Antisocial
Frequently, there would be a certain question regarding exactly who was guarding whom.
Cerea often felt that there were heads of state who could change locations with less precautions than were used for moving a single centaur. (The fact that she worked for such a leader would have theoretically given her the chance to prove it, but her rookie Guard duties had yet to see her follow Princess Luna outside the palace, for... rather obvious reasons.) It was the final hour before she would leave for the party, and the dwindling time had put her in the barracks with only documents for company. The current position in the center of the blanket nest was her last chance to review any of it, with no way to stall or postpone or --
-- I could say I'm sick.
Her digestive system was churning somewhat. Nerves. And a churning stomach tended to produce gas, and if she wound up producing enough of it...
There was a certain tackiness to the majority of horror, especially when the genre was given to humans and expressed as an unstoppable serial killer who was quite literally too stupid to understand how hydrostatic shock from bullet impacts worked. In this case, that quality was expressed as something closer to glue. No matter how much effort she put into forcing away the image of being at the center of the party, with dozens of eyes upon her waiting for a single mistake or cue for fear, and her body just letting one rip... it stuck.
When it came to centaur-based fear, she was fully expecting at least one attendee to succumb based on her mere presence. Cerea really didn't want to clear out Fancypants' estate through startling the entire gathering with a centaur's fart.
She could tell them she was sick. There was an option to describe the exact symptoms. And then the Doctors Bear would remind her that while some illnesses constituted the sort of risk which required them to isolate her and hope that Cerea's body fought it off unaided, stomach tonics for the mostly-herbivorous were effectively universal.
Somepony still might run.
Which just meant that they would wish for her current reading material.
Not that she could truly read. Cerea was starting to once again wonder if partial literacy was more frustrating than not being able to make out so much as a single word: a problem she'd originally faced prior to departing for Japan. Being able to spot a few understood terms here and there left her trying to work out the rest via context clues, which was more accurately known as 'guessing'. But with the current group of papers, there were very few actual words involved. Diagrams made up just about all of it, added to some helpful lines sketched out in red. Plus ponies had invented map keys, and it hadn't taken Cerea all that long to work out which symbol indicated the doors. Another represented windows, although the majority seemed to be too small for a casual crash-through. And when it came to the roof...
Evacuation routes. Cerea would only be brought through a fairly limited amount of Fancypants' estate. She had to memorize a way out from all of it.
Not that the palace truly expected her to need the information, because the area was being secured. There were usually a multitude of reasons for Cerea to be alone in the barracks: this time, she had been forced to go through the final review on her own because Nightwatch had been sent ahead. The pegasus would already be patrolling the exterior of the estate, keeping aerial watch on the protesters. And nopony felt that any of them would breach the perimeter
the yellow vests
we were told how the government wanted everything to go coming in
they're pounding on the doors and we may not have any way out
but Cerea still had to be prepared. She looked at the ground-floor diagram again.
Outdoor area... Judging by location and shape, it appeared to be an extended patio. Not that she would have any real chance to see for herself, because that region had been designated as a Recovering From Centaur Zone. Anypony who became too stressed in her presence to remain was welcome to head into that section, because Cerea would only go there if an evacuation required it. Something which would turn the patio into a Centaur Recovery Zone, and she doubted anypony would appreciate the twist.
She had diagrams showing her ways to escape from any portion of the estate. There had been another briefing book: the names of known attending guests and some of their listed plus-ones, along with their occupations and any known political position regarding her. According to Princess Luna, the original intent had been to go over that list with Fancypants, who would have come to the palace for the occasion -- on the previous night. But the noble had encountered some difficulty in returning to the capital. Not enough to postpone the party: merely sufficient to guarantee that he'd only reached his home about three hours ago.
Another briefing book, and Nightwatch had helped while she could -- but the pegasus had her own duties. It had left Cerea going over some of the names with Ms. Manners, and -- the girl felt like that had gone very badly. She'd been quizzed on names at a speech rate which had made it feel as if she'd been asked to train in catching arrows and started by facing down an assault rifle. The mare had been exceptionally curt with her, the rising anger had been easily discerned within the twisting scents, and... if there was now a Proper Procedure for speaking with centaurs, it was a furious one.
Cerea had tried. She'd been trying for some time, using quiet moments during patrol to slip the briefing book out of an improvised backpack so she could review the contents again. But the pages kept changing. New guests were brought in, while some of those who had previously been expected found themselves abruptly called out of the city. The nation. Cerea suspected the ponies didn't have a space program, but there was a chance to get a head start if anypony decided the only way to avoid her was through achieving orbit.
It had left her continually trying to update her memory, and that still wouldn't account for those who changed their minds on coming at the last possible second, or just tried to get an unscreened plus-one through the doors. There was no true means by which she could ever hope to memorize all of it, not when her recollection was less than eidetic. And yet Ms. Manners had taken every slip as a personal affront, while the names which Cerea had managed to recall were dismissed with a sniff -- or worse, a sniff and a comment about her pronunciation. Cerea didn't even understand how that worked. Her speech was, in the translated form, artificial. The disc spoke for her, and she didn't think the magic was putting any of the syllables out of order...
The guest list had told her many things. It said there would be nobles at the party, although Cerea now understood that the designation mostly indicated descendants of early landowners. A number of politicians. Several ambassadors, which also represented sparring partners and spies. Torque would be in attendance, and part of her was hoping for the minotaur to bring a spouse, or a date, or anything which was his own species, female and, when it came to endowment, a perfectly average representative.
Absolutely nothing on the list had said 'potential summoner'.
The girl sighed, mostly because it was both quicker than screaming and decidedly easier to stop. Traced a potential departure path with her right index finger, then checked her watch --
-- running out of time, have to get up there early, find Yapper, tell her I made a mistake, that dream yesterday, I have to tell her I made a mistake --
All four legs spontaneously bent, got her hooves into alignment so they could push against the floor. Cerea moved for the bathroom.
She didn't want to take any longer in front of the mirror than absolutely necessary, mostly because nothing she could do there would truly help. It was mostly a matter of making sure everything was in place, followed by another round of desperate prayer to try and force it into staying there.
For her basic look... creating the illusion of something different had felt like a lot to ask from basic cosmetics. Nightwatch had told her that there were products available for ponies: powders which could be layered into the fur. It blended strand hues, created artificial highlights, the occasional touch of sparkle, and just about no Guards ever used them because to apply cosmetics was to challenge the world into finding a way of taking them off: the planet was generally up to the challenge.
Cerea had never worked with anything designated for that portion of her form, because no such products had been created by her herd. When it came to attracting a male, most of what you had to do was breathe. And not run. Taking your hand away from the baton's grip might be seen as highly erotic, but it was also somewhat ill-advised. It was easy to attract one of the herd stallions, especially when you didn't want to. Inciting their arousal didn't exactly represent a bump in the difficulty rating. And when it came to the fact that nothing about them was capable of making her feel anything other than disgust --
no
-- they generally didn't seem to care.
So her mother had never taught her about cosmetics, because the herd didn't use them. There had been no need. And once she'd reached Japan...
It hadn't mattered. The local magazines had been happy to educate her about what could be applied upon bare skin (and ponies didn't consider that at all), but tended to work with a different base hue. Her minimal budget hadn't really allowed her to try any true experimentation, and no matter what she did... eventually, her efforts reached the fur. So did the viewer's eyes.
She didn't really know how to put on makeup. Equestria wasn't a particularly good place to learn. And no matter what she tried, she would remain a centaur. There was no point in trying to look attractive. Not when no one was ever going to be attracted.
So it had been mostly about making sure she was clean. Her natural scent had been minimized, especially since nothing else about her could receive the same treatment --
-- the girl automatically glanced forward and down, failed to suppress the wince. Centaur and pegasus had combined their efforts, done the best they could with the dress in order to make it somewhat more stable. And with the subtle modifications in place, it was a little easier to deal with. Cerea just wasn't sure how long any of the changes were going to hold.
Nightwatch had needed to purchase the supplies they'd used. (Cerea felt guilty about sending the pegasus on yet another shopping trip, but... at least the mare wasn't spending her own bits.) Large silver sequins had been placed at strategic points along the fringe, not quite flush against the fabric. Green silk had been cut into long, thin strips, passed under Cerea's belly and barrel, secured around the sequins with end loops, and... well, the good news was that Cerea could now move without having anything on her lower torso ride up or rather, up more. The bad had seen her don the dress shortly before Nightwatch had departed, because no amount of centaur double-jointing was going to allow the girl to casually place her hands in a way which let her pass fabric under her own hips. It had taken two females to don a single dress, and it was understood that any attempt Cerea made to remove the thing by herself was effectively going to be both tearaway and permanent.
When it came to the upper torso... Ms. Garter had apparently consulted the dress designers at some point, then sent a package accordingly. There had already been some support filaments worked into the basic bodice: Cerea had felt the flexible fibers when she'd initially put the thing on. But the silk had arranged for a mostly-bare shoulder, and so Ms. Garter's contribution...
Somewhere upon Menajeria, strapless bras existed. Cerea was wearing the proof: something Ms. Garter had cut to precisely work with the dress. Not a single millimeter of undergarment was visible at the edges of the yawning cleavage window. Strapless bras existed and when it came to the basic engineering required, the rules were presumably universal -- but Cerea darkly suspected that particular subsection of physics had a load limit. She was still a growing girl. At some point, she would move beyond the realm of such support: she just wasn't sure if any particularly energetic movements would be enough to overwhelm it now. But when it came to that which emerged from the heart of the pony's decidedly specialized talent, Ms. Garter's creations hadn't failed yet...
The bra had provided a second level of assistance in the form of an extra clothing layer: something which could serve as an attachment point. The tape Cerea longed for (and which might not have held up anyway) didn't exist: pins were readily available. Dress and corsetry were now anchored together, which would theoretically help to prevent slippage and in reality, probably just meant it all had the chance to fail as a single coordinated unit.
The girl had brushed her fur. Her tail was clean, and the fall was as good as it was going to get. When it came to her hair...
She made herself look at the reflection. Getting her head into the proper line required some awkward foreleg bends.
...I should be okay.
There's a lot less of it. If I turn too fast, it'll mostly whip over somepony.
...maybe I should pin it up. At least a little. Just in case --
-- the hairpins were in the locker room safe. Left behind, after she'd quickly ducked into the vacant space shortly after waking. Collecting the sword, because Princess Luna had ordered Cerea to guard herself.
The sword was casually resting atop a mattress. The plastic hairpins weren't. Locked away under guard, as a toxic substance which nopony could safely touch. There were some metal ones in the barracks, and some of them were stronger than Cerea's own: more solid, as they were designed to support the often-greater weight of a mane. And a glance at the watch told her that the locker room would be occupied, with those Lunars who hadn't been dispatched to watch the estate's perimeters coming on shift...
...an occupied locker room, and only a few minutes left before Cerea had to head for the upper levels. Before she had to leave.
I'll just bring a few metal ones. If I need to, I can ask to use an estate bathroom and apply them there.
It's an excuse to get away from everyone for a few minutes. I'm probably going to need one.
...remember to duck going through his bathroom door.
She carefully used a small brush to straighten a little fur on her ears, winced as the bristles touched the sensitive skin. Back into the barracks, and it took a few extra seconds to locate the scarf. Something about the living area seemed so much larger when Nightwatch wasn't there. More barren.
She carefully wrapped the long fall, cautiously tucked and secured one end at the edges of her cleavage. (Despite the greater pressure available, 'into' was not an option.) Coverage was established and after that, it was just a matter of putting on the jacket. Canterlot had been placed into a state of exceptional autumn chill: something intended to encourage a few protesters into keeping their anger close to their home's heating vents. There would be pockets of carefully-constructed warmer conditions confined to a few sections of the estate, but stepping out onto the palace roof would be a trot through gaseous ice.
The garment was located. Warm, plush grey fur soothed her skin. She briefly wondered where it had been taken from, as the strands were too long for angora, and it didn't smell or feel anything like wool. Perhaps some monsters had soft coats.
One last flurried flip through the briefing book. At best, she remembered three names in five while recognizing one word out of every ten.
The girl tossed the wirebound pages towards the nearest mattress, made sure her scabbard was properly balanced, retrieved and sheathed the sword. Four legs scrambled for the door.
Yapper wasn't waiting at the door which led to the roof's air carriage pickup area. Princess Luna was.
It was something which almost gave Cerea a moment of hope. There was a chance that the party had been called off, with the reason for cancellation not involving so much as a single pulled strand of tail hair. The security logistics, once put into practice, just hadn't worked out. They would try again somewhere else, on another night. Or, in the best case, never.
But the Princess was... calm.
Mostly.
Nightwatch had told the girl about some of the things to watch for. Quite a bit of it centered on the mane and tail. For a calm Princess, you were looking for the flow's borders to be smooth, with all shifting through steady ripple. The held stars would softly glow: for a happy Princess (which Cerea had never seen), you might get twinkling. By contrast, it was generally agreed that the best place to witness a meteor swarm was from a long way off, and anyone who set off a supernova probably should have left an hour ago.
The borders were fairly smooth, and the flow seemed steady. But several of the stars flickered.
"Princess --" Cerea began.
"We await your companion for the evening," royalty casually took over. "And then I will speak to both of you. Prior to your departure."
This time, the girl managed to keep the wince away from her features. Most of the redirected energies wound up in her tail, sending it into a single massive twitch.
"I could have hoped for more notice on that companion's identity," the Princess almost serenely added. "I do understand that the two of you had yet to find an opportunity for communication prior to last night, but it would have helped Yapper to gain a little extra preparation time."
"I need to talk to her," Cerea rushed.
A dark eyebrow went up. "Oh?"
"I have to let her out of this --"
And from behind her, "-- let Yapper out of what?"
Cerea took a moment to silently curse the palace's air currents: something which was designed to weave away from the chill which might try to enter through the door on a cold night. She'd had no olfactory notice of the Diamond Dog's approach, and when it came to the sound of movement -- soft, padded paws, added to claws trimmed down so as not to constantly click upon marble: a void within the noises which were almost constantly produced by hooves. Add that to what had probably been at least a few months of trying to sneak through the warren's tunnels, and the canid could move very quietly.
But then the girl turned.
The canid had clearly groomed herself for the occasion. All of the off-white fur was clean, and the pigmentation stains around the forearms and pseudohands were down to faint suggestions of color. The fringes of the floppy ears had been brushed. And for the outfit... a long, velvety black skirt, added to a shimmer-grey vest. The latter had small, semi-precious stones bound in cradles of thin thread, working up the edges where buttons might normally have been.
"You don't have to go," Cerea hastily said. "I was thinking about it." Along with dreaming, and that nightmare was still echoing. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have asked you --"
"-- centaur," the canid cut in, "made a mistake by asking Yapper. What was mistake?"
The Princess silently watched, and the borders of the alicorn's tail flowed a little faster.
"You shouldn't be seen with me."
The canid thought about that.
With audible sarcasm, "Not sure which of us makes other one look bad."
Urgently, as the girl's hands began to gesture, "Yapper, just being seen with me got Nightwatch's apartment set on fire! Somepony could come after you --"
"-- pegasus had apartment," the canid calmly stated. "Yapper has house. Private property. Easy to see, when somepony approaches. Gets noticed, because most ponies won't. And house mostly ornamental. Yapper's main rooms underground. Ponies don't come close. Because they heard about pits in soil. For ponies who don't know where to step, pit traps."
Cerea blinked.
"Yapper was here before centaur." Softly, "Had to learn a few tricks. Pegasi land. Unicorns can't float. Earth ponies know soil belongs to Yapper. Nopony comes close. Not unless Yapper tells them where to step. And Yapper changes things a little, every day. Yapper will go to party."
Strictly speaking, the canid couldn't smile. Her lips weren't quite flexible enough, and the muscles around the eyes didn't entirely cooperate. But there was a slight parting of the jaw, and the fringed tail rotated.
"Anypony with problem," she finished, "can tell Yapper. From bottom of pit. We go?"
Princess Luna solemnly nodded.
"Although I will have your home watched for a time," the alicorn stated. "From a distance." She looked from one female to the other, gaze smoothly traversing the incline twice before stopping on Cerea.
"I understand your concerns," Princess Luna quietly told her. "And I am thankful that you voiced them at this time. But Yapper recognizes consequences, where many do not. She accepts the possibility of reprisal and is prepared to deal with it: the palace will do what it can. I expect you to honor her decision. Is that understood?"
Cerea forced the answering nod.
"And if any are so foolish as to attempt an attack within your sight," the alicorn added, "I expect you to move against them. You go forth armed, in spite of Wordia Spinner's wishes. Regardless of what those whom she attempts to direct might long for, you retain the ability to defend yourself -- and those in your charge. Try not to start a fight, Cerea. But for those who open hostilities -- you may feel free to stop them. Again: do we understand each other? And this time, place your answer within the verbal."
"...yes." And at that, she felt she'd been too late in her reply. Fighting in public, in front of those who were already afraid... "You're -- expecting trouble?"
"One should always expect complications," the Princess gravely observed. "In the ideal, such a belief arranges for pleasant surprises when such fail to manifest. Far more often, it allows preparations to be made."
"Look forward," Yapper stated. "Alicorns good at that."
Being trapped between alicorn and canid was somewhat like suffering the verbal equivalent of being alternately cut with a rapier and pounded with a rock.
"By way of example," the dark mare added, "I had some concerns about your attending alone. At one point, I found myself considering the hire of an escort -- ah. I see that translates rather well. So before the tide of your blush advances any further: for the duty of providing accompaniment." Just a little more softly, "I was also hoping for that companion to spread stories of a positive encounter. Something which might turn disbelieving ears. But the most suitable candidate remains retired, and... there was an argument." And quieter still. "A rather fierce one, especially considering the nature of the protesting party..."
She slowly, almost wearily shook her head. Looked up at Cerea again.
"But the two of you will travel together," she finished. "And I will not accompany you, nor shall Princess Celestia. Portions of both press and citizenry perceive us as creating pressure to accept you. A direct appearance would add to that. The more they convince themselves that we are pushing them, the more they will push back. On this night, we shall not allow ourselves to hover over the proceedings. Nor shall we loom, which is surprisingly easy to do. They already gather under the weight of palace security. Let them at least be unable to say that it was joined by the direct weight of our gaze."
Her horn ignited. Dark energy projected forward, surrounded the door's lever. Centaur ears picked up on soft clicks, and a touch of fizzle as security spells were placed on hold.
"A safe trip," she wished for them. "In each direction. And may all parties involved understand each other somewhat better upon your return. Luck to you both."
The door opened onto the night. A gust of cold tried to blast through the gap, was redirected by pegasus techniques. Centaur and Diamond Dog stepped into chill, and two sets of arms wrapped against their respective torsos.
Cerea glanced back, just in time to see the door closing again. Cutting her off from the cool, patient concern of the alicorn on the other side.
Her Princess.
Her liege.
In less than a day, her opponent.
They would both lose.
Yapper was staring at the covered air carriage. Shivering, as was appropriate for the weather (and Cerea didn't know how insulative the fur was, or how warm it might be underground)... but there was something else. The canid's eyes were a little too wide, and the tail had just gone almost straight down.
"You don't have to go," Cerea tried. "If you've changed your mind --"
"-- not the party," the canid immediately stated. "Carriage."
"They're secure," the centaur attempted. "I've been taking them to class. The pegasi keep everything level. And you don't weigh very much. I'm sure if they can get me in the air, then --"
"-- flight," Yapper snapped, and sharp teeth clicked against each other. "Dogs stay on ground. In ground. Barely come up to surface. Going into air..."
Oh no.
"Fancypants sent me a letter," the centaur urgently said. "I think there's a tunnel which runs near his estate. You can meet me there --"
The unfair way to describe the next word was 'bark'. It was also the accurate one.
"No."
Protesting, as the pegasi in front of the carriage watched them and wind whipped against fur and skin, "But you're scared --"
"Yapper does things Yapper is afraid of, every day," the canid snapped. "Yapper comes to surface. Goes to work. Every day. Yapper may have to fly again. So Yapper flies today."
And with that, the canid marched forward. Broad toes slammed against the roof, over and over, until she reached the carriage's fabric door. Wrenched it open, and went inside.
The centaur made herself follow.
Yapper jumped a little when the carriage left the roof. There was something of a jolt to takeoff: less than that of an airplane, but perceptible. It made the canid jump, and Cerea understood. First flight. Every meter they ascended probably represented a personal record for Yapper, and it was the sort of record which just kept breaking itself.
At least it's warmer than a cargo hold. Even with the chill outside, pegasus magic granted that.
The carriage kept climbing. The passenger portion had some means of staying level: most of what Cerea felt in the ascent was in her lower abdomen, as if she was in a freight elevator which was rising too fast. Something she was almost accustomed to, since any elevator she got to use was generally going to be a freight specimen --
-- Yapper whimpered.
It was a strange sort of sound. Small, pained, with its nature instantly recognizable even to someone who hadn't grown up around dogs at all. The instinct for Cerea was to immediately look down and to the right, checking on the canid: that was normal enough. She didn't understand why her right hand had just reached out...
"Yapper?"
She didn't see the canid, not at first glance. But then the carriage shook a little: a wind gust which hadn't been entirely deflected away. It made the whimper sound again, Cerea's ears rotated down, her head tilted a little more --
-- the canid was crouching. Pseudohands had been pressed against the sides of her head, and the torso was close to the knees. It wasn't an easy posture to maintain, not on digitigrade legs.
Cerea heard doubled wingbeats beyond the fabric: another carriage, passing close by. Disturbing the wind currents. It made their own conveyance jerk.
Yapper didn't quite fall. It looked as if that was going to be the ultimate result, and Cerea couldn't lower her own body in time to catch the smaller female -- but it didn't happen. Instead, the canid just tucked herself into a tight, trembling curl of life, as brown eyes squeezed shut and claws failed to puncture a grip into the base wood.
"Small space," she chanted. "Small space, small space, small space..."
The girl had been through panic attacks, understood some of the basics about how to fight them off and dearly wished that one day, some of them would actually work for her. You were supposed to calm your breathing. Force your focus away from the source of stress, try to think of something reassuring. For a Diamond Dog, who had been born underground... claustrophilia? The desire to be surrounded by that which was unyielding, with paws planted on stable rock.
Cerea couldn't give her that. There was almost no way to communicate with the flight team from inside the carriage, not through fabric and wind. She had no means of making them land, bringing Yapper to a place from which the canid could draw strength. The fabric walls could be tucked against, but they rippled...
She acted.
It was instinct: that was what she would tell herself later, just before doing her best to decide that it had been a mistake. She'd moved on instinct. Dropping down, bringing her lower torso to rest against the carriage floor, one arm curling out, and she felt the tightness in Yapper's body at the moment of contact. Felt it increase, and told herself it was because Yapper had been in Tirek's presence, had... gotten ponies to safety, because the soil had been soft. The canid was already terrified, so far above the earth, and now there was a centaur touching her --
-- but Cerea couldn't override her instincts, not in time. Her arm pulled Yapper in towards her flank, and then the girl's right hand gently stroked the fluff of the head fur.
Afterwards -- quite some time after, because there was just so much else to sort through -- she would feel horrible about what she'd done. It wasn't just the contact, touching someone for whom her presence could only make things worse. She'd treated Yapper like... a dog. Petting her, even as the centaur softly began to sing.
There was, perhaps, a certain hypocrisy there. The girl loved it when she was brushed by another, as long as that party took some care. She found it soothing. And yet she'd already decided that she'd done the wrong thing, her hand pulled away from the white fur as the wordless notes began to falter --
-- the canid tucked into a tighter curl. Pressed against Cerea's flank, as if the girl was the last truly solid thing in all the world. The left forepaw shifted away from the head, went on top of Cerea's hand, pushed it down onto the fur again.
And that was how they stayed, all the way through the trip. As the carriage rocked again and again, because so many were traveling towards the estate on that night. But all of the others had to land outside at a designated security area, only one could pause and wait to go over the walls --
-- the girl didn't see them. (Not then.) But she heard the gathering of anger, the great cry which came up as the protesters realized which carriage was theirs. It shook the fabric, it triggered another whimper, and it almost stopped the song.
The carriage slipped across the barrier. The shield hole closed behind it, blocking out part of the wind. Almost none of the sound.
A little after that, the descent began. And as the roof landing zone of Fancypants' estate came closer, Yapper slowly straightened herself. Stared up at Cerea with liquid brown eyes, and said nothing at all.
But the tail rotated.
They were both standing when the door opened.
Fancypants had the sort of natural dignity which could survive cold, ice, wind, and the occasional drink stain. He also looked somewhat weary. There was a worn aspect to the stallion's appearance: dignified, but... tired. It was in the grain of his fur, the slight rumple of the formal jacket, and it very much expressed itself in a tiny wobble of the monocle.
Those were the visible attributes. For Cerea, there was also the scent of dried blood: something which linen wraps had failed to lock away. A healing wound, covered by bandages.
"Lady Cerea," the noble politely offered, and then calmly turned his attention to the canid. "Peeress Yapper. Welcome. Please take your time about disembarking: we have a few small matters to discuss, and --" with a small smile "-- as nothing can truly begin until your arrival, the schedule is more or less yours to set. At your own pace. Please."
He stepped aside, clearing the opening, and blue-tinged moonlight streamed through the gap. The two females glanced at each other, then started for the door. Yapper, smaller and a little quicker, got out first.
It was a clear night: something which had been arranged through the shift of the weather schedule. The more chill, the less clouds, and so a waxing Moon shone down through a shield which flickered oddly and rippled along the surface.
Cerea had been taught that the most natural shape for such a construct -- just about the only natural shape -- was a dome. Also that those who could cover a building were rare, there was supposedly but one who could manage a city, and the now-departed Captain Armor had just about killed himself in trying to maintain it. Something on this scale was already difficult to manage, and when it came to the shape -- the rising walls of energy had been angled, and they were also fighting it. Trying to curve out, as an unseen caster battled to hold the warped construct, moment by moment.
The noble tracked what she was looking at, wearily smiled. "Most of the security it grants is through illusion," he told them. "The value of appearances." With a small sigh, "Part of why so many of your fellows are on patrol, Lady Cerea. I had thought my neighbors to be more accommodating than this. That a shield edge anchored on their property would not offend, especially if that was the only part I asked them to play in the proceedings. But..." This sigh was louder. "...rather than lose time to a rather pointless small claims suit, we did this instead."
"I'm sorry," was about as automatic as it got.
"For the actions of others?" The noble's head tilted slightly to the right. "Curious. Which part of another's idiocy did you feel was your fault?"
The centaur's initial search for words came up empty. The canid went with "Inside?"
Fancypants nodded, turned and led to the way to the door.
The noble's landing area was a fairly ornate balcony, with a curved stone railing surrounding the entire thing: for Cerea, the guard rail was a bit over knee-height. There were multiple padded benches in the area, a phonograph, and a grill. The last still had a fair amount of summer char, and the ghost of dead smoke told Cerea about cooked peppers.
"All adults tonight," Fancypants told them as they slipped inside -- the centaur ducked -- entering what Cerea considered to be a rather simple hallway. Warm browns, good lighting, a lovely burgundy carpet -- but the lone visible painting seemed to have been rendered by a first-grader with more enthusiasm than talent. "My youthful guests are in a hotel." Regretfully, "I've been told that you do well with children, Lady, but... I can't say the same for all of those waiting below. Asking them to meet you is a simple matter. Moving among politicians, and doing so past their bedtime -- that's somewhat less reasonable. And that's part of what I wanted to tell you, before we go down. We do have politicians in the group."
"I saw the ambassadors in the briefing book --" Cerea began.
The stallion shook his head. "Night Court," he specified. "To some extent, I tried to place those who would be willing to think within the proceedings. But..." With open regret, "I couldn't get as many as I'd wished. So some of them are the foolish: those who listen to the last thing they heard, or support anything where they see enough of the powerful putting their weight in front of the reins. Others are balanced atop the stile, trying to decide which side of the fence looks more favorable. And there are those who are less than fond of your presence -- but have learned to hint towards neutrality in public. I could try to block those who lie about journalism and unless one of them is better with illusion than Princess Luna, I have. But telling certain members of the Courts that they're less than welcome here... that turned out to be unmanageable." The regal blue mane seemed to sag. "They cry discrimination, you see. While longing to practice it every day, until it becomes perfected -- and all the time, claiming the only true ostracism is solely directed against them. For their common sense..."
"I've met the type," simply slipped out.
They were always together. A couple. Love within self-assigned superiority.
Not natives. Their accents were too harsh, and their skin... one pink, one brown. Expatriate Americans, I think. Working in Japan. They learned the language because they had to. And so they could insult others in a way which was always understood.
When you see enough prejudice... when you've been attacked by those you can't strike against...
We had computers in the household. It was hard to stream anything, with so many different pulls on the wifi. But research was easy.
Two Americans, far from home. One pink, one brown. In love, united by their hatred.
Until 1967, half of their country said that relationship was illegal.
And they don't care.
Because now they get to do it to us.
Fancypants nodded. "I believe you," was the even reply. "I wanted a better crowd, and I apologize for my failure in making it perfect. I wanted those who could think, and I know Puff Weevil won't change his mind."
...so that was his actual name.
I was just hoping somepony was trying to make a joke.
With a small smile, "I'm just hoping you can give him a small assist towards embarrassing himself yet again. Now -- regarding introductions --"
Cerea was fully aware that there had been a lot of debate on how to do it. Have her arrive early, take up a center position in the main room, and allow each guest to approach in turn? It had worked for the children: with adults, the whole exercise could easily turn into 'Do you have the courage to meet the monster?' The other major option had been to bring her before whatever degree of crowd was present at this point in the gathering, entering at Fancypants' side -- which risked a group break on the level of the press conference.
She currently understood that something had been put together which might allow her to step before a gathering. It was just that nopony had specified just what it was: an atmospherics trick similar to that which had been used with the children, or something else entirely. Word on whether it would work had also been noticeably absent.
"-- together?" Fancypants asked. "Separately? Any particular style?"
"Not 'date'," Yapper promptly replied. "'And guest.' Yapper's life complicated enough already --"
"-- I think you should go in ahead of me," Cerea cut in. "You never got a party --"
Fancypants' head dipped. "And I offer my apologies," the noble quietly told them. "An omission on my part. It won't happen again."
"-- and this way, you can at least have your own moment." Before I make any of them run. "With introduction. Please?"
"For what it's worth," the noble offered, "I agree with both idea and sentiment. Peeress?"
The canid needed a second to adjust for vocabulary. "Yapper first. Then centaur." She looked up at Cerea. "No dances when inside. No kissing."
The girl, who had been excluded from the time for love, still couldn't picture it. The dancing was giving her trouble.
(She could picture the kiss. It would be like kissing a dog. Not that she'd ever had one, but she'd seen humans do it, mostly with a pet's forehead. Once you looked past the chance to demonstrate a canine expression of exquisite confusion, Cerea still wasn't sure what the dog got out of it.)
"Take her in first," Cerea requested. "A few minutes where it's just her. If that's okay --"
"-- it's more than merely all right," the noble told her. "It's considerate. Wait here, then. I'll introduce her, make sure she's settling in, then come back for you. It may take a few minutes." With a small smile, "Patience. Please. Peeress?"
He swished his tail. The canid nodded, stepped up to his left flank, and the pair made their way down the hall. Turned left, and vanished.
Cerea, given a few extra minutes, stood still within warmth which was barely felt. Tried not to tremble, and found herself trying to think of everything which could go wrong. It had been barracks-bound hours spent at that, trying to anticipate...
She'd guessed part of it. Not the whole.
There was no way of stopping it.
So much of the party would feel as if it had almost worked.
Until she heard the wrong words.
(They hadn't been spoken in malice. Just from stupidity, confronting a casual fact which had to be altered to accommodate ego. Somehow, that made it worse.)
Until everything she knew about the world inverted.
(But that would happen before the eyes. Prior to the screams.)
(Before the nightscape.)
Until her sanity came crashing down.
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Oh dear, Cerea gonna lay some heresy down on an already tense situation, ain't she...
This is gonna be amazing.
Cerea is going to find out about Sun & Moon. And she’s not going to take it well. Eep.
Estee, I both absolutely love your stories and the detail that go into them and loathe how much of a cliff you can make us hang from. Dang girl, you don't need to torture us so!
Unless the next chapter comes out tomorrow, then we're cool.
Oh come on! You always bait us with little comment like these and we always assume the worst. You are teasing us with so much calamities... Cerea really got a dramatic mind.
Those cliffhangers are everywhere! Probably why I love this story.
Poor Cerea, this evening won't be fun...
Who do we know who matches that description? The Lady Applejack Malus of House Rosaceae.
Everyone knows you go to the changelings for a space program.
Fleur.
Well, that wasn't ominous.
So Fancy's doing the Professor X thing here too.
your habit of hinting at the coming train wreck is nerve wracking though very much appreciated. i eagerly await the next chapter!
Hmm... Opponent might be literal. Combat training, so Cerea really gets what a Princess is capable of, instead of just being hypothetical about the power of the person she's supposed to guard.
Then it ends in a draw.
I think... Cerea's never really seen Luna in battle?
----
Typo:
thee > three
I sat next to the duchess at tea.
It was just as I feared it would be.
Her rumblings abdominal
were simply phenomenal
and everyone thought it was me!
I quite like the bits with Yapper here… both in the carriage and leaving her to have her own introduction and moment at the party. Lots of ominous clues to tease the coming chapters…. I can’t wait to see what they mean!
I love her so much.
I've only got a phone, so I can't post a link
"Your Racist Friend" They Might Be Giants
10947825
It would be funny if, during their sparring, Luna tried using earth pony magic for a subtle advantage, but Cerea countered them, like she talked about with Emery back in that chapter, and that’s how she figures out the Secret. (As was foreshadowed in that same chapter.)
I doubt it would happen happen that way, (I’m skeptical that combat training is even what’s being referred to, but I can’t/won’t rule it out entirely) but it would be funny if it did.
Agh, again with this! You had me shouting "Yes!" with no small degree of triumph when I realized who you were referencing, only for it to sink back down when I realized that oh so haunting pair of words, not canon. Only you could make me this angry about loving something, Estee. Never change.
Ok, if that was Emery Board, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for the 'discussion' that ensued. (Although as Nitpick says, it was far more likely Fleur)
Her plastic hairpins have already saved the day a few times, especially protecting her from mental magic attacks. That's an ominous omission tonight...
Such an inconsequential detail but you've got me wondering too: what's fluffy and grey in the Everfree?
Fleur! She and Luna haven't met yet and I think she would get on much better than she did with Celly; they're both almost as alien to pony society as Cerea and Yapper. She would also be the perfect choice to shepherd a nervous client through this ordeal, nothing to do with her marked talent but something she's still very good at. Maybe next time: Luna is obviously very aware of this new Royal asset theoretically at her disposal.
What does Cerea know about cargo holds?! Dogs get stuffed in there by an airports impersonal baggage handling system but when horses (and surely centaurs) fly they do in a private jet specially fitted out for their particular needs. Those tend to be set on the chilly side as well but only for the comfort of their equine passengers, not for cost or carelessness.
Dawww!
The shield casters are professionals who know their business. I'm SURE everything will be just fine!
Not really much going on in the last few chapters, feeling an action-packed one coming soon though. Thanks for writing!
I just know this is going to be absolutely terrible and I am here for this train wreak!
Nice chapter, but damn the cliffhanger!
10948062
Estee's post-mortem blog mentions that Anchor Foal has a sequel already under way. This is the only candidate. It is not canon to mainline Triptych Continuum stories, but it is canon here.
10948072
It's Fleur. She's a retired escort and the argument was fierce because she's a griffon with hooves. And because Fluttershy is pissed.
Which would have been a whole different kind of entertaining argument.
10948073
Stated multiple times in-story that the flight to Japan was in the cargo hold. You can disagree with that making sense, but it's what happened here.
I think that second 'being' was supposed to be 'between'?
This ... could just be an interesting turn of phrase, or the Diamond Dogs could know the truth about Earth Ponies ....
Wait, are Fluttershy and Fleur together in this 'verse? Is it the same 'verse as Anchor Foal? That would add another layer onto why Fluttershy is so angry with Celestia about being kept out of the loop about Discord's condition ...
Damnit, Estee!
Cerea is going to see the Princess control Sun and Moon, maybe?
10948101
She's not a horse, of course. Everyone understands she's a sentient creature and the similarities are only coincidental. Nonetheless, faced with the practical problem of transporting someone of her size and shape from France to Japan, use of the showjumping air transport network would be inevitable. It would likely be on a KLM 747-combi with service through Amsterdam by Horse Service International. Cerea is kinda sensitive about being compared to an animal, she wouldn't appreciate riding along with them, but I just can't imagine any other way short of taking a month-long boat ride. The planet is only so big, there are only so many ways to get around it.
Anyone know if the manga source material ever addressed the issue?
Yapper got guts.
10948167
I'd be entirely unsurprised if they did.
10948214
10948167
In Triptych, the Diamond Dogs that try to enslave Triptych at the start of the story imply that they're terrified of earth ponies.
Female, winged -- but not flying. Perhaps not able to fly. The winged ones were the stuff of legend for Diamond Dogs: nearly impossible to catch, just as hard to keep. Those with horns could do things to them which weren't understood and those with neither wings nor horns -- no, those legends weren't something any of the five wanted to think about, especially since it didn't apply here.
So they must have a hint.
10948106
Looks fine to me
Even if a pegasus triggered a pit trap, couldn't they just fly out?
I'm really hoping that Luna will just be an "opponent" in an intellectual argument.
10948364
Not if it’s too narrow. You need to have enough room to get your wings open, even with magic helping.
(This implies the pits are at least a body and a half deep)
The tease of a Best Blender cameo… you cut deep Estee. I would love to see the argument but that’s probably the most unlikely desire to be fulfilled I have in the FleurVerse, currently. We aren’t getting much in cutaways to Ponyville and that is unlikely to be the direction of travel.
Pour yourself a nice, tall, well-blended milkshake! You’ve earned it!
10948062
Yeah, Fleur is Fancypant’s protege here, and Fancy’s ace, hence theperceivedoddness of the vehemence. (People forget that asexual doesn’t always mean aromantic, although we don’t know that this is what’s going on here.)But it also made me wish for Fluerttershy. Anchor Foal made such a good argument for the pair.Yup, I was wrong. I got the AUs mixed up. I’m sorry. Please no more pings!
https://youtu.be/6dl-19ajSF8
Departed as in 'left' or departed as in 'dead'?
10948481
No, she isn't. This is the already in-progress sequel to Anchor Foal that Estee mentioned in the post-mortem blog post.
10948167
Yes. Estee alludes to it here (ctrl+f for “sequel”).
"was his own species, female and, when"
"was his own species, female, and, when"?
"the slight rumble of the formal jacket"
"the slight rumple of the formal jacket"?
"Those was the visible attributes"
"Those were the visible attributes"?
...Wow, not an ominous ending the the chapter there at all, is that? :D
Well, I, on this side of the screen, at least, look forward to it.
Thank you for writing, Estee. :)
10948481
As others have pointed out, Daily Life exists in the same offshoot as Anchor Foal from the main Triptych continuity. Hints were given when in Fancy’s recounting of Discord’s conversation he referred to bringing along ‘Fluttershy’s half-feral pet’. Discord described Fleur the same way at the end of AF.
The Tapestry story where Fleur is his protege is the main continuity. Which makes me sad that Glimmer doesn’t exist in the FleurVerse.
10948500
Departed as in moved to the Crystal Empire with his wife (well, baring this 'verse taking another major deviation from core Triptych).
10948500
Departed as in 'Trying to figure out how to turn the Crystal Guard into a cohesive unit.'
...good luck with that.
i seem to remember a Changeling named Weevil in some story...many of them are named after insects.
10948101
Ah, right. This is the sequel! ... I wonder what changes between Core Triptych and this cause the summoning to happen... Butterflies, butterflies... ... Fluttershy's Cutie Mark...
Discord's mass release of Tartarusians might have done a thing? Then again, there's so much else he and things and stuff.
Blueblood... He's alive... CUNET has a lotta unicorns that could possibly cooperate in a casting...
So many options!
Estee, why must you tease us so?
10947801
10948101
Reading it, it seems to imply that Fluttershy was the one being fierce.
10948607
That's what a discreet invitation to Emery Board for a visit in the Crystal Kingdom is for.
Perhaps the first time Fleur ever felt a moment of sympathy for the Guard, not that she ever knew why.
It seems Ms. Garter missed an alternate calling in structural engineering.
Well, that's an interesting tidbit. I have questions about the details, but we have other priorities at the moment.
Ah. Right. Speaking of Fleur, I can imagine her providing any kind of aid to a centaur would not be welcome to certain involved parties.
Well. I'd say "That's ominous," but you've already piled on enough ill omens that the ravens need an air traffic controller.
... I swear I wrote that before seeing Captain Nitpick's comment.
Fancy Pants may be the best therapist Cerea could ask for. If only they could spend more time together.
Ah. I think I know part of what will so terribly disrupt Cerea's worldview. After all, she still doesn't know that her liege is immortal and literally moves the moon. And watches dreams. But for the rest...
Well, we'll see what happens. Party in an Estee fic, folks. Hold on to your butts.
I take mild offense to the notion that makeup would do nothing. Obviously whether or not the ponies knew how to apply makeup to skin and monkey-derived facial features is one thing, but... Hiding bags and shadows of the eyes; defining entirely new lines in the face; a touch of Canterlot glitter as an accent; even simply making her eyes look larger. You can hide weakness, and mimic your critics.
Poor Fancy Pants.
He doesnt even shave, and yet he has so much more blood to shed this night?
10948941
We just spent an entire story with a cosmetics expert. Cerea not be she.
(And equinity ought to be grateful.)
"Good evening, citiz--" (farts thunderously)
The solution of course is to drink the entire bar with Yapper and then make a drunk speech about how Canterlot is a bullshit racist town with no honor and no WiFi, but I feel like Luna would put a stop to it before Cerea could really get a full head of steam.
Oh hey, that's the plot to the next chapter. I figured it out.
10948637 But would even CUNET put up with Blueblood?
10949445
I can't imagine Blueblood putting up with them, either.
The more you write describing Yapper, the more I get the feeling she's based on something from past blogs. It could be an imagined comparison, it could be one more clever commenters already caught, but it was one that hit me midway through this chapter and forced me to pause. I think she's my favorite in this.
So, with her hair and fur done all nicely for the party...
...can we officially refer to this as a Yapper Dapper 'Do?
The most pathetic, sickening and risible tacit thought from all too many of the formerly-oppressed or discriminated: "now it's my turn."
Timmy Turner and Thanos do have one point in common; their respective solutions never quite went far enough.