Combative
It had taken some effort to arrange the meeting with the overweight unicorn mare, and part of that had been from the need to make sure nopony else ever knew it had taken place.
(This had already failed.)
She had some fame in the city, at least for those who lacked the capacity for spelling 'notoriety': take the shrill voice, the flanks whose shaking bulges occasionally seemed to be trying to produce another CUNET member through budding, and that rotted-pearl coat which went with so very little... it was fairly easy to spot her. That was one of the reasons she seldom went out in public without the company of at least six shielding ponies, because Mrs. Panderaghast lived in the real world. She had spent most of her adult life creating it, and the best way to make sure it was real was to have others reinforcing it at all times.
She had built the border from Truth, which was defined as something she told herself. Furthermore, because she knew more than anypony else (which meant unicorns: the others were hardly ponies at all), then whatever somepony so incredibly intelligent deduced on her own had to qualify as Fact. Mrs. Panderaghast knew how others tried to treat Fact, which was by using all of the information. This didn't sit well with her, because those kinds of facts seemed to have an anti-Panderaghast bias. The way you got real Facts was to simply pick those things which you liked and separate them from any inconvenient context.
Take, for example, one of her single most frequent: griffon crime statistics. She generally used those to make the argument that somepony needed to order griffons out of Canterlot, Equestria, and perhaps there was a perfectly suitable extra planet out there somewhere. Mrs. Panderaghast had proven that all griffons were violent, because every last one of them had a criminal record. And when she put it that way (occasionally mentioning that it was backed up by data the police had collected), then how could anypony argue? It was just a casual vault of logic to move from 'criminal' to 'are going to start eating ponies as soon as they get the chance, maybe they're even doing it now and we haven't caught them at it, are there any unsolved disappearances in your area...?' and that sort of thing did a lot to encourage proper treatment of griffons. There just wasn't any point to mentioning that said records were typically juvenile, with nearly all of the charges labeled as Public Nuisance and the local courts knew to forgive them because when it came to establishing one's place in the world, griffon puberty was just a little more tumultuous than the average. However, as that was something ponies occasionally brought up, Mrs. Panderaghast had several defenses ready: ignoring it, declaring them as liars, or just making sure she would never be in a place where somepony could contradict her.
And unicorn superiority? That was self-evident! Unicorns could do anything which any other species was capable of, including those who had been falsely labeled as 'sapient'. She recognized that any number of discoveries had been quashed: things which would let unicorns replicate lesser magic, and it was amazing how those who were inferior managed to just keep getting one over on their superiors. The evidence for this? Was the fact that said magic hadn't been replicated. Clearly the only way that would be possible was if someone was stopping them, covering it up, attacking the creators of those spells... and of course all of those efforts had the support of the palace, because how else could they succeed all the time? You couldn't trust the palace. Mrs. Panderaghast had dealt with both sisters, and so knew they were not proper unicorns. The wings were a corruptive influence. She knew that for a Fact.
(She also knew that if she ever wound up with wings, she would prove immune to such corruption. Her heart was pure. But it still didn't change the fact that an alicorn was something like a pegasus and unicorn put together. It had to do something cruel to the blood. Still, she knew for an additional Fact that there couldn't be the smallest drop of earth pony in there, because telling herself anything else would have destroyed her.)
When you understood enough things, you recognized the true nature of reality. And then you further established that reality by surrounding yourself with those who agreed with you, so that the Truth was reinforced at all times. Mrs. Panderaghast had created a bubble of reality so solid that on the rare occasions when she had to venture out of it, it was almost possible to hear the pop. Less skilled ears generally had to wait for the screaming, because a mare who claimed that all who held her beliefs were endlessly discriminated against tended to find that those outside CUNET responded to her presence through proving her correct.
She didn't believe in equal rights, because she didn't believe in equals. She in no way thought anything which wasn't a unicorn had the right to claim full sapience. And she regarded windigos as a myth created to scare children into treating inferiors as something other.
Mrs. Panderaghast knew windigos weren't real. She also didn't venture out all that much during the winter, and knew for a Fact it was because pegasi didn't have the common decency to let their inferior abilities make the world into an eternal spring: something which she had told herself would do the planet no harm whatsoever. She was a pony who knew many things and in this case, she knew she hadn't been followed.
She'd reached her destination ten minutes ago. The other unicorn mare in the damp, dirty cellar (a place where Mrs. Panderaghast normally wouldn't have been caught dead and sadly, this made it the ideal place to be) was still talking.
"It's not my fault," the younger mare said for the third time. "I'm innocent."
Mrs. Panderaghast nodded. There were things you did during this sort of discussion, and nodding was most of it. The majority of the remainder was having an alibi which put her bobbing head a very large distance away.
"It was just a warning. A crime is a deliberate act, right?" With increasing volume aimed through the tones of emerging personal Truth, "I didn't mean to commit a crime, so there couldn't have been one!"
Another nod -- but this one was slightly uneven. The overweight mare lived in a bubble of reality, the True reality, which incidentally made it the one which had to be enforced upon the rest of the world. She had spread that bubble over others, making it larger and stronger. But unlike some of those who had been enticed by words which felt as if they made those who listened better, loving whispers which told them having a horn was the best thing about them and so they didn't really need anything else -- she retained some awareness of what life was like on the outside. You couldn't fight an enemy which you hadn't told yourself you understood.
Perhaps only a corrupted court would have disagreed with the mare's reasoning. But with the Princesses in charge, that was all of them.
Mrs. Panderaghast occasionally wondered why those who were intelligent enough to be her followers didn't consider things like that.
"Aren't some of the feather-dusters capable of moving heat?" the younger mare abruptly asked. "For all the good that pitiful so-called magic ever does, since it won't stop snow. Maybe she knew the fire was out there."
It was also amazing, just how quickly some of the newest recruits could talk. It was as if they were trying to prevent themselves from getting a word in edgewise.
"She moves the heat, she moves the fire," the younger mare frantically continued. "It's so obvious! She burned her apartment, to make us look bad! I was just posting a warning!"
Another nod. You didn't disagree with your own members unless they were saying something Wrong. And as a matter of general principle, you also didn't argue with a mare whose horn was now sparking so wildly as to cast most of the cellar into amethyst disarray.
"So anything which happens to the foal is her fault --"
The overweight mare knew she hadn't been followed. She knew this as strongly as the Fact that when compared to having everypony see sense about the centaur, the foal wasn't important, and so her stomach had no reasonable excuse for just having flipped over.
It had been the trot. A trot under a heavy concealing cloak did bad things to the stomach. Unicorns weren't meant for that kind of exercise. Teleports and self-levitation were superior, and the fact that she could perform neither magic didn't lower her status in any way. She was still a unicorn. She had the potential to master those workings, because learning capacity was a palace-created myth designed to keep unicorns down. Yet another Fact.
Mrs. Panderaghast had applied to the Gifted School in her youth. The Fact of her non-attendance had been laid at the hooves, talons, feet, and existence of guest lecturers. There was no need to treat her actual test results as Truth.
"-- don't talk about the foal."
"Why not?" Too sharply, because newborn Fact had a way of cutting. "It's the feather-duster's fault!"
"Don't."
The sparks dimmed.
"I'm innocent," the mare repeated. "But nopony understands that. I've been sneaking around for days. They know it was a unicorn."
Because you used your field. Why would you use your field, when somepony could get your signature?
(Part of her recruiting speech was the moment when she told them that they didn't have to use their mouths and hooves. They were too good for that. Superior.)
"And I was afraid to go home. So it's been hiding, until I managed to contact somepony. Somepony who agreed to get you here..."
I didn't know it was going to be you. All he told me was that a member was in trouble. If he'd told me who it was...
Plausible deniability. Anything felt plausible when Mrs. Panderaghast said it, but there were persistent rumors of spells which detected the lesser variety of truth, and a plant imported by zebras (because of course it was going to be the witches) which you shouldn't stand near. If anyone asked her whether she'd met the mare...
"I need help," that mare insisted.
The foal...
"Are they looking for you specifically?"
The tail was starting to wring itself. "I don't know. I passed a few ponies on the way down, but everypony was starting to run at that point. They may have just thought I was a visitor for somepony in the building."
They might have told the investigators about a stranger. Fur, mane, eye colors. Build. Wearing saddlebags to carry supplies. They already have species.
"The first thing to do," Mrs. Panderaghast ordered, "is getting you out of the city --"
It triggered a hoof stomp, and petulance vibrated the dust in the rafters. "This is my home! I shouldn't be forced out of my home! I didn't do anything --"
"-- because the investigation will be focused on Canterlot. We might be able to use the Grand Gymkhana. Put you on a train." An ugly necessity: trains were supposedly the invention of an earth pony. It was enough to make an intelligent being wonder which unicorn he'd stolen the idea from. "But we'll have to use fur dye. Get you dressed, put you in a hat. And you can't use your field. Mouth manipulation only --"
"-- a hat?" Which dislodged clumps of outrage from overhead, making them fall into both mares' manes. "Like some kind of earth pony? Touching things --"
"-- you used your field." There was no time left for subtlety. "Did you hide your signature? Distort it?"
The mare blinked.
"I... you can do that?"
It was possible. It also required a degree of field dexterity which only existed on the far right of the scale, and Mrs. Panderaghast longed for a single CUNET member who could manage the trick. "They'll have made an occlugraph! Of your real signature! Legally, they'll have a hard time forcing you to use your field unless there's a warrant. But the train station is one of the places they'll be looking, and if you just use your magic on your own, and they can compare it to their reading... that's it. They know it was you at that door..."
And shortly after that, they'll know she's a CUNET member.
She could find the membership paperwork. Burn it. Disavow in advance.
But she would have mailed letters to the palace. I make them all mail letters...
"Acting like an earth pony." The petulance was now threatening to light up the cellar, and the older mare glanced up: checking for any windows which might be set just above the dirt. "Bad enough that I'm hiding underground. I want the network: there's no risk there. Somepony can teleport me out --"
"The escort network," Mrs. Panderaghast cut in, "will have been told to look for unicorn mares leaving the city." The network also cost money, because unicorns who could take others with them through the between were a resource and if you couldn't pay for it, that resource started to feel like a very limited one. The older mare knew exactly how much money CUNET took in, and so also knew the best way to continuously track that total was through keeping just about all of it.
"But they're unicorns! If any of them are members --"
If she's caught...
"You may have to take the day trip on hoof," the organization's leader decided. And it would be best to do so with company, because they would be looking for a mare traveling alone. A false family could be constructed around her --
-- more ponies who knew the mare. Who knew what she had done. Who could, under sufficient duress, lash their tails in the very specific direction of the starting point.
"Trotting --"
"-- and a day trip means Ponyville. Close enough that we can keep an eye on you --"
"-- it's got an earth pony majority! Just having to... be there... if one of them starts trouble because I say something perfectly reasonable..."
Steadfastly, "You could beat them."
The younger mare eventually nodded. All CUNET members knew that any unicorn could defeat an earth pony, and made sure that particular Fact maintained by arranging for a personal reality in which they never really had to deal with any.
"Still..." she whined.
"Stay in the cellar tonight," Mrs. Panderaghast told her. "It's secure."
"This is dirty! I wanted to come to your house --"
"-- and we'll move you in the morning."
The younger mare blinked again. Her ears went back, forward again. The tail shifted a few times.
"It's just for the night?"
Mrs. Panderaghast nodded.
"I guess. It's just so dirty..."
"I have to leave," the organization's head stated. "To start making the arrangements."
One last little hoof stomp, something ten years younger than the mare, and so it matched her emotional age exactly. "...fine."
The overweight unicorn turned to leave, corona adjusting her traveling cloak to shadow more of her features. It meant covering her horn, but -- there were things you had to do when there was trouble. The younger mare didn't understand that.
She can be connected to us.
She's the sort who can slip.
She might talk without spells.
Her legs were giving her some trouble on the ramp. She didn't know who had invented those, but suspected earth ponies. That could be a Fact, once she got a little more Truth behind it.
If I knew it was her waiting for me...
There's a foal.
It was a fact: griffons were meat-eaters. It was a Fact that you could terrify ponies by making them believe they were on the menu. And just for a second, Mrs. Panderaghast considered it a pity that there were no cellar-hosted voracious violations of the Treaty Of Menagerie due in the next three hours.
"It's not fair," the younger mare whined in the general direction of a slowly-twitching tail. "Having to go through all this. Trapped in what's practically a cell. And does it really have to be Ponyville? I heard they let dragons live there! Even the capital got rid of the dragon!"
The older mare tried to trot faster, and found her speed was actually improving. But it wasn't due to any sudden surge of strength, or tapping into a previously-unknown well of fitness. The words were chasing her up the ramp.
"I'm innocent..."
She forced her legs to accelerate as she exited the gatehouse which had been built just inside the shield edge, well away from the general approach path. Made her spine go straight, and blinked a few times in order to clear any residual blur.
Cerea was getting used to teleports or at least, she was now fairly accustomed to telling herself that. But she'd been told that the Sergeant didn't want her on the training grounds until it was ninety minutes before sunset. She hadn't been able to catch up on sleep (and it felt like she was barely sleeping at all), waking hours had been available and...
There were those who said it was possible to lose true thought in the midst of manual labor, become nothing more than a drone whose biological machinery had been created to complete the task. Cerea had thought about that as she began a new round of hammering in the forge, and then those thoughts had led to all of the others.
She was in pain, and it was something centaur resilience didn't seem to be helping. She'd been in pain for --
It doesn't matter.
-- a while. But it was something which would get better on its own, because that was how a true centaur healed. And it was also something the Sergeant couldn't be allowed to see.
She never knew just where he would be when she arrived at the grounds: out of sight for the protestors, but still within hearing range. That meant it was best to square her shoulders immediately, force herself fully upright while trying to put a little shift into her tail. And in this case, her timing turned out to be precise, because he was a few meters away from the gatehouse doors.
"Probably wondering why it's starting so late today," the old stallion immediately began.
She nodded. "Yes, Sergeant." Her longest-lasting guess had been meeting with something nocturnal.
His hooves made a point of not shuffling, and the words emerged as something edged.
"Live combat exercise. Against ponies."
Which got her tail moving all by itself, and she managed to stop the blonde fall just before it lashed against her right flank. Today? And this was all the advance notice she was getting? If she'd known, if she'd had a little more time to work on strategies --
"That's a new skirt. And it's singed," the Sergeant off-handedly -- off-hoofedly? -- noted. "You were in the forge today?"
She nodded.
Neutrally, "How long?"
"I..." She wasn't sure what the right answer was. "...I had some hours... I wanted to..."
The brown eyes regarded her, forehooves to scalp and back again.
"Go to the training barracks," he instructed her. "Take what you think you'll need. Then report to the track."
It was all waiting for her. However, some of it was outside the locker: even folded, the padding just took up that much room.
She put it on carefully, while wondering if getting the morning clothing delivery from Ms. Garter should have been her first clue. This had been brought to the training grounds: dropping off the skirt had been incidental. The old mare had to have been working on it for... a while now...
...how long?
She wasn't sure. Since shortly after the training began: that was obvious enough. But there were ways in which the sessions felt endless. Days blurred into each other, while hours serrated trails through her fur before extracting their toll of sweat and froth. She was just... tired. She'd remember how long it had been after she'd gotten some sleep.
I have to sleep.
When I'm tired enough, that's when I'll really sleep.
When I'll stop waking up over and over.
Fighting ponies would make her tired. So the fight was a good thing.
The padding... it was a good fit, but it had also come up against the issue which the Sergeant had predicted: it was hard to shield her through puffed-out brown fabric without restricting her joints. The cloth armor was thinnest around shoulders (both sets), hips, elbows, knees, and upper waist -- but it still cost her some range, and the loss of cotton wadding also made those areas vulnerable. Additionally, the padding stopped at her wrists: it was gloves after that, and thin ones: the patchwork she used in the smithy didn't allow her the finer grip required for a weapon.
Connected panels of stiffer fabric protected her flanks and lower torso. (She wasn't sure what the material was: just that it wasn't leather. She hadn't seen leather once since her arrival, and suspected getting it from the standard source might create a charge of murder.) Some minor contortions were required to get her forelegs into the padded tubes, and then she nearly pulled half her muscles while trying to don those for the hind: the only way to do it alone turned out to be finding some loose repair rope for the obstacle courses, tie, and haul.
The locker... her sword was waiting for her, as were the plastic hairpins. She'd initially found the latter when the sword had been moved to the grounds, and felt that somepony in the palace had dictated that they had to be shifted together. The hairpins couldn't be teleported any more than the sword could, and she'd discovered that ponies weren't exactly happy about being touched by one in the wine cellar. But using a hairpin as a weapon wasn't easy, and... all things considered, it usually just meant that she had the easiest time managing her hair when she was training.
However, in a fight...
How many ponies? At least two, because the plural was already there. And it wouldn't necessarily be one at a time. Cerea's guess was a trio: one from each of the more populous species. (They hadn't talked about fighting alicorns, and her current theory for that was 'either royal bloodline, small population, or extremely rare recessives': either way, there weren't enough readily available for sparring.) A trio would include a unicorn.
So some of the pins went into her tail, with some effort at concealing them within a fall of hair which desperately needed a trim: it would give any yanking corona some trouble. The majority of the remainder were placed into the human section of her non-mane, and she risked placing one on the grip of a bola. Just in case.
Weaponry? That was harder. There was a selection waiting for her, and... presuming one from each species
which isn't safe
it could be less, it could be more
this is probably the day they tell me seaponies are real and then push me into a lake
then she had to choose accordingly. But there was only so much she could carry before things started getting tangled up with each other: her lower torso might give her the option of draping items along her flanks, but those things moved when she did and if the arrangement wasn't secure, the jostling could do more damage than the ponies. The bolas felt like a necessity, she needed a few of the spheres for pegasi and that meant bags attached to her upper waist, the sling took up virtually no room and still needed stones...
She couldn't bring everything, and whatever she did take was probably wrong.
Cerea chose carefully, arranged everything as best she could. Looked around the locker area for signs of previous pony presence and found nothing. Made one last check --
-- something's missing.
She had her sword. Secondary weapons were ready to bring down the Sergeant's wrath once he told her what she should have taken. The pins were in place, and they would give her head a measure of defense against direct attacks: she suspected they were largely responsible for having fended off the griffon's efforts, had probably done the same with the neurocypher, and wasn't sure whether to tell anypony because that would mean going through another griffon --
-- head protection.
There was no helmet.
She looked around again. There was no reason to expect anything of boiled leather, and just about as much of one for somepony to tell her about the resulting trial.
It was eventually located under a bench, having apparently become flung out when she'd unfurled the padding. And that was when she discovered where Ms. Garter's skills ran out.
She'd been hoping for something like a martial artist's practice gear, because that was mostly padding: the main issue would have been having the bulge of eye-rims block some of her vision. And in fact, that was the sort of thing which the seamstress had envisioned. The old unicorn, who wasn't used to creating anything which went above the neck (and as Cerea would later learn, was working so far outside the realm of her very specialized mark as to have sent her own magic into confusion), had just forgotten about a few minor details.
Like the fact that Cerea's ears were on the sides of her head.
Or that a centaur's eyes were set a little more forward. And smaller. Much, much smaller.
On the bright side, the bulge of padding at the front would have done an excellent job at protecting the snout she didn't actually have.
She tried putting it on. Her ears responded through arranging a meet-and-greet with her eyes, because two major sources of sensory input really needed to know each other a little better. For starters, her ears now wanted to tell everyone that they were in pain. A lot of it.
The post-desperate-removal thing to do was attempting emergency modifications. This was done by tearing off a few of the things which weren't supposed to be there, creating holes for that which actually was there, and Cerea considered herself to be making near-miraculous progress right up until the moment when the whole thing fell apart in her hands.
She stared at the fragments for a while. Let the remaining pieces drop from her palms, then slowly trotted out of the secondary barracks, heading for the track.
It had taken her about forty minutes to prepare: something she knew had been too long. The sun was low in the autumn sky, with bands of shield-distorted purple and orange streaking across a view which was fast approaching night. And she was trotting too slowly, because she had to save her strength for two things: the fight itself, and the moment she came over the little ridge into the Sergeant's view.
I'm tired.
She could be tired later.
I hurt.
A real centaur would push through it.
It's just a fight...
A sparring match. She could get through one of those.
If I win, maybe I'll be that much closer to being a Guard.
She didn't know if she could win.
If I lose, maybe they won't be so afraid of me.
She would have to watch for her tail: even if she'd managed to protect it from a corona, somepony's teeth could still grab it.
I should have done more tail exercises. She'd been trying a few in the forge, but... they hadn't gotten through the whole book --
don't think about her
not now
-- and so Cerea didn't have all of the necessary material.
My tail hurts.
It made sense for the base, and anything which extended as bone and muscle. She wasn't sure how that was even possible for the hair --
-- the ridge was in sight. Her shoulders squared.
The Sergeant, as the only pony in the center of the empty oval, took his time about surveying her.
"No helmet?" emerged when she was about fifteen meters away.
Which meant her choice of weapons was so poor as to be beyond shouts.
"It... wasn't suitable for use," Cerea replied.
He thought about that.
"Not happy about putting you out there without a helmet," he decided. (It didn't surprise her. She didn't really know what happy ponies looked like, because her presence didn't inspire that emotion. And if she had been aware, she was fairly certain that none of it would have applied to the old stallion.) "We can make it a rule: nopony aims for your head with anything past a bruising kick. And you could wind up in fights where the helmet isn't there to start with. But accidents still happen. I can put this back together for another day if you want to wait."
If I can't guard my head, I don't deserve to pass.
It was the sort of thought which felt as if it made perfect sense. Many things did when you were tired.
"I'd rather do it tonight, Sergeant," was the vocal end of that. "It's better than asking everypony to come out twice."
Where were they? Hidden by some kind of magic? About to come over the ridge behind her? Three: it had to be three --
-- he was looking at her again.
"Your call," he eventually decided. "Better not be the last one. EVERYPONY, COME OUT! I WANT HOOVES ON THE GROUND AROUND ME ON THE COUNT OF EIGHT AND IF YOU ACTUALLY NEED TO HEAR ME TO KNOW HOW LONG THAT COUNT TAKES, THEN YOU WILL BE IN A REMEDIAL TRAINING COURSE BEFORE THE END OF THE MOON! I WANT TO HEAR HOOVES POUND THE DIRT! FEATHERS FLYING! AND I WANT IT --"
There were three, emerging from the treeline. One did so by swooping out of the canopy.
Then there were four.
Six.
...no...
And by the time the last touched down six meters away from the Sergeant's left flank, she'd already lost.
There were nine of them. The only thing she'd gotten right in her prediction was that there was an equal balance from each race. And they were all Guards, every last one of them was a Guard, she spotted Acrolith, it was the first time she'd seen Bulkhead since just before the press conference, she had no idea who at least half of them were and it was too many, she was tired and in pain and it was going to be just like Palimyno all over again because she couldn't face down numbers like this. Even going one at a time, there were too many -- and that wasn't what was going to happen.
They were going to attack as a herd. Nine of them against one of her. Because the Sergeant wanted to see if she'd improved since Palimyno, she couldn't have improved that much, no one could and she'd already lost.
She lost because the last pegasus to touch down had been Nightwatch.
Silver eyes looked at her from the shadows of the metal helmet. Looked through.
The girl stood her ground, because it was the last thing she could still do. And as so many huge eyes stared out from the center of a cloud created by fear and anger, there was rage in that cloud and some of it had to have been created by Tirek, misplaced and aimed at the closest thing available, but a portion had to belong with Cerea alone because it was Nightwatch standing stock-still with her wings perfectly at rest and body waiting like a coiled spring, and there was so much rage...
"Explains the hour, right?" the Sergeant placidly asked from the center. "Along with the group. Solars getting ready to go off-shift, Lunars arriving a little early. Mixed crew. Every last one of them volunteered for this."
The unvoiced joke (which had no humor in it at all) was something she'd been thinking about since he'd first mentioned that there would be combat against ponies: Right. You said 'You, you're volunteering!' and they said 'Yes, Sarge!' But... it was Nightwatch...
The little knight's wings were still. And scents could be as personal as anything else: there were ways in which all pony fear smelled the same, but there were little touches in the olfactory world which helped to identify the source. The wings were as still as the air beneath the shield, there was rage and --
-- some of it was blazing from those steadfast silver eyes.
"Some volunteered early," the old stallion casually added. "Picked one up last-minute. Arranged to take over from somepony else. But they all volunteered for this, and they've all been through it from the other side. Against each other. Guards who aren't here, Guards who've left, Guards who are gone. Some of them had to face down Tirek. Buying time, so the Princesses could escape. Because that is the duty."
There was more fear in the air now, laced with memory. Part of the surge rose from a dark orange pegasus on the mid-left, somepony in silver armor, and a pony Cerea didn't know.
She didn't really know any of them.
"They knew you were training to fight them, Recruit. What does that tell you?"
There didn't seem to be any moisture on her tongue.
"IS THERE A PROBLEM WITH THE DISC?"
She had the answer. It was too obvious not to see, and that was why she hadn't thought of it until she absolutely had to. She simply didn't want to say it, because doing so would destroy everything.
It's practical.
they'll never
It's what they had to do.
this is about acceptance, about having anypony accept me and
It's what... my mother would have done...
she isn't scared
everypony is scared except the Sergeant and her
she's just angry
"...they've --"
"OR IS IT JUST YOUR VOICE? SOUND OFF LIKE YOU'VE --"
It took nearly everything she had to say it, and then it took out a loan against a future which had very little to give.
"...they've been training to fight me."
He nodded.
"Close enough," the Sergeant allowed. "Not like they could have a live scrimmage, because I still do not know where to get another centaur! But fair's fair, Recruit. You know something about what they can do, so they had a little talk about you! Plotted out some tactics together! Some very active debates, as I understand it! I have very little idea as to how much of it will actually work, especially as one portion was just about as last-minute as it could be without venturing into tomorrow! And for that part, I will admit to disappointment! You have been keeping a secret, Recruit, and not telling your sergeant or fellow Guards --"
It should have been impossible to hear the two derisive snorts through his volume. She didn't understand why it was nearly the only thing she heard at all.
not my fellow Guards
I won't pass
I can't pass
there's nine of them, the only question is how long it takes before they make me drop and then I'm
not anything because
"-- about what you can really do presents a risk to all of you! But that is a discussion we will be having later and rest assured, we will be having it! For now --"
She didn't know what he was talking about. She'd kept the Second Breath concealed, but there was no way for anypony to have guessed at it. And she couldn't seem to think about what it might be, because...
for every last one of them
I'm just a monster
"To those who have been through my tutelage before this," the Sergeant bellowed under the dimming sky, "I would like to call your attention to her head! We have apparently been through a minor failure of protection composition, and yet she is willing to proceed!"
They were in golden armor. Silver armor, reflecting what was left of the sunlight back to her eyes. Real armor.
"So if you are aiming high," he shouted on, "you pull your kicks and everything else when striking above the neck! She is going to show me how she does not kill you! It would be a courtesy for you to return the favor! More resistance to impact than a pegasus or unicorn, but less than an earth pony! Act accordingly! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
It emerged from nine throats as a single voice.
"YES, SERGEANT!"
And then the herd fell silent. Waiting.
The old stallion looked at Cerea, eyes almost lost under the brim's shadow. It didn't matter. His eyes weren't the important ones.
"Last chance, Recruit." It wasn't a whisper, or pitched to reach her ears alone. Normal speaking volume -- but after all which had come before, it felt as if she had to strain for every word. "Nine of them. One of you. And you can just trot back to the barracks. Drop it all off, head for the gatehouse, and wait to be taken back. Nopony's blocking you. Step back. Or step forward. Your choice. You can tell me you just want to wait for better headgear, and I'll listen. But that's the only excuse. And once you make any other choice, you don't get to take it back."
She was going to fail.
I always fail.
There was no way to succeed. Not a single scenario where she won, and she would be doing well just to finish in ninth.
She hates me.
She was always going to hate me.
Her body hurt.
Her heart hurt.
Everything...
Get it over with.
The centaur took one hoofstep forward.
Stats
Page generated in 0.052 seconds
Total duration
1,068 users online
2,234,388 hits today, 2,561,572 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
textbook "cherry-picking fallacy". a favorite tactic of conspiracy nuts.
Also known as "fantasy".
Author's Public Note: No, I am not cutting everyone off until August there. I'm hoping to have one more chapter up this month: with quite a bit of luck and a surprising lack of medical emergencies, that may be late on Sunday.
The fact that she's almost right may be one of the scariest aspects of the Continuum.
Well, yes. Where do you think Ponyville got theirs?
The fact that the CUNET meeting was less clandestine than hoped for gives me a great deal of hope. The question is who else knows.
Hmm. They have the plastic hairpins... but do they have all of them? That anomalous dead zone is probably still there... and possibly expanding.
As for their role in protecting her from mental magic, I'm skeptical. Not least because one area where Cerea consistently comes in dead last is having faith in herself.
But that last moment... it's hard not to see this as attempted suicide by sparring. We'll see what happens from here. Who knows? Nightwatch may be more mad at herself than anyone else.
It hurts, how badly she's broken.
So just what does Gunny think Cerea's been hiding, I wonder?
Dunno how this is gonna end, but it won't end well.
I hope this battle makes Cerea not hide her injury, and it gets treated!
...
Rupophobic unicorn... Hmm... Or just a normal dislike of dirt...
With how chatty she is... She might get revealed quick, in Ponyville...
How long will she have to hide out in Ponyville? The longer she does... And if she encounters Spike and FIRE... Hmm...
How well does Mrs. Penderghast control her followers? If news leaks out to the others, about how she treats this one... Will they desert her? Possibly... But then, given the herd mentality of her followers... Would they just close ranks??
Lastly... "Mrs" Penderghast ... She's married? ...
Speaking of female nouns... ... How many of CUNET's members are stallions? Or is it basically all mares? ... Ugh. I just thought of MRA and stuff, but Gender Swapped... Given the convergence of anti-X orgs IRL... Not impossible...
Hummm, are you smelling this? I smell like CUNET might finally get what the deserves.
But what was that about keeping the money from the Network? Is the Escorting (teleport) service a front that finance CUNET operations? Isn't this supposed to be taxable revenue? Oh man this is probably a nive angle to bring the law down on some of them.
The title made me so hopeful that Cerea was finally beginning to kick back at her situation but it seems that I was wrong. She is soo tired... it feels like she isn't getting i to a fight but an execution.
Either three things happen:
-she loose very badly because she is really too tired.
- because she is too tired she make the mistake of holding back and kick their ass.
- both happen simultaneously.
GO Cerea! Kick the butts of those who think you don't have what it take to be a Guard!
And she should probably do a sketch of what she was thinking about for the headgear. And get a new specialist to make it.
About leather, maybe it's a product that Griffon Ranches make? It probably don't have a lot of popularity with herbivore cultures.
10350622
I want to slap her... then hug her to comfort
10350622
Especially since it feels like the ENTIRE FIC has been about TWO WORLDS shitting on Cerea, and it's getting exhausting. I'm honestly not sure how much longer I can read on. I fear it may already be at the point where if Cerea DOES gets a breather or happy moment, I'll wonder what bomb is coming next.
Most crossovers are an automatic pass for me, but this one was intriguing and well written...but I'm beginning to want to nuke whatever Celestia's Kingdom is called for being unfixable racist and specieist shitbags.
Hmm, CUNET might have finally tripped and fallen into the deep, deep hole it has been spending years digging for itself. Up until now their actions have been very carefully just on the edge of legality. But here? Here they are helping a wanted fugitive hide and escape from the law. That makes them complicit in the act, even if they were ignorant at the time. The best they could have done was disavow the mare's actions and toss her to the wolves. It would have been a hit to their reputation, certainly, but painting the mare as a poor, insane rogue who does not represent CUNET would have kept them away from any direct responsibility. Any discussions on how much CUNET's stance on everything goaded the mare into such an act after that becomes a battle of cherry pickings and technicalities, which a group with a mind more closed than the gates of Moria usually wins through sheer persistence.
But that ship has sailed, and now instead of distancing themselves from the act, they've made themselves part of it.
10350635
There is a common test in many spec ops:
To face overwhelming odds, for example a recruit spares with a full member, then another, then another, then another...
For as long as you physically can and giving up is failure
10350629
Hiding in Ponyville + NEW in Ponyville + PINKIE = ???
Thing that puzzles me about the magic nulling of plastics.
Natural polythene building up on the surfaces of apples.
Bakelite plastic building up temite mounds depending on how many animals manage to pee on them? Urea Formaldehyde.
As for cherry picking the facts, thats how children are taught from a pretty young age with maths especially. Get a negative result? theres only real apples. Get square root of a negative number, throw it out, theres only reals. Get a horrible formula, have a horrible answer. Seen at least one where if you do like the universe, take All the answers to be correct all the time, then work through just How, you end up with a very simple solution.
As for numbers? guards are equal, approximately. Because of her eyes, she should be able to be held in place by as little as two. the one she can see, and the one she cant. As soon as you get range and close in, she can sling hairpins to hit unicorn sheilds, but that trick only lasts as long as the unicorns havent trained against nullthaum attacks by using compressed air shields or out flows that are non magical.
As for body slammed by Earth ponies, she can pivot, spin and rear, but those are awfully thin legs. Horseshoe verses Helmet. Just how reinforced is an Earth Guard Bulwark? or even an Ironclad or Rhino class? Armor, and Speed?
10350732
I wonder if it's the case here or maybe Emery want to make another point... or maybe he is trying to cram as many lessons he can into this one... we'll see.
That cliffhanger...
It will be interesting to see how the fight plays out. I’m hoping for her to let loose with some actual rage of her own. Lord knows she’s been timid enough so far.
Kinda wish their was less beginning so their could be more end, but it’s important groundwork for the future. Remember, kids, you don’t send messages by starting fires. At best it’s arson and at worst it’s Murder. Fire and notes are not interchangeable.
>zebra truth potion
Oh boy, probably generic, but I'd love to see some Truth is a Scourge on some tryptychverse ponies.
Is the leader of CUNET Nacy Pelosi?
EDIT: I meant to write Phyllis Schlafly. That's my bad.
FURTHER EDIT: ...Are there people who like Phyllis Schalfy? How?
Plastic isn't that hard to make. It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure you see things made of plastic on screen in the show. I remember seeing a demo where a guy stuck his glass rod into a beaker with two layers of chemicals sitting in and pulled out a long ass thread. That's a plastic.
Ponies and death related things don't seem to mix well in yhis story. Death seems to be a central theme here.
Plastic (made of plants mater that died millions of years ago) vs magic. Barding associating bones and charcoal with the death of thing, that combining it with metal, it take on the property of death itself, poisoning it. Cerea being associated with death because of Tirek rampage. Discord being on death door. And there are probably even more examples that I am missing.
Is there a law against necromancy as well? How will the ponies take the fact that Cerea know a Dullahan and a Zombie?
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH so much emotional turmoil and tension!!!!
Cerea needs a poleaxe, a buckler, and a falchion or longsword as backup.
The extra height over a pony or human-sized target would give a tremendous advantage to her downswings with a sword, the buckler would serve as an offhand weapon itself, and the poleaxe would be a great use of her already impressive reach and height, in addition to allowing her to protect her sides and strike to her rear.
10350738
Maybe only petroleum-based plastic has the anti-magic properties?
10350604
"Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear the word think escape your lips?"
Another great chapter for this fic. It was intense seeing Nightwatch feed her rage and double down on her anger at Cerea and everything. I hope nothing too damning happens next chapter to further the divide between them even more. Cerea has a hard fight ahead of her.
10350820
Adding carbon to iron is just how you make steel. You dont have to use bones, but historically, thats the easiest source and in a early industrial society thats the easiest source.
Well this is going to end in a way. Let's see if the Sergeant lives up to his reputation or if his age has finally caught up to him.
And because I didnt get to say it last chapter.
If Luna cares so much about her why doesnt Luna make friends with her?
Edit:
Also I am... skeptical? Suspicious? Like.
I guess centaurs are supposed to be tougher than humans, but I am kind of expecting Cerea to drop from a heart attack next chapter? I'm not even actually all that worried. I'm more incredulous that's shes still standing and nobody has noticed shes on deaths door.
Sorry, but every time I see CUNET show up my brain automatically registers it as, well... you know...
Nightwatch is getting really, really worrying. Please don't make her pull a Moash on us (the shittiest kind of betrayal) - people are actually going to drop the series.
The foal - this is Estee, so of course he's gonna die, Nightwatch gets to feel more guilty for not saving somepony, etc.
Like there's the perfect setup for Nightwatch to go evil here. But without any sort of triumphs, the story might slide into some sort of Angst Aversion.
With that rant out of the way, gotta say I care a lot about this story.
10351033
That's intentional of course.
something (I think)
So... Mrs Panderaghast is the HUGE unicorn seen in Canterlot Boutique?
10350993
I knew steel was made by adding carbon to the mix, but I didn't knew the method described by the story.
But I think if Cerea explained the process to more than Barding, someone would probably be able to suggest a better source Ns method to bound the iron with carbon.
What I was trying to underline was the connection to theme of "death" throughout the story. What come to mind when someone put a bone in front of you? For a lot of people it's skeletons, injury, dead, graves, etc.
Yeah...
I'm just to stand and cry for a bit. Heart out for the centaur.
10350883
Dinos are anti-magic, maybe?
10350734
Oh yes! I forgot to mention that! ... And we know that Pinkie Sense exists from last story... Slot Dependents...
But would it tell her anything useful? Like, "This pony's a meanie!"
10351125
Technically, it's more the marrow for it's carbon content and it should be crushed to powder before it's added (IIRC) ... plus bone itself is a bit fire resistant ...
10351200
Ah see, already a very simple improvement for the recipes.
10351251
To be fair, I'm unsure if Cerea knows why bones make steel. Her tribe has been described so far as being basically pre-dark age technologically. A Centaur blacksmith probably simply discoveres that adding bones to iron makes a stronger metal. And then passed that down.
ahh frick nightwatch is gonna cause an accident isnt she?
10351251
Grinding the bones is not an improvement, because Cerea's already doing that.
10351285
The centaurs were behind human society technologically, but they weren't that far behind. The existence of digital cameras and Photoshop was known to the herd when Cerea was eight. Known and understood.
She has at least a basic knowledge of 21st century metallurgy. We watched the translator nearly burn itself out trying to process the concept of carbon nanotubes. Cerea's probably still following the traditional process because it's traditional and she's like that.
At least in the other world she had someone to love. Can't say the same here.
10350734
Doesn't help that Pinkie is an earth pony. Keep in mind the elements of harmony are either a conspiracy made up by the crown to drag unicorns down or all the members were actually unicorns and only fools who believe the disinformation campaigns think otherwise.
10351063
"Pull a Moash," huh?
You have storming good taste in literature.
Poor Nightwatch is having a run of bad luck with emotional communication! That confusion in the library last chapter was sincere: Luna really DID assume she was talking about herself being the monster because it played exactly to her own insecurities. Now, after Luna and Nightwatch resolved their differences off camera, Cerea is assuming Nightwatch is angry at her while she’s really angry FOR her. Nightwatch is still tired of being involved in the ugly mess that is Cereas life here in Equestria, but she’s a fair minded thestral and she knows her the best of anypony. She’s the only one who really sees what’s happening to Cerea, and she’s here to protect her rather than beat her. That’s what guards do, and she now has Lunas direct personal support in doing it.
Estee can be a tricky author, but that’s how I see it.
10351373
This -- added to the fact that she doesn't have eidetic memory and six different degrees, plus she's not sure how much Equestria's technology would allow. The traditional process has the advantage of being something she can use within the offered environment. However, she does understand the science behind it.
Many of the gaps had access to a decent amount of technology, although it always came with the standard risk from smuggling. (Mero's had additional issues with heavy-duty waterproofing.) However, power was almost always a problem. Small solar cells for keeping phones and tablets charged are a recent creation. Building your own small hydroelectric plant is the sort of thing which draws attention. Tapping mainlines means finding a way to keep others from noticing the draw.
You could have a television if you really wanted one -- but it would probably have been battery-powered, and most of those were analog: the signal was lost when the broadcast went digital. Radios were easier.
10351405
Well, you say that, but…
Mrs. Panderaghast sounds delusional. Cerea going up against nine Gunny-trained recruits? She’d stand a chance especially if she fights like a shonen protag. Also, her hairpins can act as makeshift throwing knives.
the entire fist half of this is Racist as Fuck, and Insultingly Offensive