Threatening
Some small part of maintaining their friendship was about being willing to ask the embarrassing questions, and that was something which had to come from both sides.
Doing so was just about equally hard for both mares. The pegasus tended to preface such inquiries with a storm of 'Um's, and the girl had multiple ways of indicating when she was trying to (poorly) sneak up on the border of an awkward subject: even when there was only one pony who had any true knowledge of what her body language meant, more than a few had learned to watch for the rising tide of red suffusing exposed skin.
The two mares recognized that the questions themselves could be painful: the answers frequently made it worse. But they also knew the questions had to be asked. It was the only chance they had to find some true level of understanding, because they were trying to bridge a gap which stretched across worlds. And there were times when both questions and answers made the translator's wires hiss, desperately trying to find terms which would be understood on the other side --
-- but on different occasions, the words would already exist. They just didn't get to find that out unless both question and answer were allowed to reach open air. The terms might not be everyday ones: each had an inadvertent tendency to dip into the deepest recesses of the other's vocabulary. But the mere fact that some form of entry had already claimed part of both dictionaries... it seemed to suggest that there was a chance to claim some level of common ground.
They had to ask the embarrassing questions, even when the words triggered hesitation and blush. Being able to ask meant they were friends. Finding the means to answer was how they stayed that way.
"So. Um. That... gap. At the top of the dress. Well, not the absolute top, because that's your shoulders. Even with..." Feathers awkwardly rustled. "...one of those sort of exposed, it's still... um. The gap in the fabric. That's a place you usually keep covered when you're out in public. Because you always stay covered up. Um. And it's a lot closer to winter now, so even if you wear less when it's warm, that's not now. Not with Homecoming this week. The day after the... um..."
The centaur's hooves pranced somewhat, but did so in one spot: the larger form made no attempt to retreat for any other part of the barracks. There wasn't much point in doing so. The mares both worked and lived together. Any attempt to escape from an inquiry was always going to be temporary and in any case, it felt best to get this one over with.
Cerea tried to keep her gaze calm, patiently regarding Nightwatch even as the inevitable flow of blush infused the lie into her own skin. And she had the option to fold her arms, but that was usually seen as a sign of both defensiveness and impatience --
-- actually, Nightwatch probably hadn't figured out that particular phrase of centaur body language just yet. So Cerea had the freedom to fold her arms as much as she liked. It was just that when she folded them in front of her, there was some awkward angling involved. Or squeezing. The other option was usually squeezing. And currently, there was a third possibility on the partially-occupied table --
"...so. Um. The gap. Where your breasts are exposed. The upper surface." The rustling accelerating. "What that gap is supposed to do, since it's obviously deliberate. It has to be deliberate, because I can see how the edges were hemmed. Um. I'm mostly looking at the edges..."
-- but folding her arms above her breasts would just make it look like she was trying to cut off the view.
A slight breeze began to shift one of the occupants of that table. Light reflected from the more gilded of the two envelopes. It didn't make the papers loom any less.
"What the gap is doing," Nightwatch tried to finish. "It's on purpose. So what's that called? Um. What it's doing. Does that have a name?"
The girl winced. A partially-exposed right shoulder momentarily displayed multiple muscles in tense relief.
"...showing cleavage," Cerea eventually said, and the wires failed to hiss.
"Um. Okay." The pegasus' wings flared, and the black mare took off from her standing position atop the mattress. Got just enough altitude, and carefully looked down at the lace-framed display. "Are you supposed to show that much of it?"
The girl sighed.
Princess Luna had a way with schedules. It was something which, when looked at from the outside, only faintly resembled torture: sure, it may seem as if this clock only has so many hours available, but let's just put a little pressure on it from all sides and we'll see what can be squeezed out! It was a talent which meant that between Lunar Guard duties, citizenship classes, study sessions following the previous, the odd hour in the forge to help Barding get ready for the prospective mass armor refit, and royally-enforced time off because nopony was going to let Cerea work herself into an emergency going-nowhere vacation again....
The centaur would have thought (and had in fact been frantically hoping) that there would have been nothing left over for another fitting session. Princess Luna had a different opinion on the matter and when a silver-clad forehoof was put down, rookie Lunar Guards didn't argue. Neither did the senior ones. Time itself effectively scurried into a shadowed corner because it had just bled out an unexpected extra hour and the wound would require some privacy to heal.
So there had been a late-night teleport to some sort of studio, one where the cool lights were absorbed by multiple waiting bolts of fabric, piled on top of each other in a way which suggested that the landslide was just waiting until the moment when it would be the most funny. The Princess had served as escort. Cerea had taken her clothes off, mostly doing so because there was a dark corona on standby and she knew what the other option was. Her liege had looked away from everything which had just been displayed, eyes closing just as the bra was starting to come off. The earth pony and donkey had not -- well, they hadn't after the trembling finally stopped -- a mobile ramp had been pushed into multiple positions around the centaur's body to allow smaller bodies necessary height, and measurements had happened.
One series of increased numbers had confirmed what Cerea had already known, and those altered statistics had been forwarded to Ms. Garter accordingly. The complete group had been set aside, the two designers had asked her a few questions, she'd gotten dressed, the Princess had teleported her back, and then the girl had done her best not to think about it for a few days. Something else where she'd failed over and over.
But this was the evening when the results had shown up. There were two envelopes, and one of them carried a subtle level of gilt: enough to distinguish it within any group of missives, but nowhere near enough to be ostentatious. A pair of boxes had accompanied them, and one had been from Ms. Garter because the lingerie specialist knew a growing girl when she saw one and had simply been waiting on fresh data.
The other had held the dress: the one which the gilded envelope had made into both necessity and inevitability. And when you received a new dress in the presence of a friend, there seemed to be a certain obligation to try it on and let her make a few comments. Several forms of media had suggested this was proper and since those stories had been coming from multiple continents, it also suggested a global agreement regarding procedure. Additionally, they both had some time before their shift began, Cerea had to inspect the dress through donning it immediately and if things ran long in the barracks, there was a chance to find the locker room empty when they arrived.
It had taken Cerea about three minutes to put the dress on, followed by roughly one extra heartbeat in which to decide she was doomed.
"You've seen me naked," emerged as a form of desperate protest, one which had been mixed with a fervent (unheeded) prayer to make things somehow not be as bad as they seemed. "When there's no taboos. You're used to me!"
"It's different when there's clothing," Nightwatch insisted from mid-hover. "It's more -- enhanced. You're sort of... bubbling up? Um. And... out?"
Which was when the pegasus spotted exactly how far the tide of red had gone, along with the exact shade. There was a lot of blood in a centaur body and judging by the visual display, roughly forty percent of it was currently flowing through the girl's skin.
"Um... hopefully not out? Except that..." The hover carefully shifted backwards. "...even if you don't come out at the front..."
The girl silently buried her face in her hands.
To design a dress of quality for a centaur... it was something which required the creators to look beyond the numbers. Any hope of success was inextricably tied up with a group of facts: there was a homid portion, there was an equine section, and if you couldn't do something which would allow the whole of the body to work in harmony, quit.
The vast majority of human fashion designers in Cerea's world had mostly responded to the existence of liminals by doubling down on their most frequent belief: that there was exactly one body type which any garment wearer should ever possess and if you didn't have it, then you didn't exist. Some of them had continued to insist on that non-existence even when there were dozens of liminal females shouting at them from outside their offices. Certain levels of willful self-blindness required true dedication.
It had left a significant gap in the widened industry: one which, at the time of Cerea's kidnapping, was still being filled in. Liminals designed for themselves and each other -- but that was a business, and very few people had come out of the gaps while bearing significant amounts of acceptable currency. Some banks were issuing loans for those who wanted to try start-ups, but the interest rates tended to be higher than those offered to humans: if you couldn't make an impact in a hurry, then the mounting payments would eventually rise over your head. They were trying to become part of human society, and apparently nothing said the liminals had truly joined the race more than allowing them to drown in debt.
Still, there were a few specialist clothing shops: places where those participating in the great experiment could at least try to get something made. A few humans had even given it a go: when you found your designs roundly rejected by those of your own species, why not try another? And there was almost always a baseline from which to start, because just about every liminal possessed a human aspect. Something about the face, torso, arms... and when you got to someone like Lala, all you needed to do was incorporate a fondness for high collars.
You started from the familiar and then tried to work outwards. And in Equestria, 'the familiar' switched locations to Cerea's equine aspect. Ms. Garter could at least make everyday clothing which worked: something which suggested more of the locals would be capable of adjusting. Begin with what you knew...
They had.
If nothing else, the color arguably worked. The duo had looked at a centaur whose dominant colors were a rich brown, blonde, and a sort of pale peach, then decided to set the whole thing off in light green. The fabric was silk (and Cerea was already waiting for any amount of flop sweat to begin staining it), wonderfully soft against skin and fur. A precision fit had been crafted to drape the full length of her spine, doing so in a way which caressed both upper and lower torsos while smoothly working its way through the transition area. Her upper waist had been exactingly surrounded: room to twist, space to turn without having the dress tighten against her skin. And for color -- the green was well-set, and the designers had taken the further step of working with what they'd decided to treat as an accessory.
The disc would be taken to the party. Cerea had no choice in the matter: whenever she was in public, she had to wear the translator. It meant hardly anypony had ever seen her without thin silver wires against one side of her face. And if she was going to be wearing it anyway, then...
The dress was light green -- but there were narrow streams of glittering silver threaded throughout the length and breadth of the garment. They twisted in gentle patterns suggestive of artificial vines, worked around a few curves while setting off others, and they wove across Cerea's body in a manner which suggested the metal overlaid on her skin was just an extension of the dress. In that, the designers had succeeded.
Which left the problems as Absolutely Everything Else.
For Cerea's human portion? You usually had to go by the tastes of those you were living among and when it came to centaur cleavage, the majority of Japan seemed to prefer an all-and-nothing system: apply all of the fabric and make sure any witnesses saw nothing. (There were ways in which this echoed the fashions of Cerea's herd, because stallions needed very little excuse to attempt a transition from merely looking: the single most important accessory was the fabric loop which carried the weighted baton.) But the newest designers had responded to the existence of a bustline by deciding that everypony else needed to see exactly what most of it looked like. It might have been an attempt to turn the party into a sort of group confrontation therapy: look at them, look at them, we want you to look at them. As it was, Cerea had already been expecting a few of the invited parties to respond to her presence via RSVP: Ready Scram Via Portal. (Actually opening it first was optional.) Any deep breath taken in the dress felt as if it had a chance to push her breasts fully into the open, followed by ramming most of the invited guests out the door: the pegasi might go for the windows. And when she turned to regard her lower torso...
He was into legs.
It was still a bitter thought. From a certain perspective, there was absolutely nothing wrong with Cerea's legs. She'd been examined by a medical team before being allowed to participate in the program, and the farrier had been fully complimentary. But their host had possessed an exploitable fetish, and Lala had been the only one capable of exploiting it.
(Suu's legs were human in shape -- but they were also copies, and the same thing applied to any attempt she appeared to make towards open sexuality: simply duplicating the behavior of others. With Rachnera, the question was whether the arachnae was truly participating in the rivalry: turn to Suu and the query became whether the slime girl even recognized that the competition existed.)
Their host had been into legs. Presumably there were ponies who felt the same way, especially since interests in breasts and arms were going to be rather hard to explain. And the designers, confronted with the length and proportions of Cerea's lower body, had decided to... show off a little.
...a lot.
It was hard to say if the cleavage window (or, to be more accurate about it, the gaping portal to a soft chasm of shadow) was scandalously low-cut, because the girl had yet to see any local species with a bustline and didn't know how much of it they displayed. But she'd seen a few ponies in everyday wear which wasn't their fur, and so she felt safe in assuming that when it came to the dress's hemline, it had been cut scandalously high. Anypony observing her could get a look at her legs. If Cerea moved in exactly the wrong way (and she was still trying to figure out if there was a right one), there was also the chance to get a look at her foreshoulders. The hips would take slightly more effort, but Cerea suspected the few extra millimeters of fabric in that area were mostly present to conceal her lack of mark.
And then you had the buttocks or rather, if Cerea didn't spend the entire night stepping very carefully, you were going to have her buttocks. Given how ponies treated clothing as an optional exercise, the party felt as if it had the potential to be filled with buttocks and somehow, all of them would be hers. Because the designers might have been confused when it came to working with cleavage (or possibly just duplicating the fashion for the local bipeds, none of whom had appeared in front of Cerea to present a size chart with attached bell curve), but they had reacted to buttocks on Cerea's scale through deciding to come within one hasty turn of presenting them to the world.
She had the option to spill out of the front. She stood just about as good a chance to spontaneously pop out of the back.
"Cerea?" The hovering tones were weighted with concern. She appreciated that. At least somepony cared. Nightwatch probably didn't understand exactly what was wrong, but she at least knew when to be worried.
"I don't have a trick valve..."
Strictly speaking, she couldn't see the pegasus turn to look at the back of the dress. She had no real way of feeling it happening. But it felt like a fairly safe assumption to make.
"...oh."
"...panties," the girl wearily muttered into her palms. "I need panties. And some ties. Something I can pass under my barrel to keep this thing from creeping up my flanks. They can see my legs, they can see all of my legs..."
"But you have nice legs!" Nightwatch quickly insisted. "Better than mine --"
"-- it's too much leg!"
Carefully, "Is there really such a thing as too much leg?"
"YES!"
The word echoed for a while.
Eventually, the last vibrations pushed the pegasus back to floor level. She slowly trotted forward, nosed around in the open box. An invoice moved out of the way, and silver flashed.
"There's a scarf in here," she observed. "Um. I think it's a scarf. It's long enough, and the edges have that fringe you usually get on scarves."
The girl's fingers parted just enough for her to peek between them. Her ears drooped.
"Oh, good," she muttered. "A scarf. I can just drape it over myself. All night."
"I think it's mostly meant for when you're traveling to the party," Nightwatch said. "Since it's going to be so cold. I know Ms. Garter was going to send over a heavy jacket --"
"-- all. night."
Neither mare moved for a while. Eventually, the girl's hands lowered. The blush refused to recede.
"I looked at the invitation," Cerea softly moaned. "I... need to be sure I read the date correctly. The party is --"
"-- two nights from now."
The moan got louder.
"And the invitation just arrived!" Clenched hands were now beginning to wring against themselves. "There's no time to send the dress back! To have it really altered or adjusted --"
"-- I think it's because you get so much mail," the pegasus valiantly tried to help. "It takes a lot of time for everypony to sort out the things you should actually see. Even when it's Fancypants, and somepony really should have spotted his crest -- um. It probably just got stuck in processing, Cerea. And I'm sure he would have wanted to give you more notice, but... he'll probably get in the night before. This was probably sent by his staff. He would have delivered it personally if he could, but... at least we've -- got some warning? Um. You've got a really deep moan..."
The centaur took a slow breath. Forced herself to look at the invitation, which took some awkward angling. Most of her lower field of vision was occupied by cleavage, and she was already familiar with the view.
"That line there." A trembling finger pointed. "I've been working on reading numbers. And equations. I think the pun works the same way in both languages. Does that really say --"
"-- it was just a mistake --"
"-- does it really say that?"
The pegasus looked up at heaving breasts and slipping fabric. Reluctantly squinted down at the paper, and read the line aloud.
"'Plus one' -- Cerea, please don't rear back like that! They're bulk-printed, and then somepony fills in the names by mouth! Everypony got that on their invitations, just in case they wanted to bring somepony! Only they would have gotten theirs sooner, because any guests need to be screened by the palace. Um. I know we're doing some screening. And there's ponies Fancypants couldn't have invited, but there's others he sort of had to. There isn't much point to bringing in the ones who are just going to hate you, but when it comes to the ones on the border -- anypony who could still change their mind -- he had to try. It's just really hard to guess who they might invite along, so the Princesses told him that the palace would have the right to reject guests. It's... not really going over well..."
Scrabbling hooves managed to momentarily stabilize.
"Plus one." Which, at least in French, managed to emerge with the exact same tone and cadence as 'I'm dead.'
"You don't have to bring --"
Morbidly, "-- well, it can't be you..."
Silver eyes blinked. "What?"
It was only a smile on technicality. The ghost of mirth, which could only appear after all true humor had died. "You were seen hovering near me during the press conference, and it got your apartment set on fire. I don't want to think about what might happen if I brought you as a date."
The pegasus' lips still quirked.
"I'm afraid I'm busy that night," the mare solemnly said. "Advance commitment, special work shift. You understand."
The centaur did. Nightwatch didn't have a place at the party. The senior Guard's assigned location was just outside it.
Within the capital's culture, Fancypants was something of a celebrity. He had the ability to slip out of it, was less frequently recognized while on the road and could apparently become just about anonymous simply by discarding the monocle for a while -- but when he was in Canterlot, ponies paid attention. He wasn't the sort of pony who could truly hope to host an event in secret, and once the guest list started to come into play -- well, somepony would have talked.
There were topics which the palace's staff was reluctant to discuss around her and that list often seemed to include just about everything under Sun and Moon, which meant it also covered not talking about why everypony treated the words as proper nouns. It was possible that everypony else had known about the date of the party for a while now, with multiple headlines happily informing the whole of Canterlot as to just what was going on and who would be showing up. The supposed guest of honor was potentially the last to get the news, because Cerea still had ponies hiding newspapers wherever she went. She darkly suspected the increasing speed of the removal was directly tied to the palace's growing awareness that eventually, she might be able to read them.
It was possible that Cerea was the last to know (and another shadowed thought wondered if the staff had been trying to cut down on her potential running time). But the capital had the news. Something which came with a date, location, and the fact that for one night, the centaur would be outside the palace and everypony knew where.
The party was what the Princesses saw as Cerea's best chance to make a good impression on Canterlot's upper class. It just happened to double as a massive security risk.
So there were going to be Lunars outside the building. A few would stay closer to the party itself, and those numbers would be reinforced by carefully-chosen members of the police. They would all be watching for trouble, and they expected to find quite a bit of it outside the party. Because the entire capital knew where that was, which meant any truly accurate invitation would have needed to read Plus One Mob.
On the bright side, the palace would get a night off: just about all of the Lunar protestors were guaranteed to gather outside Fancypants' home, and Cerea fully expected them to be joined by a significant portion of the day shift. But the party had to be kept safe. A joint effort between Guards and police, making sure guests could get through without being accosted --
they're beating on the doors
-- and once within, could at least try to pretend things were normal.
A known location was a risk. Any leaked guest list might see the mob subdivide for a day or so, gathering outside the homes of attendees to -- express their opinions on the matter. And there were still ways in which it could become worse, because it was a single night where everypony in the capital knew where Cerea was and...
...it may be the summoners' best chance.
The Princesses had spoken with her about it. That even with all of the security being provided, screenings conducted on every guest... they couldn't be sure. Somepony had called Cerea into this world, and there would be a single night where if so much as a single pony had access to news from the capital, then all of them -- every one of the dozens it had taken to warp the road -- would know exactly where she was. If they had any intention of striking, trying to get her back...
Admittedly, there were ways in which a kidnapping attempt
second attempt
was the best possible result. All the palace needed was a single capture, and they could truly begin to track down the group. They might even get lucky enough to lay hooves on a leader.
-- if ponies don't get hurt during the attempt.
She had to trust in the Guards.
If they don't succeed. Because if they manage to take me...
She wanted to believe in the Princesses.
...if I find out what they wanted me for because now they have me, now they can do whatever they want...
She'd had dreams about that. There had even been three when she hadn't woken up just before the circle of casters began to close in.
The protestors would know where she was. The summoners had to know. And then you got into the smaller categories of disaster, like having a guest come into the gathering, take a single look at her, and break. And where one pony broke, another could follow. And another, and another...
The palace hasn't found a single clue as to who the summoners are. Anypony there could be part of it. Anypony...
...but if we catch one, the right one and nopony's hurt in the process...
Getting the right summoner meant acquiring a pony who knew how the spell had worked. And if that information could be acquired, given to the researchers...
Everything about the party was a risk on a scale which Cerea barely wanted to think about. She'd spent days in hardly sleeping from not having thought about it.
The party felt like a precariously-placed weaving line of weighted dominoes which had been assembled on top of a minefield: a single light push, and the explosions might never end. But it also potentially represented her best chance to go home.
Even the Guards who don't want me here should try to get me home. Squall would probably do everything he could to capture a summoner. At least it gets rid of me.
And all she needed to potentially accomplish that was for her presence to risk the lives of everypony there.
Try to trust in the Guards.
Try to believe in the Princesses.
Try to feel like it won't all go wrong...
"Cerea?"
She forced her hooves to stop moving again.
"Plus one," the centaur miserably repeated.
"Nopony's expecting you to bring a guest," Nightwatch tried to assure her. "It's just a bulk printing. Um. I know I said that already, but --"
"-- I could ask Barding."
Black hooves briefly skittered backwards on the floor.
"You -- you'd..." The pegasus was breathing too fast, ribs shifting in and out as the dark tail tried to curl in on itself. "You'd actually..."
"It's a joke," Cerea sighed. Or it would have been if I was even a little funny. "He wouldn't want to go. There probably isn't enough metal to keep him interested."
"Plus you'd have to get him into a suit," Nightwatch half-gasped. "I'm pretty sure most of the stallions will be wearing suits --"
Two very different species momentarily flashed on exactly the same image.
"-- no suit," Nightwatch finished.
"Because he'd get in some extra work before we left," Cerea stated.
"And set it on fire."
"Parts of it."
"And then go to the party."
"While the holes were still smoldering. Not understanding why anypony was looking at him..."
Both mares briefly giggled, and then the taller smoothly transitioned into a sigh.
"I have to get my hair cut," Cerea announced. "Tonight, if I can. The mares who styled me before the press conference --"
"They're not part of the staff," Nightwatch told her. "They come in sometimes, and they were sworn to secrecy for the night. But the palace doesn't really have a full-time groomer on staff. Not for manes and tails. Um. Well, it's the Princesses. There really isn't much point. But I can ask somepony to send for them."
And maybe the stink of their fear will be a little lighter...
The centaur knelt a little, trying not to lean too far forward in the process. Anatomy perilously shifted.
"I'm going to say something just to see if it translates."
"Okay..."
"Double-sided clear adhesive skin tape."
"...huh?"
"Never mind..."
She picked up the gilded envelope. Turned it over in her hands, picked out the few words she could read.
Two days.
Then she looked down again.
"That came with it," Nightwatch said. "Um. It looks like it had a rough trip. I don't think the pony who brought it down was wearing a mouth guard. Ink has to be saliva-resistant, but some of the cheaper stuff... Anyway, you can see where the return address got blurred. Um... that section is where ponies usually put a return address."
Most of what Cerea could make out was in the center. Also the lower right, one corner, and then the endless trail of consonants did its best to wrap around the paper and gave it another go. Somepony had tried to write something on that part of the envelope and much like a certain fictional witch trying to spell 'banana', they hadn't been able to work out when to stop.
"But I guess it's for you," the pegasus added. "If somepony brought it down here."
"Do you know what that..." with some reluctance, accompanied by a desperate wish for a better term "...'word' in the center is?"
The pegasus squinted again. Silver eyes required several seconds to follow the full trail.
"No."
"It's probably just more hate mail," Cerea decided. "Somepony picked it up by accident when they were biting on the invitation."
"Um. They've been screening. I don't think they'd send --"
Ponies at risk.
Everything at risk.
And, on a much lesser note:
Cette putain de robe.
(At least she hadn't said that part out loud. It was bad enough to be so vulgar in her thoughts. She already knew what the disc would have done with the words.)
"I'll look at it later," the girl sighed, because there had been enough bad news for one night and she was feeling a certain need to stretch out the load. Besides, anything truly important would have had somepony on the palace staff tell her directly. It seemed to increase the chance of the second envelope having arrived in error. She could just ask Nightwatch to check the contents and figure out where it should have gone. "Right now, I have to get out of this thing." The gilded envelope was set back down, freeing nimble fingers to begin progressively gathering in scoops of dress. "And figure out how we're going to adjust it with what we have, because one wrong move and..."
One last moan.
"This is going to be a disaster," Cerea stated.
"It won't be," the pegasus decided. "We won't let it be."
One of them would be wrong.
The stallion hadn't really spoken to this mare before. He knew of her, because you couldn't be part of CUNET and not know about the mare. He had admired her work from afar, respected her ability to craft a finely-turned phrase, and sometimes wished for an equal ability to mask his own beliefs with layers of open doubletalk. The additional ability to shield it all under the protective umbrella of Opinion didn't exactly hurt.
He liked her, as much as you could like somepony whom you only knew through their words. She was one of the greatest assets CUNET possessed. Of course, necessity required that she hold that status without actually being a member of the organization, as journalists were supposed to pretend towards neutrality. Something which obviously existed as nothing more than pretense, because he read the ravings of the Marshdew traitor just about every day and there was nothing less neutral in all the world -- but that reading was a nauseating necessity. After all, if the enemy wanted to tell you what they were thinking, let them.
The stallion liked the mare, and had been looking forward to actually meeting her. It was just that he had maintained what should have been a rather pleasant anticipation stage for somewhat longer than he'd expected.
It was a quiet location, along with being fully shielded from sight and, since he was waiting in the depths of the Tangle, it was rather difficult to track. Canterlot's oldest section had been created at a time before the concept of city planning: something which meant the local criminal element ran a happy side hustle in the art of not quite giving directions. Some said that if you paid them enough, they might even lead you out of the twisting streets on the first attempt.
He would have understood if a first-time visitor got lost on their way into the Tangle: arriving while considerably low on bits was another possible side effect. But the mare supposedly knew it as well as anypony, and if she was recognized, then she was left alone. The risk associated with disturbing her was simply too great.
An angry, underpaid crook would merely kick their victim a few times and then stop. The mare would write.
He waited, because he had things to tell her, he wanted to meet her, and he was willing to put in some extra time for that. But he stayed under Moon's shadows for what felt like far longer than he should have. And when he finally saw somepony on the approach, the cold wind wafted the scent of alcohol into his snout.
The stallion didn't see any need to remark on that. He assumed that there were times when the best sources had to be lubricated first, especially if you didn't want them to remember that they'd been the ones who had talked. Instead, he simply waited until she was close enough to fully identify. And then he smiled, followed that up with a nod, and relished in the rarity of complete sincerity.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." The smile got a little wider. "A true pleasure. I've admired your work for years. I'd take off my hat in the presence of a lady, but..."
The mare nodded, and the white mane caught a little of the remaining light. "Always nice to meet a fan." Returning the smile with one of her own --
-- there was something odd about that smile.
He couldn't quite pin it down. It just made him want to make her smile again.
Well, he had the words which could do it. He just had to hold them off for a little while. "You weren't followed?"
The snort was a rather soft one. "Good luck following me through here. Born and raised in the Tangle. I know shortcuts which the sisters don't remember. Assuming they ever set a hoof on these stones in the first place..." A slow head shake. "We're secure."
"And even if somepony found out that you'd had a meeting," the stallion smiled, "you would never give up a source."
She nodded. "Makes it a little hard to get any other sources. Why did you want to meet me?"
Straight to business, then. "You know about the party, of course. The one where they're going to try and make it look acceptable."
Her left forehoof rotated somewhat, ground against ancient stone. "Like the rest of the capital. Like most of the continent, once the story finishes traveling. Why?"
"And you know about the security --"
"-- enough," the mare cut in, "that I know I won't be able to get through. Not personally." Her lips briefly quirked. "Not that I may need to be there, given the ponies who will be attending. But if you were asking me to make an appearance, there's no point. I can't get an invitation, and Fancypants would screen me out as a plus-one."
He didn't even mind the interruption. There was something about a mare who got right to the point...
The stallion casually leaned against the chill wall. Basked in the shadows.
"Here's what you probably don't know," he smiled. "Because it comes from our source on the palace staff."
"The one who's been so very accurate," she immediately said. "I'd love to know how. And who."
"I have to protect them for a while longer," he lightly teased. "I trust you not to print their name, but they would be very upset if they thought I'd dropped it. Besides, they're going to be rather busy for a little while. Party preparations." And because you always had to think about tomorrow, "Of course, there are times and places where we might discuss it. After this is over."
Another nod. "Or earlier," she half-negotiated. "So what did this source tell you about the security? It can't be a route in. If you got caught gatecrashing --"
He gently shook his head.
"They probably have enough ponies to cover everything," he told her. "And that's the problem. For them."
She frowned. Took a deep breath, and the alcohol emerged on the exhale.
"How?"
Yes, she went directly to the point. Plus she wasn't exactly unattrac -- well, her personality was most of it, but when you also considered the mind behind it and how that directness might come into play in the bedroom...
Looks were one thing. This mare's intellectual appeal existed on a level which overlapped the sexual.
"They're using a combination of Lunars and police officers," the stallion informed her. "But they can't weaken their watch on the palace or city, not as tumultuous as things have been with the protests going on. We're going to leave a good-sized group in front of the palace gates that night, just to split their forces a little more. Ultimately, they're drawing on limited resources. Which meant the only way to meet their target herd population number was to pull a few ponies in from the outside."
He saw her figure it out. That intelligence was just so refreshing, especially after a few of his more recent exposures.
"Ponyville," she definitively stated. "They're taking the extras from Ponyville."
The stallion nodded. "Which creates a certain opportunity."
I briefed her.
(He'd been stuck briefing her for days. Trying not to flinch from the heat of her thoughts. It made the presence of any other mare into the intellectual equivalent of dipping his mind into the perfect swimming hole.)
She'll be accompanied the whole time.
As long as there's somepony to supervise, we can keep her on the script.
It's our best opportunity
The mare waited. He tilted his head a little, and watched for her smile. She had to smile when he told her. Who wouldn't?
"You won't be at the party, and you might even be better off for it. So if you don't have any other plans for that night... how would you like an exclusive?"
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I suppose there's someone out there for everyone.
And yikes, that's quite the firebomb they're fixing to pitch into the mix.
(Luna doesn't do threats. She does promises.)
She had the option to spill out of the front. She stood just about as good a chance to spontaneously pop out of the back.
Ok, I'll admit. I lost it there. You win. I'm mailing you the prize.
10820260
Celestia and Luna have taken a "wait and see" approach to tribalism for 2000 years. This racist, specist Equestria has learned NOTHING from their founding and needs to be purged, not protected at all costs. For fucks sake, Emery Board claimed to be training Cerea how to fight ponies, but when the clueless Centaur managed to puzzle out Earth Pony abilities he lied to her about her theories being false.
The tragedy of the Goats(ibuk?) is that one of them was stupid enough to believe ponies could be decent people. And DIED for it.
Kurusu would have loved to see her in that dress.
Double sided clear adhesive tape will be tge next innovation that will be introduced to Equestria! Or maybe fur tape in this case.
Man, I don't know what to expect from the party. I don't know if I wish for the magical kidnappers to make a move or not. That plot line has been really calm for a while. At the same time, everything else that could go wrong could happen, at the same time.
I hope there will be ambassadors from other countries present.
10829465
Very like the real world, isn't it?
I disagree about the purging. It never works out.
Heading into another Disaster Party™️, are we? Fun times! At least none of Estee's have been as cringe-inducing as the infamous Bujold Vorkosigan dinner scene. I couldn't read that in one sitting the first time through.
10829465
not sure why you got downvoted, because you're 100% correct.
It might be the "purging" word, but I think that's a misinterpretation. You mean purging the culture of tribalism by progressing it forwards rather than stagnating in it, as it has been - not purging the people from inside it, correct?
you really do have such a wonderful way with words, not to detract from the rest of the chapter which was indeed wonderful but
had me laughing out loud. as always thank you for the excellent chapter
Great chapter!
Well. None of this is boding well.
Tiddy tape!
I should like to contribute a sentence for use in the next chapter which I think will be applicable.
"The spirit of decorum conceded defeat to its' most stalwart of opponents, and promptly fled the scene."
Okay been reading this here gem since the beginning. And I got to say. What is it with Wordia Spinner and her Canterlot Tattler seeming like a herd of Karen's. You know the ones who loudly demand o speak to a manager. Or any number of horrendous atrocities of a similar manner. Other than that I LOVE THIS STORY!
10783294
Like vibranium, but with magic, rather than kinetic energy?
My money is on Night being wrong ...
Probably not Kryptonian hypnosis in his case. Probably.
"Celestia, it's been a thousand years. Why do I still need to trim my own mane?"
"You know why."
"That's your problem, dear sister. I don't see why I have to suffer for it."
That poorly labeled envelope has something essential, doesn't it? Maybe a camisole.
Logically speaking, that's obvious. But it still feels terribly ominous.
It's the oldest part of the city. They were here when there wasn't any other option. Of course, this is just one more opportunity to twist her thoughts into an attack on them, so I shouldn't be surprised.
Yeah, something tells me that's an... optimistic assessment.
Whatever happens, this is sure to be a party to remember. We'll see just how bad it gets.
Theres a witch that cant stop writing bananananana?
Chrysalis verses Esmerelda Weatherwax?.
If they dont have clear tape, and the gown is silk, then maybe some spider thread guy lines and netting? As the plus 1?
Could be worse. Could end up with a small dragon holding things together.
Sure, there's so much good that'll come out from interviewing a racial supremacist potential murderer that's being hunted by the crown and trying to spin that positively. Absolutely.
Hey, her husband/wife that died to Tirek (can't remember which), were they an Unicorn? Because if not I can see her simply refusing to give them positivity to not mar their memory. Although she's already in the deep end...
Hmmm, Ball dress with 'slight' problems, a less than two day limit and no on-call seamstress -- this is a job for Rarity
(or should that be Generosity 
[maybe Canterlot High's Rarity 
but ... {continuity??}]), especially with Ponyville reinforcements (timing's an issue) ... 
👍 (First half. Second half: no suitable icons for addressing topics story is presenting; topics that I...can't, shouldn't and thus won't. Will likely come to regret even saying this much.)
"and apparently nothing said the liminals had truly joined the race than allowing them"
"and apparently nothing said the liminals had truly joined the race like allowing them" or "and apparently nothing said the liminals had truly joined the race better than allowing them"?
Thank you, as usual, for writing. :)
10829465
If you think an entire species can't ever be anything good, then why are you here?
10829676
Nah, cause then candles would also nullify magic.
Reasoning for that is that we've got two different plastics here: polypropylene (trainingsword) and polyethylene (hairclips), which implies that the effect would happen with all long-chain hydrocarbons and thereby including waxes.
Which leaves enchantment as the most likely answer.
10830178
I like(d) canon MLP. I've come to heavily despise crossovers, but that's mostly because they typically just assume you know what a Kamemeha, Devil Fruit, any individual Bankai, Knight's of the Round, or Saringon, does and never bother to explain it. Annoying for fans of both series when the author goes into detail about every ability, but equally annoying when they don't for those of us who either never heard of a franchise or didn't get very far into it.
I found it annoying to read 20 pages of manga every month only to run out of material justwhen you are getting into it, so I dropped Musume about 30-40 chapters in, and manga since. I have read 500 Little Murders and it's sequel and enjoyed them, and people have raved about Estee's writing, so when this story popped up I was more than excited to give it a shot. (I like big boobs, so Cerea started out my favorite, but her wanting to be, essentially, a Paladin cemented it). I favorited the story about the time Cerea was taken to the castle.
But as the story has gone on it's been revealed that this isn't the show's Equestria, but a cruel mockery of it. One where Tribalism didn't die during Hearth's Warming, but merely hid in plain sight. Spoken of behind closed doors, because obviously White People are better than those damn
niggers-sorry. The way the story is written keeps evoking strong feelings in me. It's like watching 1870's era Americans(Or 1860's or even 40s) pretend to the world they're cultured 21st century Americans. Through a modernCanadian lens. Or the Trumptards STILL waving their flags and refusing to wear masks or get vaccinated.It just hits too close to home, too closely mirrors modern America. And it's doubly damned because Estee has done such a masterful job showing, not telling how damaged Cerea is, that Cerea can never expect love, let alone tolerance or acceptance, so long as she's trapped in Equestria. An Equestria that barely tolerates itself, let alone non-ponies!
At this point it's sadism, wondering how Estee is going to torture Cerea, or finally just kill her off, that's keeping me reading. If Celestia hasn't rooted out tribalism like CUNET(or her fucking FAMILY, Blueblod!) in two millennia, there's no reason to expect in in a mere decade.
... of all the Estee stories ive read, this is only the one with the second most sexual harrassment of a protagonist (there's always poor Joyous), but for some reason reading it is the worst.
I've wanted to punch that lingerie designer since her first centaur design hit the page. Now i want to punch the seamstresses from this chapter too. How bloody hard is it to send a damn DESIGN SKETCH to the costumer first...
10830962 Considering that they measured Cera while she was naked, not noticing that she doesn't have a "trick valve" is pure incompetence on the designers' part.
10831506
I can PERHAPS excuse that as the ‘normal’ mare musculature simply not leading to riding up in the way Cerea fears, and thus the designers simply not noticing a problem at all... But I’ve gotta agree with Here_for_one_thing on SHOW THE CUSTOMER A DESIGN SKETCH, DAMN IT.
Or just unleash Rarity. She’ll burn through five no-stitch, held-together-with-pins prototypes in three hours, gleaning what’s gone wrong with each practically before Cerea can feel the fabric.
10830800
I'm not sure how you read 500 Little Murders and didn't pick up that Estee's writing is a shade darker than canon, but yes, things are rather more cynical and realistic here. Don't like that? Don't have to read it.
Also "oops, sorry"-ing a racial slur is still using a racial slur.
10830800
Hey, you said the thing.
Hi. The author is about to talk about their own work. I'm fully aware that under both established lit class law and Internet culture, this means everything I'm about to say is completely meaningless and can be automatically dismissed. Also, TL:DR. In advance.
Regardless, I have a ramble prepared. Shall we futilely proceed?
So here's my main story. Triptych, or as some like to call it, the biggest mistake in the history of this site. It's been finished for a while now. The process of its creation now exists fully in memory. And the thing is... time distorts memory. The more balanced moments tend to be buried under the highs and lows. Especially the lows. Look back and most minds will edit for drama. And if you asked me for the top five things I remembered from people's reactions to that story, I could go for what came when the Completed tag finally went up. There might be a selection of responses to specific chapters, especially for those segments I'd been truly afraid to post because of what the reactions might be.
What do I remember about reader reactions to my main story?
Very high on the list is 'Spending a few years in listening to people tell me how much I hated Twilight.'
...yeah.
I know that's a distortion. (There probably weren't more than a dozen of them. Squared.) But I heard it over and over. How dare I put her through this! Why was I making her deal with so much emotional trauma, and why was it so hard for her? (I mean, we all know that Twilight is a completely emotionally balanced mare with no issues whatsoever.) Clearly the only reason for subjecting Twilight to everything which happened in that story, the process of completely tearing down her world around her and forcing her to reexamine everything she thought she'd known as the emotional toll continued to mount... the only excuse would be if I hated her.
Of course, there's another reason.
It's called 'protagonist'.
I will not deny that I put my protagonists through Tartarus. To be a protagonist can be to have the universe select you for the honor of being kicked repeatedly in the face for a while. In public.
Twilight had a hard time of it. Cerea isn't exactly merrily trotting down a path marked This Way To Joy. Over on Anchor Foal, it's possible that things aren't louder just because some people may have decided that Fleur's earned it. And it can feel like the pain never ends, as if there's no way out, and people know these characters. They're especially familiar with the version which exists in their heads. That makes things personal.
Why are you hurting someone I care about?
What are you doing to my waifu?
Why. Won't. You. Stop?
...
...why do you hate Cerea?
I don't.
I'm not the first writer to get this. I know of at least one published party who had readers write him (with paper) to demand that he take it easy on his protagonist. The problem was too big. No one could be expected to solve that, and every book was just one more heaping shovelful onto the pile of Impossible. The books eventually became so dark that I, who apparently exist to torture characters, would never go so far as to include them in Cerea's patchwork reading material. So I gave them to Rainbow. Partially because it's been about three decades since the last volume and while the author is still alive and claims the story is ongoing, when you effectively end on that dark a note and hold it for so long... people give up.
Oh, and there's another part of it. Holding the note, because this story is being published in a chapbook structure. Most multi-part works on the site are. And that means when something truly bad happens and you've been reading each section as it's published, you don't get the option to just turn the page. There [is no next page yet. It leaves reader and character stuck in the pit.
I get hit with accusations of making things too hard, of hating the protagonist. I know of at least one published author who went through it. It wouldn't exactly surprise me if Tolkien received a few letters demanding to know when he would stop torturing Frodo.
To be a protagonist can mean the universe has selected you for being kicked in the face. Repeatedly, in front of an audience. There are problems to solve and they can feel too big for anyone to manage. You're hurting. You wish this had never happened to you. You just want it to stop...
...but it doesn't mean the writer hates you.
Why Cerea?
It's in my blog, here and there: I wrote one when I was first considering whether to pursue this story, and there's been other entries since. But here's the core of it.
I feel that of all Monster Musume's characters, she's the most complex.
There are layers present. She tries to make herself look cold and hard. There's a defensiveness there. I saw hints of a depressive side, and you can pick up little aspects of an inferiority complex. She needs to come across as strong -- and somewhere under all of that is someone who longs for the simple contact of a hug. Who will do everything within her limited power if it just means having someone tell her she did well. If it ends in someone holding her hand.
In a manga mostly designed for endless fanservice to the point of (personal) frustration, where the only things which kept me coming back were those brief shining moments when personalities bobbed to the surface... in a two-dimensional world, she's a three-dimensional character. And she doesn't get many chances to show it.
So... what if I took her away from an environment which so often solely existed to see how many ways it could rend her blouse? Who is Cerea, when the endless game of the harem fantasy is no longer being played?
Or rather -- because let's face it: this was coming and it's justified -- who's my interpretation of her? Because this Cerea is not her original, any more than the other canon-originated characters in my stories are exacting mirrors. Characters change when you view them through your own lens. So do worlds. And when you put this Cerea in that world...
I didn't take her because I hated her.
I wanted to tell a story.
Being a protagonist can mean being kicked in the face a lot. When it's a chapbook structure, you can hold on a single impact for a very long time. And the longer someone serves as the center of attention, the more the kicks just keep on coming.
Part of the problem is that chapbook structure. You know where you see that in modern literature? Comic books. End of the current issue in the endless torture which is our hero's life! And just four short weeks? We're gonna kick him again.
In fact, if he's popular, we'll never stop.
A comic book -- and too many manga -- simply exists to sell the next issue. So matters never truly resolve. Subplots wrap, events conclude -- but hey, we can retcon those. And there's always going to be another kick because we've got an anniversary edition coming up, and there's another death of a loved one, and another, and things never get any better because the story cannot ever be allowed to end. The End means No More Sales. A lot of people leave comics (at least for the superhero section) when they realize the industry is modeled on the plot styles of another.
In a minute or so, we're going to talk about endings.
'Too close.'
Those words have followed me across my time on this site. I've gotten them over and over again, to the point where they wound up on the trope page. But let's toss in something else which was said directly to me, using a very light paraphrase.
That people come here to escape.
And when they reach my stories, they find the things they were trying to escape from.
I am not the first person to use a fantasy world for a distorted reflection of the real. I'm not even the first with ponies. (Actually, the show was the first with ponies, including going into tribalism.) And people apparently laugh off the grimdark material, because nopony's ever going to be a mass murderer and the Rainbow Factory just makes rainbows and come on, we can just ignore the zombie stuff...
...but powermongers use their position as a weapon.
...but pets die.
...but you're afraid of being forgotten.
...but you know you have problems and that knowledge doesn't tell you how to fix them.
...but you're hated for what you look like, how others see you, things you never did...
...and it's all too close.
The grimdark stuff isn't likely to take place in the real world. People arrive at my stories and find the things which happened to them three hours ago.
It can invoke strong feelings. Like the one which demands that you stop.
That I stop.
...I get it. I really do. Worlds and characters change, and I try to make it in service to the story. But all fanfic is a distortion. All stories. (Which includes autobiography, because people edit their own lives.)
Too close...
On the day Triptych began, I knew it concluded with two scenes. I just had some trouble deciding exactly which one would go last. (I should have never let the story itself go first. Helpful hint to new writers: it's really not a good idea to have your so-called epic batting leadoff.) But I had already identified what those scenes were, and why they were necessary to close the story.
Before DELWMG had its New Story page started, the ending was there.
I know what the last scene is.
The last sentence.
(It's three words.)
And in a way, everything I do here is to aim the story at that final moment.
When do the kicks stop for a protagonist? When the story ends. That's when both character and reader have to decide if it was all worth it. Whether the sum equation equals a positive, or if we're still lost in a pit of torment. (Torture, if you like.)
I've described my writing process as tracking lamppost light pools in the dark. I know what the major moments are: the key story beats. Occasionally, I have to find my way between them, and this can lead to spontaneous, organic moments while I wander around in the less-defined territory. (We can talk about what some of those were after the story wraps.) But I'm not fully a seat-of-the-pants writer. I don't start a story unless I know how it ends.
So I know how this one ends.
Here's another part of the problem: I'm the only one who does.
I don't comment on my own stories very much, at least in the sense of replying to people. Not with the ongoing ones. And part of this is because just about everything I might say can go into Spoiler Alert. This was especially bad with Triptych, because for the writer to talk about a mystery is to chance giving out a clue. And on this story, beyond my frustrations in discovering that most of y'all have an armor fetish, I've stayed out of things.
I know how this story ends. That means I can't talk about it. Shouldn't.
Here's what I can say: the ending won't make everyone happy. Why? Because no ending makes everyone happy. In my experience, posting The End can just lead into people telling me how they would have written the story. And it would have been a better plot and ending than mine, because the author is a known hack.
But there is an ending.
And before it arrives? Maybe there's more kicks. A protagonist goes through a journey, and it's pushing through a trail overgrown with thorns.
I've told readers that they don't get to claim they can read my mind. By the same token, I don't know what any of you are truly thinking. I certainly don't get to think for you.
Maybe the readers reach the end and decide none of this was worth it.
I only know how it ends.
But there is an ending. That's all I can really tell you. There's a point where the final curtain is dropped. And that's when the true judgment arrives. With chapbooks, people draw conclusions in sections -- but there's only one place where the = sign truly appears.
There's an ending, and we're on track for it -- but there's still a ways to go. A journey.
And that path may skirt too close, and closer still.
If you're reading out of self-directed sadism...
Track back in this story's comments. Before the press conference, so many people were talking about how things felt like endless pain that I had to come in for a moment, assure them that something was due to happen soon. I was the only one who knew that Cerea would be offered a potential place in the Guard. The gift of a chance.
And if you're looking for me to say something similar here, I won't. Once was enough, and everything I put down risks going into Spoiler Alert.
Instead, I'll say this. And DivinePanzer, I'm now speaking directly to you.
I can't tell you to stop reading the story. But I feel it may be healthier for you to come back when that Complete tag goes up. Let yourself have the freedom to simply pause after something happens, followed by turning to the next page because now that next page exists. But until then, it may remain...
...too close.
You know how it feels to be the one reading this story. Ultimately, you're the only one who can know.
But before I close this pointless ramble, I'm going to ask for a very brief favor.
For an instant, a second, a minute... try to imagine what it's like to be the person writing it.
I'm right there with her.
I have to be her.
And we both bleed.
Incidentally, if you like characters with VBH, I have another.
I destroyed her entire world and killed seven billion people.
...just following canon.
10831561
I'm imagining priming Rarity for the task so her first reaction isn't as likely to be a repeat of Crossing Guard's first reaction.
reminds me of...Flat Earthers.
most wilfully blind people EVER.
Reading this stallion's reaction to Wordia made me realize that I had a similar reaction to her. I've been finding Wordia far more sympathetic/likeable than most of the main characters do, and I think that's because I was a bit attracted to her in her first appearance. She was completely unintimidated by Cerea, she was creative, she thought fast on her hooves, she wasn't afraid to challenge those more powerful than herself, and these are all things that attract me. Maybe that's been influencing my judgment of her in general.
10830800
Have you not read Triptych?
Estee's Equestria isn't a mockery, but a mountain dancing on the head of a pin.
Celestia can't be everywhere, can't influence everything, can't fix every little problem, no matter how much she might want to. As long as at least two races or species or tribes exist, portions of one will find ways that they are "better" than the other.
It is by no means a pleasant picture to paint, but painted it shall be.
10832478 To be honest, I strongly suspect Wordia's willingness to "stand up" to Celestia is entirely based on her presumption that Celestia can not/will not ever do anything against her.
And since we have confirmation that Wordia has repeatedly violated restricted sections of the Palace without any consequences ... I can see why she has that belief.
I'm not professional , but I had done and would do same../ if you have a gaget with prominient texture or color, match it to either texture of contrasting accent or to outfit color. It stops distracting the onlookers, because it looks like a part of whole thing. And worst thing an outfit can do is to distract from its wearer.
10831935
I read that entire message. Seems like I should check out triptych now. Hmmm among your other works as well.
Also I am enjoying this story.
10833050
Historically speaking, things have not gone well for rulers who imprison journalists.
maybe I'm just reading too much into it, but I get the feeling that Cerea is marching toward her eventual death...
Are they... are they trying to get an interview with that spiralling pit of insanity hiding in Ponyville?
That's... huh, that's a bold, yet also quite a foolish move. Any newspaper who prints that interview admits they have a contact who know where the suspect of a crime is hiding, and if they refuse to share that knowledge with the authorities, are keeping them hidden, thereby becoming accomplices in the crime.
10833198
On the flipside, current history is showing that it's also not smart to ignore journalists who are willing to ditch ethics and incite people against the government, truth be damned.
Hmmm... me thinks a friend may be developing a crush. Or I could just be reading too much into it.
... its probably that one.
10831935
You saying a thing only once? I giggled.
10829465
On that last point - the ibex's death wasn't about or because of ponies lacking decency.
10829465
More on the point... I wonder how come... in what is fundamentally an absolute monarchy, with magic, a HUGE segment of beings that are clandestine operatives loyal to the crown, that the hardass antagonizing racist bigot don't end up having tragic accidents totally unrelated to the crown... I mean Ok Celestia is somewhat namby pansy and too enamored with making the plan come together... but Luna is bit more practical... And the amount of trouble avoided by having a certain journalist slip in the shower of her latest fling are staggering. Same with Mrs. Panderaghast... Come on... making her choke on an unicorn steak would be optimal to destroy her movement. There is too much underhandedness for the Palace to stay "pure" as it is
10829912
An interview with a mare in hiding, who currently has open fantasies about maiming fillies? Nah, you are just exaggerating.
Originally I was thinking that the mysterious "informant" was Nightwatch (probably in some unknowing way, rather than conscious betrayal), but I'm starting to think it might be one of the Princesses, as some sort of complicated plan to trick these hate groups into betraying themselves.
10836906
Probably because both Celestia and Luna know better than following the slippery slope of "the greater good", specially when they have all the time in the world to slip even further.
10833410
Oh, without a doubt. Everyone and everypony dies, after all. Even Celestia and Princess Luna can be killed, and given enough time they will be. What we can change is why we die, and what we accomplish in the meantime. We all end up at the same destination, what matters is the journey we take to get there. Cerea will die, but maybe that death will be to buy another span of life for the world, or maybe it will be surrounded by friends and family and offspring.
10840672
Pretty much this.
Same in-universe reason Batman never killed the Joker. He feels that if he ever crossed that line, he'd never stop.
Having read at least a portion of this chapter so far, I'm now just imagining Cerea dressed in the sort of dresses that mares in Equestria would wear - example, the one that Twilight wore during the Grand Galloping Gala - which would show her bare flanks... yeah that's not a pretty picture and I would tear that dress to pieces - forgive me Rarity - at the lack of covering to the parts that need covering for a centaur... I mean I always found the dresses worn by mares in the show weird in all honestly, with only a few choices being in the okay pile.
Oh there lord, what is CUNET planning now... I don't like it when bit especially if it involves Ponyville, things are not going to go well.
I like this story but i wonder when in the comic story the transfer to Equestria happened. I wonder if she had time to meet all this centaur subspecies. Meamil meeting imply that Cerea milk's has some "magical" properties. NightDrew showed that some species have magic that would fit well in Luna sphere of influence. This give some interesting possibilities for the following chapters.
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I think the designer noticed it but willingly ignored it for some unsaid reason.
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For the dress I first though of Pegasania dress with larger side strip to cover her lack of cutie mark the the definition doesn't fit what was described.