reached over (which required an awkward lean) and put it on.

"I will have somepony take you back to your quarters," the mare softly told her. "I advise you to gain whatever degree of rest you can. There are matters which need to be arranged, and doing so with expedience will require Princess Celestia to join the effort."

More hair fell in front of her face. A natural consequence from having her chin drop so harshly.

"I'm sorry --" was automatic, and rather well-practiced.

Just as softly, with no edge to it at all. "-- precisely which of your actions do you feel requires apology?"

Cerea's gaze shifted. Just enough to see steady eyes and stars.

"I am," the dark Princess quietly told her, "rather familiar with fear." None of those false stars dimmed. "Not only the ways it expresses itself, but the myriad of means it will use when attempting disguise. For some, it tries to masquerade as control. For if the cause of terror can be dominated, then how could it ever be something which requires fear at all? I had not believed Crossing to be that sort of pony, but..."

The mare's head dipped, very slightly. She took a slow breath, one which pulled that much more heat out of the room, and then her eyes came up again.

"He told me," she added, "that he felt he had treated you as a child. And he did not understand why. But I believe I do. For there is that aspect of you which echoes us, and so there is also vacuum. Something which will give so many their excuse for disguising fear under the weak trappings of dismissal..."

"I don't understand." Apologies. Incomprehension. Put them together and the pairing seemed to make up ninety percent of her vocabulary.

The mare looked at Cerea's skirt --

-- no: the fabric covering her left hip. Kept looking for three long seconds, and then returned to the girl's face.

(The dark mare could look at her directly. It stood out, especially when almost no one else would.)

"You have no mark," the dark Princess stated. "A pony's form in that portion of your being, if on a scale seldom seem. Almost completely familiar. And no mark. For us, something which indicates youth and a life which has yet to find its direction. But for you... it is the natural state. Permanent. Even in their terror, they will see you existing in a state of perpetual childhood, and it will give them yet another excuse for their actions."

She shook her head. Constellations slowly shifted back towards their original positions.

"Rest, while you still can," royalty continued. "Eat and drink, for you will need strength. There will be a briefing provided regarding some of those you shall be facing. Your part will be played some hours from now, on a fully public stage. But no action of yours created the events of this night, and so there are no apologies required."

The mare turned, began to trot towards the closed door --

-- stopped.

"I did not dismiss him from service," she steadily added. "Regardless of his own repeatedly-stated wishes on the matter. And he will continue to supervise your integration into our society."

"...what?" was all Cerea had.

"He believed that his actions warranted it," the mare stated. "He almost begged for termination of duty. But he has been through much before this night, in the name of that duty. He recognizes his error, and..."

The dark tail twitched.

"...I would rather have you watched by somepony whose duties have become that much personal," the Princess told her. "By a stallion who knows that he must correct for his behavior. That he has an obligation to do the right thing." Her ears flexed, rotated slightly backwards. "In the modern vernacular, centaur, he owes you one. Perhaps several. And I believe he will do whatever is necessary to clear that intangible debt. Wait here for your escort: I shall see you before the press conference begins."

Dark energy opened the door. What felt like a fully unnoticed back kick made it vibrate in its frame for nearly ten seconds, and it took longer than that before the last echoes of impact faded away. The girl stayed where she was, shivering in the new cold. Forced herself to stay that way, until the sound of hoofsteps was gone.

And then her hands were clenched, her upper ribs were heaving, she was gasping for air over and over but she couldn't seem to retain anything for more than a few seconds, lungs unable to process basic functions while the Second Breath became an impossible rumor, her eyes were streaming and she was beating her hands against the table as her hooves cantered in place, legs fully beyond her control as the panic attack (the first in so many years) tore through her and a voice which could duplicate so many sounds rose and fell through an orchestra of agony, never finding a single word before settling into a final note of despair...

---

The sheer duration of the elder's life had allowed her to learn many truths, and her sister's presence in the rather plain bedroom served to reassert one of the most basic: nopony ever woke somepony up at that hour for a good reason.

The briefing was fairly quick. (She'd also learned that the biggest disasters didn't require that much time to summarize.)

"All right," the elder began as powerful legs kicked the last of the blankets away, because nothing was all right and so it was best to get that lie out of the way immediately. "The first hoofstep is not letting the Tattler have the benefit of an exclusive."

The younger nodded. "Fortunately, we have some time. She managed to slip out of the palace before anypony knew what had happened --"

"-- starting from a section she wasn't supposed to be in," the white mare groaned, carefully planting huge forehooves upon well-worn carpet. "I am more than sick of having her sneaking off, Luna, poking around in every corner she can reach for something she can distort. And she's actually got something for once, something real, something she's going to use --"

"-- several hours from now," the younger quickly cut in. "She is incapable of teleportation, and the Tattler is reluctant to cover the expense of an air carriage, let alone having a more talented caster deliver her to the gatehouse closest to their offices. That means she likely galloped the whole way, and she is not particularly fleet of hoof: by my estimate, she is still slightly short of the building. Once she arrives, the article itself requires regurgitation --"

"-- writing --"

"-- I chose the more accurate term. Additionally, there is likely to be a sketch with carefully-added inaccuracies, and all of that must be placed within the printing machinery. Most likely displacing whatever had originally been intended for the front page, as nothing else may now take that space."

The elder nodded as she gained her hind hoofing: yellow briefly projected in the general direction of casually-discarded regalia, then winked out in favor of other priorities. "They can't publish a morning edition without operating in your hours, and there's only so fast they can work. We'll get the staff to send a short piece to every paper -- including the Tattler, since they'll need something to bury under the weight loss ads. Telling them we have her, we're introducing her --" A brief frown covered a portion of the rising fear as the white mare began to head towards the doors. "-- not at sunrise: there's no way we can have everything set up by sunrise --"

"-- Moon-raising," the younger suggested. "The beginning of my hours, the end of yours. We flank her together, at a time when both of us are truly capable. And it will be a true press conference, so the meeting will take place in my Courtyard."

"Which gives us a full day with the news racing across the continent," the elder reminded her sibling. "So the next missive is for the Canterlot police. We'll send Guards out to coordinate with them. I can drop scrolls into every other police department on the continent, but there's only so many Guards, and even with teleportation escorts working full-time.... we can't send that many reinforcements, we need the majority of our own ponies for Canterlot..."

"They will still know to watch for mass panic," the younger told her with a fully-false calm, hastening to follow the longer stride into the hallway. "Simply being aware that such may occur --"

Darkly, "-- what do you mean, 'may?' I should go into Ponyville myself and have Miranda put the Trio on lockdown --"

"-- will allow them to stop much of it before it truly takes hold." More quickly, "And send an additional round of scrolls, sister: to the weather coordinators of each settled zone."

There were times when each simply knew how the other thought. "Direct schedule override. Damp and chill. Early snow for every team which can arrange it -- Sun's spots, we're going to have a weather-based postponement of a hoofball match, there hasn't been a hoofball rainout in three centuries and the Tide's home crowd comes close to full-scale riot just for a win..." That was worth another groan.

"It cannot be helped," the younger said (and now they were beginning to pass members of the Lunar staff, ponies jolted into full awareness from seeing the sisters moving together at an hour where nothing good could be happening). "Damp, chill, and snow, sister. Being so deep into autumn works in our favor, as the pegasi will not need to create so extreme a shift. It is something which will prevent a few riots from forming."

"Excepting the ones started by ponies who freak out every time the schedule is so much as a degree off," the elder grumbled, because that too could be a mask. "I could wish this was Nightmare Night: at least then, we could have claimed the world's best disguise... Okay. General statement to the press, weather override..." Her mind was still racing, because there were times when directing actions during a crisis was simply a matter of being able to channel panic a little better than everypony else. "Do we risk a separate exclusive?"

The younger blinked, then glanced back at the small parade of ponies who were beginning to trail in their mutual wake. "Your meaning?"

"If we move quickly," the elder tried, "we could have somepony interview her. A direct counter to what's going to be in the Tattler. Her own words --"

"-- she may not be ready for such a personal conference," the younger reluctantly countered. "Especially with no true briefing on what she can say, and what she must not. Additionally, all of it will cost us time: finding the reporter, bringing that one here -- and speech requires its own portion of the clock, as does the transcription. I do not believe it is possible to have it happen and still see the results reach the morning edition."

"Princesses?" came from behind them. "What's going on? It sounds like something just --"

"-- follow us, Moonstone," the younger broke in. "We will have need of you shortly."

"Is it..." A tiny gulp from the shimmer-white earth pony. "is it the centaur?"

"Yes. And it is also not her fault." Now fully aware of the audience, "Princess Celestia, do you wish to make the attempt?"

White legs accelerated to the fullest extent they could risk indoors with witnesses present: some of the less sturdy followers began to drop back. "If we can get somepony in here within an hour, with one of us supervising the entire interview --" purple eyes half-closed, quickly recovered from the wince "-- which is probably going to be the impossible part. Try, but I'm expecting to fail. How many protesters do you think we're going to get?"

Not without dark humor, "What is the current population of Canterlot?"

The elder told her.

"Ah," the younger said. "Subtract the employees of the Bugle and the majority of the palace staff. Additionally, I believe we can trust Fancypants to remain on our side. And there you have the theoretical maximum."

"I wish he was at our side for this," the white mare sighed. "He's still in Trottingham. If we had him unofficially representing the nobles..."

"Can he be safely extracted?"

This time, the purple eyes went up. A dark gaze followed, and then both mares were looking at the ceiling. Or rather, at a tower well above.

"No," the elder decided as they both hit the first down ramp: the ever-increasing retinue braced for the slope. "Not even for this. But I'll get him on board as soon as he comes home. Any other ideas for racing a first-time starter?"

There were times when each simply knew how the other thought, and such occasions were not as frequent as they could have been. The sisters were, in many times, very different ponies. There were aspects in which each reflected the other, added to one in which each carried the other... but that deepest reflection was an ancient one. The centuries had seen both change, although not so much that the mares who had once set out into chaos could no longer recognize themselves in the most secret of inner mirrors.

Still... the same thought could occur to both, and do so within a singular moment. But they wouldn't always act on that thought the same way. The viewpoint of day encroaching into night: the perspective of protective shadow gazing towards revealing light. They were very different mares, and those differences were what allowed the Diarchy to function. Viewpoints which could debate, approach, and reconcile.

Older and younger. The last living links to so much of what had truly happened. Those who had survived.

But they knew each other. They reflected each other. And so this time, both had the same thought, at the same moment. They saw it in the eyes of the other, and so they also saw the instant when each rejected it.

"The thing I would most wish to aid us," the younger darkly stated, "remains useless."

The elder nodded. And with still more ponies desperately trying to follow, they headed for the main conference room. They needed to write, plan, try to cover every contingency while knowing that such was impossible, do whatever they could to stabilize their nation in the face of a phantom threat. Everything which was practical and necessary.

But neither could make herself believe in prayer.

Comments

[Venerable Ro]

"Direct schedule override. Damp and chill. Early snow for every team which can arrange it...

Huh, now there's a thought, I would have never considered that. Brilliant idea though, things like this are the reason I so love reading your stories.

[Malandy]

Woah. The scale of the troubles that have arisen feel enormous!

This is the first time we've seen what's basically a leak of super scary classified info!

[erictheblue]

But neither could make herself believe in prayer.

reminds me of a recent comic book where THOR and ODIN were in trouble..."the War of the Realms".

[Empty Shelf]

Well, this is sub-optimal. I think the reactions to the new Centaur are going to be...mixed.

[Captain Nitpick]

Cerea, who had never taken the strongest interest in astronomy, technically became the first centaur in over four centuries to directly witness a supernova and distantly considered the occasion wasted.

This is a great line, but I have to shoot holes in it. Any centaur astronomer would have been able to observe SN 1987A. At magnitude +3 It was naked-eye visible. SN 1885A was technically naked eye visible, but only just (mag +6). Wouldn't have taken much of a telescope to see it.

The "alternate universe" card can be played, but the line is referring to the very real SN 1604. It feels a bit incongruous to use it on one (or two) but not the other.

Yes, I am aware my username is appropriate. Thanks for noticing.

[Bookeater_otaku]

Seeing the Princess in crisis mode is interesting.

[Pseudosapien]

"The thing I would most wish to aid us," the younger darkly stated, "remains useless”

Sorry, not quite catching that reference. Who might they pray to? Love the story though!

[xbox432]

The thing I most want to know after reading this chapter? Is if they'll press formal charges against this "Tattler" for being in a section of a castle she didn't have permission to be in. Heck, they even said she's done this before. That's... kind of serious, isn't it? Besides formal charges, the least that could happen is that this pony is permanently banned from the castle.

[VTek44]

10088600
A good point, except that SN1987A occurred in the Large Magellanic Cloud, seen only from the Southern Hemisphere, while Cerea's people are situated somewhere in France, where they would have been able to view Kepler's Supernova (SN 1604)

[Sir Mediocre]

This reminds me of the scene in A Fistful of Dollars when No-Name rolls a barrel down into the hapless mooks, except this time the ramp is longer and the end of it feeds into a grain silo.

[Lurks-no-More]

Poor Cerea!

Also, it's always nice to watch the Sisters handling a crisis. They know their jobs, even if things don't always work out.

[Captain Nitpick]

10088817
Wait…declination -69°…southernmost portion of metropolitan France…42°N. That's what I get for only checking whether it was visible and not being sure of where. Certainly explains why I had no memory of my dad dragging me out to look at it as a kid.

That still leaves SN 1885A. The supernova's first documented observation was from Rouen. I suppose Cerea's people could have missed it, the event not being particularly brighter than the galaxy and centaurs probably not receiving astronomical telegrams. But I don't like that handwave.

There's also observations of 1987A by not-French centaurs (if they exist), but it's not a stretch to write that off as simple ignorance of our POV character.

[Captain Nitpick]

10088770
Nobody. That's the problem.

Celestia and Luna grew up in a post-apocalypse where the preexisting culture was annihilated. They're atheist by default. No gods have turned up in the intervening twelve-ish centuries to tell them differently.

Except, as some believe, themselves. And the Princesses know exactly how useless praying to them is.

[wolfstorm56]

Great tension building, this story is so interesting.

[Crack-Fic Casey]

"I am," the dark Princess quietly told her, "rather familiar with fear." None of those false stars dimmed. "Not only the ways it expresses itself, but the myriad of means it will use when attempting disguise. For some, it tries to masquerade as control. For if the cause of terror can be dominated, then how could it ever be something which requires fear at all? I had not believed Crossing to be that sort of pony, but..."

Luna, I'm getting much better at appreciating you, but both pots and kettles are black.

[Crack-Fic Casey]

10089092
Technically, it In terms of power Discord would have been their God. I bet Stoning him must have felt real good.

[lebowski42]

This is my favourite slow burner.

[The dragon hunter]

Wait. They threat her like a child because, even if she gas the (equine) body of an adult, she doesn't have a cutie mark?
... what about Saddle Arabians?

[Estee]

10093303

Discussed in Chapter 12.

"-- 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."

[Lunarist Screeching]

this is a great story but its much too hard to read