The bath was huge, and she was less than two hours away from learning that it wasn't big enough.
There were ways in which the clearing of the barracks was very much like working a giant sliding puzzle: at first, you were happy just to have any degree of space with which to work. But then you discovered that shifting something to the left meant fifteen other pieces came crashing down into that area, you might just barely jump back in time (which had put her fast-moving buttocks into something else, and the crashing had pretty much gone on from there), and then there would be a new mess to clear. Getting something to what seemed to be its natural home at the rightmost corner suddenly meant there were seven segments which could no longer move at all. But if you persisted, if you kept pushing and, as with the worst sliding puzzles, eventually gave in to the urge to just pick a few things up and remove them from the problem entirely -- in this case, that meant the hallway -- there would be a moment of clarity. You would fight your way to an edge and having reached it, abruptly see that this went there, that went there, the other thing was hopefully going to be set on fire, and then everything in that section would just -- open up. All at once, at least when checked against the ever-shifting solution which existed within her inner vision: the actual hauling still took a few minutes.
Cerea had moved one thing, then one more, the ridiculous length of ribbon-wrapped metal pole had finally come free --
-- and the bathroom door had swung open.
She'd stared at it for a moment, watched it sway slightly under its own weight. And then she'd gone inside, mostly to see how much work had to be done there. Between training, the recent addition of the smithy, ongoing language classes -- Nightwatch would be due in about two hours -- and the endless clearing of the barracks, she'd left 'overworked' behind in the dust. She was rapidly closing in on the need for a forty-eight hour day, which would naturally need to go along with a centaur who could be awake and fully functional for about forty-three of them. The bathroom was a space which existed and based on what had happened to the barracks, it was therefore a space which could be filled with enough debris to push her temporal needs into the low seventies.
But all she found was a bathroom.
There was a pair of partial long wooden closets against the far wall, ones where the dark paneling had been raised just far enough from the floor to let someone observe hooves on the other side. They were large enough to host ten ponies each, they had multiple swinging panels available for entrance, and Cerea quickly confirmed the presence of continual-flow trenches in all of the compartments: ones which vanished into the floor instead of continuing into the next stall. It would have been just about ideal for her own toiletries, at least once she took out one of the inner dividing walls to create sufficient room.
The sinks were long and low: as with the one in the cell, she would need to drop down somewhat to use it. There were visible pressure plates in the floor near those elevated troughs: some were placed to be triggered by hind hooves, others by fore, a few more were built into the forward edge of the sinks themselves, and the first bit of timid experimentation discovered that a portion of the local plumbing was still functional. It took a little more time before she managed to stop spitting out water, along with a minute for using a hairpin to get the gunk out of the tap and let the liquid emerge in a direction other than up.
Mirrors: again, far too low for her use, although the reflection did allow her to regard the cloth over a seldom-seen upper abdomen. There were a few ancient brushes, and the straps stated that they were meant to be slipped over lower jaws and hooves: she learned just how ancient they were when the first one threatened to tear at her touch. She wound up staring at a rather complicated array near the sinks for about three minutes of total confusion, and would eventually need somepony to tell her how it was used for tooth-cleaning: a desire to avoid nausea meant she never asked about flossing.
But then there was the bath...
The walls nearby were covered in multiple panels of sponge: so old as to potentially be incapable of retaining moisture, but large enough for a pony to stand against without overlap, and -- she could see the little clear empty tanks mounted over each one. Water and soap dispensers: the sponge was moistened, the suds rose to the surface, and a pony just rubbed up against it. One more accommodation for a quartet of species which needed to find ways of operating without hands.
You soaped yourself up by rubbing against the sponge. You rinsed off in the bath.
They rinsed in public.
How large was the bath? The barracks had been designed to host at least twenty ponies: the sunken marble pit of a tub with ramps leading in and out, deep enough at one point to allow a mare of Nightwatch's size to swim -- that was big enough to let all of them wash up at the same time. It was something which could take place without the dividing wall which the girls had found at the hot springs resort: with ponies, the sexes could clean themselves in front of each other without shame, and perhaps they even cleaned each other. Cerea still hadn't spotted any anatomical trick valves --
-- they bathe together.
They clean each other...
In Japan... the bath had been large. Nowhere near this size: that would have required a completely separate house -- but any bath which had to accommodate Cerea and Miia needed dimensions to suit. But the girls had seldom bathed together, and one of them couldn't use the bath at all.
Suu's greatest fear came from huge amounts of water, enough to dilute the slime girl's form to the point where she would lose cohesion and, within minutes, her life. Rachnera tended towards quick dips, because anything which let the underside of her lower torso touch the water meant she had to hold her breath: the arachne had book lungs in her spider portion, and extended submergence gave her a doubled chance to drown. Lala was terrified of dropping her head in a place where her body couldn't recover it in time. Miia needed the water to be heated on a level where just about no one else could risk being in the bathroom for more than a minute: touching the liquid risked first-degree burns, and staying near the tub's rim meant inhaling pure steam. (This was just for quick dips, though: long enough for the heat to reach her core and then out.) Mero preferred cold water -- and all things considered, also preferred an environment where her gills weren't being told to breathe soap. And Papi would splash around endlessly for the sheer joy of it, had discovered one of the few things wings were good for in the water was sluicing long waves of splash damage at the others and generally couldn't be near any fountain without giving spectators a reason to think of birdbaths, along with quickly violating multiple public nudity laws -- but that water also soaked into her feathers. She couldn't fly until she was dry again, and dreaded the downpour which was strong enough to drive her out of the sky.
Put it all together, and there were ways in which Cerea was the most comfortable with the house's modified bath. It was large enough for her, the heat level she preferred was closer to the human normal -- just a little hotter, to match her increased body temperature -- and that meant she was the most likely to share the room with another --
-- there were pools near the sporting field.
We all washed up after the competitions were done. One pool for fillies, another for colts. The colts weren't allowed to get anywhere near ours. But the fillies washed up together.
Some of them washed each other, because it was faster than the brushes. They were laughing while they did it. They splashed and giggled and held hands.
I was always near the edge, away from the others. So I could get out quickly, after I couldn't watch them any more.
I wanted someone to hold my hand like that.
He washed me.
I asked him to.
I wanted him to get used to me. I... didn't think he would see anything appealing, not where there was fur. Not to start. So I covered myself for anything he knew, and let him use the brushes. He didn't know how to start. Then he didn't know where he should have been more careful about touching me, and...
I forgave him for that. I always...
...I wanted him to touch me.
I wanted him to love me.
She remembered his touch, and did so in a world where her existence meant it might have been the last one.
He never could have loved me.
It was the sort of thought she couldn't have for long, not if she wanted to exist at all, and so she wrenched her attention to the taps.
The water was flowing to the sink.
The majority of her waking hours were being spent in labor. She washed by lying down under multiple showerheads at the training area barracks, and that meant she was only clean for a brief part of the morning and afternoon. Cerea had been sleeping while dirty, it made her feel foul, she didn't like the way she smelled when she woke up and didn't think anypony else was all that fond of it either, she still didn't have any real long-handled brushes and anything she asked for was just one more burden she was putting on the palace...
If the sponge panels were replaced (because her pay had to go towards something, even if she couldn't personally spend it)... if the tanks were refilled, she could rub against the soaked resilience. It would take longer than the time required for a pony, along with some awkward angling -- but it could be done. And in the meantime...
There's only one way to find out.
She looked at the multiple water inlets, regularly-spaced holes around the edge of the bath.
There had to be a control somewhere.
And then, just as it had been in Japan, she immediately felt guilty about running up the water bill. Especially with a bath of this size, because filling it to a depth she could try to use meant filling all of it. She couldn't channel water into a single section and keep it there: that probably would have been the magical domain of seaponies, if they had actually existed. All Cerea could do was watch as the bath took on more and more steaming liquid, quickly reaching the point where she was convinced that she'd emptied out an entire water tower. That was the sort of thing which just had to create trouble, and she was now waiting for somepony to come in and complain about having had their shower drained away.
But the tub just kept filling. Not just with hot water, but with clean liquid: she'd dedicated one more round of labor to scrubbing the floor and sides, and so wasn't going to have much in the way of blankets for the night. It had taken time, created extra laundry -- but it meant no dirt was floating up within the tub. She wouldn't be soaking within the remains of ancient filth.
Cerea peered out into the barracks, found the lone working clock and checked the time. Still about an hour before Nightwatch was due. Backed into the bathroom again, looked at the tub and considered all of the water she'd already wasted before closing the taps. No matter what she did now, that water was here. So all things considered...
The centaur reached for the lower edge of her sweater.
She was on her knees in the water: all four of them, within a fairly deep portion of the tub. It was enough to let the warmth lap at the lowest part of her breasts. (She'd already finished that part of the scrubbing. When it came to staying clean, every part of the body was equally crucial -- but for centaur mares, there was a single prime location for fungal infections. Or rather, there were two.)
Cerea never felt the soft sigh emerge from her upper torso, losing the sensation in the warmth of the water she'd just splashed towards her shoulders. Feeling trickles of welcome heat run down her skin, offering a tiny hint of massage to her upper back.
Miia had massaged her shoulders once, but it had been an even exchange: they'd both been coming off a horrible day and the assistance had been needed on both ends. The lamia had been the one to suggest it. There had been nothing sexual about the contact, not with someone who qualified as both rival and sister. There had simply been a release of tension, and then a long talk about just how undignified food selling was, especially when your mutual living blouse gave up halfway through.
Her shoulders were sore, as was her upper back. However, contrary to what some humans had almost constantly voiced, it wasn't from the weight of her breasts: centaurs had evolved towards larger endowments, and so had also evolved the muscles and ligaments to support them. Her shoulders and upper back were sore because just about everything was sore. That was what happened when you spent nearly every waking hour at some form of labor, and even with the extended thought exercise of the afternoon to provide some degree of respite -- she'd just been cleaning the barracks. And the bath.
I wish someone would rub my shoulders.
I wish...
There was a human saying, one Cerea didn't have a point of origin for. You wished into one cupped hand. You spit into the other. And you watched to see which one filled up first.
She wondered if the ponies had an equivalent aphorism, and whether it involved the frogs at the center of their hooves. Properly speaking, a frog wasn't deep enough to hold very much.
The centaur wished she could hunch a little deeper in the water. (Her lower body wasn't really built for hunching.) But the deepest part of the bath had something of a slope to the floor, and standing on a slippery angle...
Cupped hands filled with water. She splashed herself again, wiped off her face, felt more water dripping from the tips of her ears onto her shoulders, and stared at the steam-covered flaking sponge on the walls.
I need to wash my hair.
I need to cut my hair. It's halfway back to my tail already.
I need to do something with my hair before the party.
If there is one.
She'd liked Fancypants. The scent of fear had risen from the stallion just as it had with virtually everypony else, but the scent had been the only thing which betrayed him: his voice had been perfectly normal throughout their brief meeting, and his posture had actually reached a state of visible relaxation. He'd spoken to her as if she was a person, and he'd felt that the best way to have others do the same was to arrange an Event.
(He'd also had a manner of speaking which made it easy to hear capitals.)
The noble wanted to host a party, and have Cerea there as both guest of honor and a rather mobile centerpiece. But it would take some time to arrange, plus he apparently had some true need to travel and the Solar Princess had felt that it might be best to wait until after Cerea had passed her Guard training.
if I
She didn't know when the party would be, or if one would take place at all: she was having a hard time picturing a positive response to the invitations. She was terrified of being at the heart of it, trapped for hours within a cloud of fear and whatever Ms. Garter decided was an appropriate dress. And no matter what happened there, the palace was still trying to arrange the first meet-and-greets with children...
Cerea forced her breathing to slow, found oxygen waiting within the clouds of steam. Closed her eyes, leaned forward enough to rub at that portion of her forelegs which could easily be reached and kept it up until that small portion of the tension falsely went away. Straightened again.
I need a hoof pick. They have to have hoof picks. Maybe not ones designed to be held by fingers, but hoof picks.
Would Nightwatch pick one up for me? If I gave her the money to pay for it?
She did her best to estimate the time remaining. Probably forty minutes before the pegasus was due. Plenty of --
-- there was steam in the air, and that presence did things to the local currents. It made portions of them swirl, used heat to push a portion out as colder air tried to get through the doorway, and it completely blocked out any scent encroachment from the fast-approaching source.
It meant there was a moment in which Cerea was trying (and mostly failing) to relax within the bath. And then there was one in which her dripping ears picked up the sound of wingbeats --
-- the pegasus flew in. Nightwatch did so at a speed greater than Cerea had ever seen the little knight use while indoors, even with the weight of laden saddlebags bulging along both flanks, and arrived in so little time as to give the centaur none in which to truly act. She registered that a pegasus was approaching and the water wasn't deep enough, she couldn't twist her body in a way which brought her upper torso deep enough under a clear surface, there wasn't enough time to try flipping a curtain of hair to the front of her upper torso and she was suddenly in a situation where she didn't seem to have enough hair...
But she tried. Her arms went back, and had to bend in what humans would have recognized as a truly unnatural way to do so. Her hands flexed to the precise wrong angle at the wrists, and the combination of movements thrust her shoulders back, stuck her upper ribs out with both shift and breath, of course she had to breathe and that was when the little knight saw her.
The pegasus didn't stop in midair: strictly speaking, she couldn't. But her path instantly diverted to the tub's rim, slamming her hooves into marble with the force of something more than gravity. And the whole time, the silver eyes stayed focused on Cerea. Refusing to blink.
"I didn't think you were coming this early!" the centaur frantically protested, and did so while arms more or less windmilled because a creature with six limbs suddenly had no idea what to do with two of them. Some of the syllables found her hands in front of her breasts, at least for what felt like the very small percentage they were able to cover. Others had her going for her hair again, and at least one moment of vocalization nearly had her tie her wrists into the center of a spontaneous blonde knot. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry --"
The mare whinnied.
Cerea stared.
And then she remembered that in order to make cleaning her face that much easier, she'd left the translator on the far rim of the tub.
It led to the most awkward trot of her life. She couldn't stand up and keep enough of her body below the clear water. She only had two hands and, as it turned out, nowhere near enough hair. All she could do was slowly, horribly shuffle towards the disc, feeling the weight of those silver eyes as that gaze roamed across every centimeter of a fully nude, completely exposed distortion.
In terms of distance, it was a few meters. Measured in the metrics of humiliation, it took forever.
The centaur reached the disc: a position which had her about four meters away from the staring mare. Put it on, and then repeated nearly everything. With extra apologies.
"-- good," the pegasus said. "You got the bathroom clear. That'll help."
There had been very little tone to the words, and the dark tail swished once as the sleek head turned away from Cerea. Moving towards a saddlebag.
"I'm sorry --"
"-- there's going to be blankets sent down in a little while," the little knight quietly continued, her voice fully neutral. "So once you get out, we need to pick out an extra place in the barracks."
The centaur, who still couldn't work out what was supposed to stay covered, abruptly found her arms falling limply to her sides.
"...why?"
The mare glanced back, just long enough for Cerea to see that her lips had thinned.
"I live here now."
Blue eyes blinked.
A repetition of "...why?" seemed necessary.
"My apartment isn't available," the pegasus softly said. "And won't be for a while. Neither are most of my things. Just about all of them, really. So I live here, because a Guard with nowhere to go can always use the barracks. It just happens that you were using them first. But there's room."
Cerea listened to all of it. Failed to pick up any emotion within the syllables, couldn't scent the mare's mood within swirls and steam, and suddenly wished to understand none of the body language expressed by tight muscles and lashing tail.
"What happened --"
"-- it doesn't matter." The black jaw delved into the saddlebag, extracted a book. "Go back to your bath. We can do the lesson here."
"I'm nude," the centaur protested. "You --" and she knew there was no good way to say it "-- shouldn't have to look at me --"
"You're a different species," the pegasus softly countered. "I don't understand where I shouldn't look. A taboo only exists if you know it does. And... I don't. Go back to where the water's a little deeper. Wash. I'll find where we stopped last time. Get ready to take the translator off."
Cerea listened to all of it, and it took her frozen ears a moment to pick up on the echoes of silence. The absence somehow seemed larger than the words.
She isn't hesitating. There's no pauses.
She's looking at me.
But that was wrong.
She's looking through me.
Had her appearance been that offensive? Was it whatever had happened at the little knight's home? It was possible that it was both, and --
-- if that was somehow tied to Cerea...
Immediately frantic, "Is it something I did? Is there anything I can do --"
"-- you," the mare quietly stated, "can go over there."
The centaur looked at the sapient who was the closest thing she had to --
-- turned away. Trotted. Sank back down into the water near her original starting point, as low as she could go. Adjusted the fall of her hair, and waited while the dark snout carefully flipped pages.
"'Date'," the mare read.
"Um," Cerea substituted.
All it got her was "'Date'. Take the disc off --"
"-- I don't know which kind."
The pegasus looked up.
"What do you mean?" Toneless.
The fast-spreading blush was heating her skin more quickly than the water. "It's a word which can mean several things, in some of the languages I speak. A kind of fruit. A point on a calendar. Going... out with someone you care about..."
"It's that last one," the mare softly said.
"Oh."
Some of the steam cooled, turned into droplets running down the walls.
"Did you date much?" the pegasus asked. "Where you came from?"
Cerea hesitated.
"Um..."
"It's a natural question," the mare quietly continued. "You have a species. Which means you had parents. There was breeding involved. And before that, presumably dates."
I don't want to think about...
Things were bad enough already.
"Not in my herd," Cerea softly said. You didn't have dates with centaur stallions. You had encounters and in order to make sure you came out on the right side of them, you carried something dense and heavy. And during the time given for love... there had been no one at all.
"And when you went to the other place?" was the steady followup. "After you became an exchange student?"
He never could have loved me.
"A few." She could feel herself forcing every breath. "They were... awkward." One of them had been spent waiting for an assassination attempt, and that had been among the less embarrassing examples. "It was... with the human who was hosting us. He wound up going on a lot of dates, because... there were so many of us..."
The mare looked up a little.
"He was dating all of you?" A simple question.
The answer took about fifteen minutes, and the pegasus listened to all of it.
"That happens here sometimes," the mare finally said. "It usually doesn't end well for whoever's at the center, and most of the ones around them wind up getting hurt. But the exceptions usually stay together."
"Whoever wins --" Cerea automatically began.
"-- it only works when they all win."
The girl's soaked tail twitched within the water.
"What?"
"Group marriages are legal," the pegasus evenly stated. "In Equestria. You can even bring in new members after the initial ceremony. But everypony involved has to agree to the inclusion of everypony else. Or it doesn't work. There might be four miniherds in the capital. Less than a hundred for the continent. But they happen."
There was a single instant when she could picture it, and that was followed by another where a mind which had been told to win tried to figure out what her status would have been in a situation where everyone had technically tied for first. Plus it would have meant the inclusion of the arachne, and...
He never could have loved me.
"They're not legal in Japan," was all she could say.
"Oh." The pegasus looked at the page again. "What's the weather schedule like there?"
Almost desperate now, "We don't have --"
"There's thunderstorms tonight," the little knight said, and the dark tail lashed again. "The Bureau schedules a few for autumn. We'll get thundersnow in winter. Just once. As a special treat. But tonight, it's a thunderstorm."
Frantic again, her hooves starting to push against the tub's flooring, "Nightwatch --"
"-- you'd think ponies would understand how lightning works," the pegasus evenly continued as her ears flattened against her skull. "The Bureau makes sure there's classes, even at ground level. But some ponies don't remember, or they never cared to learn. They see the first burst, they hear the thunder, and they -- run towards the nearest tall object. Sometimes that's something metal. They try to take shelter near the thing most likely to attract a hit. It's stupid, really. And if something happens, they never blame themselves. They just blame a pegasus."
"-- please, if something happened, if it's something I did --"
"-- but when you know there's a storm," the mare quietly finished, "and that the storm could go on for a long time, when you know how storms work, how lightning works, how it goes for the tallest thing in the area, and you still think there's shelter, there's a storm and you think the thing most likely to be hit is what needs shelter, so you try to protect it and you're the one who winds up getting hit..."
The silver eyes looked at the page, and nothing else.
"'Date'," she repeated. "The word after that is 'hopeless'."
The pain is real and cuts deep. Poor Nightwatch
Night survived.
Who didnt.
Cerea finally gets a chance to relax... Sorta... And this happens...
Hmm...
My guess... Nightwatch was the one being targeted, last chapter... And it already said the target wasn't home... Here we learn she was on a date.
And it obviously went poorly.
Possibly she (EDIT:was led on a fake date) due to being targetted by a Tattler pony, not just CUNET, or something... Or it just went really badly.
----
Really hope it's only by the slightest connection... Well, as much as "Being known as her friend-ish" is "slightest"...
...
Lastly, from "Discordant":
She obviously hates being made to forcibly retreat and having her neighbors be in danger due to her presence, etc...
...
Oh, hmm... In Discordant, Luna and Celestia are cleaning too! Parallelism of the big ones cleaning things?
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She was being targeted by a real member of that group knowns as Canterlot Unicorns Negating Traditional Swears1 without the head's authorization.
1:No, I think the original acronym fits better than CUNET does.
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No, I mean the date might've been fake.
For some reason I'm getting a bad feeling that Nightwatch might wind up with a statue soon.
Oh no, now Cerea's doing it.
The existence of seaponies has been denied so many times I'm convinced they can't not exist.
We've had Thundersnow in Kansas before. It's really impressive, but I'm waiting to see a Snownado.
10296163 Or worse, a real date. With somepony who is used to it.
"I can't tell you how nice it is to have a night off for a change, Miss Cheerilee. My life has been one giant string of stress lately, and it's pulled so tight I keep thinking there's going to be a giant snapping noise, and I'll just explode. Now, don't be too critical about my apartment, because I haven't had time to clean and... do you smell smoke?"
...ouch. I know she just lost her home, but that bit at the end? Ouch.
I will say that considering how long it's been since the last time that bathroom was used that I am VERY surprised that the pipes even work at all. And while I know she's using cleaning up the barracks as a way to take her mind off things, at this rate she's going to run herself into the ground.
Honestly, I don't know if I'm going to keep reading this story. There's nothing WRONG with it as it's very well written, and more importantly for me as an HR clerk, well-edited. But I have a naturally depressive attitude, so I usually try to stay away from stories like this... Time will tell if my curiosity will outweigh how down I feel after reading each chapter.
Nightwatch is trying to do the stiff upper lip thing, but I can tell she’s badly shaken. Such a good poner.
I haven't started yet, but I look forward to it soon.
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History Lesson
Princeps (plural: principes) is a Latin word meaning "first in time or order; the first, foremost, chief, the most eminent, distinguished, or noble; the first man, first person". As a title, "princeps" originated in the Roman Republic wherein the leading member of the Senate was designated princeps senatus. It is primarily associated with the Roman emperors as an unofficial title first adopted by Augustus in 23 BC. Its use in this context continued until the reign of Diocletian at the end of the third century. He preferred the title of dominus, meaning "lord" or "master". As a result, the Roman Empire from Augustus to Diocletian is termed the "principate (principatus) and from Diocletian onwards as the "dominate" (dominatus). Other historians define the reign of Augustus to Severus Alexander as the Principate, and the period afterwards as the "Autocracy".
The title "Prince" is a derivative of princeps
Wikipedia
So, "Princess" Celestia is literally "First (or Principle) Citizen" Celestia. It's not exactly a "translation error", it's more "English doesn't have a precisely equivalent word"
Poor Nightwatch... a horrible date with probably someone who was only dating her to get dirt on Cerea and the Palace and she loose her apartment to an amateur arsonist. A racist one too which is like salt on the woud.
I mean...that's a day that fuck all kind of ducks.
I am getting a bit tired of Cerea attitude with was she need for basic necessities. She need tools and stuff for hygiene, that's only natural. And she is afraid to ask? She said they could use her salary to compensate for stuff but she don't think she can commission some tools for herself? That's frustrating to see. Hopefully, Nightwatch proximity now that she will share a barrack, will knock some sense into her!
Wait, Nightwatch just lost most of her possession, she will need to shop for a lot of stuff... Perfect time to kill two birds with one stone. And that's what catalogs are for! Delivery directly to the palace.
And damn girl, don't use your sheet for washing the bath! Ask for cleaning supplies for God sake!
And just thinking of the size of the spiders lurking around the junks... of course, after Rachnera, ordinary spiders don't faze you anymore.
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A manga/Anime called "Monster Musume no iru nichijo" or "Everyday life with Monster Girls"
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I checked it out and found a Wiki, and then linked to a few official sites.
I didn't get much from them all; so I have to go in kinda blind.
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I think you're underestimating what a crippling lack of self-esteem can do to a person. There can be a constant fear of being a burden to those around you, to the point that asking for help becomes almost unthinkable. It's made worse here because Cerea's mere existence is a continuing source of trouble for the Princesses, and the fact that it's not her fault wouldn't matter to her in the slightest.
3 chapters? i feel like i should go buy a lottery ticket to ride this luck.... or duck and cover for when the pendulum swings back. again thank you.
Small thought about the bathroom. Since it obviously need some renovation (mirror and sink heights, lots of old stuff that sound like a bacterial weapon of mass destruction and I reeeeally don't trust that plumbing) it should be possible to raise the edge of the bath some more so Cereal can have a proper soak. Probably would require some masonry and is probably out of Cerea and Nightwatch set of skills so a professional needed.
In fact, it sounds like the barracks is in need of modernization. Maybe they could pay it with the rest of the art pieces Celestia tryed to hide there...
Wonder if she's also talking about Cerea, as with anything else Estee writes there seem to be multiple layers here.
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IIRC, CUNET is introduced here
- MLP: FiM
- Comedy
- Slice of Life
Do you know what Canterlot really needs to make the city complete? A big, bright, well-lit butcher shop.IMO, they're an extremist view like Antifa or MAGA
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It's rough, but Estee seems to write this kind of stuff really well... it's a serious focus in this fic. We're all hoping it gets better, but so far, there have been little hints of Musume humor here and there, played very darkly.
They seem to be a strict follower of the 'it gets worse before it gets better' philosophy.
But... after some thought, I hope you continue to give this more of a chance. Just as Mad Max encourages heroics in the worst and most toxic of environments, I believe that Estee doesn't just write these characters suffering for the catharsis.
You see, loneliness... isolation... solitude... all this sort of stuff has been shown to be inherently damaging in the last few chapters. Barding is an excellent example of this. For all his mastery of his talent, his isolation has left him warped, unable to see anything beyond smithing... or for that matter, recognizing another smith's work even when his talent is screaming at him.
Cerea has been a constant example of the deleterious effects of isolation since page one. The isolation and loneliness, both before and after her shift here, have obviously hurt her, and she's starved for affection and friendship.
What happened with Nightwatch is an expansion of the pegasus's own loneliness. Just a few chapters ago, one of her first perspective chapters noted just how isolated her job as a guard made her, compounded by the fact that as a night guard, any potential partners would have to deal with her odd sleeping habits as well as her terrible duty.
That she was connected to the 'monster centaur' is merely an extension of that.
See... the thing is, I think these tragedies are going to be hard on everyone, yes... but I also think it's going to push them together. When Cerea was lonely, Nightwatch read to her, and has been teaching her to read and speak.
This has had consequences, yes... but when Nightwatch lost her home and all her worldly possessions, she didn't go to the guard, or back to her family. She went to Cerea.
It won't be pretty. Cerea's guilt is shown to be MOUNTAINOUS beforehand, and Nightwatch may very well lash out in anger... but I think, in the end, their loneliness will lessen due to these events.
Their friendship will become stronger.
After all, isn't that what we drew us to this kind of show in the first place? that Friendship can help bind together very disparate people, and make them stronger and better for it? That despite the darkness and flaws in the world and the characters, together they can overcome it?
I get the feeling that Estee is building toward something, for all Cerea is enamored with the idea of a solitary knight charging into battle for noble causes or a worthy lord/love...
She's never really had people or ponies who would be willing to charge into battle right behind her or at her side.
Much like a certain group of Six ponies who have only been peripherally mentioned so far.
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Also, thank you for reminding me that fic exists and that I must finish it. XD
Nice chapter as usual, but I hope things start looking up for Cerea eventually. She’s due for some positive reinforcement that exists outside of her drill sergeant treating her with the basic respect any person is entitled to. Even Nightwatch or the princesses don’t quite meet the standard for being real friends. They’re tolerant and courteous to be sure, and that’s a good start. But it’s painfully obvious Cerea needs more than that.
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Oh, I'm perfectly aware of most of what you said. But like I mentioned, I'm naturally depressed, and try to read books with a positive tone so as to not compound my issues. Stories were there is constant defeat and negativity are things I generally stay away from for my own health. I've stuck it out this long due to the hope that things would eventually get better, I'll just have to see how much longer I can last.
On a more positive note, I hope your speculation regarding Nightwatch and Cerea becoming closer happens.
Does that include the irreplaceable thirty minutes' worth of sols and lunes? Extra ouch.
10295971 I say pacifist because ponies in the majority of fanfics consider fighting as anathema to their core beliefs and are a generally lawful sort. They can fight if they want, but combat is considered to be their equivalent of the nuclear option. They can defend themselves, but they suck at it because of ingrained herd mentality and would rather rely on smarts and cuteness (and occasionally seduction in spicier settings) to end the fight as quickly and non-violently as possible. Oh, and rely on alicorns who the power but can’t really exercise it because doing so would be overkill. Honestly, what’s the fucking use of super-strength if you can’t do anything with it!? What’s the use of super-strength if it’s superseded by flight and magic!?
On a side note, ponies who can actually fight are rare exceptions and equines in real life only fight when they want a mate or in a life or death situation such as protecting their foals.
I hope I answered your question because I ended up ranting along the line. The answer came about from reading a truckload of fanfics.
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Sometimes I feel like the only writer on a site for stories about magical talking ponies whose readership permits no fantasy elements whatsoever.
Now I want Cera to meet the seaponies (excuse me, the Hippogriffs)
Ouch
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One of the pitfalls of being known for writing a ‘verse known by the nickname “Friendship is Magic: Reality ensues”.
Though you’re a good enough writer that that kind of thing might be all some people can find to nitpick. :)
Deviant:
"led her to what she saw a perfectly natural question"
"led her to what she saw as a perfectly natural question"?
Isolated:
"barracks, she'd had left 'overworked' behind"
"barracks, she had left 'overworked' behind"?
Well, just wonderful optimistic happy times all around there, I see...
Still enjoying the story as a reader, though. :)
Cerea. Sweetie. It's a palace. Indeed, it's basically two palaces grafted together. Consider how many bathrooms it has.
Ah, but this is just part of who she is. Hating to be a burden and forever seeing herself as one. ... Though given the state of much of the bathroom, I do hope there's some kind of magical preservative on the pipes. Seems like it, but still, given Cerea's luck, I'm amazed the place hasn't flooded already.
Seven words that casually smack Cerea's entire genre in the face. (Well, most of the time.)
And that bit from Nightwatch at the end... I'm not entirely sure what lurks in the layers of deeper meaning there, and I'm more than a little afraid to find out. We'll see soon enough.
Hmm. On the one hand, barracks, thus separate beds, on the other hand, even after lots of work, nearly no space.
I suspect we'll end up with Nightwatch and Cerea waking up right next to each other at some point; cue terror and/or embarrassment.
There's also the probability of mutual grooming to help break down the walls of isolation.
How long has Nightwatch effectively been Cerea's personal guard? I would imagine that the magnitude of her terror must be decreasing at least somewhat; perhaps it's just slow enough that Cerea hasn't noticed?
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The Arsonist thinks there's nopony home. I think she's wrong.
He already loves ya you goof.
I wonder if Cadence is gonna be in this fic? Political complications aside I would love to see her thoughts on their living situation.
I wish Cerea well...
She really is a lot like Twilight. I wonder if Celestia will catch that.
I feel that without sending somebody to check up on her, or something to force her outside she might just retreat from the world and... disappear.
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Hah! It's not like I don't mind a few hand waves or just saying that things work differently due to magic. The bathroom just stood out to me because the place I moved into last year is an older home and has constantly plagued me with water pipe issues. It's hard to ignore something when it's mere mention activates your ulcers.
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At a guess, the horned moron who started the fire completely missed her target and killed someone whose only 'crime' was that they lived in the same building.
Oh thank goodness she’s ok...
So now I'm imagining this scenario:
"There are two treatments available for fungal infections: one which stinks, and one which burns, the latter of which you have already been subjected to. You may opt for the one which stinks if you wish, but having experienced both, there is a reason I choose the one which burns."
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I'm guessing "It's a martial arts technique for releasing 'hysterical' strength"
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The phrase I'd use is "necessary evil".
& no matter how Evil it was, it was still Necessary.
I'd also point out that Barding forgave her afterwards
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Less forcing him to watch, more preventing him from attacking Cerea. Which he tried, the second she let him go when he lied about needing to go to the bathroom.
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Hahahaha.
Most people barely understand the concept of magic, Friendship, pastel horses and plumbing.
But bad plumbing? Everyone understand that.
The fear of it is like a red hot iron ball in the middle of the coton candy cloud of story immersion. There is something very real about bad plumming.
But hey! At least they didn't need to call that pony who open locks with his schlong to clean the pipes... or perhaps that's his brother.
10297400, 10297402 – 10296729 would seem to have more the right of it. Yes, there is a large part of Barding wanting to re-exert control over his domain, but Celestia's actions are unarguably
inhumanecruel, or at least far moreso than they had to be. I will piece a few paragraph segments together for concision, but I am not taking them out of context:The story is structured in such a way as to excuse this....
...but I posit that this melodramatic approach was completely unnecessary. Note his reaction when we realizes that the metal can do:
It should stand to reason that he would be at least somewhat more willing to observe if, before entering the smithy to begin with, Cerea could provide some basic technical specifications; she would not have known to, but Celestia certainly should have.
Remember that scene from Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, where Scotty needs some 20th-century glass manufacturing
nerdengineer to make something beyond his comprehension?Not quite the same situation in a number of ways, but certainly comparable. I see no conflict with this preface achieving all the narrative goals intended while at the same time being kinder to Barding in many ways. Still not nice, but certainly kind. Barding can still be irate that a monster is doing abominable things in his smithy, doing dark magic (or perceived as same) on his precious metal, and Celestia might certainly still need to linger to supervise lest Barding's impulses get the better of him, but he would at least have something to – at the cognitive level, anyway – ground his emotions and his mark for seeing (and, erm, testing) this impossible, twisted, evil material that Cerea fabricates; Celestia still achieves her goals of yet another step to save a Fallen and equipping her newest and most controversial guard (and, as I commented elsewhere, she should be the one to realize the implications of such high-performance metal).
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Even in Triptych itself, several characters -as well as the core plot of the story- point out the danger and hypocrisy of the secret. There's never really a point where the secret is presented as a good thing in modern Equestria. I can imagine several reasons why Celestia is keeping the secret:
10296696 "Squeamish" is a far cry from "pacifist".
10297871 She was born an earth pony. However, she is not the Princess of Earth Ponies: she is the Princess of Equestria. Her duty is to all of the ponies. Her part in the Secret, however minimal it might be, is still betrayal of the highest order against the very ponies she's sworn to protect, guide, and rule.
She was Loyalty, but no matter who you are, loyalty is not equal.Struck through because I'm not actually certain of Celestia's motives. I'm just discontent.10297871
Triptych Celestia was born an earth pony (as was Luna).
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Ah, good to know. Number 1 it most likely is then. It does not excuse Celestia, but it does give us an idea as to why she has never revealed it.
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I'm old. I've learned the hard way:
It takes TWO to be reasonable.
IMO, yes Celestia was cruel. No, Celestia was NOT unnecessarily cruel.
Barding flat out would not have listened.
Oh & I was a Trekkie from the first moment I saw a Star Trek episode in 1966 right up until I saw Star Trek III. Didn't watch it again for DECADES. Missed all of Star Trek TNG & Star Trek Voyager. Only saw ST Deep Space 9 in reruns. On Big Bang Theory, Sheldon called Star Trek V the worst Star Trek movie. I don't see how it could possibly have been worse than III.
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Not to put words in other people’s’ mouths, but I’ve noticed I-and I suspect many others- will happily and easily suspend our disbelief in the face of magic, The Force, Sci-Fi magic called science, or what have you, but the second something which “doesn’t make sense”-and this, while not always unreasonable, is always arbitrary-is seen, it’s broken.
Sometimes it’s more meta: for examples, I decided to watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit for the first time, and was stunned by some of the raunchy roles and sexual tension that was in a few scenes, and still PG. Or, in that same movie where the line between hand-drawn and live action was fairly clear.
On the other hand, wondering why plumbing still works, or why there’s fresh fruit and lit torches in a long abandoned cave or ruin, or traps that still work, can vary. The plumbing is easy to handwave-who wouldn’t want pipes that never burst, other than plumbers? Fruit and torches and traps are less so, because most people, or at least I, arbitrarily decide that that’s too far a stretch.
Really though if the most glaring inconsistency is plumbing lasting longer than what someone arbitrarily deemed reasonable and realistic, instead of say, the plot, motivations, dialogue, or a character’s behavior or, well, characterization, then you’re doing thing very, very right.
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Do you think Barding could theorically benefit from Starlight's "expertise", being essentially an adict to his Mark?