Conspiratorial
It took them some time to trace the inciting party, and it turned out to be the other usual suspect.
The sisters didn't read all of the available newspapers during every last cycle. For starters, it was too much of a drain on their time: each could only read so fast (with that speed being distinctly higher for the younger), some papers published multiple editions throughout the day, they would eventually run out of local publications and have to start dealing with whatever had trickled in from the rest of the continent, and then there was the international press to deal with... The hours added up, and so did the stress. Journalists seldom led off the front page with good news, and when it came to filling the endless needs of the interior, nothing lubricated moveable type like a touch -- or flood -- of blood. There was always somepony hurting somewhere and if a reporter was somehow having trouble finding an example, they just ran it out to 'someone' and occasionally remembered to update the terminal syllable.
In the opinion of the siblings, to spend all of one's time doing nothing except keeping up with more-or-less-current events was to eventually find oneself peacefully wandering the hallways as the light from a triple corona coruscated around the horn, contemplating exactly which nearby dense object would be best for swinging it into. They made sure they tracked the most important stories -- but when it came to regular reviews of everything, they each had part of their staff assigned to reading, reviewing, summarizing events for them during daily briefings, and attending at least two parties per week during the two-moon shifts before those ponies were rotated back to something less stressful. Like platinum mining.
But this was a case where some degree of personal review seemed to once again be mandated. And once they galloped down the source...
Wordia and Raque tended to bristle whenever anypony compared them to each other. (The latter, if that comparison was made within sight of the sisters, would bristle apologetically. Both siblings were still trying to work out how that body posture was actually possible.) One could be described by anypony who wasn't among her devoted readership as being decidedly anti-Diarchy: the other went just as far the other way. They represented extremes of coverage, but their capacity for careful misinterpretation of events just about matched. It was just that Wordia was more careful about crafting her sentences or rather, took great care in torturing the syllables until something confessed. Raque usually worked on more of a subconscious level, as that was the best way to avoid putting any actual thought into the result.
The Tattler deliberately attempted to spread dissent. When it came to fallout from the Bugle, any resulting chaos was generally an unintended side effect.
There was no point to bringing Raque in, because both siblings knew how that would go. The reporter wouldn't have argued her position, because somepony like Raque wouldn't bring her tones anywhere close to the point of argument. Instead, she would have proudly stated that spreading necessary information to the public was her job.
(Necessary. Not classified. When the Guards caught Raque sneaking around the palace, it was generally because she had once again been trying to get pictures of anything which would Make The Princesses Seem More Relatable To The Laypony. Such as, just for example, a photographic capture for the contents of their respective bedside bookshelves. The fact that this meant getting into their bedrooms was either an incidental extra or a chance to see if her hooves were indeed worthy of trotting upon holy ground.)
Raque had her sources. Ponies who loved the palace tended to regard the chance of being quoted in the Bugle with at least moderate adoration. Those who felt that their duties required making unnamed contributions (as opposed to the often more sensible option of Not Talking) tended to bask in the same sort of self-generated glow which came when somepony anonymously donated to charity. There had been an unthinking loyalist in the arson investigation unit, one who had provided Raque with a few details above and beyond what had been initially released to the public. And this had just happened to include a photographic negative, which rendered beautifully when engraved and had been printed with so much detail as to allow just about everypony to make out the intended image: anypony who was still having trouble just had to read to the point where Raque had passed on Celestia's 'brilliant deductions, which could have been made by no other pony in the world.'
Tattler subscribers were more prone to deny it, but they read the Bugle for the same reason Raque's loyalists regularly peeked in on Wordia: if the opposition wanted to tell you what they were thinking, let them. Raque's intentions had been right out in the open: you didn't get much more blatant than a headline of Have You Seen This? She wanted her readers to search their collective memory, pick out any time they might have been in the presence of that construct. It might tell them who had set the fire. Identify the party responsible for a foal's hospitalization (that poor foal!) and a Guard's homelessness (somepony had to stand trial for all of it!), and naturally it would also indicate just who was so very hostile towards a poor lost soul (the various publications were still trying to work out an official spelling for 'Cerea': Raque had somehow managed to incorporate the Minotaurus symbol for 'pity') as to mindlessly punish anypony who had just been nearby...
Raque would have stated that she was just trying to expand the ponypower available to the investigators through including a good portion of Canterlot, along with every other settled zone which received the Bugle. Wasn't it best to spread the word, especially if the heinous party responsible (because Raque could use 'heinous' without missing a beat) fled the capital? And she would have let those words go into the world as she stood proudly with her tail at the loft of perfect peace. The sign of a mare who not only knew she had Done The Right Thing, but could make her audience hear the capitals on all of it.
The Bugle had been the publication which initially made the public aware of that part of the story. Several other papers had picked up the hoofbeat as soon as their own editions allowed it, and this would likely wind up including the Tattler: Wordia was probably still trying to figure out which size of fetlock screw was appropriate for twisting into an innocent conjunction.
But until she did, the angriest of Tattler readers -- the ones who were appearing day after day in the protest lines, because a number of them felt they were too good to work and a government which wasn't run by the sisters would have already been paying them for that -- had the Bugle.
Raque had given her intended readership nothing more than a clue. Flip that perspective around...
"Does it even matter at this point?" Celestia quietly asked from her place on the floor of the Lunar throne room, just as her flickering field deposited the last publication onto the sloping pile. "Whether the arsonist came up with it on her own, on the spot, or if it was planned prehoof at any level of meeting?"
"For what we can hope to be the eventual trial?" Luna responded, fully-prone forelegs wearily shifting across silver-shot marble. "Yes, in terms of the total number who might face charges. But in terms of how it may now spread..."
The world-weary shake of each head matched to the last degree. Siblings had a way of doing that.
"She wanted to give her own a clue," Celestia decided.
"And to the rest..."
Each mare automatically, almost compulsively shifted their gazes. Moving back along their own flanks, until they reached the hip. Returned to looking at each other.
"We had previously discussed ways in which we might identify how far the dissent might spread," Luna darkly reminded her sibling. "I can now add a factor: should any youths begin to manifest that icon, then we may be approaching a point of fracture."
The elder wanted to say It won't go that far, and found the words frozen in her throat.
"We'll have to see if it starts showing up away from the protests," she managed in its place. "Shaved patterns in fur, even with winter approaching. Capes and saddle blankets." With her own touch of added vocal shadow, "We're not likely to get hats with this many unicorns involved. But I'm expecting banners within the week."
Both heads dipped.
"Another year," the elder softly whispered. "Maybe just that. One more year between now and when she arrived, and it would have been easier. Five, simpler still. A generation, so that some only knew him from books. A century..."
"Not something she was able to control," the younger countered, with no force in the words. "If that had been within her purview, I believe she would have chosen not to appear at all. We are both reading the same reports, Tia. All of them. And when it comes to retaining fear, even for things one has not personally experienced..." Dark eyes briefly closed. "...there are some who manage to keep their jaw grip for a thousand years."
There was a moment when neither could look at the other.
"I need to get out of here," the elder abruptly stated. "Out of the palace. Do something else for a few hours, anything else. It's not avoidance --"
"-- removing oneself from the stressing environment for a time in order to regain focus," the younger cut in. "Yes. Would you welcome company?"
"Yes." The smile just barely managed to reach her lips. "Any ideas on where to go?"
"Assuming we can gain a degree of privacy at the destination point, and that site will be something which offers distraction? Several." The younger frowned. "Although given the state of the capital, to simply vanish from the palace instead of disappearing in such a way that the Guards know we remain within... that is perhaps not advisable." The next words had to be sent ahead of the elder's fast-emerging protest. "A token presence only... Sister?"
The elder looked up. "What?"
"Would you object to a small degree of additional company?" More quickly, "At a distance. We will be in our place, and they in theirs. Within sight, but out of hearing. For an activity which lasts a few hours, which still grants privacy."
Cautiously, "I know when you're working up to something awkward. And I also know the Guards are going to be upset if we leave together with no backup, but there's times when we both need to get out of the palace: just the fact that you're asking to come along means we're both going through the same thing. I'd rather get some time to ourselves --"
The younger sighed, and carefully explained.
"And now we need one more pony," the elder groaned. "And we have to hope she doesn't talk, because that's the next headline. For the rest of the moon. We should have refitted that part of the first sublevel. We've been talking about it for two years --"
"-- and we did not wish to be perceived as taking that level of personal indulgence. Regrets later, Tia. As with yourself and the Sergeant, I have a pony and venue in mind. And I trust her --" with the smallest of smiles "-- at least for matters where she is not attempting to write me with... friendly suggestions. It will simply take the usual amount of time to arrange. Tomorrow, if you are willing and able to wait? We depart near the end of your hours, and I will need to rise somewhat earlier than usual. Are you willing?"
The elder thought about it. The younger viewed the fact that said consideration took long enough for Moon to perceptibly shift as a measure of just how deeply the stress had penetrated.
"...yes. Which means I'm going to bed now. Good night, Luna."
"Rest well, Tia." With a small smile, "If you are willing, I shall do my part to aid in that."
The elder gratefully nodded, and both stood. Began to trot from the room: one towards the Moonset Gate and the long trail to her bedroom, the other leaving through the Moonrise doors.
But before they cleared the throne room, each glanced back. At the captured image which made up so much of the Bugle's front page, and then to their marks.
Raque had given her intended readership something which had been meant as a clue. But for those who stood in opposition, she had provided a symbol.
The sisters knew about the power of symbols.
"Breathe."
The girl took yet another breath, and marveled at the touch of chill in the air.
There were plants which appeared in two worlds, animals which seemed to have been duplicated, and perhaps there was an explanation for that. One barely-remembered book had discussed the concept of parallel evolution, which she had taken to mean 'the author is too lazy to create an entirely-new ecosystem from scratch, so here's a mostly-familiar one with a few stolen monsters kicked in.' Others had just postulated that a divine creator might choose to partially reuse a base model now and again, just to cut things down to five days of work plus a full weekend. And neither of those theories --
"Breathe more deeply."
She reluctantly did so. Multiple sections of anatomy shifted accordingly. Some portions bobbled.
The thin white unicorn stallion tilted his head up at her: she used the moment to assess the thinness of his neck versus the mass of a mane which had been soaked in a natural pharmacopeia of enhancement products, then carefully failed to understand how one was holding up the other.
"Are there any air sacks in there?" the diagnostician curiously asked. "Extra oxygen storage? That would explain the way they seem to --"
"-- expanding rib cage," the nearby brown-furred surgeon openly groaned. "Shifting diaphragm. We both went to Mazein, Vanilla, and I didn't see you asking any ageládas if they had secondary lungs. I remember every single time a female's kicked you across the room, especially during club nights. Having you get tossed would have stood out."
"Because their anatomical charts are available," the thin stallion protested. "We're drawing up this one from scratch! Similarity of outer anatomy doesn't necessarily represent --"
He abruptly stopped talking, and did so as his eyes unfocused. His head went up, and slightly to the right.
Eventually, after that posture had maintained for what she'd already decided was an uncomfortable amount of time, the girl risked a "...Doctor?"
The more muscular stallion sighed.
"He'll be like that for a little while," Doctor Chocolate Bear announced. "It means he's thinking so deeply about something that he doesn't have time to pay attention to anything else."
She wasn't always good with questioning authority, even with a subject where she served as the local expert. She knew that about herself, and the statement still mandated a "...really?"
"Best-case," the surgeon reluctantly admitted. "Next check is your resting heart rate."
Green light surrounded the end of what could just barely be identified as a medical instrument, pressed it against bare skin.
Cerea did her best not to jump, especially since he wanted a resting heart rate. And she marveled at how there might be multiple ways to explain the presence of duplicated animals and plants, but the only thing which seemed to account for a medical office always being a little too cold while utilizing equipment which had been half-rendered from ice was pure sadism.
It was, in at least one way, her fault. They'd had to come back into the palace after the gardens. She'd gone to sleep while Nightwatch had taken up the rest of her shift. Sometime after sunrise, Cerea had woken up and the pegasus had headed to bed. She hadn't wanted to disturb her friend, so leaving the barracks seemed to be mandatory. There had been no desire to spend two consecutive days in sketching, which meant...
...she was supposed to be resting. Lifting nothing heavier than a quill. Which, to Cerea, clearly still meant she was allowed to study -- but there were only so many notes to review, and any attempt to retreat into books left her facing a wall of incomprehensible words.
Cleaning the barracks meant making enough noise to wake Nightwatch. The only things left to be done in the bathroom were either tasks Cerea couldn't accomplish (restoration of the sponge panels) or ones which just produced too much sound (taking out panels between stalls). She didn't feel comfortable wandering through most of the palace on her own: Cerea considered the ramps up as her primary boundary, and was always worried about startling somepony who just happened to be wandering through the lower level at the wrong moment. The gardens had to be empty or cleared before she could use them, and she now knew that daylight often shone down on multiple class tours. Scaring children...
There had been a nightmare about that. One bad enough to jolt her out of sleep.
Then she'd thought about how the Solar Princess had wanted to introduce such a class to her.
Which had led to more nightmares.
She'd almost tried to sneak into the smithy, having convinced herself that it wasn't working as long as she did nothing more than check on how Barding was doing and maybe tried to get a few of the lighter bones out. In this case, the ultimate constraint on 'almost' came from discovering there was a functional lock, she lacked the key, and pressing her ear against the door was still awkward. Several desperate minutes had ultimately ended in the conclusion that contrary to popular belief, Barding lived somewhere else. The smith also had the day off, and she knew him just well enough as to be completely unable to imagine what he would do with one of those.
It had left her awkwardly wandering the lower hallways, memorizing extra passageways and trying to find some way of getting out of sight before any approaching hoofsteps reached her. (She didn't always succeed in time, and Solar staff members who had learned to associate day with the centaur is at the training grounds quickly lowered their heads and did their best to escape before the jaws of desperate small talk closed on their tail.) Hours in which she wasn't supposed to be doing anything, in which she had nothing to do, with every instinct screaming that she was just wasting time.
And then she'd met the doctors coming the other way.
They'd come down to retrieve a freshly-repaired medical device, and had done so with the intent of also corralling a centaur. Because they knew she had the day off, and the Sergeant had issued an order. (She quickly decided they weren't used to receiving those. The white stallion was still reeling.) The best way to determine whether she needed any extra recovery time was a medical examination -- except that the physicians were still trying to learn what her normal state was. As Chocolate Bear had been quick to point out, they had only seen her in two conditions: 'injured' and 'recovering'. And when it came to how her body functioned...
She was trying to become a Guard. Protecting a Princess meant a constant chance of injury, and they still didn't know how to treat her. The only sapient in the world without magic or medical plan.
So she was back in their office (the third level of the palace, some distance into the Lunar wing, and her imagination was still providing echos of frantic hooves and wings trying to clear the path), being examined. Questioned. And as with just about every visit to a physician, the more time which passed, the less clothing she had been able to retain. It was currently down to her bra, plus a tail which hadn't been trimmed yet and so thankfully gave her that much more to shield a vital area with.
Some of the girls had been through medical examinations conducted by human doctors, as a prerequisite for entering the program. It mostly seemed to have depended on their origin point. Cerea had managed to dodge that one, although there had been a checkup of sorts in Japan. (It had applied to every girl in the household: the openly-stated pretense was the need to see how they were all dealing with a foreign diet. Cerea had become suspicious at the moment the measuring tapes appeared.) Miia had spent nearly a full day being poked, prodded, and being forced to listen as herpetology references were carefully distorted into potential diseases created through slicing off half the word. And then a supposed documentary filmmaker had managed to temporarily infiltrate the household, claiming to be gaining footage which would make others more sympathetic towards them, when all he'd really wanted was to show the online world every last detail of a harpy suffering through the pains of laying an unfertilized egg...
With the Doctors Bear, she didn't have to worry about that kind of intent. They simply wanted to understand how her body worked, because that gave them the best chance of healing her. But there was only so much she could tell them. Any memory of being shown a basic anatomical chart for her own body belonged to a self who had been about nine years old and was mostly concerned about either forcing herself to fight on through the pain or, in knightly fantasies, was already planning on stitching her own wounds.
It meant she couldn't sketch anything for them with the required level of detail. It had them asking questions. Horribly detailed questions, for which she was only able to keep herself mostly still because they had no interest in her body other than the purely medical. She knew they wanted to help.
Mostly still. There had been a scale.
It had taken some time to apologize for the instinctive double back kick. But on the rather dubious positive side, the repair shop had recently freed up a slot.
The device was pulled away from her bare skin, and another flicker of green wrote down a number. "Lower than I'd thought it would be," the surgeon admitted. "Now, while we're waiting for him to get back..." He moved two hoofsteps, examining her bare flank: a tingle of energy rippled across her fur, and then the disc casually rendered the sound of a soft whistle.
"Doctor?"
"Just checking where the infection was," the larger of the unicorns stated as he collected more data: his partner was continuing to collect dust. "Not even a scar..."
"We're resilient." There was a little pride in that, because her healing was that of a true centaur. "We can recover from a lot of things on our own, if the wounds are clean and we can get them closed in time."
How had they treated her infection? They didn't have antibiotics for her. It had to have been some kind of spell --
"I was worried about your reproductive organs suffering long-term damage if it worked its way too far in," the surgeon admitted. "But you've been through a complete menstrual cycle, so the evidence points to your being okay there."
Her head dipped.
It wouldn't matter.
"Miss?" She automatically looked up -- then had to adjust for 'down, back, and to the side'. "I'm making an assumption based on pony anatomy. Where is your uterus?"
She distractedly pointed. His eyes tracked the strange angle of her shoulder.
"So just about a match, give or take for scale," the unicorn decided. "Which should give us the location of your ovaries as well, and does mean we were right to worry."
I had that dream.
About... him. About what it would be like if I won, and we...
I knew what a gravid mare looked like. I saw enough of them in the herd.
(at the same time every year)
But in the dream, I was carrying in my upper torso. Like humans do. Something which made me a little more like them, and
The thin stallion's head dropped, with the mane completely failing to shift.
"...so your foals are just that much bigger than ours, and require proportionately more milk," he casually announced. "Which means those are likely to mostly be glandular tissue."
my filly was so beautiful
She had healed. She was fully capable. But if there was no way home...
It doesn't matter.
And then the white stallion's voice softened.
"Are you all right?"
"...I'm still sore in a few places," she repeated from when they'd brought her in. "I don't think there's any muscle tears or other internal injuries. My shoulders are strained from the forge --"
"That's not what I meant," the diagnostician stated, quietly looking at her from the other side of the examination table. Something she was too large for. "I don't know minotaur anatomy, and I've got to fix that -- and then try to adjust. For starters, you have arms and forelegs, so you're going to have two sets of brachial arteries. We can try to track some of your musculature and bone structure based on theirs. I don't know their anatomy -- but I do know something about their posture. Slumped shoulders. A curled back. At the very least, you're tired. At the worst --"
"-- I am fine."
He had surprisingly blue eyes: just about aquamarine. It was easy to pick out the exact color with ponies, who seemed to present the world with six times the standard amount of iris. And for thirty endless seconds, every bit of that was focused on her.
"I want to take a vertebrae count," Vanilla Bear finally announced. "That much spine is that much more of a chance for a spinal injury. Let's see what your natural armor is like."
It went on like that for a while. The bra came off because it was covering an area which could bruise, went on again. Her hooves were examined for chips and cracks: the doctors did her the courtesy of checking her own frogs while they were in the area, and did so with discretion and sensitivity. It became necessary to explain the lack of nipples near her back legs: the upper torso had completely taken over that function, although there were a few males who had doubled their sets of vestigial uselessness.
The most awkward part came shortly before the knock.
"We've talked about your digestion," the surgeon began. "The good news is that you can vomit. There's species which can't. It means that if you get something which your body can't handle, we don't have to go in as the first resort. But this is the first time I've had the chance for a long look at your teeth."
Which was when she saw it coming, and a mostly-redressed body braced for impact.
"You've been sticking to a herbivorous diet," Chocolate Bear observed.
"We asked the kitchens to track what you were eating," Vanilla added. "It gives us a better idea of your nutritional needs. When it comes to calorie consumption, you're similar to Princess Celestia: that's just an issue of --" he glanced at the scattered fragments of the scale "-- body type. It's just about the same for keeping you hydrated, but we still have to work out how your body temperature regulates itself. There's two different kinds of sweat glands in play."
"You subsist on plants. Vegetables and fruit," the surgeon picked up the thread. "Can you eat grass?"
She managed a nod. Vanilla took custody of the verbal needle.
Far too casually, "Meat?"
Her right hand came up. Briefly covered her eyes.
"...yes and no," she softly told them. "I..." The hand dropped, doing so just in time to let her see eight hooves skitter a few centimeters backwards. "You're..."
It was something which held true in her own herd, because legends said that centaurs had produced the first physicians: the code had evolved to suit. She could only hope that the parallels were charitable enough to stretch that far.
"...my doctors," she tried to finish. "That means -- you won't tell anypony else the things I say to you unless it's an emergency." And she could hear the pleading in her voice, she hated it... "That's... right, isn't it?"
Both stallions nodded.
Cerea took a breath.
"It can be better for me on long gallops," she reluctantly said. "Extended efforts. I don't need to eat as much of it as I would with plants. It's just that... I have a lot of taste buds. A lot of them. When I eat a plant, I can tell something about where it was grown. The kind of minerals which were in the soil. It's easy for me to pick out something foul, and... there's times when I can't finish something which anyone else could. Because I'm the only one who thinks anything is wrong. And with meat... when I eat meat, I sort of get -- everything which the animal ate. And where I come from, there's..." She knew the word would translate for the physicians: she just didn't want to say it. "...drugs. Liquids and injections they give animals to make them grow up faster, or heavier. Things which aren't natural. So if I eat meat --"
Ponies could vomit: she'd already seen that. The fast-changing hue of both undercoats was making her wonder if she was about to see it again.
"-- unless it comes from an animal which was raised without any of that, it tastes like... it just..." She had to force herself to swallow or rather, to swallow it back. "...tastes like everything they went through. I can barely choke anything down. And fish who were swimming in polluted waters, when the chemicals get into their bodies..."
She wasn't sure what sympathy looked like, when it came to pony expressions. Having to sort it out from nausea wasn't helping.
"...I could eat meat," Cerea finished. "I just -- can't find any which I can eat. Sometimes I feel sick just from thinking about it -- and I just made you sick, I'm sorry --"
The stallions looked at each other. Both males took slow, steadying breaths.
"Omnivore," Vanilla Bear said, with the disc putting some mirth into his tone. "And a conscientious objector." But the tail was twitching. "You can get by without it? Nutritionally?"
"For most of my life." There had been a few dishes served in the herd, and the isolation of the gap allowed for what was mostly normal prey: air and water pollution provided the standard aftertaste. It was possible to choke it down, at least until she got out of sight. But in the human world...
It had taken her a week to recover from the flight to Japan. Part of that had been the chill of the cargo hold. The rest had been a cultural assimilation attempt. Which had taken the form of a bowl of gyūdon.
"If I ever get into a situation where I need a lot of protein in a hurry, the longest gallops or a big wound which has to be healed... I'm supposed to eat some. I just can't..."
They nodded.
"We'll keep that in a sealed file," Chocolate Bear told her. "Unless it's needed."
Which was when the knock sounded against the door.
Cerea just barely managed to keep herself from rearing up: the local air currents had prevented her from detecting the approach, and if anypony else heard me say that, they'll probably decide I've been thinking about eating them --
Vanilla Bear glanced at his partner, then moved for the door. A few more seconds saw Nightwatch working her way past the posted pony anatomical charts.
"Can I take her?" the little knight asked. "Um. I know my shift just started, and yours is wrapping up. But there's sort of a deadline."
"We can pick it up later," Chocolate Bear decided -- then backed up a little, providing himself with a better sight line on Cerea's eyes. "For basic medical information. As far as the exam goes --"
"-- you're on a restricted schedule for the next week," Vanilla continued. "You can go back to the training grounds. You can work in the forge. But you're not doing both in a single day. You get one category of physical activity, you get up to ten hours of it, and that's it. Most of the problem is that you haven't been giving your body normal recovery time."
"Too many hours awake," Chocolate decided. "And pushing too hard during those hours. You're trying to double-shift, and that's something a Princess shouldn't do. Any questions?"
If there had been any chance for the emotions to reach Cerea's fast-opening mouth, they would have abandoned the category of queries and gone directly for exclamations. She was a centaur. She was supposed to be capable of greater efforts than a human. Telling her that she could only do so much for a week, a whole extra week, was offensive. But these were doctors, Nightwatch was right there and --
"-- or rather," Vanilla casually added, "any questions which don't get you put on bed rest for two days?"
The girl's mouth closed.
"Right," both stallions said, with Chocolate adding "All yours, Nightwatch."
Cerea held back most of the fuming until she got into the hallway.
"Restricted?" jumped out at the moment the door closed behind her. "The armor has to be finished! There's days to go, and that's just for the rough form! Barding can't work on the upper torso! It has to be me or it won't be --"
"-- I'll be the first to tell on you," the little knight broke in.
She hated sounding as if she was begging, and suspected the disc was gleefully translating every last tone. "Nightwatch --"
"-- or report, since I'm your superior officer. And then there's probably a punishment. Like being reassigned. To bed. Um. Blankets. We still have to do something about your bed. But that won't be tonight. I really did have to fetch you, because we're going out. Um. 'We' is both of us. Plus two more. And we have to go meet an escort, but she won't stay after she takes us out of the palace. So the total is four."
Cerea stopped.
"We're leaving the palace and the grounds?"
The dark tail twitched. "Um. Yes. Gardens, Courtyards, training grounds, towers. Nothing associated with the palace. We're just -- going out."
Which was just about impossible. They couldn't bring her into the city. Cerea had already seen what would happen: a repeat for the start of the press conference, only on an exponential scale. Unless there was a public park which had been fully secured --
-- and who are the other two?
It was the most natural question in the world, and came with several follow-ups. "Where?"
Nightwatch's wings flared. Moved into a hover which let her look directly into Cerea's face.
The pegasus smiled.
Parallels.
In a human environment, she would have reasonably expected the dominant scents to be popcorn and salt: for ponies, the same held true. Admittedly, in Japan, most of those scents were outside: the majority of citizens didn't eat in while in a cinema, just in case the sounds produced turned out to be impolite. Such consumption generally took place after the movie, with the crowd milling near the theater and discussing what they'd just seen: the fact that they were now free to purchase the snacks somewhere else at a fifth of the price seemed to largely escape them. Humans were strange that way.
Popcorn and salt: those matched. But in Japan, popcorn was rarely flavored. There was only a hint of the American obsession with butter (or rather, the chemical concoction which so many had poorly decided was it) -- but with so little to compete against, that was still enough to give it third place in the olfactory battle. With ponies, that position was held by olive oil.
She suspected that by pony standards, the place was rather well-cleaned: the richly-padded benches still held what had to be their original deep red and black hues, there was no stickiness adhering to her hooves or -- anywhere else, and the wall draperies were being maintained. But to Cerea, the scent of olive oil saturated the air. It came from every bench, emanated from beneath most of them, and had even found a place on the screen itself: several small stains showed where popcorn had been used for criticism of the entertainment.
Cerea wondered if that background scent made the cinema anything like being in Greece. It was the original centaur homeland, olive oil was endemic in the region and... she'd never been there. Something which was a near-universal geographic statement and with one centaur, had the option to upgrade.
Olive oil. Salt. Sugar, so some kind of candy -- licorice. Taffy? Her nose wrinkled. Plus vomit. And urine. Probably very young foals on the last. Maybe. She hadn't really seen any of Equestria's children for more than a split-second: glimpses of faces at doors and windows in Palimyno, just before their parents had desperately herded them away. Or an adult who lost control during a horror movie.
She wondered if they had horror movies. Then she thought about the way the film industry tended to react to events in her own world, and decided there were at least ten suspiciously similar productions currently being filmed on various backlots. The youths from Nightmare Night had probably been recruited to give them advice on how not to create a centaur --
"Um. Sorry," came from the bench on her immediate left. "I didn't... we didn't think." The black head awkwardly inclined towards what, in a human theater, would have represented either the designated, elevated area for visiting dignitaries or just a very significant upgrade for a near-useless partial balcony view. "There's always a Princess Box in a cinema. Just in case. And it has to have benches suitable for the Princesses. Um. For the same reason. So there's always the one bench which fits, because you're just about the same size as Princess Celestia. Except she's here, using that bench. Which means..."
"It's all right," Cerea offered from her place in the aisle. "It was the same problem in Japan." Excepting the presence of that single suitable (and occupied) bench. Lala and Suu had no problems with human seats, Papi was fine as long as she tucked her wings close and Meroune just went into the portion of the theater which had been designated for wheelchairs -- but Miia's length created the same problem as Cerea's lower-body bulk: it left them stuck in the aisles, constantly apologizing to whoever had to work their way past them. Rachnera, who took up quite a bit of space and normally delighted in the chance to create small inconveniences for humans, had done so to the point where she'd been offered another choice: the ceiling or 'Get out.' "So this is what cinemas are like in Canterlot."
"Um. No." (Cerea blinked.) "The Princesses wanted to slow down the gossip, or make it go away for a while. That's harder in the capital. This is Ponyville. I know you didn't see that because the teleport arrival was inside the building. They just contacted the owner and said they wanted the place for one showing. It's the slow season, so he doesn't lose anything by renting to the palace. He's done it a couple of times before, so he doesn't think about it too much. And it's just us plus her."
The little knight's head turned, and Cerea followed the angle towards a booth: a pearl coat and horn were just barely visible, with the latter poking at bits of machinery.
"There's nopony else working here right now, on palace request," Nightwatch explained. "No ushers, nopony making snacks. All you really need for a cinema is a projectionist, because the Princesses aren't good with the equipment and anypony who isn't a marked projectionist usually winds up needing a new projector. So that's Bayleaf, up there. Um. She trusts the Princesses. She... cares about them. She writes them all the time, because... well, they both say it's caring. About one thing. And she was sworn to secrecy. Princess Luna says she'll probably keep quiet unless..."
Black fur scrunched under the force of the wince.
"Unless?" Cerea carefully asked.
The disc hissed. Wires became perceptibly warmer. The magic was struggling, and doing so because while it was fully capable of translating the words, it had no capacity for inserting spaces into something which had emerged in one breath.
"Unlesssomeponystartsmakingoutbecauseshemostlywritesthemwithherideasonhowtheycanhavebettersexohlookshesloadingthefirstreel!"
The centaur's sanity decided it was best not to have heard that. "...do you know what the movie is?" And then wondered why it mattered. It could be the greatest achievement in pony cinematic history and she still wouldn't have heard of a single performer in it.
"No," emerged at a thankfully slower pace. "Princess Luna just told me they were going out to see a film and everypony in the palace would be happier if there was a Guard along, so I was coming with them. Um. And... that you hadn't been much of anywhere, and -- it might help if you got to see it too. So you were coming. Did you get to see a lot of films? In your herd?"
"It really started with my generation," Cerea admitted. "We --" and stopped as she tried to figure out a way to put it which wouldn't threaten to drain the disc's charge on the spot.
We were the generation which had a chance at portable DVD players. So that meant something which could work with batteries, and that was just the usual problem. But if you managed to get the player smuggled in, and the batteries held up for a little while, you could watch a movie. VCRs needed generators and they were just about obsolete, we didn't have anything near the bandwidth for streaming, and old film reels -- you had to get the projector, and then it was the power problem again.
But it was the same issue we had with the books, only worse. We knew which movies were good -- one to two years after they came out. Because so many of the books came from remaindered sales, and most libraries were happy to sell off their old magazines because no one else was buying them. I got to read a lot of magazine reviews. I could tell you who won every award at Cannes, for just about every year of my life.
We got movies. But we got them from the same place. And the movies which get put into that kind of sale at a library are mostly the ones which they either have too many copies of and need to pare down, or the things which are so bad that no one wanted to watch them. Either way, it's a disc which is just taking up space. So it was usually either something which was really popular for a little while, or something horrible.
Those categories can overlap.
If it was a special night and there were batteries which could be spared, then there could be a movie. But we usually didn't know what we were getting. And if it was live-action, they always had humans. I could look at them. I heard what they sounded like. But it wasn't enough to let me understand them. It just felt like they mostly liked to hurt each other.
There was also animation. Do you have that? Slowly-changing drawings which you put in front of a camera and take pictures of, one frame at a time, so when you see them going by quickly, it's like they're moving? We got a copy of Fantasia once. It was the only thing which had centaurs. Or what the humans thought centaurs were.
I didn't know whether to scream or cry.
I waited until my mother couldn't hear me. Then I cried.
"-- got a few," was what emerged into the world. "We just didn't have a real choice about what we saw. The Princesses come here to see movies?"
"Um. They go to film premieres sometimes, because a lot of things premiere in the capital and the studios like to have the Princesses there. But then they get the press waiting outside the cinema trying to figure out what they thought, and of course they can't say much because too many ponies think their review is the only real one. So they started thinking about refitting part of the palace into a really small cinema. Just large enough for them and some staff. But it would be expensive, and since it's mostly just for them... there would be a lot of articles. They're trying to figure out a way where they can pay for it themselves, so nopony could complain. Um. For very long. The Tattler might be able to get three weeks out of it. But they don't have a lot of money. They both collect a salary, but it's -- average."
"Average," Cerea carefully repeated.
"The money earned by every working pony in the nation," Nightwatch carefully expanded, "divided by the number of working ponies. I earn more than they do. But they don't have to pay for housing or food --"
Silver eyes half-shut. Added to the sudden change of scent, it was more than enough to let Cerea guess at the thought.
And right now, neither do you.
Which is my fault.
"-- so it goes a little further," the pegasus finished. "But until they can work it out, they ask Ponyville's cinema for the off-hours. So they can see a film in peace."
Cerea looked up at the designated Princess Box. Princess Luna seemed to be regarding something which had been spread out on the balcony: it took a deep inhale to find the ink. The larger alicorn currently had her snout stuck halfway into a paper feedbag. And given the respective sizes of snout and feedbag, was possibly just stuck, period.
"Princess Luna just wanted you to see a movie tonight," Nightwatch said. "She thought... it might help."
The centaur quickly refocused on the screen. Royalty probably didn't want to be seen freeing itself with an awkwardly-scraping forehoof.
"Um. She... usually doesn't invite anyone..."
The house lights went down.
It was about who you spoke with.
There were many reasons for a zebra to leave Pundamilia Makazi: it was just that when you didn't have a true nation and your society consisted of a hundred frequently-quarreling city-states, each of which existed as an independent government... well, in that situation, the most natural solution to 'problems at home' was to pick another home some distance down the road. And if you had left one of the peaceful, less restrictive, sane kraals, that would be the end of it. Having to sneak out of a locked-down extension of Tartarus with slightly lower security meant those problems liked to follow you, mostly in the name of dragging you back for what the once-again-locals called 'justice'. Anyone going through it could also call it justice. Strictly speaking, if you managed to get a word out between the screams, 'justice' was probably as good as any.
One hundred kraals, and if you were truly unlucky, it would be one of Those Six. Or worse, The Three. Half of Those Six would wearily give up on you after the final border was crossed, because governments so localized were still capable of recognizing that the more organized nations got really upset when someone conducted their idea of a trial on another country's soil. The Three never forgot you. They even used your existence as a means of getting others to come home, because as long as that party crossed the thorn bush line while hauling you along, all would supposedly be forgiven.
But if you didn't quite have confidence in that kind of amnesty... well, each of The Three kept their own list, with a bounty marked next to each name. Zebras with even less morals than funds would venture out into the world, searching out those names. One of the largest payouts was attached to a mare who had set up a place in the Everfree, and no bounty hunter had tried to collect it in six years because having to drag yourself home across a few hundred gallops using three working legs was the sort of thing which encouraged a change of career.
The zebra stallion was familiar with the name, and had no intention of going to see her for anything other than extra advice. His had been one of the best kraals. He had been allowed to leave freely, everyone had wished him luck, and even if his funds and conscience fell apart at the same moment -- potioneers had to stick together.
Because that was the thing about brewing potions in Pundamilia Makazi: you were working with the local biome, and you were going to work with it for the rest of your life. Zebras didn't practice a lot of agriculture or agronomy, because you worked with what the land provided (or, for Those Six, what someone else's land provided). There were some around who understood soil balance and how to adjust it -- but on the whole, imported plants existed in one of two occasionally-progressive states: Expensive and Dead. The fact that there were almost no expatriate earth ponies around (and the ones who did exist charged proportionately for their services) didn't exactly help.
With the ingredients available around one kraal, you could do a lot. Complete the century set and more possibilities opened up, along with what was hopefully an open shot to the border if one of Those Six had caught you collecting one of their restricted substances. But by going to Equestria, moving to where the earth ponies were and the Cornucopia Effect was part of the background environment -- get a greenhouse set up in those conditions, and you could keep everything you'd managed to bring with you alive. And after that, you could start exploring the possibilities offered by that which grew in pony lands.
He'd been in Equestria for three years, was making sure to attend his citizenship classes and had just about reached the point where he could speak at three-quarters speed without losing everything within his accent. Culturally, he was still adjusting: zebras tended to work with the flow of the world, and that viewpoint turned just about every pony into a shivering control freak. It had taken some careful introductions and stammering attempts to remember how tenses worked before he'd learned that quite a few of them were actually rather nice control freaks. In general, everything was fine as long as you avoided some of the speciesists and were ready with a calming drought for your new friend when that first unexpected drizzle hit.
But whenever it was possible, he spoke with botanists: some of them made for great friends. He learned what grew where. And that included the wild zones, because that was where the best ingredients were.
On the technical level, he understood that he wasn't supposed to be gathering leaves here. The zebra stallion fully recognized the concept of 'forbidden territory'. It was just that he was from Pundamilia Makazi and forbidden territory could be a matter of stepping off the road because you'd just spotted a berry: trying to explain that at your trial generally led to justice. As far as he was concerned, any supposedly forbidden territory which didn't have anyone actively trying to kill him was more suited for 'unclaimed'.
Besides, he'd studied the maps. You didn't get in real trouble until you approached the center. And if you kept approaching after that, knowing what was at the center... then it could be presumed you hadn't been planning on coming back.
He wasn't really concerned. He had muted his scent with a careful drenching, was carrying several concoctions designed for monsters not to enjoy, and was at least a quarter-gallop away from the danger zone. (He was still learning to think in gallops.) And his saddlebags were full of leaves and bits of bark, he'd found a shed dragon scale which promised to be several kinds of interesting, and best of all, he had just spotted a rowan tree. A rowan which still had berries, halfway into autumn.
There were all kinds of things you could do with rowan berries, if you were a potioneer who was prepared to get creative in his experiments and didn't mind everypony asking where most of your fur had gone.
He carefully moved towards the tree. It had already been a good day for gathering: rowan berries would serve as a perfect topper. But you had to move carefully, because it was still a wild zone and even when he was this far away from the center, he never knew when something might emerge.
Nothing did.
Instead, something left him.
It took some time before he was able to reconstruct the whole of it. It had started at his hooves, which had just felt as if they'd gone a little deeper into the dirt than usual. But then his ankles and hocks had seemed to weaken, all four knees had been next, the wave of exhaustion had swept over shoulders and hips and mark, moved up his neck, his legs were folding and the juniper mix he was keeping against his right shoulder for ready mouth access shifted and he couldn't remember what juniper was for.
It was... black. Small and just about black in the skin. The smoke from burning wood of the tree was pungent. But his head was moving towards the dirt, he was just about dropped all the way into half-dead grass, and all he could remember was that you stomped on the berries and then they --
-- they --
-- he couldn't remember.
He'd begun to instinctively recognize its properties from the moment of his mark's manifest and he couldn't remember --
-- his head jerked back, and did so just as his forelegs resumed operations. It was just enough to keep the local pebbles out of his nostrils.
...preventing dizziness. It could do all sorts of things and none of them had been brewed into that mix -- but in the right infusion, it prevented dizziness. That felt... ironic...
He held his half-fallen position for a while, ears twisting as he listened for anything which might be approaching. Nothing. This was followed by carefully getting back up. And then because he was a potioneer and something had just happened to him, he dropped right back down again and began to examine the wild zone, one blade of grass at a time.
There had been an unexpected effect, and there was no monster in evidence. That meant he had potentially stumbled across something botanical. New species were discovered all the time: those who were truly fortunate lived long enough to write a name down. All he had to do was locate a single sprig which he'd never seen before, carefully harvest it while taking along a bit of native soil and get it home --
-- there! Something --
-- no. His attention had been caught by a flash of new sensory impressions -- but it had been bright, as if Sun had briefly reflected off something unliving. But he searched that area anyway, and found nothing at all. Light through quartz, perhaps: something the soil spray produced by his own movements had covered. There was no plant around which he wasn't at least roughly familiar with from books, and the majority were things he knew on the level of his mark.
Still -- there was a chance that it had been a conjunctive effect. He gathered a few of the natural growths from where he'd been standing, packaged them carefully, harvested the berries and then, because new species were discovered all the time, there was a chance for a monster with range, and he still didn't feel fully recovered, he called it a day and got out of there.
Over the next few weeks, the zebra would experiment carefully with everything he'd brought back and while the rowan was wondrous, he couldn't replicate what had happened to him in the wild zone. But he did think it was associated with the rowan in some way. Weren't there old stories about how rowan wood could, under certain circumstances, weaken magic? That sounded vaguely like something the yaks might have written about. He'd have to check the library for a translation (because he spoke Equestrian more fluently than he read it), then go back for some shed bark. And a dead branch, if at all possible. One which had already died, because working with the world meant not hurting the tree.
But he did some other things first, after he initially returned to that still slightly strange-seeming Equestrian home. He washed off. He made sure to have a good dinner. And then he took all of the defenses he'd brought with him and carefully disposed of them, because they were brews which didn't keep long: he hadn't put enough of his own magic into them to allow indefinite storage. They were potent now, and that was why he had to be so careful -- but in three weeks, when his next trip was planned, they would be worse than nothing. And simply allowing them to sit around as they slowly shed thaums... that was never a good idea.
So he did the responsible thing. And because he was still a little weak, he never realized that every last one of the potions had gone inert.
He didn't tell any of his botanist friends about what had happened, because that would have meant also telling them the where. There was a chance they would have turned him in, while saying it was for his own good. It probably would have resulted in nothing more than a stern word from the Immigration Department, but... he didn't want to take the chance. It was best to remain quiet. He could tell another potioneer the next time he saw one, but the ponies didn't have to know.
Really, it was all about who you spoke with.
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I wonder what kind of movie Cerea got to watch with the Princesses and the guards.
And the mysterious antagonist force rears it's non-existent head again... Kinda makes me think that the end of the story will be Cerea destroying that distortion/thing with her sword and getting sent home, while the ponies think she died and build a statue of her in the gardens.
"Omnivore," Vanilla Bear said.
Deep in the center of the palace, in a scent-blocked section of the Royal Kitchens, one blood-red ear twitched, and a frowning unicorn looked up from where he had been basting a hydra head with a delightful honey glaze including just a trace of basil. There was something new in the area, something that just might possibly be hungry for something within his specialty.
Dinner was coming.
If it bleeds, it leads. Lyrics start 38 seconds in.
Wait, they put Cerea in a cinema and tantalised her with the scent of new and different popcorn flavours, but then didn’t give her any? For shame.
Also genuinely surprising that the Sisters wouldn’t have snacks at the ready as well. I’d expect Celestia to have a secret cake somehow stashed in her mane, at the very least...
Then again. If it’s snacks they want, there’s a bakery in Ponyville. And with Cerea inside the cinema, sad and lost and needing friends... do you think the building has been Pinkie-Pie Proofed?
I was quite sure that Nightwatch was gonna be part of Luna's plan! Woo! I'm right!
Hmm... Didn't they want Cerea to be examined by Twilight? Or was that just the summoning spell? ... Well, they're in the same town now...
----
I bet the movie's that Centaur one from Anchor Foal.
----
Haha! Bayleaf! Never change.
----
Zecora's awesome!
----
I guess that saved him. Him and his potions just fed whatever it was.
I bet now that Shiftstones absorb magic to make them. That's why they occur where people have died. Because Discord / Chaos is starving, and that's how it feeds.
----
Also advise making an entry on Obviously Not Fine TLP
10411756
That's why I deleted that comment
10411781
If it is then Pinkie is probably right outside buzzing around the doors and windows. If not then incoming hilarity next chapter.
10411781
My money is on Fluttershy GALLOPING through the door (not the doorway; The DOOR.)
under the one hoof: A Centaur hurt Discord. Cerea is a Centaur.
Under a second hoof: Like calls to like, and Fluttershy is somewhat isolated. ( This may instead get us a Twilight, admittedly.)
Under a third hoof: Bowel Torsion.
The effect follows her around but hasn't been reported in Canterlot... Interesting.
Can't wait to unlock Zecora's dark and emotionally scarring backstory!
Antimemetic effect. Nasty things, those.
Sounds like he went were Cerea emerged & encountered some plastic.
10411759
About a zillion chapters back I speculated that he'd have a new best friend. Other commenters were quick to inform me of Cerea's vegan diet.
But now Estee's introduced a new piece of information that changes that…
10411839
Being magicless, Cerea might be invisible to Pinkie Sense. That would probably terrify Pinkie more than the whole centaur thing.
10411857
It's not an antimemetic. It sucked out all the magic, including the mark magic that let him know plant stuff without learning it the hard way.
Incidentally, zebra marks confirmed for functionality in Menagerie.
10411859
No. Cerea did not emerge in the Everfree. And the first time we saw this happen, it was to a pegasus at altitude where there was clearly no plastic.
Also, stepping on a piece of plastic would not have drained the magic from the potions. Plastic appears to disrupt magic it contacts, not absorb it at a distance.
10411800
Fair enough, thusly I have deleted mine.
Fair travels
I'm confused as to what they're talking about here. What symbol?
Another Zebra in the land. Nice to know.
And damn, Zecora, that's kind of badass but at the same time I worry that trouble might be coming for her later.
It was nice of Luna to invite Cerea to the cinema. I hope the movie is a comedy because she could use the laugh. Or a maybe a documentary on a subject that will perplex her...
Doctor Bear and Vanilla really have their work cut out for them. Say, do they have a spell or device equivalent of a X-ray machine? If not somebody should get on with inventing that.
10411877
Yeah, the null-magic patches are likely a byproduct of the summoning ritual in some way. I was thinking that they marked where summoning attempts had occurred, but with one of them apparently in the sky, that's probably not it. Or maybe they're related to Tirek somehow? Not enough information.
10411877
Hmm. Well, per S9, Tirek can only absorb magic from living things so unless Estee changed that, it's not him. The rock that Chrysalis' hive is made from?
10411922
There's a frankly confusing x-ray in Read It And Weep, and since that is season 2 it’s Esteeverse canon.
10411924
Discord is wounded and he IS magic given form. Magic is wounded. Magic might be trying to heal itself or is being drained in between dimensions.
But I like Malandy idea that shift stones are getting created from the phenomenon.
My question is this. What are the chances that the area the new Zebra stallion came across is the same location as the one the Pegasus hit earlier in the story. Obviously they move. So this is a possibility. But this means it is heading towards Ponyville and Canterlot. Maybe it is a new type of monster? Who knows but our beloved Estee. Keep up the beautiful work!
> or rather, the chemical concoction which so many had poorly decided was it
*Coconut oil. It's just coconut oil.
I'm starting to think that Tirek's still about, but that he's being smarter about his magic snatching this time, hiding in forbidden areas, snatching a couple moments of magic here and there. Taking it in little sips that won't be reported or will be easily overlooked, he's biding his time, for what, I'm not yet sure of.
What I do feel fairly sure of is that Cerea will likely end up killing him by shoving platinum down his throat and making him explode.
In Ponyville?? To Pinkie, that would be 'challenge accepted'
Laughed at the Scrubs cameo of J.D. and Turk.
What’s this zebra up to though I wonder. He doesn’t seem to be nefarious, though perhaps a little reckless in his pursuit of ingredients. Nice chapter.
Looks like someone dropped a bit of plastic. That still doesn't make sense to me by the way. The ponies have a shitload of things that have plastic in them, like film reels.
10411930
It's confusing if you assume pony wings are like terrestrial avian wings, with only an "arm" and feathers. There are many instances in the show when pegasi use their feathers as articulated digits. I can't recall specific episodes, unfortunately, since I haven't watched them since they aired, but there is plenty of consistent evidence that makes that x-ray image perfectly reasonable.
In one episode, Fluttershy opens her saddlebags at one point by pulling the flap up with her wing in a way that clearly displays fine articulation of each "finger."
Think of their digits as coarse control flight surfaces and their feathers as the fine control surfaces.
10411799
I think Twilight's been set on the whole herd instinct suppression problem, partly because she really shouldn't meet Cerea if she doesn't yet trust Celestia's reassurances.
I don't know how or if Estee plans to have them meet. I know how I'd do it, but I wouldn't necessarily say it's better than what turns out to be the plan.
Before the Mane Six + One meet her, I would have them interview a few ponies. Definitely Luna and Nightwatch. And then, before the Six go in, I'd first have them send in Spike, who knows what it's like to be feared because of what you are. Then... not sure whether I'd have the others go in, carefully reading the atmosphere when it seems calm, or have him come out and them ask for his thoughts. If the latter, then next would be Fluttershy. Or possibly Pinkie. Rarity only comes in once she understands that trying to measure her might get her hurt, and at any rate, somepony's taken her measurements with Luna's aid, and she would do better to ask her. Applejack, Rainbow, and Twilight only go in once all these other sources have given their testimony, possibly allaying their fears of her.
Is this what will happen? We'll find out, I guess.
So I think the logical assumption for the story thus far is that somepony -- or someone -- was attempting to summon Tirek, missed, and got Cerea instead. Along with these little pockets of... anti-magic that were pulled into existence along with her. We just don't know who or why. Was it Cosy Glow or Queen Chrysalis, trying to bring Tirek back to Equestria so they could learn his secrets? A centaur cultist, summoning their Master?
Or maybe something more benevolent. Perhaps the broken fragments of Anti-Magic were from somepony trying to summon Tirek into a custom-built cage meant to hold his power, but when Cerea appeared the cage shattered into fragments...
Either way it's promising to be interesting. And I have no idea why, because he's an insignificant one-shot character we don't even have a name for, but I hope we meet this unnamed Zebra properly. It'd be nice to see Zecora chatting with one of her Countryponies, even if they're from different kraals.
Oh dear, a worshipper.
10411799
That would be just evil.
So it's quite likely.
btw
Extra s
10411916
The symbol some protesters were carrying last chapter, which was also the symbol carved or burned into Nightwatch's door by the arsonist. Might have been useful as evidence, but is now useless due to spread. This is why you don't print details on ongoing criminal investigations.
Epidemic in the region. 😜 I believe that was supposed to be endemic.
It’s always good to see the sisters interacting. Another good chapter.
I doubt that Equestrian newspapers have funnypages, what with how seriously they take themselves (which is a pity, I think the Princess would rather enjoy reading the funnypages).
Aw, horseapples, the "bleed-over" (or whatever it is) is getting worse
10412240
To be fair -- if Discord's imprisonment for thousands of years as a conscious, aware statue were to drive him insane...
...how the heck would we tell?
Oh dear. What's that old saying? "The road to hell is paved with good intentions?"
10412318
Simple, he got reasonable.
Bayleaf? I think I should know the name, but I don't. Who's having better sex with who?
10411781
It was, through the most powerful way possible.
They said please.
10412471
Bayleaf is one of the main characters in Estee's M-rated story Bangception. Also mentioned in Positions of Authority.
Would they need to attack Cerea, or would simply finding a talent for rabble-rousing against the filthy xenos be enough?
Oh, Vanilla Bear...
For a brief second, I thought they were going to clear out Horaceland for her.
And now I'm wondering if this is Ponyville. And also the Anchor Foal timeline. Though I suppose that film wouldn't have helped Cerea's reputation any more than Tirek did. I just hope they don't actually show that one. Seems especially insensitive given recent circumstances.
Bayleaf's letters to the princesses are certainly thoughtful. In their own particular way.
Oh goodness, centaurs watching Fantasia. Now I'm wondering if they ever got Disney's Hercules. Can't imagine that would've gone over any better.
I deeply appreciate this mental image.
Huh. Fascinating bit of backstory for Zecora, and a reminder that the antimagic zones never stopped being a thing. The question is what's causing them... and whether they're spreading.
Awesome work as always. I love you blend in the culture shock and whatnot in with the story
10412024
It almost looks like a pterosaur wing. They used "ribs" of cartilage coming off the arm bone to give the wing it's shape.
10411924
Yeah, I thought it was the plastic at first too.
Maybe the "null" sections are little chunks of Cerea's Earth that got pulled through with her?
Considering just how careful they have been to avoid bringing the bearers in so far is a trip to ponyville really a good idea? There's no other safe cinema they trust in the country ?
Better hope Twilight's not been getting paranoid with all this Centaur news in the papers and has set up a wide area detection spell or something or gets curious.
Actually given the mass reporting going on , they have to know about it now right?
I was told that I can do that, but it was said in Russian and it sounds less than oxymoron in that case.
10412657
I dont remember those skeletons, so they what, were between birds and bats? Not quite fingers in wing, like bat have?
10412120
+ (from what I've read) you keep some details back so that you can tell if the person confessing is the REAL killer.
10411924
I'm fairly certain there are plastic hair clips that have been lost and are unaccounted for
10412815
Maybe, but consider: the hairclips we know about don't act like this. Not even the sword causes a magic-removal field; it has to actually touch its target to nullify magic. I think if the null patches were being caused by mere plastic, it would have to be a huge amount of it, certainly something far more than what Cerea brought with her. It's got to be something else.
Very interesting, and another good installment on a great story.
Not complaining, but I feel I should point out that this makes three chapters in a row that are basically solid exposition.
While I understand that even plot-lines need a weekend off, I do wonder where the Author is taking us with all of this.
The Monk
“and brought her muzzle to his ear. “If you so much as hurt one little hair on her head, I’ll feed you to my cock,” she hissed.” -Some Leech
I do hope that this visit to Ponyville lasts longer than the film’s runtime. Regardless, it’s nice that the 4 of them had this chance to get away.
10412815
I appreciated that this scene specifically had a character who had reason to thoroughly inspect the area, which allowed us to expressly rule out something tangible like a plastic hair clip being the cause. As to what it was, beyond the brief glimmer of something momentarily seen in the soil, I have no idea.