Unspeakable
There are very few places in the filly's gap which offer the illusion of privacy, and the arena generally isn't one of them.
It bears some resemblance to an ancient sporting oval, because there are ways in which the herd took aspects of that ancient Grecian homeland with them. The competition zone is somewhat more sunken than would be found in the original, and there's clearly no need to make seats out of mud -- or make seats at all. But the general style would be familiar enough to a historian, and... the existence of a spectator area means there are those who watch. Even with an extra practice session, an hour wrenched free from the clock -- that would normally be the filly's mother.
The majority of liminals (and, for that matter, every human) live at the bottom of an atmospheric ocean. Nearly seven kilograms of vaporous mass presses down on every square centimeter of the girl's flanks, in every moment of her life, and the constant weight...
...it will take years before she understands the joke which was unearthed from an ancient book. Something about a human whose mother was an exceptionally poor cook, to the point where her child spent the earliest part of his life in a constant state of acid reflux. But then there had been a war, the son had joined the military, and it had put him away from that horrible cuisine for the first time...
...she doesn't notice the weight of the air. No one does, unless they find themselves in a situation where it's somehow replaced or removed, and it's hard to prevent that from becoming fatal. But she always knows when her mother is in the viewing area, because the pressure created by parental observation never ends.
The eternal weight of failure.
In the now of dream, the filly is alone. And the pressure is still there.
She's set up the course. Arranged the hurdles to a height which her mother would approve of, which means they're too high for the filly to readily clear: when she doesn't knock the wooden pole off the adjustable supports with her forelegs, she's snagging it with the hind. The filly takes a lot of tumbles, and always tries not to cry out in pain. It's something which could draw attention. Worse: a sign of weakness.
Her speed is measured. Not good enough. She knows there's someone who's faster than that.
Another jump. One arm slams in front of her chest, tries to stabilize anatomy which is both going through a growth spurt and doesn't have any concept of what it's supposed to do during landings. The tumbles make it worse. There's that much more which can become bruised.
Weights are lifted. They aren't heavy enough. She attaches herself to a drag mass with reins and hauls. It doesn't go far enough. She keeps track of what the other fillies are doing when she can, because they're numbers she has to surpass and...
...combat.
There's no one to spar against. She can still run a drill. Imagine the opponent, move in attempts to block imaginary swings and phantom thrusts. (She normally winds up imagining someone she can't beat.) All that's required is a clear space. Maybe she'll work with a quarterstaff today --
-- there's no staves on the weapon rack. Just... swords. Wooden practice blades, which goes nicely with the wood dummies in the center
why are there
of the arena, and she shrugs to herself, takes a model which looks right for her arm length, decides to charge into the field of wooden centaurs, she can aim at joints and only tell herself that the opponents parried --
-- she gallops. And the sun shines down upon her, a filly fighting beneath the only part of an endless sky which she will ever know, taking on an opponent which cannot be beaten, and she's swinging at cellulose limbs and bark-covered torsos, none of it is working and she doesn't notice when each dummy has its torso count cut in half, she can't even bring the inanimate ponies down, glowing coronas deflect her strikes, wind forces her arms out of alignment, sheer wooden endurance ignores her best hits and even when she's alone, she fai --
-- this isn't her sword.
She wants her sword.
And the plastic hilt is in her hand.
She swings. She strikes. Spells fall apart. Air splits around the blade. Wood fractures. And her legs are cantering, she whips her lower body about and moves in a way which keeps her from being surrounded --
-- the filly leaps in order to gain force on the descent, pulls years and height and several cup sizes out of the air. The girl fights, and the army starts to move against her, which means they're moving and bark splits at once-frozen joints to allow it. Then she swings again, and it splits all the more.
It was always the sword. Never the wielder. But now the sword is the wielder, and so the wielder is the sword.
Poplar wings crack. Oak horns fall away. Walnut docks are fractured --
-- it's over.
She automatically looks across the debris field of chunks and splinters, towards the spectator area. Because this is something other than failure, and her mother...
...years before she understands why the joke was funny. Because there had been a human who'd lived with heartburn all his life, he'd been put into a situation where his diet had to change, and he'd run into the medical tent, screaming for help as he faced the fear of his impending death.
He had to be dying. The fire had gone out.
...her mother isn't there...
"I ask for a portion of your time," the dark mare's voice carefully requests from somewhere overhead, as the cool shadow moves across the girl's lower back. "If you will permit it. If not... I shall depart."
She looks up. The alicorn is hovering about thirty meters above her. There is no concealing cloud, and the regalia is gone.
"It is not the debriefing," the mare carefully adds. "I simply wish to... speak again. But your day was..." Dark fur shifts across the deep breath. "...rather involved. I will fully understand if you wish to simply rest --"
"-- we can talk."
The girl isn't entirely sure why she said that.
Has she watched me here before?
Watched me... lose.
Over and over.
And she still wanted --
The alicorn nods. Wings stretch out, lock, and the dark mare carefully glides in. Touching down about three meters away from the girl, directly facing her. The constellations of the tail are a little too close to the tallest hurdle.
"I have been considering," the alicorn begins, "what I might do to prove atonement. What I might..." The dark eyes briefly close, open again, and the mare's gaze nearly tilts away from the girl's face. "...offer. But..."
It's a dream. Neither of them strictly needs to breathe, and the alicorn is still putting every rib through an internal pressure test.
"...there is a certain... issue," the mare finally continues. "I had thought that I might grant you a gift. But my knowledge of what you might desire -- it arises from dream. Something which means you will undoubtedly feel it is knowledge I should not possess."
You saw my life...
"But it is all I have." The tail is starting to go limp. "And earlier, you had said... that you did not hate me. So I ask for a boon. For all that I can grant within the nightscape requires me to draw upon that knowledge, and if I do so --" Another breath: one strong enough to rustle feathers. "-- then I ask not to be hated for a little while longer."
I don't understand. Words which follow her into dream.
The dark mare looks around. The arena. The sky. The empty spectator section. Anything which isn't the centaur.
"If I am to demonstrate," the alicorn tells her, "I must alter all of this. Every aspect. Do I have your permission?"
She doesn't understand. But there's only one way to fix that.
"You'll stop if I ask."
"On your order," the mare corrects.
"...do it."
The mare looks up again, and does so just as the first airplane passes through a clear Asaka sky. The direction suggests it's heading for Narita International --
-- there's more of a shadow falling across the centaur now, because the house has a shingled slope coming off the first-floor roof. It's just enough to give the front door some protection when it rains, and it can't quite protect the house's larger occupants. The girl can face the door directly and have her tail exposed to sunlight and street. The street usually gets a good view, because there's a gap in the cemented stone fence which marks the border of the property: something which had to be widened for Rachnera, and the same can be said for the door --
-- she can smell the metal of the street gate. It's a metal grating which slides into a hollow within the border wall, extendable on the horizontal. Barding might be interested in the jointing...
...Saitama prefecture.
Brown walls. Red shingles.
The transformer is humming along at the top of the pole. It took me a week before I stopped hearing it, and now...
I can see the window to Papi's room.
Talon scratches on the ledge, because she's been going in and out that way. Usually when she shouldn't, but just try telling her --
"My first offer," the dark alicorn quietly says as pony hooves shift against the little walkway, "is to twin your lives. To wake in my world, but to dream in yours. Consistency of environment and tale. Pause the story as one dream ends, resuming when the nightscape renews. With no awareness that any dream exists at all. You will script your own life, and... I would hope for the story to be a happy one."
She's home.
She could open the door and --
"-- are they inside?" Just above a whisper. "Is everyone --"
"...the way you remember them," the alicorn quietly answers. "The way you believe them to be. But I would not wish to bring them out at this time. Not when you know they are naught but figments."
The girl doesn't need to breathe in a dream. That's good, because she's barely managing the feat --
"And there can be more to that dreaming life," says the dark mare. "If you desire it."
Earlier, she had been suffused with nausea. The current level of shock isn't much of an improvement. "More than this."
It isn't real.
But I wouldn't know.
"You..." The alicorn gaze dips again, regards the girl's forehooves. "...exist in two worlds which view you as a stranger. Something foreign, unexpected. For a number, perceived as an intruder. In my own, there is only so much I can do in attempting to solve that. But for this place, while in dream..."
She's expecting the dark mare to say that the nature of the story can be set. The girl will trot down streets which welcome centaurs, where the liminals are accepted and love is possible and she might even win --
-- she had granted permission to alter the dream.
Every aspect.
And the dreamer is an aspect of the dream.
The girl's lower body twists --
-- she stumbles. She can't help it. But it only takes a moment to stabilize on her feet.
on my feet
She reels again. Her right hand comes up, searches under her hair until it cups the pink shell of a furless ear.
She...
She just...
The girl quickly extends her right leg out to the side, obliquely stares at the portion of bare skin which peeks out from under the long skirt, and then gets to figure out how to balance on one leg just long enough to nearly get it wrong.
She wriggles her toes.
And...
This time, her hands go backwards. Drop, cup again --
"What," the alicorn carefully inquires, "are you doing?"
The accurate answer would be Squeezing my own buttocks.
...I don't understand the appeal.
But she doesn't reply. There's at least one more mystery of the human form which she's been curious about. The waist jointing. They don't rotate as far, but when it comes to bending forward and down --
-- okay.
I can't touch my toes.
...I probably could if I pushed for it.
Except that bras aren't meant to prevent this kind of movement. So everything sort of swings forward...
...I already know this view by heart. It's just a different angle.
The human girl straightens.
Her tail automatically tries to swish, which encounters a minor handicap of not currently existing. Human buttocks don't swish. They're doing something in response to the command, but she's not entirely sure how to describe it. And there's been some changes made to her vertical proportions, because the upper torso is now connected to a pelvis. But those changes are what was necessary in order to make her look right, and she realizes the dark mare has seen enough of the species to recognize what is right.
However, her overall height is the same: two hundred and one centimeters. She would tower over just about everyone in Japan, and wouldn't find many women to match her anywhere in the world. The girl already proved that her bustline hasn't changed, and recognizes that the alicorn had to improvise on the hips. The hips seem fine. She doesn't have a good view of the back. The grip didn't really tell her much.
I could ask her to make me shorter.
To change the proportions.
To...
...make the girl into what others wish her to be.
"No."
She barely recognizes her own voice. It sounded so much older...
The dark mare tilts her head slightly to the left. And stares up, at the same time.
"No," the alicorn repeats.
"Not this," the girl quietly continues. "Not like this..."
A single slow nod, and then all four of the girl's hooves are planted on the little approach path again.
"And to dream of a life with your friends?" the dark mare carefully asks.
The girl's eyes briefly close.
"It would be how I remember them. How I perceive them. It's... not who they are. No."
The alicorn's features twist with something very close to pain.
She's trying.
She wants to try.
But this --
"Not your home. And not your form." Several mane stars dim. "That was much of what I had considered. Placing you within your herd, when I... saw enough to recognize that you were never happy there... no. And as for centaur companionship away from it --"
"-- what?" In lieu of 'I don't understand,' because that's been getting a workout.
The mare's forehead creases with concentration --
-- it takes a second for the girl to realize where the error arose. The alicorn has been within her dreams, seen memories replay inside what the mare terms as the nightscape. There's been enough secondhand observations of humans to work out how their legs are put together, and the evidence of touch suggests at least one really good look at an ear.
The alicorn has seen humans, in their limited palette of hues. But she's also gotten at least one glimpse of Lala, and so decided that dark blue is a perfectly appropriate shade for a newly-formed centaur's skin.
The horn has mostly vanished: there's a tiny stub in the center of the forehead. Any vestige of wings is hidden, because the former alicorn did roughly master the concept of 'skirt' and nothing appears to be attached to the upper back. But the eyes are a little larger than the girl would have expected, the tail is exactly the same, and there seem to be a few issues involved with anchoring the hair to the whole of the scalp.
The other centaur tries to take a step forward. The arms, limply hanging in place, effectively come along for the ride.
She sniffs. Then, clearly dissatisfied with the results, she tries it again. The dark eyes, trying to find some way of focusing on the nose, effectively cross.
"How does anyone breathe through this thing?"
The girl is still staring. The alicorn, who's just looked at her own bustline, hasn't noticed.
"I was uncertain as to a proper size for these." It takes two tries for her hands to go under her breasts, plus one more to heft them up within the silver blouse. "I have seen enough of your herd to recognize some degree of variety, and to recognize that a significant amount of mass is desirable. But one should not always immediately strive to mimic the ideal. Slightly smaller than your own proportions seemed like a good starting point. Unless you feel I should adjust outwards --"
The "-- no" is partially born from jealousy which doesn't want a chance to form, and is also about five seconds away from just asking to see a minotaur photo album. It mostly makes the dark blue centaur blink a few times.
...she's... more attractive than I would have expected.
I never found anyone during the time for love.
I was always alone...
...that's not what she meant by companionship.
I think...
It isn't.
A different kind of dream. One where someone trotted with me. That's all.
I wish...
...she wished into that hand often, as a filly. Her tears filled the cupped palm first.
"...no," the girl finally says.
The other centaur sighs, and collapses back into the alicorn. This is immediately followed by having the left forehoof come up to rub at the snout.
"You are," the dark mare observes with some exasperation, with the foreleg dropping again, "a rather difficult sapient to endow." (It takes the girl a moment to recover 'gift' as a synonym, plus several more for pushing back the blush.) And, much more softly, "The last cycle has provided me with very little time to consider additional options. Cerea... what would you ask of me? What must I do?"
And there was only one answer.
"I just want to talk."
The mare blinks a few times.
"...what?"
The girl is already second-guessing herself. You can't become too familiar with your liege. Too close. You can't.
But the alicorn isn't her liege any more.
"You..." The girl swallows. "You know me better than anyone. And... I feel like I barely know you. Maybe -- if we just talked..."
And Luna... sighs.
The mare's eyes are scrunched slightly at the corners. Both forehooves are lightly scraping at the pavement. But the tones are wry.
"I could wish for you to have chosen a simpler option," she says. "But... knowledge is its own form of power. And when it comes to that aspect -- yes, there is an imbalance." The scraping accelerates. "But it is not easy to correct, Cerea. I can never tell you everything. Even with a seneschal --"
A what? It has to be a word she knows: she just can't seem to recover the definition --
"-- the time required to tell a full tale barely exists. And I... have not spoken in such a manner for..."
Every star goes out. Mane and tail collapse into strands of light blue.
"...some time." Just above a whisper, "I have, to a significant degree, trained myself not to speak. You... saw a portion of my failure. When one struggles against oneself, and loses --"
"-- is every day of my life," Cerea evenly tells her. "And you know it."
The alicorn's lips quirk.
"Not every day," Luna decides. "I feel there have been certain recent exceptions." And sighs again. "We are both weary, Cerea. We both need true rest. But... I shall arrange for us to spend waking time with each other tomorrow. Somehow. And if the world chooses to interrupt, then that meeting will be rescheduled. Again and again, until we have spoken. Will you accept my promise?"
"Yes."
The alicorn nods. Wings flare out, and she looks up into the sky of another world.
"We will likely be interrupted," the dark mare declares. "Events tend to conspire in that direction. But I will ask that any such disruptions be limited to the truly important. And perhaps fortune will allow it to be news which we all need to hear."
She takes off. Gets about two stories of height under her wings, as the centaur watches an alicorn prepare for a flight above the prefecture's streets. And then she looks down.
"It might interest you to know that the changes to your form were not simple to make," the alicorn tells the girl. "I imagine that the mark has yet to be incorporated, but... your self-image is somewhat more stable than it used to be. Good night to you."
The unicorn mare knows she's special. In some ways, it feels as if she always should have known that, but... the truth needed to emerge. And then the spiteful, deluded cruelty of the world didn't bother to acknowledge any of it.
However, the world has been making up for lost time.
For starters, there's her cell. The confinement section of the palace basement (and of course the alicorns have a secret place for trapping the important!) is, put mildly, somewhat overcrowded. The other cells are stuffed to the brim with ponies. (Two-thirds of those were caught due to natural inferiority, while the other unicorns were clearly imprisoned because... well, she'd already been wondering about just how much culling of the ranks had to be done.) Based on what little she's been able to make out through the sound-muffling spell --
-- they gave her cell a sound-muffling spell: something which lets her own words go out, and allows those within a certain radius to hear her -- but prevents the cacophony being raised by her lessers from creating any personal level of disturbance. It's a sign --
-- at any rate, it sounds as if one pony needing to use the restroom trench has to shove six others aside and then clear another two away from the top of it. But she has a cell all to herself. The only pony who's been given that much room to breathe, and also doesn't have to inhale the tainted scents produced by inferiors.
Because she's special. Important, in a way which even the palace has been forced to recognize.
...the palace, but not the freaks who run herd over it --
-- she's so proud of herself, because the mare just did what she doesn't believe anypony else would have been capable of.
The malformed were in her presence, and she --
-- the sound-muffling spell? Privacy? Her very own Guards? (She probably won't be lucky enough to have the new quartet share the fate of the last two, but she can always hope.) The alicorns are too stupid to understand anything the mare came so close to accomplishing, but there must be somepony on the staff who's been acting under their snouts. Providing the unicorn with such obvious signs of respect.
It's the least they can do for the mare who nearly saved the world.
Perhaps she has an ally in the palace. (She must have made an impression with her display of heroism. Simply not outright breaking in the presence of the monster... how could that not have drawn attention?) But it's hardly everypony. Just for starters, the cell's original bookcase? That was confiscated. It's been replaced with a cheaper version, and the one she'd had was pretty cheap to begin with. And that pony swapped out the case, but not the books. She doesn't even want to look at the books. They're all about ponies of different races working and living and loving together, and the mare is far too intelligent to be tricked by mere propaganda.
The original bookcase was taken because somepony wanted her artwork. The little sketches she'd gouged into the side, showing the best way to counter what that propaganda has done.
They'll probably keep it. You can't sell something priceless.
And she's had visitors.
One of them... well, she was hardly going to speak with an earth pony, at least not in any way which he wanted to hear. And the second drop-in (who had rather more sensibly decided to have been born with a horn) also claimed to be a psychiatrist, that mare had stayed in the cell with the restrained unicorn for about two hours, and...
...the mare hadn't liked most of the questions. The tone of them, which made it so clear that the other female thought there was something wrong with her. But of course, when somepony was special, there was always going to be a portion of the herd which wanted to drag her back down to their level. She'd said that directly. Then she'd said a number of other things and ultimately, the blood-traitor had left. Slowly, wearily shaking her head, as the corona she didn't deserve carried several newly-full notepads along.
How does somepony get that mark, anyway? Intelligence clearly isn't any part of it. The mare knows how to tell when somepony is smart. They agree with her.
The degree-carrying idiots had left. Shortly after that, the freaks had dropped by.
Both of them. The mare is just that important.
And then she'd demonstrated it.
They had questions? Well, everypony did! Who wouldn't want to know all about somepony so special? But when it was freaks doing the asking, and one of them was speaking in those low, cold tones while the one who had put on a mask of tolerance for centuries finally let it drop and showed just how little she was willing to tolerate somepony who was better...
And no, she didn't want an attorney! That one stallion had given her words to recite, and she'd eventually realized that he'd been trying to speak for her. She could speak for herself -- yes, anything she said to absolutely anypony within the palace (or, for that matter, sang) could potentially be used against her, but that was just because most ponies were too stupid to understand what the truth was --
-- they'd tried to question her. And she'd withstood all of it! From both alicorns, both trying to interrogate her at the same time, and she'd given them little more than open observations of their freak status!
...well, there had also been some suggestions regarding ways to reorganize the government. And she'd listed numerous laws which needed to be repealed, because they never should have been passed. Certain opportunities had to be used, even when the ones you were talking down to weren't capable of understanding in the first place.
Two alicorns united against her. How could she have done anything but win? Even when the barely-concealed monster was cold and the white freak was so strangely... grim...
...she would have expected the elder to have smiled more. The one who never should have had the crown to begin with was known for smiling, and there hadn't been a single --
-- they were both so rude. They treated her as if she was nothing more than...
...like she wasn't --
-- the point was that she'd won, and name a single unicorn mare other than herself who'd done that! Stood against two alicorns in a single day! Along with...
...she'd nearly saved the world.
She nearly...
...it's not her fault.
It's the centaur.
She's been thinking about it. Reviewing the impossibility and blasphemy of what she saw. But going over her direct observations didn't give her a lot to work with. She had to add a number of deductions, and those were easy. All she needed to do was tell herself things until the final conclusion made perfect sense.
Just for starters? The centaur didn't save her life. That's impossible. She didn't see it happen, now did she? And even if she had? Centaurs can probably make you see things. Because they steal magic from others, from their betters and once they steal enough of it? It turns into a false mark.
The centaur now has a mark. The centaur is living, still-breathing blasphemy, and that's not the mare's fault. She nearly won. She almost saved the world, and it would have happened if she hadn't brought the truest monster to the point where the beast had to reveal itself.
It's just that... she's the only one who understands what it all means.
If there's any problem with being special, that's it. Dumbing the most crucial Facts down enough for lessers, traitors, and freaks to recognize their nature takes a lot of work.
How many ponies has the centaur drained, to gain that travesty of a mark? What else can it do? And it killed Tirek -- oh, she believes that. One monster killed another. Taking out the lesser threat. And now the centaur is entrenched in the palace, in Equestria, and how many ponies will realize what it's planning?
Conquest, probably. (She's still trying to work that part out.)
But she almost killed it. She nearly saved the world. And maybe there's still a chance. She just has to tell the right ponies about what's really going on. Assemble a group. Something better than CUNET, something pure. How hard could it be? She just needs those who are smart enough to see sense. To recognize a monster for what it truly is.
It didn't save her life. It made her attack. She never would have done anything if the monster hadn't existed, and therefore the monster is responsible for all of it. The monster needs to be in a cell. In Tartarus.
It needs to be dead.
She knows that.
...why doesn't anypony else know...
...she just needs to find the right ponies --
-- it takes a moment before she recognizes the sounds made by approaching hooves: the muffling spell distorts everything until the new pony crosses its border, and then she hears the mare say "Food delivery."
One Guard does something to the door. The mare hums to herself as she watches it start to open. She's been working on a new song. It's about monsters, and what has to be done in (and to) their presence. The rhythm is already perfect.
And then the shadow slips into her private room.
It takes several blinks before the mare manages to resolve the true details. (The monster touched her eyelids. It means she's been thinking very carefully about what she sees. Just in case.) Just for starters, the shadow has a horn --
-- it's a unicorn. But the fur is...
...she's never seen fur like that. The new mare possesses a singular coat: one where individual strands can be dark blues, subtle deep greens, hints of grey to go with stranger shades. It's all duplicated within mane and tail, with the totality almost seeming to absorb light. A single blink renders the deliverymare into a moving blotch.
The easiest way to track her is through the field. The horn is lit, and a green-grey corona carries multiple plates and bowls into the cell --
-- the lighting's a little better near the cheap table. (The mare considers the table to be its very own insult.) It lets her make out a slightly squarish jaw, see just how short-cut the tail is and recognize that the mare is on the young side. But the bottles of seasonings are made from crystal, the plates themselves are rather fine, and the contents --
-- the mare is staring, and it means she misses the little bit of extra projection from the only unrestrained horn in the cell. The one which closes the door.
"You should eat," the living shadow gently suggests. "It..." The smile is quick, arriving quickly and vanishing before anypony other than the mare can spot the expression. "...was a long day. And then some."
The mare is still staring at the contents of the largest bowl.
"Those are hop shoots," she half-whispers. One of the most expensive vegetables in the world --
"-- what else would you serve with root angler lure?" the shadow politely notes.
The mare looks at that for a while.
She's never had lure. Even in the capital, the seat of a nation's wealth and power, hardly anypony ever has lure...
"...how...?" takes a moment to work its way out.
"When you're in the palace," the shadow quietly informs her, "you eat what the palace eats."
"The palace," the mare quickly says, "wants me to eat this." Maybe it's drugged --
The shadow abruptly snickers.
"What the Princesses don't know," she snidely announces, "can't hurt them." Which is followed by a laugh: deliberately muffled, because there's Guards somewhere --
-- the mare can't seem to hear the Guards, and that's not the muffling spell: the sounds produced by armor tend to get through. Maybe they're changing shifts --
"Aren't they lucky?" the shadow continues. "What they don't know can't hurt them. Complete immunity to pain."
It takes the mare a second to work it out: they don't know anything. Like all of the best insults, it just happens to be true, and she almost starts to laugh --
-- she looks at the shadow. Stares deep into green-grey eyes, and the other unicorn doesn't flinch. Just about everypony else has been flinching.
"I wouldn't expect a member of the staff to say that," the mare carefully notes.
The shadow's next words somehow come across as living Honesty. A necklace made of sound.
"I'm not part of the staff." The corona winks out. "They had to call some temporaries in, with... everything that happened." A few decibels fall away. "Everything which almost happened."
The darkness sighs.
"You came so close," it says. "A few more seconds, and we all would have been..." A tiny, regretful shrug. "Eat. Please. You need strength. And this meal is... special." With another small, quick smile, "Of course, you probably have this all the time..."
She's never had anything this expensive in her life.
After a moment, the time it takes to approach the too-cheap table with its fabulous burden and not have it all go away... the mare lowers her head. The restraint means she can't even eat it properly, but... it smells...
...not drugged. Not treated with potions. It's all just...
...special.
She starts with the lure. The shadow silently adds a few subtle seasonings, and the mare takes her time about chewing. Makes sure every part of her tongue gets its chance, and then carefully swallows.
The mare can just barely muster the whisper. "I'm... not supposed to be having this, am I? I'm really --"
"-- you nearly won," the shadow softly confirms. "Half of Canterlot just watched, and you nearly..." The sigh is brief. "But there's no point in thinking about it too much. Not today. Tomorrow is more important. Because things can always change tomorrow. And maybe the next time will be different."
No one's talked to the mare this way for... a long time. Not since CUNET first approached. It had felt so good, just to be -- noticed. And she'd had the company of ponies who understood.
But then Mrs. Panderaghast had stuck her in that horrible house, the first of two horrible houses, and the carriage had been cheap, she hadn't been allowed to talk freely during her first chance for public exposure and the drain...
The mare eats. The shadow watches.
"I almost won," the mare finally whispers, after several of the hop shoots are given a proper home. "I know it. We were almost safe, everypony who counts, and even the ones who are too stupid to care. But the centaur cheated..."
The shadow sadly nods, and that simple movement is enough. Words aren't necessarily. The set of the ears, added to the slump in shoulders and hips... it says more than words ever could.
"...are you hungry?" The last test. If they're eating the same thing --
"A little. May I?"
The mare nods. The shadow tries a sample.
They eat together for a while, and gossip is dissected. The reporter didn't have enough of it.
A field-held napkin considerately wipes the mare's mouth.
"...what's your name?" the mare finally asks.
"Miranda." With a little wince, before the mare can say anything, "I know it's unusual. I always think about having it changed. My parents... well, it's part of why I don't talk to them very much any more." Which is followed by a little sigh, "Associating with the kind of -- 'people' -- who think that's a good name is some of the rest. And I'd ask yours, but... all of Canterlot knows, don't they?" The smile appears, vanishes again. "The entire capital. In a few more days, it'll be the world..."
The mare isn't thinking about where the Guards are any more. She's told herself it isn't important.
"You brought all of this in for me." It's a statement. The mare doesn't question Facts.
"Somepony had to. It's... been horrible for you. I can barely imagine... I'm not sure I can imagine. Just how bad it's been, with everything it made you do. And that's before you bring in what all of the idiots believe. But when you think about it... when you let yourself think at all..."
The shadow's eyes close, and the mare almost timidly waits.
"I just thought," Ponyville's police chief shyly offers, "you... might need a friend."
Stats
Page generated in 0.027 seconds
Total duration
758 users online
647,859 hits today, 2,167,270 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
They really need to grow up. Celestia and Luna need to put their hooves down and make it clear that this bad behavior will not be tolerated . That will get rid of some idiots especially if the princesses actually use the stick instead just threatening it. We have to those idiots too and they learn don't be violent or you will get the stick. Unfortunately sometimes they end up getting the stick.
Miranda better be running a sting or so help me!
Bad cop,
Extremely good cop?
She's literally eating a lure.
Will we finally learn the arsonist´s name?
Miranda's playing the long game here. Earn crazy's trust, then pull the rug out from under her when it's convenient. After all, this still takes place in
bestalternate timeline with Anchor Foal, iirc.The dream sequence with Luna and Cerea was sweet. Luna really wants to make it up to her. It's hard to read through Cerea's self-hatred / 'never gonna be good enough for anyone' near the beginning, it's close to home for me. Thank you for the update Estee. I never thought I would end up so invested in a character I had no knowledge of or interest in at the beginning, but that's just the estee brand at work, I guess!
Well, I hope that's not true sincerity, but who knows?
Miranda has to be running an interrogation con here. Or some kind of manipulation to get this crazy bitch to open up. I could even see this sort of thing to be made to the mare's (do we know her name?) benefit. Sometimes crazy assholes need someone to listen to what they're saying, and to listen without a perceived judgement. Got a few of those in my family, in fact. Best way to get along with them is to smile and nod, and offer a few polite words of agreements with their point of view, if not their actual position. And then the day runs smoothly, they don't feel attacked, and I don't have to deal with an agonizing series of 'debates' and whataboutisms everytime they hear something they don't like. Excellent chapter!
I don't know what to comment about besides that it was intriguing. Cerea is slowly getting the position of Luna seneschal and while Luna offers for altering her dreams wasn't what Cerea wanted they were fun concepts of what Luna is capable.
I am interested in Cerea first day with her cutie marks. I believe that sometimes those who just received one get really obsessed with discovering everything about their new calling and need a time to adjust to the marks magic. The marks are deep magic that give insights to those who have them and influence both actions and minds sometimes. Ignoring the marks can lead to some consequences as well as indulging into it too much can lead to falling into it. How is a Centaur who never had magic will react to the sudden influx of "inspiration" and whispers of her magic pushing her? Foals have years to learn to manage those and I think it will be funny to see Cere having to adjust.
11269428
Has to be as work. The only thing crazier than a unicorn supremacist living in ponyville is a unicorn supremacist living in Estee's ponyville.
Heh, Cerea still thinking that Luna knows more / all. Hopefully that'll be one of the things they talk about.
...
Huh. How much do ponies / she know about psychology, because being able to Measure that...
"also claimed to be a psychiatrist"
Oh. And full notepads. Very informative. With a Mark to guide ponies to the accurate conclusions and such, a lot can be done...
----
Yeah, Miranda's being Exact Word-ing, I bet.
That's one reason and possibly not even the biggest one, etc.
Do we know what Arsonist's mark is? Is this possibly mark-induced a bit??
When you get alicorns to play Bad Cop and Miranda Rights to play Good Cop, that's just cheating.
Good.
I was worried for a moment Cerea was going to take Luna up on her offer, then I remembered she's supposed to have a dream where she's a pony in the near future.
Oh, Miranda, you sneaky sneaky nag.
What a lovely dream. She's getting better.
And then there's this lunatic. This is a disconnection from reality rarely seen, a strangely glassy height beyond simple rabid brutality that simply cannot perceive the same world as anyone else.
Honestly, I rather think Miranda's wasting her time, in that this one has no concept of secrecy anymore and will gladly proselytize at anyone who appears vaguely acceptable. Not to mention, she really doesn't know anything useful really, her testimony would be considered invalid due to her total insanity and any information on her organization is quite out of date.
Here's a crazy idea, maybe not invading Cerea's dreams would be a start.
11269398
I think the point is she isn't "special" enough to have an individual name ... she's just a plot element, despite all of her delusions and awful actions.
11269441
I want to agree with you, but there is a whole slew of earth pony supremacists living in Ponyville, so ....
11269452
That is a very interesting idea ... and also very disturbing ....
Just some casual worldbuilding callbacks here.
But there's some other interesting callbacks, like the very first line of the story:
Exactly what crazy pants believes she had almost done.
11269514
The important thing about the lunatic is what the supremacist leaders think she knows and can share with the Princesses.
The mere possibility of it had them abandoning their organizations (aka "scams") and rallying their followers against the palace as a final distraction for their escape.
Celestia and Luna are savvy enough to exploit their fears to get a confession (aka "blaming each other and everypony else but themselves").
Regardless of how useful Miranda's trick will be, you have to admit having the arsonist eat bait was worth it.
It is and there's nothing you can say that'll convince me otherwise. Nothing, I say!
They'd be totes adorbs together and you know it
The sisters do have a devious sense of humor with that bait
👍
It's the third member of the two-mare con who always gets you.
Also, I do look forward to Luna and Cerea's heart-to-heart. There's a lot that needs to be unpacked there.
Now, there's still the matter of finding the mole in the staff and the heads of the hate groups. I suspect that will happen more quickly than any of them expect.
So close, so very very close. But facing reality would mean facing that everything she worked to was wrong, that she almost killed foals for no other reason than to satisfy her deluded dreams and ego. That her actions were so horrifying that even Celestia, the one pony known to have boundless love for all ponies, looks at her with disdain. Much easier to embrace the lie. It will be a lie, but lies can easily be believed. Just as truth can be forgotten.
11269474
Like the fella said, 'Never give a sucker an even break.' And little miss whacko has been a sucker all her life.
11266356
He certainly would make an impression on the idiots who for some reason choose to do the wrong thing.
11269398
The funny thing to me is we don’t need to know it. I feel like the story is perfectly happy calling her, ‘her’ for the rest of the tale. It wouldn’t change anything. Arsonist could even be her name, and wouldn’t THAT be something.
11269767
Look, you can take the centaur out of the harem comedy but you can't take the harem comedy out of the centaur. We're clearly getting Luna, Nightwatch, and Barding as would-be suitors, with Yapper for color commentary. We just need like six or seven more to round out the cast.
11269441
But everypony in Ponyville is crazy. Famously so.
11270152
You mean, for example, the Mane Six plus Spike?
11270438
I mean, I ain't saying that Fluttershy seems so grateful that Discord is back that she might convince Fleur to go for a threesome, but...
11269452
To be fair, Luna is probably being literal. in The Dreamscape, one's self-image is visible, to some extent. Luna noted earlier that Cerea's dreamself was constantly morphing to always fall short somehow. legs too long without enough muscle, then suddenly short and stocky, et cetera.
tl;dr Luna can probably SEE that Cerea's self-image isn't morphing all willy-nilly any more.
11270438
Sounds perfect.
11270033
I feel like the Arsonist's name would be something unassuming, the equivalent of Jane Smith, so something like Sienna Brown, fitting with her ordinary look (except for her eyes, obviously)
I could almost feel sorry for the arsonist…. Not for what Miranda is doing, but because she really is lost and was twisted for the benefit of others. There’s also a part of me that wants her to be cellmates with another villain of Estee’s creation, just so that one can see something of themselves every day.
On the one hand, I can believe Miranda trying to use subterfuge to infiltrate the Madponys confidence and get info. On the other hand, cult members and white supremacists regularly infiltrate law enforcement and the military to try and gain influence, so it's believable that she could be on their side
11270033
I understand now! She must be Hannibal's less well-known sibling, Harsonist! Now all we need to do is track down Hehicular Hanslaughter and we'll have the whole set.
I just want to know about that food. It sounds tasty
11271553
I mean, it's Miranda, the chief of police of Ponyville. That she is the pony in charge of keeping order there and somehow hasn't thrown every single madpony in that place in jail and thrown the key into the deepest, darkest corner of the Everfree kind of stomps the idea of her being a unicorn supremacist into the dirt.
11271553
Plus considering ponies have the same dark side we humans have when it comes to racism it's possible that he is one of those people who think badly of folks because they aren't the same.
To anyone who's worried about Miranda seriously being on the arsonist's side...
Don't be. Even if she wasn't unfailingly loyal to the princess (and she definitely is), she is far to...empathetic for that sort of black and white insanity.
I mean, this is the pony who found it in herself to be empathetic to Scootaloo, she of the inevitable collateral damage, when Miranda was the pony most responsible for cleaning up the girl's messes. Not just sympathetic, but empathetic, reaching out and seeing the world from someone else's view.
And when you add in her willingness to try Griffonish cuisine (which, I might add, is not only foreign, but has been adjusted to appeal to a carnivore's palette)...
That sort of open-mindedness is hard enough to find in normal ponies. I could never see a tribist being pulled in like the arsonist was, and nevermind that Miranda is far too smart to be pulled in by a hack like Penderghast.
Luna needs so desperately to make friends in this strange new world she’s also been ‘summoned’ to, where everypony seems to fear if not hate her. She suspects it’s critical to her long-term sanity to find a seneschal in particular, as she failed to do long ago and as Celestia has been doing all this time since. It might possibly be a matter of life and death for an immortal. She already misstepped badly: her best candidate ordered her to “GET OUT!!!” of her dreams, has quit the Guard, and plans to get herself out of Equestria just because she’s there, only briefly delaying to save the world.
Ouch.
Now here she is, violating Cereas dreamscape and manipulating it for her own ends, AGAIN! Cereas natural dream of a self conscious filly was methodically twisted into the antimagical super-soldier Luna thinks she needs. That seems like an absurdly huge risk to take unless she’s already done something to Cereas mind to make it no risk at all.
Neither am I. Seems out of character for this intensely private centaur. Dreamwalking like Luna does is a form of mind control: an extremely creepy and invasive sort of magic. Everyone is right to fear it and Cereas violent initial reaction was very understandable. Now she’s sleeping without her plastic hairpins (that also appear at will now?) and seems suspiciously fine with Luna just popping in. Luna did very carefully ask permission to take control, sure, AFTER she already took control FIVE times. I’m wondering if Cerea is still entirely herself..?
11274581
I am glad of that I feared that she might be like those ponies who attacked the palace. I do hope Celestia and Luna put their hooves down and make clear that they cannot have a repeat of this situation and no matter how they feel about centaurs they can not have violence be their first response. The facts are they only ever seen 2 centaurs and one of them never tried to hurt them until after they chose to attack. Triek crimes are his and he has paid the biggest price for them.
11274671
I don't believe that was Luna manipulating the dreamscape before her arrival. It seems much more likely that is her cutie mark whispering to her. I just wish Luna was a little later, so Cerea could reach the conclusion her dream was guiding her towards.
Using the dream realm to experience different bodies is not the best idea.
images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/bd2c9377-38f9-41ec-877c-2cf70399cce9/df8cwu4-49352d40-85a1-4d04-9798-92f927d1acd7.png/v1/fill/w_894,h_894,strp/delwmg_unspeakable_portrait_by_nagelnavari_df8cwu4-pre.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTAyNCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2JkMmM5Mzc3LTM4ZjktNDFlYy04NzdjLTJjZjcwMzk5Y2NlOVwvZGY4Y3d1NC00OTM1MmQ0MC04NWExLTRkMDQtOTc5OC05MmY5MjdkMWFjZDcucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEwMjQifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.52pDyOMVEi5g9IhYATwc_OLCU8yWEb_E26B2dyKIpdk
images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/bd2c9377-38f9-41ec-877c-2cf70399cce9/df8cx0j-5fbd177d-6e25-4c60-997e-21f2a184a270.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2JkMmM5Mzc3LTM4ZjktNDFlYy04NzdjLTJjZjcwMzk5Y2NlOVwvZGY4Y3gwai01ZmJkMTc3ZC02ZTI1LTRjNjAtOTk3ZS0yMWYyYTE4NGEyNzAucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.1NfiH0_gf-_VkiIlIz1ZINLjRpTc9chWAa-Gk1f3vYA
"the pink shell of an furless ear"
"the pink shell of a furless ear"?
"and then all four of the girls hooves are planted"
"and then all four of the girl's hooves are planted"?
"Somehow, the shadow's next words somehow come across as living Honesty."
Was only one of those somehows supposed to be there?
"A tiny, regretful shrug, and the corona winks out."
The corona winking out already happened two paragraphs ago:
""I'm not part of the staff." The corona winks out."
Hm. So, reform attempt, or interrogation in case she hasn't been as open about her views as she seems to have been? Or both at once?
I think that the likelihood of the impression Miranda is giving there being true is basically nil, though -- as I see others have commented. Thinking on it, I suspect Miranda is there because the Princesses thought her among the most trustworthy of those at their call with the needed skills (and anonymity to the prisoner).
somehow this made me think of a scene in a "super-friends" cartoon:
The Scarecrow had trapped Batman in a replay of when his parents died...
he seemed to have turned into a little kid, but when he started breaking out of it, he appeared to grow up instantly...
wow, i actually found it: