Nocturnal
She tried to tell herself that nopony was hurrying out of the throne room just to get away from her, and she almost succeeded.
On the purely intellectual level, she recognized that the night shift was already under way, and the Guards who'd attended the ceremony needed to reach their posts. (Also that she hadn't been sworn in with every last Guard present, because some degree of minimum staffing would have been maintained during just about any situation.) They were leaving because they had places to be. It was just that... the majority seemed to be departing in something of a rush. A number flew from the room, and some of those who lacked the required limbs exited on the gallop.
It wasn't all of them. A number of the attending ponies had participated in her training sessions, and some of those favored her with a curt nod. She was under the impression that one or two might have even said something as they passed, but the actual words didn't really register. Too much of her attention was being directed towards her own legs, where a steady effort seemed to be required to keep them from collapsing under the weight of duty, armor, and mistake.
A dead ibex had talked her into it, just for a few seconds. Made her somehow feel as if the greatest failure would have been to never try at all. But her efforts always seemed to end in some degree of failure
(and deep within her subconscious, a memory prepared itself for dream)
with some of those turning out to be more drastic than others. She was now responsible for the life of another. And yes, that had always been true to some degree in the household: she'd forever been trying to look out for everyone. (Even the arachnae, who neither wished for such protection, nor strictly deserved it.) And she certainly had more freedom to act here, there were ways in which she was actually allowed to act, but somehow...
She'd been trying to protect the one she loved. Those who were her rivals, and what if a momentary thought about thinning the numbers had somehow slowed her hand? And with those emotional bonds in place, something which should have given her strength -- she had failed, over and over.
If she failed again --
-- and as she stood stock-still while ponies streamed by and the dark Princess gathered up some paperwork, a familiar scent paused before her.
"Still activated."
Cerea looked down, failed to initially adjust for the phantom increase to her bustline provided by the armor (although enough time would make that real, along with providing the need to install the next level of metallic illusion), and backed up a little. The Sergeant was looking at her, eyes placid under the brim of the hat.
"Part of the deal," he added. "That I wasn't coming back just to train you. I'll be around. So if you think of something you need to ask, come find me. And if I think of something you need to know, I'll find you."
She managed a nod: something which was fully visible because she'd taken the oath with her helmet off. It was currently sitting near the small of her upper back, held against the metal of the first plate over the lower by rotating lock-pins. Placing and recovering it looked somewhat awkward in public, but it was better than having one arm tied up with just holding the thing all the time. And when it came to the location... it wasn't as if she had to worry about a rider.
"Sergeant..."
And that was where her words ran out. She didn't know how to thank him. Thanking him might have been the worst thing, because she felt as if a horrible mistake had been made and she wasn't sure how to call him out on that either. So she wound up just standing there, shifting increased weight from hoof to hoof.
She could feel Nightwatch's presence on her left. A lightly-vibrating bundle of sheer awkwardness.
The old stallion looked directly into her eyes, and she didn't know what he was seeing there. Said three words.
"Do the job."
And then he trotted away, the last of the attending Guards to leave.
The shield had been dropped to allow their exit. It meant there was a certain degree of background rumble in the room, and every time the doors of the Moonset Gate opened, the very world told her what it thought.
"Traditionally," a calm voice stated, "providing your first assignment would fall to me. I see no need to violate that custom, especially as there are things I would prefer to directly explain."
Cerea focused, watched the dark mare approach. A bundle of papers was being held in a bubble of corona near the left flank, while a few small books bobbed along at the right.
"Part of this is your schedule," Princess Luna told her, stopping about a meter away, directly in front of Cerea and the little true knight. "However, this now must include the next portion of your education. As training has concluded, you have effectively gained the time to begin your citizenship classes --" a little snort fogged the air "-- and undoubtedly there is a single small paragraph in tomorrow's articles which has been reserved for querying as to why those are so overdue. Followed by the writer insisting that you should never be permitted to attend, and carefully ignoring any implied contradiction."
Nodding worked. Nodding was good. It seemed as if just about every species nodded, although the girl possessed a vague recollection suggesting that some human societies had decided it meant 'No.'
"As some of those who have immigrated labor within my hours, such classes have Lunar sessions available," the Princess added. Feathers ruffled with irritation. "However, despite my approaching the absolute border of request, none were willing to gather in the palace."
Nightwatch rather audibly inhaled.
"Um," the pegasus said. "It's because of the protestors, isn't it? But that means --"
The Princess nodded and somehow, that was enough to cut off everything.
"They did not wish to move through the living barriers," emerged as a rather disgruntled announcement. "Despite my promises of sending Guards out to guide them through and their knowing that the false ranks must give way when someone desires to enter. There is less of a presence under Moon, but... it was still more than the teachers and their students were willing to risk."
But if the classes can't come here --
"Which means that we are now tasked with providing security beyond the walls," Princess Luna added, just before returning the focus of her attention to Cerea. "And ensuring that you can reach the sessions." Thoughtfully, "At some point, you will have to enter the capital. In fact, when you do so is now partially a matter of your personal choice -- but I would ask that you wait for a time before venturing into the streets." With another little snort, "Nightwatch will explain the details. And we do not wish to have palace staff teleport you back and forth. Not only is there something of a mass issue --"
The girl was now horribly aware of exactly how much mass was being shifted between hooves.
"-- but when you are in the city, it is crucial that you possess your weapon. Teleporting means leaving the sword behind, and I am as yet reluctant to have you take the trot." The head shake came across as a somewhat irritated specimen. "So we are compromising: a covered air carriage, with multiple pegasi serving to tow."
Several questions arose regarding the exact number of pegasi required. All died under the crushing weight of embarrassment, and also of centaur.
"However, you may find the classes themselves somewhat comfortable," the dark mare considered. "Necessity requires that they be designed for those who do not always have full capacity for reading, writing, or speaking our language. The classroom can accommodate multiple species, and the teacher is already considering how to host a centaur." Rather directly, "Additionally, some of those attending may have arrived in the city after Tirek's departure, and so their reactions may be somewhat lesser."
The dark gaze moved across Cerea's face. Went down, and didn't so much travel over curves as navigate past burgeoning obstacles.
"I have also arranged for you to meet a new designer," the Princess stated with what Cerea immediately interpreted as a total lack of mercy. "As the new tradition of having the city itself welcome Guards will be a formal affair, and you shall therefore require a suitable dress." The dark eyes relentlessly focused. "I will take you to that meeting, I will remain present throughout, and I believe myself to be fully familiar with at least some of the ways in which you break for the nearest available exit. Have I made myself understood?"
In this instance, the nod said that understanding existed. It didn't have to indicate a single thing about happiness.
"One final detail, before I provide your first assignment and turn you over to Nightwatch's custody." Stars shifted within mane and tail. "Prior to the party: trim your hair. It is currently beyond all hopes of control. Or pins. Perhaps especially pins." The dark head tilted slightly to the left. "The pins shall be in the safe before Sun-raising, but I ask that you not use them tonight, and to be careful about wearing them within the palace at all. They must observe the same safety protocols as the sword."
Cerea managed a blink. "I don't understand --"
"-- I'll explain," Nightwatch hastily cut in. "I was supposed to explain."
The Princess nodded. "So. Your first assignment --"
The girl wondered how much dread weighed, along with whether the new mass pressing down on her form would force marble to crack beneath her hooves.
"-- is to become a Lunar. 'The hard way.' An assignment which, by its very nature, shall require every last one of this night's hours." Wings flared out. "Nightwatch shall ensure that you complete it on your hooves. Assuming we have enough --" and the word was almost spat "-- coffee. Good night to you."
The alicorn's takeoff produced an almost singularly powerful backblast of wind. It also wound up being a nearly unique reminder of just how badly Cerea needed to find a way of obeying the trimming order, and her arms automatically went up to her head. Fingers straightened strands here, sorted there.
"I don't understand." Because there was no better way to officially begin the mistake of her new career than with the words which so often defined her life. "Becoming a Lunar? But I was already assigned --"
"-- you have to stay up all night," Nightwatch clarified. "Um. I guess I didn't make that clear before? We have potions to flip somepony's sleep schedule, but that's the problem: they're for ponies. Nopony wants to try any potions on you unless it's an emergency. And from now on, as a Lunar, you're awake at night and asleep during the day. So it has to be a forced change. Keeping you awake until at least an hour after Sun-raising. No matter what it takes." With open worry, "It's not going to be easy..."
Cerea blinked, which was the only outward sign of the sudden outrage.
She'd demonstrated what centaur endurance could mean during her training, over and over! Yes, she'd been just about wiped out or -- worse -- when Princess Luna had found her, but that had been at the end of an hours-long chase, and if it hadn't been for the infection... A true centaur wouldn't even bother to laugh at someone regarding staying up all night as a challenge, because the victory was so obvious as to make the actual mirth redundant. There was no way she wouldn't be able to --
-- outside in the snow.
For hours.
I cried a lot.
I didn't exactly come back in for meals.
...I'm hungry, and I'm emotionally exhausted.
...oh no...
"Cerea?"
She forced her arms back down: a solid minute of work in restoring matters had only found that there were at least five more to go.
"...I think," the girl rather distantly said, "I'm going to need some coffee. A lot of coffee. Espresso --" and waited until the wires stopped hissing.
"Concentrated coffee?" A glance down to the left found Nightwatch's snout wrinkling in a way which was trying to take the rest of the body with it. "How is that even --"
Cerea sighed. "-- filters. Double-chambered pot: boil on the lower level, collect in the upper. I can probably improvise something. But it has to be espresso. Mugs of espresso."
Coming from the silver eyes, it was a blink of purest horror. "Why?"
Because it's very hard to get a centaur drunk. And when that same body mass went to war with caffeine...
In theory, it would have taken multiple energy drinks to bring Cerea to a faint buzz, and that never happened simply because there were multiple energy drinks involved and a centaur could taste exactly what had gone into every last one of them. There was certainly enough coffee in the world to give her a caffeine high: she just wasn't sure about the palace. It felt like this was going to be the night when she finally wound up trying wake-up juice...
A French press. At the very least, I should be able to find something in the kitchen which works with an internal plunger and if I can't, that won't be hard to improvise.
"Because it's going to be a long night," was all she allowed herself to say. "We'd better check the kitchens."
"Okay." The little knight took off, created enough distance to allow a hover and maintained her altitude at Cerea's eyeline. "And then I have to show you the safety protocols."
Cerea took careful sips from the steaming mug as they trotted away from the kitchen, with multiple chefs staring at her retreating tail. Among her own herd, it would have been possible for the males to have been watching her retreating (armored) buttocks, but... ponies. She would never do anything more than repel them, and she had...
...she'd told herself that she accepted that.
Over and over.
On the other hand, it was now possible that she was carrying another kind of repellent, because the first pony they came across in the halls was one she'd seen before, a mare who usually did no more than press tightly against the walls in Cerea's presence. And that was the only thing which happened, right up until the moment when red-fringed nostrils flared, eyes widened, and the earth pony immediately did everything she could to get upwind. Except for turning her body, because that clearly would have taken too long.
Cerea had trained herself to run backwards. Ponies didn't seem to have a natural capacity for it.
It was good espresso, and she gave all of the credit to the beans. (She'd managed to improvise the press, but hadn't thought much of her results -- although she'd noticed the cooks watching very closely, probably to see if she was damaging the equipment.) There didn't seem to be anything missing from the flavor, either. Her first guess was that the materials had been imported.
"So we're going to keep you moving," Nightwatch told her, now carefully flying along. "It's a good chance to explore. Um. Explore the palace. You're... sort of allowed to leave the grounds on your own now, but..."
Feathers twisted from sheer awkwardness. It did horrible things to the hover.
"The protests," Cerea quietly deduced. "And just scaring ponies in the capital, if I got past them."
The little knight nodded, then recovered altitude and did it again, only more strongly. "The protests haven't been going all night. Um. Well, not with everyone there. There's a few who stay late, but I think that's just to let us know they're keeping it up. About ten of them. Tonight is -- different, but you can sort of hear where it's getting a little quieter now."
A nearby tapestry shifted with sympathetic vibrations, all triggered by 'a little quieter now.'
"And it's not like there's just one way out of the palace," Nightwatch added. "So we could get you out if we had to, and we'll need to for a few things. But just trotting around the city... it isn't a good idea." With extra haste, "Not yet, I mean! Ponies don't know you. The Princesses haven't even sent out the one-sheet yet!"
Which was worth a blink, because it had been moons now and --
"There were a lot of revisions. And just about as much recycling," Nightwatch admitted. "But I think they decided to wait until it could say 'Guard'. That added something important. So it could go out in a week or so. Anyway, I know Princess Luna wants to get you into the capital, but she also wants to make sure ponies are ready for it. And that there's special measures in place, just in case anypony..." Stopped, as her tail began to wring against itself.
"I remember the press conference," Cerea softly said.
"...yes."
They moved in relative silence for a while -- but that was something which only applied to the two in armor, because there were other ponies in the corridors. Cerea had never been this deep into the structure at night, hadn't seen just how many ponies worked on the Lunar shift. It was a full separate staff. Ponies looked at her through open doorways. Ponies scuttled down the halls until they found something they could close behind them. Ponies scrambled into restrooms and from the sounds produced, had no intention of emerging for a while.
"I want to show you some portions of the palace which you've only seen on the maps," Nightwatch eventually continued. "Places you'll need to be familiar with first. And there were a few which you couldn't enter before, but now you can. After the protocols. And once Sun is raised, I'll show you where to put the sword away and store your armor." With a little smile, "Before we both go to bed."
They were approaching a T-intersection. A pony started to turn into their hallway from the left branch, saw Cerea, and only got three legs redirected in time.
The two mares awkwardly waited out the delay. One didn't want to call too much attention to what had happened through helping to nudge the stallion up. The other possessed limbs which were exactly suited for offering aid, and fears which told her that touching anypony was exactly the wrong thing to do.
Every time.
For the rest of her life.
"So what are the protocols?"
The protocols took the form of two silver hooks which had been set into the marble, just below the level of Cerea's shoulders.
"A lot of rooms have magical protections," Nightwatch explained. "Most of those are attuned to let Guards go in: they recognize an enchantment placed on your insignia. But the Princesses are worried about what could happen if you bring the sword through." With just a hint of weariness, "There was some testing, but.. it was hard for anypony to carry it, and most of the net drags wound up touching the sides. So unless you have to go charging through, you just hang the sword from the hooks until you come back out. Um. And the hairpins. You should carry a little bag for the pins."
Cerea nodded. She knew they gave her a little extra protection: wearing them on duty was simple common sense. But she would need to work out a configuration where they could be placed and removed in well under a minute. (Well, placed: a true emergency would see her yank, and a single hard pull could send pins flying in all directions.)
"Ponies are working on ways to put a temporary shield spell over the sword when it's hung," Nightwatch added. "Um. Which doesn't touch it, because then there isn't much point. And it can't be magically triggered by the hooks, because the sword is touching them. Plus you still need a way of getting it back after, and that could be attuned to your insignia too. I think. I'm not a unicorn: I just work with them. Anyway, right now, the biggest protection should be that nopony wants to touch it. But we do get some ponies trying to sneak into parts of the palace where they shouldn't be, and -- they're probably the ones who'd want it most. So we just have to be really careful for a while. Princess Luna only had the hooks put in today. The enchantments might not be cast for weeks."
She tried to picture ponies with her sword, when simply touching it made them ill. What would they even do with it?
What could humans do with radiation, when it can kill them?
Once they saw it as a weapon, they did everything they could think of.
"So what's in this room?" She was trying to recall the map, and she was currently recalling that she hadn't gotten translations for every label.
"Records and documents. Classified things, but that's just barely. Nothing too crucial: if anypony managed to get through, they wouldn't trot away with anything real." Proudly, "The Princesses have this room as a sort of decoy. So that anypony looking for papers would go here first, and think they'd gotten everything. But it still needs protection. The enchantments get more complex in other areas, where the patrols are heavier. The critical areas."
The little knight took a slow breath.
"And there's nowhere more critical than where I'm taking you now."
They went up two ramps. Passed through three layers of Guards. The two mares were scrutinized. Insignias were touched by silver rods: Cerea watched unicorns carefully examine the pattern of sparks generated by Nightwatch's, and had no direct view for what was happening with her own. At one point, a stallion suggested kicking a bucketful of water at their legs: the pegasus irritably summarized their earlier conversation regarding changelings and then told Cerea to go through it anyway, because they weren't going outside into the cold and it was just good security.
The resulting splash against her limbs failed to pass through any holes, and the centaur shook each leg in turn as she moved past the final barrier. Shed moisture hit the marble and, rather than pooling, instantly arose as a sort of cold steam. A simple loss of cohesion. Pegasus magic again.
And then they were at the door.
It felt like an oddly simple door. The Moonrise and Moonset gates had intricate patterns worked into their surfaces, with weaves of silver forming an ornate frame. This was just a door. Plain, silver-tinged white -- with a very familiar icon set dead-center in the stone.
"Her bedroom," Nightwatch reverently whispered. "It's... a little less watched at night, since she usually isn't there now. There's also an outside patrol, because she has a balcony. Well, they both do, just in case they have to get out by air. But that means somepony could try to get in that way, so... there's always ponies outside. That includes the day-shift Lunars."
That was worth a blink. "The --"
"Somepony has to watch her under Sun," the pegasus quickly explained. "If I took you to Princess Celestia's bedroom, we'd start running into the night-shift Solars. Usually you'd do a day shift eventually, but -- it won't be for a while, not when it's so hard to change your hours."
"I understand." As utterances went, it didn't exactly feel like a refreshing change.
"And you won't take a direct night turn with her for a while, unless she asks for it." With just a touch of snort, "I'd worry if she asked for it too early."
Because that's when something would happen. Because I'm not up to it --
"Because what the Sergeant probably didn't tell you," a frustrated pegasus declared, "is that there's times when Princesses try to ditch their Guards. And Princess Luna almost treats it like a game. A game she keeps winning, because she's so good with illusion and ponies don't always think to check. If she asked for you too early, it might mean she was trying to get into the city by herself. It's bad enough when she goes into Ponyville: we know the Bearers are usually with her, but..." The snort was surprisingly loud. "...that's the Bearers. They've never found a disaster they couldn't save somepony from."
Who? Cerea had heard the title a few times before, had one name from Fancypants' letter. She had been picturing an elite military unit.
"And they've also never found a disaster they couldn't create," stated a disgruntled knight. "Everypony always tells you they'll save the day, and they're right. But what nopony hardly ever says is that they're usually saving it from themselves."
"...um," Cerea borrowed.
"And sometimes I swear the Princesses enjoy it!"
"...er?"
"Like at that one Gala!" Forelegs were now beginning to make extravagant gestures, mostly because the wings couldn't fully join in without creating a crash. "Because of course Lunars have to monitor the Gala, with so many ponies coming in! But the invitation list gets cleared moons in advance! We even kept passing Blueblood through for some reason, at least until he finally stopped coming! We have to watch for everything, but the guests were already cleared..."
The lashing black tail was whipping up its own breeze, and that wind was threatening to turn into a dust devil.
"Who was supposed to be looking out for the columns? The central statue? Flying cakes? And then when the animals got involved --"
Silver eyes blinked. Slowly turned, and focused on helpless blue.
"It's palace gossip," Nightwatch said. "You'll catch up eventually."
"Oh."
"Most of it is only slightly classified."
"Okay..."
And with a blast of frustration, "But if the prismatic one ever tries to catch something on her back again? Tackle her!"
The proper word for the barracks' bath was 'pool.' With Princess Luna's washroom, it was possible to add a few more. Like 'Roman fantasy, major pressure draw problem, 90% of whatever the water heating bill is' and, just in case any of those came across as understatements, you could kick in 'Olympic'. Cerea wasn't entirely certain what the disc would do with 'Olympic'. It still left her with the option for 'lake'.
The mares looked at the tile-rimmed deep-dive silent testimonial to all things wrought by plumbing. There was some form of grout between the tiles. Cerea was trying not to think about how long it would take to scrub it.
"They both need some kind of luxury in their lives," Nightwatch finally said. "They... live a lot more simply than most ponies think. They don't indulge very much. Sometimes I think I take better care of myself than they do, at least when it comes to just doing things which would... make me feel good. Most of the Guards feel that way. That they need to let themselves be a little more -- free. Not acting like the worst nobles, not kicking the palace budget into frivolities." And now it was possible to both hear and scent the regret. "They want to be closer to normal ponies, and... a normal pony would have a little more fun."
"And this is Princess Luna's luxury," Cerea observed. A giant bath...
"One of them. The others are mostly fruits. Exotic ones, but she grows them herself. We'll get you to the greenhouse some other night. And ice cream, but she's still getting used to making her own. With Princess Celestia, for food, it's baked goods, all kinds. Pastries, cakes -- but what just about nopony on the outside knows is that she loves bread most. A simple loaf, as long as it's made well and served warm. And she loves just standing in the gardens, under Sun. She likes quiet, where it's just her for a while. When the nation isn't calling, and... quiet never lasts long."
The centaur was still looking at the sheer scope of the pool. "How many ponies does she have using this?"
Nightwatch's expression arrived just after the change of scent: something which had Cerea prepared to deal with the advent of open surprise. "Just her. Sometimes the Princesses take a shower together. It's like when you got that one spot by the base of my tail for me, Cerea: it can be hard to wash up by yourself. But when it's the bath, it's always just her."
They were looking at each other.
"It's private," the little knight tried.
It's sad.
The girl felt that. She believed it.
But she didn't know why.
Up ramps. Down corridors. Ponies scattered. Some of them skittered, and that was hard to do with hooves.
Cerea was taken to multiple balconies. Some of them afforded new views of the gardens. None of them overlooked the city, because that was where the rumble remained loudest and nopony wanted to chance having the remaining crowd see her.
Several areas were designated as frequent ditch points.
They returned to the kitchens and found three chefs trying to modify the new coffee press. Another mug was created. After a while, they went back for yet another mug. When the effective mug limit was reached, a restroom was located, effectively and inadvertently evacuated, and then wound up being fully occupied by a party of one because centaur bladder capacity meant the ability to hold it for a very long time and, once that capacity was reached, staying over the trench for what felt like an even longer one.
Tears and snow snuck up on the girl, clutched at all four legs and tried to drag her down. Hooves stumbled, drew on what didn't feel like enough caffeine and dwindling reserves of stubbornness before every knee straightened again.
The armor started as something she was just wearing. Then it existed as a reminder of weight, the same as it had during her training in the gap and at the end of so many patrols. This was followed by having it disregard the padding, press directly into her skin, phase through to the skeleton, and having the metal place phantom stress fractures into her bones.
Her hair weighed a ton. This naturally started as a metric ton, but hair was the sort of thing which grew and the lengthening night found it approaching the British long ton. Cerea hadn't even been aware that her hair knew what that was.
The sword was kept in the scabbard most of the time. Occasionally, the girl tried to quick-draw it in different spaces, making sure she could get it free without hitting any doors or walls. She thought she'd set a new world record on one weightless pull until she realized her weary fingers had missed the hilt and she was triumphantly slashing against air.
Nightwatch took her into some of the secret passages for the first time, and there was no problem with fitting through the entrances because all of them had to accommodate Princess Celestia and Cerea didn't even have a wingspan. She was almost certain of that. Whatever felt so heavy on her flanks probably wasn't wings. No one spontaneously grew wings. Not even Suu, who had to do it on purpose and never got the aerodynamics to work anyway.
Fancypants had mentioned tunnels. The little knight was reluctant to take Cerea fully within (and seemed uncomfortable in the secret passages, becoming more so in dimmer lighting and tighter turns), but did indicate the necessary path and instructed the centaur on how to open the last gate -- and not to do so unless there was no other choice. The tunnels were reserved for the most dire needs of getting out, and had significant protections designed to keep anyone from using them to get in. Most of them were simple detainment measures, alerting those above to come and collect the trapped. The ones for those portions which ran far below alicorn bedrooms were potentially fatal.
She was still waiting on Ms. Garter to send the new bras. She'd put off ordering them as long as possible, Nightwatch had been the one to push the request out the door, and so tightening straps added a few grace notes to everything else happening around the shoulders.
The little knight tried to talk to Cerea about the dress. It was a good topic, because the centaur would make an automatic attempt to escape from it and that kept hooves moving.
There were also talks about Japan, and the household. That was slightly better, except for when the topic turned towards rivalry and her fists wanted to clench: something which wasn't good for passing ponies to see. Or she would think about the one whom she'd loved, which tripled all of the weight.
Sometimes they spoke about the sort of topics which friends might discuss, and pony ears rotated towards doorways while the rest of the body froze in shock.
But Nightwatch kept her going. Nightwatch was alert and vivacious and awake, because these were the hours the pegasus had known for years. The rookie pushed herself forward one half-dragging hoof at a time, wondered just how much exhaustion had been brought by emotion as opposed to that wrought by weakness, thought about how a true centaur would have dealt with it, and then found herself too tired to push all of the resulting thoughts away.
A true centaur.
A true knight.
She shuffled through the palace for hours, existing as little more than a pair of unified lies.
There were two last stops before she was allowed to sleep, and she didn't actually enter the first one.
"...and that's how you open the armory," Nightwatch said as the red glow around the basement door winked out -- which was followed by taking a worried glance at Cerea. "Um. I'll show you again tomorrow. I think you're too tired to memorize that. Did you know the skin under your eyes sort of gets dark when you're tired? And you shouldn't go inside yet, because we're still labeling things for you."
"Labeling?" She was still alert enough for a few words. "I can't read. Not enough." Although she hadn't needed the ability very much on that night, because a pair of events had sent them into the lower levels: the approach of sunrise and spotting a few members of palace staff racing through the hallways, desperate to keep the morning editions away from curious eyes. Cerea hadn't been able to make out more than a few characters, but a mind trained by Japan's media knew a headline font of that size was usually reserved for war or celebrity weddings. The briefest glimpse of a sweater's sleeve suggested ponies had recently added a third category.
Nightwatch's response was to land under the recently-installed silver hooks -- followed by carefully pushing open the door.
The first rainbow went into Cerea's eyes.
It was more caress than assault: a simple reminder that hues existed. Indigo wrapped her neck, violet curved across her torso, and it still woke her up for a few extra minutes.
"Color-coding," Nightwatch said.
Cerea stared.
There was silver everywhere. A very few pieces of ivory, the first time she'd seen any here, all in spiral shapes. Gold. A muted shine told her that the world had titanium. But there were also soft woods, a few harder specimens, some scant stone, steel shaped into what she now knew as hoofblades, which were close to a full rack of proper razorwhips. Shelves and cubbyholes and areas which gleamed with their own corona-cast shields, and that was just what she could see. There was enough room for her to travel through the visible section: something about the size of the dining area in the main kitchen. But light clustered, blurred out details after a certain distance, and all she could truly tell was that the space went on for a very long way.
Ultimately, she didn't know exactly what she was looking at, at least for what any of it did. Shapes and curves and sparkle, added to glow: that was the crux of it, and would be until she actually got inside. But the air itself shimmered, and there was a scent coming from the room: something not quite ozone, a little less than petrichor, with hints of ions. It washed across her in waves, put every olfactory nerve to tingling while her hooves cantered in place, unsure of how to respond.
Energy and storms and a waft of freshly-wet soil. The scent of magic.
"See the glass beads?" Nightwatch was already inside, and a wingtip proudly poked one of the mentioned bumps. "The glowing ones? That's how we're setting things up for you, and it just might become the new system for everypony because it's so easy to recognize the categories this way! Blue always means it's safe to hold. Blue is also generally a piece which was enchanted to be accessible for anyone, but..." A light musk of embarrassment joined the mix. "...it hasn't been used by a centaur, so we can't be sure if you can activate it yet. Violet is safe, but it's a wonder: one which isn't open use. It would take a pegasus to reach the magic. Gold is the same thing for unicorns. But red means the things which are dangerous. For everyone. Red are the things we just know how to store. Like that sphere. The one inside the shield dome. Never touch that sphere unless you want it to become a bunch of pieces which used to be a sphere. Um. Which expand outwards fast, and then collapse into the sphere. Before it explodes again. Twice. I think seven was the record before the charge ran out. There's also a section with really deep red, locked separately in the back. We don't even know what some of that does. Um. We should really go over this when you're more awake --"
"-- so what's tan?"
The silver eyes blinked. And then slowly, slowly shut.
"There's only one tan piece," Cerea quickly said. "It stood out. The one on that shelf, all by itself. If there was just the one, I thought that meant it was --"
"-- different," the little knight quietly said. "It's... different. I -- I think I should just bring it out to you."
The pegasus opened her eyes, turned, started to slowly move towards the shelf and its soft tan glow. Hooves just barely shuffling, wings folded and still.
"I --" Cerea's mind was trying to scramble, and was finding that it was too weary to do anything other than scram. Or scrum. Or try to remember what a scrum was, while being unsure as to how it had gotten there in the first place. "-- I don't want you to get in trouble! Not for removing something when you shouldn't! And if nopony knows whether it's safe --"
"-- it's safe." Barely a whisper of breath, and brown ears strained for the rest. "It just... sits there. They gave it a unique color because there's only the one. We know what it does, Cerea. But we can't use it. Nopony can..."
Which was where words ended for a while, because the object was grasped in gentle teeth. Carried out, and the pegasus angled her neck up. Waited for the silent offer to be heeded.
Slowly, Cerea bent and dipped, feeling the weight of new steel with every movement. Something which paled compared to the mass of the little object which was taken up by her right hand.
It weighed less than half a kilo: she knew that. And yet, somewhere in the back of her weary mind, the memory of a book suggested that she had taken custody of several thousand very small tons.
It looked like a slightly oversized hoof. It almost could have been, because the surface was cold keratin -- but there were also hints of ridges. Not a hoof: simply carved to resemble one, with little characters engraved around the edges. Rigid, unyielding --
"-- we don't know much about how they create anything." The little knight's tones were soft. Reverent. Almost mystical. "But they use themselves. Donations from the dead: I saw that somewhere. There's new horns in their shadowlands, so... someone should give the old ones a purpose..."
"Blitzschritt made this."
It had been a statement.
Nightwatch blinked. "Yes. How did you know? That wouldn't have been in anything the Archives sent yet --"
"-- it's the little curves at the bottom of the letters," Cerea quietly observed. "It was the same with her application. What does it do?"
"It's called a piton. It..." Feathers began to rustle. "She wasn't my Guard, Cerea. I don't know if I'm remembering this right. I just remember this kind is called a piton, anything she would have enchanted is a talen, and... if you sling it to the ground in front of something living and moving, it's supposed to get a lot harder for them to move at all. It sort of forces them to stay in whatever positions they were in for a little while. And it worked on groups. The more it had to affect, the less time it lasted, but... it could slow down a small army. Just long enough for someone to act. But it was her magic. She must not have known how to make it accessible to ponies, or if she even could. There's no platinum, and -- we can't even tell if it's still charged. And there aren't any ibex who would help us. So we just -- keep it. In case there's ever someone who can use it again."
She held it for a while, her fingers pressed tightly against the ridges. Feeling the cool weight of the dead. And then she lowered it again, so Nightwatch could put it back.
There was a locker room, and she was almost completely spent by that point. She just barely registered the presence of multiple ponies as Nightwatch led her in, Lunars going off-shift and using the assigned space for making the change back to civilian life for a few hours -- but they picked up on her. The shadow which entered the room before she did, the clop of hooves against a floor which was being asked to host someone larger than it had ever borne before.
She barely recognized how many ponies were in the room as she entered it, right up until she felt the weight of their eyes.
They had been chatting with each other. They weren't any more.
Some of them had been getting out of their armor, and she finally saw some of how that was done. Unicorns offered help here and there, and a number of ponies were using their teeth on the latches. But for others -- there were places marked on the floor for standing, and then you stood there, made sure your body's size precisely matched the designated outline, pressed your forehoof onto a pedal, and held very still. The clockwork took over from there: pincers descending from the ceiling to press, lift, and sort in mechanical movements which worked precisely as intended and had no means of making even the most minor adjustments for, say, a Guard who had jumped a little when a centaur trotted in and now had a brass manipulator trying to put away his right ear.
Cerea moved to help. Two unicorns closed in before she could and glow saved her the trouble of having to touch anypony at all.
She was shown where the safe was, as ponies got out of the way to let her pass. Fumbling fingers tried the dials, and had to do so three times...
...the ponies hadn't needed to move very much.
There were lockers: she had recognized that on entry. She didn't have a lot of experience with such rooms: a brief trial at the all-species sporting arena run by the kobold, with a more awkward one used before a supposed medical monitoring session and then there had been the one before... the fight. (When it came to the lockers at the Guard training grounds, she'd usually been the only one using them.) But she understood their purpose. You kept your things here. Armor was stored during the day, civilian clothes at night -- at least for those who wore such things in the first place. At the very least, saddlebags could always be secured, or a book you'd meant to read during your break. But...
There were lockers. Some of them had been moved, or shuffled, or just squeezed aside because now she had a locker, one with a bundle of wrinkled fabric dangling off to the right. And her locker had to accommodate her armor, which had to fit her body, which was larger than that of almost every pony she'd seen. Every pony but one.
Everything on that wall had been rearranged for her. It meant some things had been displaced.
The rest of the lockers were smaller. You could tell which one was hers just by the number of square meters consumed by the door...
There were lockers. There was also a scent of steam, and pony sweat. (Each of the three species had their own scent for sweat. She had yet to catch an alicorn sweating at all.) The splashing of water, and the sound of spray. Showers, off to the right. Ponies washing up together. Happy babbling, because none of them knew she was in here yet, and the two going off to tell them hadn't quite cleared the room.
Lockers, except for where there were recessed shelves.
The shelves were the same width as the majority of lockers, and she imagined that the tradition had started as just that: full lockers, one to a Guard. But the nation she had sworn to serve was centuries old, and... Guards died. Given enough time, so many Guards would have died in the line of duty. There was only so much space allotted for the locker room (and she was taking up too much of it, she hadn't earned) and with the passage of generations, the dead would have outnumbered the living.
So it had probably started as full lockers. But now it was shelves: five in each space, and there was a silver plaque attached to each shelf. A few possessions, sealed behind glass. Soft, muted lighting. And the items simply... sat there. Waiting for those who would never return. There were books here and there, saddlebags whose contents hadn't been touched, a hat and a jacket and what looked like a sort of cape. A few timepieces. Armor, never to be worn again. A favored hoofblade, precisely fit for the dead: useless for the living...
She stood in front of her locker after the sword was sealed away next to the hairpins, numb fingers on the lever, realizing that she had to take the armor off and nopony had any thoughts regarding her body other than revulsion, but they were still staring at her, they didn't want to see any of it and Nightwatch's locker was halfway across the room. There were ponies at her flanks and ponies off to the sides and directly behind her was...
...she was wearing padding under the armor. More than enough to pass for clothing, and that which rested on her lower torso had a skirt peeking out from beneath. It wasn't as if she would be exposing herself. But she was so tired, she wanted to wash because to pony senses, she hadn't perspired all that much during the night, but she had yet to find a deodorant in this world and to her own senses, she reeked.
She wanted to wash the padding. She wanted to wash herself. But to go into the showers with the others, when no spray was high enough for her, lying on the floor in front of...
...in front of everypony.
Nude.
She might wind up clearing the entire room. And if she didn't... for those who stayed -- even in their revulsion, they would stare.
She wanted to be clean. She felt filthier than she had ever been, encrusted by gazing eyes. She didn't understand why there was wrinkled fabric at the side of her locker...
Cerea looked up.
Her right hand reached out. It took some turning in place to fully guide the privacy curtain around the ceiling-mounted U-bend, and then she began to remove the armor. Fingers numb, eyes half-closed, just barely getting every piece to where it belonged. And all the while, even through the cloth, she felt the weight of the eyes.
It was worst from the place where no eyes existed. The hollows from the helmet on the glass-shielded shelf. A unique helmet, cut for a pair of backwards-curving horns.
Alone in a herd.
She was almost at the blankets.
"I'm dirty..." Half speech, half yawn. The disk managed the translation either way.
"You can wash before Sun-lowering," Nightwatch insisted. The helmetless head nudged at her back left leg.
"Gonna stink up the blankets. And my nightgown. Changed into my nightgown when I was dirty."
"So they'll get washed too. Cerea, I can't smell anything --"
"I stink." She slumped across another meter. "Always stink. Fouling. I. Foul things. Get it wrong."
"You didn't do anything wrong tonight." The words were as firm as the skull. "Lie down."
Long legs, issued an order, slowly began to fold. Arms came up, locked under the breasts.
"I'm gonna mess up..."
"You made it." They were almost the last words the girl heard before sleep, and if there had been no more to come, her dreams might have been different.
But there were more words.
"You made it," Nightwatch proudly repeated. "Your first night as a Lunar, Cerea, all the way to Sun-raising and day again. You'll understand, a few moons from now. That it's almost like the first real day of your life..."
Her eyes closed --
-- too many of the girl's preparations are about arranging for belief, and of course that's the hardest part. There's so much to do in the gap and since the colts are only going to pull anything approaching their fair share via rope after someone's dared them for the third time, the fillies wind up doing far too much. Old enough to learn is old enough to have chores, and those come on top of classes, which occupy the time between training sessions, further serving as a filler until she's due in the smithy again, and one of the few consolations to failure in the years since her mother stopped singing to her is that it places the filly in the bedroom. At least she can read.
So she has to set things up very carefully. Creating a gap within the gap: a temporal one. On the chosen day, no one can need her -- directly. There are none who would be teaching her, expecting her, trying to find her, and if anyone does happen to believe she's doing something, then they have to equally believe she's doing it on the other side of the gap.
And she can't control what any of the adults do. She can arrange, and she's being so careful about that. But she can't guarantee. It's a criss-crossing network of mutually supportive false beliefs, and every last strand of that weave feels fragile. She has no way to guess what might take place after it all starts. If something happens... if someone has an unexpected cause to look...
There's only so much space available, a limited number of places to hide, and all of them are known because when a species has lived in the same place for centuries, someone's hidden there before. Once those run out, they will realize what's happened. And once they know...
...there are cells.
She knows where the cells are. It's the patch of ground where the screaming used to be. The screaming stopped, because the mare died.
She wonders how long a filly can scream.
She keeps planning anyway.
And then it's the day. Or rather, it's the night, because that was part of how she set things up. Her mother thinks she's going out early, and she is. She just isn't going where her mother expects (at least not after the first stage), and her mother checks up on her almost all of the time -- except for when she's with a particular mare or two. Or doing a job which her mother never goes near if she can possibly help it. A species with a universally-sharp sense of smell frequently treats fertilizer spreading as a punishment detail. Volunteering is seen as taking significant pressure off the community.
So that's the first carefully-drawn piece of thatch in the roof, and she goes out under moon and stars somewhat earlier than she was supposed to: an aspect no one will question because at least she's getting it over with all the sooner. And she does spread the fertilizer, choking and gasping all the way. But she almost smiles, when no one else ever would.
Almost.
She finishes the job, well before sunrise.
And then she takes the last bit of fertilizer. Reaches into a pocket, sprinkles a few carefully-chosen herbs and chemicals on it, drops the lot, and runs.
The blast is fully invisible to the eyes, creates no heat or air pressure, nearly blows her across the clearing. It's something which is always done after fertilizer is spread: muting out some of the scent for what happened. But it does so through creating a drenching, initially almost overwhelming counterscent which drowns out everything which had been in the vicinity. It drifts, and makes it impossible to track anything which was moving through.
She moves with it.
There had been no way to know the exact direction of the wind in advance, and she had been dreading a calm day. But she had planned, and so she has a route for the northwest.
The filly doesn't gallop, because that would produce too much noise. Objects are removed from her carried bag, dropped to the ground: some careful alignment gets her hooves into the molds. From this point on, she is producing the wrong tracks, and she knows she can't keep it up for long. She's further into puberty now: taller, stronger, and hooves grow like everything else: she just hadn't thought her hooves had grown that much. The molds are pinching her, and she can't risk cracks to the rigging or the keratin within. They'll have to last long enough to finish this stage, and then she'll need to take them off. She's already made a mistake --
-- it's not a mistake unless it makes the whole thing fail.
She moves, careful to plant her legs a little differently. Just a sika deer, and simulating that scent is a matter of sprinkling carefully-scavenged hairs along her path. Another species displaced from its original home. It just doesn't know...
There are patrols. She's aware of where every last one is, because she's trotted with all of them. None of them come closer than fifty meters, and she's always moving in a way which lets the wind help her. Not a single mare turns in her direction.
She trots under moonlight. A half-moon, because she had to be careful about that too. Enough to see by, but her outline is a little blurred to anyone who sees her from a distance. It's easy to navigate, because she's moved through the same terrain for her entire life.
Trails she's trotted down a thousand times before.
Then a hundred.
A dozen. Scouting the edges.
The ground is... beginning to rise. Elevating her hooves.
She starts to mark her trail. It's subtle: it has to be. A bent branch here and there. Leaves hooked under each other, the stems supple under her fingers.
The sun is coming up now. Rising into the sky, as she rises...
...there's a flower.
It's a sort of deep blue, verging on indigo. It grows tall in something closer to a spiral, where you have a green leaf and then there's a bunch of mostly-closed petals a little above it, then you go around the curve and repeat the pattern over and over until you reach the top. The top is an explosion of petals and stamen and pistils, multiple flowers coming off the same plant, all in a bed of leaves.
She was born in the gap.
She believes she will die in the gap.
She has never seen this flower before.
It will take an upheaval to the world before she learns its name: gentiana. In human lore, it symbolizes victory and in the time to come, that knowledge will bring bitter tears.
But the filly knows nothing of that, not in dream when there is only a now and, unknown to her for a little while longer, an observer watching from the shadows: one she could never hope to scent. She is here and it is now. It isn't that the future hasn't happened. She's reached her future, a single day of it, and it happens to look like a flower.
She gets as low as she can without disturbing anything. Smells it.
And she doesn't laugh, because perhaps there is someone who could still hear her. But her soul leaps, and her body goes upright too fast and she puts out a hand to steady herself, her palm touches bark which no one has ever touched before and the sun is warm on her skin. It puts new highlights into hair which drapes freely across her shoulders, it sparkles in the tears of joy which are flowing from her eyes and she's cantering in place now because that helps to get the molds off (and deeper into puberty, more is sent into mostly-unfamiliar bouncing) but she also just has to move, she only knows dancing from the stories and dreams of another species --
-- she's dancing now, in her way. As close as the filly will ever come, because it's the best moment of her life. The instant when she knows, knows that she's won. She has a day, only a day but a whole day, there's a flower and sunlight and she's going to go out and live.
But that joy is only here and now, because the filly knows nothing of the future. The celebration can only exist in dream, for the mare cannot look back on this moment with anything other than aching pain, endless regret, and a self-loathing which has never faded. Something which has only a few hours before it begins.
The best moment, with the worst to come. But until then, there is joy. Something which will not last, and it will take years before it truly returns.
She does not know.
Her future is before her.
It's the first real day of her life.
The filly leaves the gap.
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I do wonder how the espresso will fold into the legend of the Dread Centaur.
I imagine there's a simple reason there, albeit one buried under centuries of nostalgia and cherished memories.
Meanwhile, in Ponyville... or wherever Twilight and Trixie have claimed as their impromptu summoning lab.
At least it does return. The question is whether it ever will in Equestria.
Cerea's definitely making progress, even if she refuses to believe it. Blitzschritt's legacy can only help so much. The question right now is whether her coworkers will ever adapt to her. That's going to be its own issue, and it may take something extraordinary to kickstart the process. That party can't come soon enough...
It's good that Cerea made it through her first night and that the Palace is working to accommodate her needs. Nightwatch continues to be the best friend a girl could have in this unforgiving world of ponies. The bath scene was interesting. I wonder how Luna would react to Cerea thinking that she's lonely with her giant pool made for One. Seeing Cerea be all loopy from exhaustion was entertaining to see from her. She gets all silly. That's a universal across species lines, huh.
Thanks for the update Estee!
Meanwhile in Ponyville, Mr. Flankington is vaguely aware that he's missing out on actually being useful but has no idea why.
Ivory seems like something ponies would find creepy.
And neither does she, considering that's only 0.8% difference between the two
10677797
The most vile of concoctions, taken only by the desperate, foolish and brave, the secret, forbidden brew that'll fuel equestria's new technomagical revolution... Centaur Coffee
Also, for the love of everything sacred and profane, for the dwindling sanity of ponyvilians and guards alike, DON'T. TELL. PINKIE PIE
Tan is for Chekov's Guns, Cerea. You read enough books to know this.
Hmmm, wonder if book horse has put two and two together yet (get EQG Rarity to handle certain aspects, like bras and upper torso dresses)
... better if bringing her over as she doesn't have innate scent matching and can handle the upper torso quite well (once the measurements get home) 
...
"rivals, and what if a momentary thought"
"rivals, and so what if a momentary thought"?
"Several areas were designated as frequent ditch points."
I'm not sure what this means, sorry, nor did my attempt to look it up bear much fruit.
"When it came the lockers at the"
"When it came to the lockers at the"?
I continue to enjoy this story; thank you for writing. :)
10677797 "Espresso"
And thus did the Evil Centaur inflict upon the peaceful ponies of Equestria a monster which no previous experience could possibly prepare them:
Overcaffeinated Pinkie Pie
10678023 "Darling, please hold still." Rarity looked over her welding goggles at the brilliant cutting torch flame, and then at a particular spot on the armor that had always rubbed the wrong way. "It's just a few minor adjustments."
10678051
but the padding, that's in Rare's wheelhouse 
...
Not sure about that for the armor, now AJ or Pinkie, sure -
10678023
I don't think EQG is a thing in this version of Equestria.
10678091
It isn't. Estee's Equestria has no mirror portal. If it did, questions about whether it went to Cerea's world would have been asked in-story 200,000 words ago.
But this Equestria does have Flash Sentry and Sunset Shimmer.
10677797
Great now I'm sitting here wondering if the bread line was something original or a veiled reference to a certain bug on a stick.
Hahahahahahaha!!!
Oh God, she can't be farther from the truth!
Sge could have resumed this with: the most princes-ish bath ever.
Hurray! Cerea newly introduced concept to Equestria, proper coffee brewing techniques and technology. The chef must have been looking at her like she was performing Alchemy
. Now, new coffee dishes will start to appear! Can't wait for Celestia to taste her first moka cake.
There should be interesting things for Cerea to get creative in there but I think Cerea and her sword could probably help with some of those items since she doesn't emit magic herself and the sword cancel it. Feel strange that the red are stored with the rest though.
HA. I might borrow that.
Maybe I read too quickly but did she cut it? That's the only way it would reach a long ton, which is slightly less than a metric ton.
Some would say this is a room full of the bravest ponies in Equestria, ponies willing to lay down their lives for the nation and crown they serve.
All I see is a room full of cowards, too scared to give a comrade a chance just because of what she was born as. If they're just about soiling themselves at the mere sight of a friendly centaur, one wearing their colours no less, are they really worth the armour they're wearing?
I get Princess shenanigans make the job of Guards far more complicated, but they should accept their Princesses are ponies and need to have fun once a while to keep their sanity from their (literally) neverending duty. You don't want stressed, insane Princesses in charge, do you?
10678099
Really? What happened to Sunset?
10678418
We don't know. "Proof of Concept" has everything we do know, which isn't much.
Hard Coffee.
How were they expecting to build HEX without Hard Coffee?
I wonder if Sombra and Grogar would have the most use for Blitzschritts Piton?
Princess verses hairpin? Or has the idea of normal dense air covered magical field generating the dense air covering been worked on for holding antimagical items?
Cerea is going to end up with a Dirty Squad before she gets even truely fully tolerated by Guard Squads?
Thought about the system for activating the shield to protect the sword. How about they go simple and have a glass case that can be lowered in place and locked? Just put the magical protection on the case and the physical lock keyed to her badge act as the on/off switch. They could also enchant the wall behind so they fon't simply tore the whole thing out.
Unicorn like to complicate things when simple solutions are available.
10678418
All we know is that she's been experimenting with time travel related Magic
10678205
Well cooking is somewhat related to alchemy and chemistry for obvious reasons.. to the point that some inventions were done by those who dabbled into that science. And cooks are experimers, applied scientiest by nature. They would be willing to try process they had seen to check if it can be made reproduceable, if it once yielded apparently good result.
One of first restaraint recipes in history involved cooking a fish using alchemical equipment. It needs to be said that original idea of those was to provide easy to digest food for injured or weak, NOT for rich gedonists. One of following steps three centures later was what we call now sous vide, in it's original form.
Only one example of red, but likely it's circumstantially useful items. Truly "red" items would be in some other vault. That telekinetic grenade is potentially useful but too dangerous to handle by "laypony". Some equivant of specialist may be able to deploy those, but otherwise Guard are doing just that - storing it. An artifact created for a special case?
10679491
The last section is a flashback, and the flashback foreshadows MM canon. Large-scale contact with humanity already happened there. It's sort of the whole point of that story.
10678418
Like Captain Nitpick and Krack-Fic Kai said, we don't know. What little we've seen of her tells us that Sunset's brilliant, ambitious, and interested in time magic. I would not be surprised if she was stuck in a time bubble in a locked laboratory at the Gifted School, or something.
Yes, you have made it understood that Cera must once again suffer emotional and psychological torment for your sadistic amusement, Luna.
Putting Cera in a fancy, pony, outfit will not change the opinions of those who hate or fear her, nor the opinions of those already willing to tolerate her. It will most certainly not make Cera feel any better. All it will do is allow you to abuse and torment Cera with her phobias, you miserable nag
As much as I despise Wordia, shite like this reminds me of why Celestia and Luna deserve every ounce of discomfort and aggravation that the press can give them.
Foreshadowing?
I don't think Cera will take that revelation well ... not that she would be able to bring herself to upbraiding "royalty" (or that Luna would care in the slightest anyway).
10679852
Argh, I completely misread this. I missed that the filly in question was Centorea, I was thinking that this was a pony. I've deleted my original comment, since it was based on a stupid misreading.
10680150
I've been pretty critical of the princesses, but on the dress issue I'm actually going to defend Luna. Now, the last time Luna pulled this I did think it was immoral, but this case is different: Centorea's taking a position as a soldier under Luna's command. As such, Luna has a much greater level of legitimate authority over Centorea than she did before. We expect a level of discipline and obedience from soldiers that we don't expect from civilians.
I'm with you on the dream spying, though.
10681007 As I said before, despite her flaws Triptych!Luna is not naïve enough to think that putting Cera in a fancy dress will have any effect on how ponies see her. So putting Cera through another fitting (when Luna doesn't even have the excuse of "I didn't know -- when I started") serves no purpose other than -- A) Emotionally torturing Cera merely in order to establish Luna's "authority" over her (not that Luna needed any authority to torment Cera before), or B) Deciding the Cera's phobia is "stupid", and "pathetic" and she "needs to just get over it", based entirely on the uninformed opinion of a pony who 1) refuses to deal with her own psychological issues (but somehow thinks she is fit to pass judgement on others') and 2) holds everyone in Equestria (barring her sister, and maybe Discord) in contempt (per Word of Estee).
If I'm missing a third possibility, by all means point it out to me (no promises that I'll agree with it, of course) -- but before anyone brings up the "tough love possibility", I would like to remind them that "tough love" requires you to actually care about the other person (at least somewhat), and when you literally hold everyone in contempt, you most certainly do not care about them.
(Hell, Blueblood at least only holds "the common ponies" in contempt, for crying out loud. That's right, folks, Luna is a bigger shite than Blueblood, she's just better at hiding it.)
10681641
I don't think it's true that her clothing will have no impact. It won't have any effect on the die-hard haters, but the effect on the mushy middle is probably nonzero. There's a reason that politicians have image consultants. Even if the dress doesn't improve her image, a lack of formal clothing would probably hurt it -- someone who shows up to a formal event in armor or in casual clothing will not come across well (though one could argue that this is a reason not to have the event in the first place).
I also think we have different impressions of how severe Cerea's reaction is. Now, I've only read one issue of Monster Musume, so maybe the source material contradicts me here, but I don't get the "traumatic" vibe from her reaction. So I think your second description -- "she needs to just get over it" -- is more or less accurate, but I'm not sure that's an unreasonable viewpoint. Especially since off-the-peg clothing for a centaur probably doesn't exist (if off-the-peg clothing is even a thing in Equestria at all), so if Cerea doesn't get over this phobia she's just not going to be able to have clothes at all.
I also come back to the soldier thing. If Cerea truly isn't able to overcome this hangup, she shouldn't be a soldier. Part of being a soldier is being able to keep functioning in traumatic circumstances.
Luna's attitude doesn't come across as contemptuous to me -- at least, not as much as Celestia's does. It comes across as hostile, but in a way that very hostility indicates a level of respect, or at least a recognition that other people are, well, people.
10682475 Back in Nightmarish, Cerea went into a phobic terror at being fitted and measured. Luna recognized this reaction and then deliberately forced Cerea to remain with the source of her phobia and deliberately made the phobic attack worse by both immobilizing Cerea and gagging her.
As for not having clothes at all ... and? Cerea rough-fashioned her original garments in Equestria herself, there is no reason she couldn't continue to do so. Yes it would make her self-conscious, but damn near everything does that to the poor girl anyway, and it would still be better than undergoing more emotional/psychological torture purely because Luna had a whim.
As for Cerea now being a soldier, having a phobia of being measured and fitted has no effect on her ability to perform her duties, which are to stand around in armor and to sacrifice herself on behalf of the princess who has already treated her with sadistic contempt.
... <sigh> I'm sorry, all I'm doing is venting my anger as I debate with you. In the end, Cerea does not (and may well never) have the self-confidence to stand up to Luna, and Luna has show no signs that she might stop being a morally myopic bully, so it doesn't really matter. Thank you for the discussion, and I'll try to just grit my teeth and endure Luna's "antics" silently as I enjoy the rest of the story.
or needed, let's be honest ^^;;;
10680150
...C E R E A. Cee Ee Arr Ee Ay. It's in the entire story you're supposedly reading.
10678417
The one and only other centaur Equestria has ever known, effectively mind-raped them, this was made brutally explicit earlier. I don't think it's too surprising that everyone keeps having these reactions. The fact that they are only staring means they are doing a LOT to restrain their instincts - they're guards, so one can only imagine their fight or flight response doesn't include much of the latter.
10683144
I will point out that, clinically speaking, if someone is having a phobic reaction to a necessary medical treatment, restraint is a perfectly rational option. Luna, seeing Cerea's need for clothes as just that, an actual need, produced a similar response. It's not bullying, it's (perhaps too much) directness. There is a problem. There is an action I can take to fix the problem. So, I take the action, and the problem is fixed. Now I have a phobic centuar resisting my field, but that's a *new* problem.
where you have a green leaf and then there's a a bunch of mostly-closed petals
There shouldn’t be two instances of “a” right next to each other.
..... Please don't tell me the reporter learned all the castle's secret passageways....... please?
Except that one incident with a certain Private, and we still don't know which disaster was supposed to strike in that case :/