CRISIS: Equestria - Divergence, Book 2

by GanonFLCL

Chapter Seven: Tempo

Every year, the Tour du Soleil Hotel hosted a gala dinner party for New Pandemonium City's fashion elite, and this year was no exception. The reception hall had been prepared to suit a truly enchanting evening. Dozens of round tables were decorated with white tablecloths, bouquets of real roses imported from the southern continent, and the finest crystal glasses and genuine silver silverware. Banners and streamers had been hung with care along the walls and ceilings.

The room was lit by candlelight from candelabras on the tables and the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, all of which had been enchanted to provide appropriate mood coloring; the theme this year was oceanic, so everything was lit in blues such that the entire hall felt as though it were underwater.

The party was hosted at the hotel by a randomly-chosen fashion designer or company, and this year the hosts were Chantilly Lace and Peaked Lapel, designers for and owners of Lovers' Lane. They were in charge of everything from the décor to the dinner menu, including and especially the guest list.

Typically these events were exclusive to the tippest-toppest elites in the industry, the highest-class designers, promoters, label owners, distributors, stylists, photographers, and critics. Models were rarely invited unless they were extremely influential or were poised to do so. Thus, Insipid made sure that she was on her best behavior for the evening, and that she looked and dressed to impress.

Insipid had had her makeup done to the highest of standards, with just the right amount of mascara and blush to draw attention. False eyelashes added to the allure, drawing attention to her lovely eyes. Her long mane had been styled with waves and curls that caught the eye of anypony that saw her.

The outfit was a Rarity Original which had been featured in Rarity's catalogue that she left behind for Lace and Lapel, and was one of the few that Insipid hadn't modeled yet. They couldn't afford the scandal of wearing the same dress twice to events, after all.

It was a fairly simple design and shape-wise, delicately hugging Insipid's curves and trailing only a little past her tail. The coloring was what made the dress so extravagant. The silk of the dress had been inlaid with crystalline shards that glittered in the light of the room. In candlelight the effect was subtle and enticing; in a proper runway show, it would be dazzlingly bright.

On looks alone, there was no denying that Insipid was of a higher class than most, one of the true elite of the city. She knew she belonged here. Rarity had known it. Lace and Lapel knew it. Everypony else needed to know it too.

Insipid sat at the table with the hosts of the party, Lace and Lapel, as well as a few other guests that had played the social game properly enough to schmooze their way onto the hosts' table. She knew them from reputations alone, but she didn't know any of them personally yet.

However, she knew that knowing them at all was paramount to success in the industry. The average "top" model's career rarely lasted more than a year; Insipid was determined to be anything but average.

She had seated herself next to Lace, who sat between her and Lapel. On Insipid's other side was an earth pony stallion named Popinjay, who just so happened to be one of the most distinguished fashion critics in the field. His coat was a bluish gray, his mane a much lighter shade of the same with white streaks styled into it. She had no idea what his eyes looked like; he had apparently never been seen without his reflective sunglasses with pink lenses. He'd dressed for the occasion in a crisp black tuxedo with a high collar.

"I say, it's absolutely lovely to finally meet you in person, Miss Insipid," he said, his voice typical of the other hoity-toity types that Insipid was used to dealing with these days. He took a delicate sip of champagne, then gave her a bright smile. "Yes yes, absolutely lovely."

"Like, same to you, Mister Popinjay," she replied, taking an equally delicate sip from her own champagne and returning the smile. "I've heard so much about you. I don't get to meet many critics, y'know? Were you ever at any of my shows?"

"Why, I've attended three shows so far where you were featured, and I must say I was impressed each and every time." He stuck his nose in the air just slightly. "What you lack in more conventional poise you make up for in a unique flair that I feel might just be a welcome change from the norm. It's been years since I've seen such a distinguished charm."

"Well, thank you!" Insipid grinned, maintaining eye contact and keeping herself faced towards him; she'd been taught the importance of appearing invested in a conversation, and knew it wasn't enough just to listen, but to look like she was listening. "You have no idea how much that means to me to, like, hear that. Cha."

"Have you ever considered broadening your horizons, darling?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Popinjay tilted his head slightly to look towards Lace and Lapel, who were deeply involved in a conversation with somepony else at the moment. "As much as I love Lace and Lapel, their label is still considered a bit… underappreciated. Why, according to my most recent survey of the most fashion-conscious elites in the city, Lovers' Lance was not even considered a Top Five label."

"Meaning?"

He gently patted her hoof. "I fear that your talent may be going underutilized. Surely a mare of your elegance deserves to be featured modeling for labels of a more prestigious class. I happen to have strong connections with the owners of Armoire, and I think they'd love to have the opportunity to feature you under their label."

Insipid gave him a small smile and withdrew her hoof. "I totally appreciate the offer, Mister Popinjay, I really do… but my heart lies with Lovers' Lane. Lace and Lapel mean more to me than just, like, being my bosses and junk. They're my friends."

"You would give up the opportunity to leap far above your status, potentially commit career suicide, just to remain loyal to your friends?" he asked, an eyebrow peeking over his sunglasses.

She nodded, shooting a quick glance towards the pair. "Yup! For. Sure."

"You won't even consider the offer?"

"Sorry, but no. My career is important to me, for sure, but like, friendship is even more important. It would be major unfresh to, like, betray them, or whatever?"

He paused a long moment, then his mouth curled in the tiniest of grins. "Loyalty is a hard-won asset in this cutthroat industry, my dear. Whatever Lace and Lapel have done to earn that loyalty from you must be something truly amazing." He raised his glass towards her briefly. "I admire that in a model. Bravo."

She gently clanked her glass against his, and they each took another drink. "Thanks. So… no hard feelings?"

"None at all, darling, none at all! Truth be told, I'm rather impressed." He smiled and fanned himself briefly with a paper fan. "You would not believe how many models throughout the industry get passed around between labels like just another commodity, all because they think it will give them a better shot at stardom. You never hear their names again after a few months, a year at best, because who wants to keep track of who moved where and why?

"Now, the truly impactful starlets? Those names enter the lexicon of fashion and beyond. Ivory Charm worked with Trotta for seven years until moving south, and she's still a household name six years later. Amethyst Sky modeled for Hermare for three years and built an acting career out of it, even got nominated for a PFTA last year. Trendsetter modeled for Cœurl for four years; she owns it now."

Insipid tilted her head before smiling. "Are you suggesting I might be the next Ivory Charm, Amethyst Sky, or Trendsetter, Mister Popinjay?"

He took her hoof in his and kissed her pastern. "Darling, if you keep working the runway the way you have been, and you stick with ponies that know and respect you? I don't have a doubt in my mind that ponies will remember your name for a long while. You might just redefine what 'insipid' means."

Insipid took note of that. She knew that her name was an actual word with a meaning, and had looked it up on a whim. Vapid. Bland. That's what her name meant. But when she was done, there'd be a new definition for insipid in the dictionary. She… didn't know what it would be yet, but mark her words, there'd be one.

Popinjay then sighed and let her take her hoof back. "But alas, I must bring an end to this wonderful conversation. I have an article to write about this little soirée, and thus I must venture forth and mingle at some of the other tables. A critic's work is never done, my dear. Au revoir for now."

"Au revoir, Monsieur Popinjay," she said with a dainty wave and smile.

Curaçao had spent much of the past six months teaching her the basics of Romantique and Baroque, the two most crucial languages in the fashion industry; everypony knew the fundamentals at the very least, and most could claim them as second or third languages. She was hardly fluent yet herself, but she could speak it well enough and understand it in short bursts.

There'd be no embarrassing mispronunciation faux pas.

As soon as he had left, Insipid felt Lace's hoof on her shoulder, and so turned to face her friend. "So?" Lace asked with a sly grin, lips on her own champagne glass. "Did he ask you to jump ship to another label?"

"Just like you said he would," Insipid said with a grin of her own. She sipped from her champagne; she was starting to really like the stuff. A fancy drink for a fancy lady. "You really mean to tell me he does this, like, all the time?"

"He sure does. Every label owner knows Popinjay has a strong opinion on the concept of brand loyalty, and he's a little aggressive about weeding out which ponies he feels aren't worth his time."

"So, like, he doesn't really work for Armoire?"

Lace snickered. "Is that what he went with this time? No, my dear, that's just a story. Last time I heard he was working for Trotta. Before that he was working for us. Clever, isn't it? Maybe a little shrewd, but any model worth their stuff learns quickly that the label makes them, not the other way around."

Insipid glanced over at the table that Popinjay had gone over to, where he was chatting up Trendsetter herself, owner of the high-class Cœurl fashion label, a stunning mare who had very clearly once been a model and still looked good for her age. Popinjay seemed to be enjoying their conversation based on the smile on his face and the way his tail swished gently behind him.

"Why does he make such a big deal about loyalty, anyway?" she asked, turning back to Lace.

Lace took a sip from her own champagne, longer than usual in fact. "The short version is that seven years ago he caught his then-husband, Dapper Hooves, cheating on him."

Insipid's eyes widened, shocked, scandalized, and maybe a little sickened. "The same Dapper Hooves that, like, owns Club Chic? The Club Chic?"

"The same." Lace scowled at a table on the opposite end of the hall, where the aforementioned stallion, a well-built unicorn, was seated with a number of other ponies. "Popinjay caught him banging one of the models, and eventually figured out that it was more than just the one. Rumor has it he'd even knocked a few up too, poor things."

Insipid frowned. "Ouch…"

"Ouch indeed. The divorce was probably the ugliest thing I've ever seen, but Popinjay managed to recover from it."

"Aww… poor guy," Insipid said, turning back to look towards the critic.

"Eh, it's all in the past now, honey," Lace said, patting Insipid's hoof. "Popinjay's over it, but he's still got that whole sense of loyalty schtick going on. He lets labels know if they've got somepony on their hooves that'll jump ship at a moment's notice. Not just models, but designers too. I have no doubt that if Rarity were still here, he'd be pestering her just as much as you."

Insipid frowned; just thinking about not having Rarity around made her sad, as it always did. She missed her friend more than anypony could ever imagine. Well, maybe not anypony; she knew a certain somepony that probably knew exactly what it was like to miss somepony else, and she didn't mean any of her sisters—who, admittedly, were almost all going through a similar yearning for friends long gone.

Speaking of which, Insipid wasn't sure if Lace was a mind-reader or something like that, because right on cue, the designer asked, "So, did you hear the big news around the proverbial water cooler?"

Insipid tilted her head. "What about?"

Lace leaned in with a smile. "I hear our dear friend Lockwood finally made that move south he's been talking about for years now. And, from what I've heard from a few mutual friends—Lockwood has lots of mutual friends—it wasn't just for a change in atmosphere."

"Oh?"

"He's getting married. Can you believe it? I didn't even know he was dating anypony. Whoever this 'Thunderbolt' is must be pretty special to move all the way to Hope's Point for and stay loyal to for all these years." Lace then scoffed and took another sip of champagne. "And to think, Lapel and I thought for sure he and Rarity were hooking up together. We even tried to make it happen. That would be a lovely couple."

Insipid sipped her own champagne through tightened lips. It was hard not to spill more information than she was supposed to know. There was a time when she might've let something slip out of a desire to be a part of the conversation, to seem like she knew something so that other ponies didn't think she was stupid, but she'd long since learned that opening her mouth when she didn't need to had the exact opposite effect.

As for the whole "hooking up" thing, well… she didn't know what to make of that. It had taken her some time to figure out that there was something between Lockwood and Rarity, but she knew that it wasn't "hooking up". Rarity wouldn't have kept something like that from her—despite being a firm believer that a lady didn't kiss and tell—and Lockwood didn't seem like the kind of guy to be unfaithful.

"Well, like, good for him," she said with a nod. "I'm totally happy for him and junk."

Lace's eyes widened. "That reminds me! If he's moved to Hope's Point, maybe he can get in touch with Ivory and let her know how things have been going up here with us? I can't believe I just thought of it! Shoot, I should've reminded him before he left—"

"I'm sure he will!" Insipid replied, patting Lace's hoof reassuringly. "Why, I bet he's already told Ivory allll about how well you and Lapel are doing."

She didn't know if he did, but she imagined that he would have, and worst case scenario, she'd just do it herself at the wedding. There was no way Ivory Charm wouldn't be on that guest list if what Curaçao told her was accurate.

"Yes, I'm sure he would've, you're right." Lace then leaned casually in her seat and gave Insipid a mischievous grin. "So, it seems to me like we've made a real success out of you yet if Popinjay himself is impressed with you. Did I hear right? Does he really think you might be our next Ivory Charm?"

Insipid beamed. "I know! I mean, those are some pretty big horseshoes to fill, but like, thanks to you and Lapel, I have the confidence that I can totally do it. You two believe in me, Rarity believed in me, and so I believe in me. Cha."

Lace snickered gently then leaned in close. "Well, if you really want to be the next Ivory Charm, darling, we're going to need to find you a rich husband sooner or later, aren't we?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, don't play coy, dear. Ivory Charm was married to the one-and-only Don Virtuoso, head of the infamous Fantasia Crime Family," Lace said, casually swirling her champagne around in her glass. "Of course, we can talk about that openly now, seeing as they're not in the city. While they still lived here, and to newcomers even now, we all just called her husband an… intrepid entrepreneur. We all knew the truth, of course, but played along."

Insipid was well aware of all this, even if Lace didn't know she knew; it was why she was certain Ivory would be at the wedding. Her husband was on the Queen's Council, so surely he and his wife would be invited. "But what's that, like, got to do with me?" she asked.

"Honey, believe me when I tell you that nopony in this business gets very far completely on their own. Connections mean everything in this line of work. Friends are one thing, family is another, but who you share your heart—and your bed—with is something else entirely. Some mares and stallions make or break their careers by choosing the right partner."

Insipid blinked. "Okay, like… I don't get it. Sorry. You told me to tell you if there was something I didn't understand, and like, this is something I don't understand."

Lace tapped her chin briefly. "Hmm… well, it's like this: before Lapel and I got married and merged our labels together into Lovers' Lane, we were up-and-coming designers, absolutely. Noticeable enough to draw some attention, but I'm not too proud to admit that we weren't exactly top-of-the-line."

"But you're so good! Both of you!" Insipid chirped.

"Thank you, dear, but like I said, skill alone doesn't do everything in this industry. You'd have to be a literal paragon of excellence to achieve that, and there hasn't been anypony that talented in some ninety years. Rarity's probably the closest I've seen, but I only knew her for a few weeks. I don't know if she had the staying power, hmm?

"Anyway, things changed when Lapel and I got married, and it's not as though either of us improved our skills. It was entirely because of the social aspect of it." Lace smirked and sipped from her glass. "When you get noticed enough that ponies start talking about you, every strength you have is amplified—every flaw, too—and that is when you start making real waves."

"So… you're saying that the only reason you and Lapel are so successful is because you're married to each other?"

"Well, that was just the end result, but I think we really started getting noticed when we… 'accidentally' got caught having sex at that big party all those years ago," Lace said with a little grin. "Lapel and I had never actually met in person before that night, but we hated each other's guts simply because we were rivals." She gave a wistful sigh. "But then we saw one another and we just… clicked. Love at first sight and all that."

"Aww, that's so sweet…"

"And we absolutely could've just left the party and made love elsewhere, but where's the fun in that?" Lace added with a wink.

Insipid gasped. "Scandalous! You mean you purposefully got caught? Oh. My. Stars. That's… that's totally devious." She grinned widely. "I love it."

"So! In short, you're probably the top model in the industry right this moment," Lace said, taking another sip of champagne. "But nopony's going to be talking about you in a year from now if that's all you are. Somepony younger and prettier always comes along eventually; it's just a fact of the industry. You need something to keep that interest in you flowing."

Insipid frowned. "But… what if I don't, like, wanna marry anypony?"

"Well, I never said you had to marry anypony," Lace said with a shrug. "But you need to do something to stir up some gossip. Get ponies talking about what you're up to, and they'll start paying attention to what you're doing all the time. Even Ivory didn't really make a name for herself until she started dating Virtuoso."

"But… but Rarity said I should never use my body to further my career like that," Insipid said, her frown deepening.

Lace blinked, then paled and put her hoof over her mouth. "Oh! Oh, goodness no, that's not what I meant. I'm not suggesting you sleep with anypony to get ahead, stars above. You know Lapel and I would never take advantage of you like that. You know that all the flirting is just… we love you, darling, but you know we'd never force you into something like that."

"I know," Insipid said with a nod. "No matter what that meanie Chiffon Silk said, I know you and Lapel would never make me do anything like that."

Lace abruptly cleared her throat. "Anyways, what I meant was… is there anypony here that catches your eye?" She gestured around the room. "There are plenty of available bachelors around tonight. Believe me, I put the guest list together."

Insipid looked around the room for a moment, then shook her head. "Honestly, I… I never even, like, thought about dating until you mentioned it. I don't even know where to start!"

Lace rubbed her chin. "Really? Never?"

"Nope! Some of my sisters are much more into that sort of thing, but I've just kinda, like, always figured it wasn't for me, or whatever."

"Well, I won't judge you if you've maintained an exclusively-single lifestyle all this time and don't have an eye for anypony in particular."

"It just never came up, that's all. I'm sorry."

Lace gently put her hoof over Insipid's. "There's no need to rush, though, my dear. Take your time to think about what you'd want in your ideal stallion. Lapel and I know our fair share, so maybe we can find the perfect stallion for you, hmm? Or mare, if that's more your style! The fashion industry is very inclusive."

Insipid put her hoof to her mouth in thought. "I've got, like, no idea where to start. Usually when I have trouble with something, I ask my super-smart sister Curie for help, but… wait—" Then, an idea popped into her brain; her eyes widened with delight as this wonderful, brilliant idea made itself known. "I know just who to ask!"

*****

"Velvet!" Insipid called as she walked into the Pandora Tower lounge. "Like, where are you, sis?! I need your help! It's about stallions! I know you love talking about stallions!"

Insipid didn't visit the tower very often these days unless somepony specifically asked her to—usually Curaçao or Velvet—but she knew she was welcome whenever she wanted to come. She normally didn't make physical trips, either, not when she could just use Dawn's little… what was it? Telescopic… telegraphic… no, telepathic—it had taken three days to learn that word properly—spell to contact her sisters whenever she wanted.

But she'd learned the hard way that she was not allowed to just randomly call Velvet. It was usually okay to do so with Curaçao or Gray since they nearly always had time for her, and Havoc had given her a specific list of times not to contact her but was otherwise almost always available. Dawn, at her best, would ask Insipid to contact her at another, less inconvenient time; at her worst, she'd just ignore Insipid entirely and send feedback through the connection so that Insipid knew to leave her alone.

Velvet, though, had specifically asked Insipid never to contact her without giving her advance notice somehow. Insipid had learned that when she'd made a little call to Velvet when the latter was… otherwise preoccupied with a stallion. Velvet didn't exactly stop what she was doing and was a little too lurid in telling Insipid exactly what she was interrupting. In vivid detail.

It had been enough that Insipid knew better than to ever do it again.

But she did know that Velvet never brought "gentlecolt callers" back to the tower—Dawn had made sure it would be impossible—and so this was the perfect place to get in touch with her without bothering her. Even if she wasn't here now, she would be at some point tonight, wouldn't she? Everypony needed to sleep eventually.

But Insipid had checked every place she could think of, and she still had not found her dear sister. Velvet wasn't in the lounge, or downstairs in the facility with all those cute colts and fillies, or in her room, or in the dining room, or in the kitchen, or at the gym, or… well, anywhere. Which only meant one thing: Velvet wasn't here at the tower! Well, she could be here and just be somewhere were Insipid hadn't checked, but what were the odds of that? Insipid was very thorough.

Just as Insipid was about to call off her search for Velvet, though, she noticed somepony else in the lounge. At this time of night the lounge should usually be empty, so it was rare to even see somepony in the first place. It was even rarer for that somepony to be Golden Dawn, who as far as Insipid knew never left her floor of the tower except for important business. Since Dawn looked like she was studying a datapad of some sort in the lounge's quiet room, it must have been important business.

Normally that would mean that Insipid should stay as far away as possible; disturbing Dawn while she was working was probably just as bad as, no, maybe worse than disturbing Velvet while she was "banging" some stallion. But something about the way Dawn looked told her that it would probably be a good idea, despite everything else telling her not to. Insipid was never one to deny her impulse decisions; she wasn't about to start now.

So, Insipid knocked on the door to the quiet room and opened it up slightly and quiet-like. "Hey Dawn!" she greeted, her voice as bubbly as ever. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Insipid. For what purpose are you disturbing my studies?" Dawn responded, her voice a little slower than usual.

When Dawn turned to face her, Insipid had to use every bit of restraint she had not to gasp. Her sister had bags under her eyes that were, in a word, horrid; her mane lacked its usual luscious curls, instead looking more like a tangled mess with split ends abounds; she was sitting here in her bedrobe rather than the professional dress suit she was always known for; Dawn could barely even move her head quickly enough to count as responsive.

Insipid knew that if Rarity ever saw Dawn like this, she'd have a fit— no, she'd faint first, then have a conniption fit, and then give Dawn the third-degree about how a lady is supposed to take care of themselves. But Rarity wasn't here, and so Insipid knew it was her job to do what Rarity would do. Except the fainting part; Insipid would skip the fainting part.

"Uh… are you alright, sis?" Insipid asked.

Dawn snorted. "What business is it of yours how I am?"

"Well, um… no offense, Dawnie, but… excuse my language, but you look terrible." Insipid was proud of her restraint. Havoc and Velvet would not have been so kind.

Dawn looked directly at Insipid now, such that Insipid could see the red in her sister's eyes. "My physical appearance should be none of your concern. I will inquire again, perhaps more clearly: why are you here?"

"I'm actually looking for Velvet, but that can wait a little while." Insipid entered the room and shut the door behind her. "What's wrong, sis? I've, like, never seen you like this."

"It is none of your—"

Insipid stamped her hoof. "Dawnie. I'm your sister. It is totally my concern if there's something wrong with you. You look exhausted and junk. Are you okay?"

Dawn stared at her a moment, clearly considering her words. Then, she snorted. "Velvet has left the tower for the evening, and will be unlikely to return until morning. It would be in your best interest to attempt communication with her then, and in my best interest if you took your leave. I have no time to waste on your inanity."

Insipid frowned, hurt. Dawn was always quick to dismiss her as being stupid, even though the rest of their sisters had long since realized that Insipid had been getting better about how airheaded she'd been before. It was a slow process, but Insipid was immensely proud of herself for the progress she'd made, and her sisters were too. Except Dawn.

But Dawn was her sister and Insipid still loved her, even when she was being mean like this. She wasn't about to just let this go, but she knew she had to be sneaky about it. Devious. What would Curaçao do?

"Well… thanks, I guess…" she replied. "Um, I also wanted to ask a few questions about the wedding and junk? I mean, if that's, like, okay with you?"

Dawn perked up slightly at this. The wedding meant a lot to her as a political maneuver and would get her attention for sure. "What manner of questions?"

"Oh, y'know, just about the proper attire or whatever. You only told me that we were invited and, like, that we could invite a guest? But, like, you never told me what I should wear! This is the first wedding I've ever been to, and like, I want to make a good impression!"

"An impressive instance of forethought from you," Dawn murmured. She shook her head. "If you must inquire, however, I would suggest seeking out Curaçao. She is more knowledgeable on the subject of proper wedding attire than I am. Fashion is beneath my concerns."

Insipid brushed that thought off with her hoof. "Pshaw! I can dress myself just fine, sis, that's not what I wanted to know. I just need, like, a color scheme for the dress. Should I go with off-white, or whatever, so that it's not the same color as the bride's gown? I know it would be major unfresh to upstage Her Majesty."

Dawn blinked. "A… color scheme. Yes, um… I believe that 'off-white' will suffice. We were not informed of any substantial deviations from the traditional expectations of a wedding, and my understanding is that 'off-white' is a suitable coloration for bridesmaids and female guests."

"Great! Perfect! I know just what to wear, then," Insipid said with a nod. She already knew what she was going to wear and had been planning it ever since receiving the invitation, but Dawn didn't need to know that. "Thanks, sis, you've been, like, a total peach and junk. Cha."

"Hmph," Dawn snorted. "Very well. If our business is concluded, then I would prefer to return to my studies without further interruption."

"Oh, for sure, I can totally get our of your mane." Time to strike. "Um… speaking of manes, do you want help touching yours up or anything? You look a mess, and you usually keep it looking so nice!"

"I do not require assistance with my mane, sister, thank you. I just need some peace and quiet—" Dawn suddenly yawned, and quite openly at that. "So if you would please leave?"

Aha, that's it, Insipid thought. "Are you feeling okay, Dawnie? You look tired. Maybe you should get some sleep?"

"I will sleep once I have completed my tasks—" Another yawn, smaller this time. "For the evening. Please… just leave."

Insipid stood her ground. "Dawn, c'mon, just tell me what's the matter. Are you sick?"

Dawn clenched her teeth. "If I explain further, will you vacate the premises?"

"Totally."

"Fine. If you must know, I have experienced minor inconsistencies with my sleeping pattern as of late. I personally blame the beds in that hotel at Hope's Point. A fault in their manufacturing, clearly."

"Trouble sleeping, huh? Have you, like, tried sleeping pills or something?"

Dawn huffed. "I refuse to partake in medicinal aids. I am apprehensive of potentially developing a dependence."

"Ah, yeah, that makes sense." Insipid tapped her chin. "How about listening to, like, music?"

Dawn raised an eyebrow. "Music?"

"Yeah! Or white noise or something, I dunno. I know that Daddy used to always listen to music to, like, calm his nerves and junk?" She scrunched up her nose, but smiled regardless. "I don't like Daddy's taste in music, though. Blech. Opera? Classical? Bo-ring. But, like, I guess that'd put you to sleep! So… yeah!"

"That… you…" Dawn blinked and stared at the ground as though struck by some horrifying realization. "That is surprisingly insightful…"

"Thanks!"

"If the effort proved lucrative for Father, then perhaps… perhaps I shall make an attempt to sleep tonight with the aid of a musical accompaniment." Dawn immediately stood, then motioned for Insipid to move out of the way. "I will continue my work in my bedchambers for the time being. If you would step aside?"

Insipid hopped out of the way with a smile. "Sure! Uh… good luck with your work, Dawnie! Good night!"

Dawn huffed. "Good night, Insipid." She said nothing else—not even a "thank you"—just headed for the elevator as quickly as she seemed to be able to move.

Insipid watched her go, a slight grin on her face, then shook her head and sighed. Havoc might've gotten peeved, but she'd let it slide. Anyway, she headed for the elevator too, knowing she'd have to wait for Dawn to get upstairs, and then she planned on heading home for the night. She'd find another way to get in touch with Velvet in the morning.

For now, she was just happy to help her younger sister with a problem. If the music worked and Dawn got some sleep, then maybe she wouldn't be such a grump all the time.

Maybe.

*****

Dawn arrived in her bedchambers just shy of midnight and immediately set down the datapad she'd been working on for the past hour. She hadn't gotten much reading done, unfortunately; she'd had some trouble keeping herself from blending words and lines together despite attempts to focus.

She felt surprisingly eager to test out Insipid's idea, a rare sentence if there ever was one. Her elder sister had never been known for her intellect, but the idea had some merit and there was no harm in trying, was there?

Despite sleeping in this room every night for the past seven months—she'd resisted the urge to move in at first and had remained in her old room for two months—Dawn had yet to make any personal changes to the majority of it. She'd even neglected to remove her father's wardrobe from its proper place, as there was enough room to put her own outfits in there without issue and she didn't mind sharing.

In fact, she was certain the only thing about the room that she'd changed at all were the accoutrements in the bathroom—the soaps, shampoos, and the like. Using her father's bed was one thing, using his old toothbrush was another. That and she wasn't fond of the shampoo her father used; it smelled too masculine for her tastes, at least if she was the one using it. It suited him just fine.

Thus, there was an entertainment center built into the wall opposite from the bed that she had never touched, at least beyond getting familiar with it. A simple press of a button on the side of the bed opened up the wall, displaying various means of entertainment that her father partook in, none of which she had used herself. It all cleaned itself via subtle technomagic functions, so she'd never even had to open the center to maintain it.

She ignored the television, which was the main feature of the center and which she knew her father surely only ever used for informational and educational purposes. Her father was not the sort to sully his brilliant mind with the unenlightened entertainment programs that the plebian ponies of the city enjoyed. None of the inane sports that Havoc and Gray watched fervently; none of the trashy films that Velvet slobbered over; none of the overindulgent fashion programs that Insipid lost herself in.

What she did focus on was the old record player, as well as the large portfolio of records beneath it: her father's music collection. She'd heard the sort of music her father enjoyed on the rare occasion he was listening to any of it when she delivered reports before his departure from this life. He kept an exact copy of the record player and each record in his office; he was just that dedicated to having access to the genuine sound. The tower's elevator system was also cued to play from digital copies, but Dawn had never used those either.

There were so many records here that Dawn didn't even know where to start, truth be told. Each and every vinyl disc contained various classical compositions, operatic movements, and assorted waltzes, ballads, and concertos, none of which she had much knowledge of beyond fundamental academic purposes.

Looking over it all made her feel a sense of regret. Her father had once invited her to sit and listen to a record with him, but she'd been much too busy to do so. The secret plan to befriend and aid Twilight Sparkle took precedence over everything else in her life. It made her realize that since all of her memories of him beyond those brief few weeks were fabricated, she had never actually spent a private father-daughter moment with him.

Unable to conceive of a method for choosing a record, Dawn opted to pick randomly, snagging a vinyl disk from the bottommost row. The label and sleeve indicated it was some sort of symphonic suite that had once been meant to accompany a live theater performance without spoken words. Sounds of Winter. The imagery on the cover indeed certainly suggested a winter theme, with white snowflakes over a cool blue background and touches of holly in the corners.

She took a breath and turned the player on, then set the record onto the player, placed the needle upon it, and readied herself for bed. This amounted to just removing her bathrobe and donning a set of purple silk pajamas, combing her mane a little straighter, and pouring herself a glass of water from her personal refrigerator. She did this all at once with her magic, a difficult task for average unicorns but not for her, though her exhaustion did make it harder than usual.

Then, she settled into bed just as the music was starting, snuggling herself as comfortably as possible underneath the covers and letting her head and body sink into the pillow and mattress.

The music began slowly, softly, with gentle wind instruments and the occasional violin accompaniment. Dawn closed her eyes and focused entirely on the sound of the instruments, drowning out every other little thought in her head. If there was one thing Dawn felt she was good at, it was focusing on a tangible task, one that had no immediately apparent abstracts. Centering herself on her "aura" had proven difficult, so she just focused herself on the flutes and clarinets, on the gentle strings of the violin, on the occasional oboe that joined in.

The performers were incredibly talented, that much was for certain. She wasn't sure why she exactly knew that, but suspected that it was a subliminal thought, a part of her psyche that her father had given her in hopes of molding her into the perfectly prim and proper daughter she was. The instruments were gentle, and another part of her psyche told her how to interpret the notes and envision the image they were meant to convey.

She pictured a snow-covered expanse in her head, nothing but white as far as the eye could see. A slow, gentle snowfall descended from above, carried just enough by a tranquil breeze to make the snowflakes dance. Dawn had never even seen snow before, not with her own eyes; she had never felt its touch or its chill. And yet, the music told her everything she needed to know about it, every detail from the precise way the snowflakes drifted about in the air to the subtle sensation of the cold underneath her hooves.

It was easy enough to picture herself in that snowy field now, to see herself knee-deep in white powder. She lifted a hoof from the snow and took a step forward, relishing in the resistance it gave her to keep her from leaving and the eagerness with which it took her back. The chill was refreshing, crisp and cool against her nose and yet not so cold as to be uncomfortable. Refreshing, actually; that was how she wanted to describe the sensation. Refreshing.

As the music transitioned into its next movement, Dawn's perception changed. The empty field of snow became a forest filled with pines. She knew they were pines not just from how they looked, but from the smell of the needles in the air, and she'd never even smelled real pine before. She walked through the forest alongside a river which gently babbled along without a care in the world. She watched the river flow as the snow fell upon it, and listened to the babbling die down as the water slowly froze over.

This continued on through change after change in the music, as images swirled in Dawn's mind's eye again and again with each substitution of instruments. The rhythmic thumps of a drum and bang of a cymbal made snow fall from the trees in clumps; the gentle whistles of flutes came with a change in the wind's velocity; the sound of sleigh bells transported Dawn into the seat of a sleigh pulled along through the woods by an unseen force.

Suddenly, Dawn found herself back that endless expanse of perfectly white snow, all other details melting away into nothing. She could no longer feel the cold chill of the winter night, no longer feel the snow beneath her hooves, no longer even hear the music that accompanied all these sensations. All she could hear was… nothing. And yet she was not worried in the slightest, but felt more calm than she had felt in months.

"It has been some time, my Warden. My daughter," came her father's voice from behind her.

Dawn turned and saw the figure of her father, Silvertongue, standing there as she last remembered seeing him. He was a tall, well-built stallion with a silvery-white coat and a golden blond mane. He wore no clothes, but was wrapped in an ethereal stuff that she could not describe, a black, inky mass that took the shape of a hooded robe. One of his eyes was a beautiful, normal blue, while the other was entirely gold, bright and shimmering like a star.

Most crucially, he had both the horn of a unicorn and the wings of a pegasus. He was no longer a normal stallion, no. He was what he called an "alicorn", a being of immeasurable power, nothing short of a god-like in scope.

"Father!" Dawn exclaimed, unable to resist the urge to smile like a filly.

She ran to him through the snow and embraced him, and he returned the embrace gently. Though she could not describe the feeling as physical in any sense, there came with it a metaphysical sense of warmth and safety, a feeling of returning home after spending a long time abroad and away from the one she loved most in the world.

"I have not conversed with you in months, Father. Forgive me," she said, remaining in his embrace without fear or discomfort to trouble her.

"There is nothing to forgive, my dear," he replied, his voice coming both from his mouth and from all around her, even inside her head. The sensation was akin to having all of her senses drowned in his presence; all that mattered to her was him. "I have seen in your attempts that your mind has not been at ease for a long while."

She glumly nodded. "Indeed. The symptoms indicated an extraordinary level of stress, so… my focus faltered. I have been incapable of sleep." She shook her head to clear away the negativity. "How did you do it, Father? How did you accomplish so much and manage such pressure?"

He rubbed her back gently, sending a ripple of calm through her. "I'm afraid it is I who must apologize, dearest, for putting that pressure on you in the first place. The circumstances of your birth have deprived you of some things that I could never have hoped to implant in your or your sisters."

"And what is that?"

"Experience." He let out a sigh and looked up at the cold, black emptiness above. "You have a brilliant mind, Dawn, and a power so great that it should be the envy of any unicorn. But I could never teach you the things that you'd need so that you could accomplish what you expect of yourself. That is my fault. I lacked the time to properly raise you into the mare I know you can be."

She frowned, her entire being filled with the regret and sorrow that he must have felt. "Do not blame yourself, Father—"

"Oh, but I must. I have placed a burden on you and your sisters, and though I provided you all with as many tools and resources as I could, I'm afraid that I was never a good father to any of you." He shook his head. "You all deserved better, and for that, I am sorry."

"Father, I… we would never deign to fault you for how our situation progressed," Dawn said carefully; she knew in her heart that her sisters loved their father dearly and would never blame him, either. "I am accomplishing a great deal thanks to your teachings and guidance. I simply must endeavor to uncover a method for relieving stress."

"Hmm… perhaps."

She tilted her head. "Would it be possible to request advice, Father?"

"I cannot and will not advise or coddle you, Dawn," he said firmly. "That is how Nihila operated, how she treated me and her Wardens before me. Harmonia does not interact with her Wardens in such a fashion. She trusts them to make decisions with wisdom and affection; she trusted me with the same, once upon a time."

Dawn paused, then gave a small nod. "I believe I understand, Father. You wish for us to succeed upon our own merits. I assure you that I will make you proud."

Silvertongue broke the embrace from his daughter, leaving her feeling emptier than before, and he looked at her with a solemn frown. "I am already proud of everything that you and your sisters have accomplished. I regret that I cannot help you directly in your journeys."

He then lifted and glanced at one of his hooves as if it were utterly alien to him. "I fear that I both underestimated and overestimated just what I would become capable of once I achieved my goal."

She raised an eyebrow, confusion washing over her like a wave; her father never seemed so uncertain before, and she could feel that uncertainty. "What do you mean?"

"Nihila and Harmonia are the most powerful beings in existence in our world, powerful beyond mortal comprehension," he said. As he did so, the dreamscape around them shifted and swirled with color, mostly silver and orange. "But it is tied almost entirely within the Dreaming. My ability to affect the mortal plane is depressingly ambiguous.

"I can communicate directly with you, my dear, for you are my Warden. With time and practice, you may learn to channel my essence directly into your being, such that I may communicate with others, though it will put tremendous strain on you. That is the limit of what I am aware of at present, I'm afraid."

"But… Father, is Nihila not responsible for the state of the north being the way it is currently?" she asked, growing more confused and anxious at his dismay. "The death of life? The inhospitable terrain? The pollution in the soils far beyond our city walls?"

"Yes, and no. It is the Beacon that is responsible for much of the decay in the north, and that is where my consternation lies. It is no easy task to manipulate Darkness to inspire positive growth and change. I am making attempts, but their effects may take years to bear fruit and I know not the outcomes they will bring."

With a sigh, he continued. "In my lifetime, I have committed a great many atrocities in the name of the greater good. I have murdered untold numbers of individuals; exterminated a sentient, peaceful race; enslaved my enemies and built this city upon their labors and bones. I embraced the Darkness with all of my being, because that is what needed to be done to save this world.

"But through it all, I maintained a single, unassailable virtue: patience." He set his hoof firmly into the returning snow, creating a fleeting whirlwind of ice. "And it is with that patience that I will usher in change. That, my dear, I can promise you."

"If anypony could possibly overcome such an insurmountable challenge, Father, I know it is you," Dawn said, gently touching her father's chest.

He smiled; she felt a jolt of warmth flood her heart. "Thank you, my dear. Your assurance means a great deal to me. I truly wish that I had had more time to spend with you and your sisters, that we had come to be a true family." He set his hoof upon her shoulder. "But you have much to do in the morning, do you not? Sleep well, Dawn. I look forward to our next conversation."

"As do I, Father," she said. After a brief pause, she added, "I love you…"

"And I you, my dearest. Give my love to your sisters for me."

And then the music returned with gusto, the instruments' tempo changing ever-so-slightly from how it had once been. The ice and snow slowly began to melt around Dawn as the season came to its end. The subtle warmth of spring replaced the chilly bite of winter; the sun came out to play with a glorious, triumphant reveal to dispel the clouds and darkness.

Now all Dawn could hear was the sound of the record player with no more record to play. She opened her eyes slowly. Her head felt surprisingly clear, more than she could remember feeling for several weeks now. She sat up and out of habit glanced over at the alarm clock on her nightstand, expecting only a few hours at best to have passed.

It was almost noon.

*****

In the hidden passages far below New Pandemonium City, the stench of mold and decay permeated the air so strongly that it was almost nauseating. Darkness was ever-present; natural light did not make its way down here in any capacity. The distant sound of dropping water indicated that the foundation above was cracked enough to let in slight traces of sewer water; this did nothing to improve the smell.

Power Flux grimaced as took a noseful of the air into his nostrils. He'd gotten mostly used to the odor by now, but that didn't mean he found it pleasant by any means. He had gotten used to the lack of light, though, and yet was still accustomed enough to light that he could stand the glare of his flashlight as it shone against the nearby wall. Getting the device to work at all down here was a miracle—he and his Brothers and Sisters normally used candles—but the effort was worth it.

He stood outside of a cell built into the wall of an old building that had long since fallen apart, but was still composed enough to serve as a makeshift prison. Iron bars had been erected into gates and firmly planted to turn small rooms into cells, and repair work had been done to ensure that prisoners could not escape.

He'd overseen every step along the way from the moment he'd been given his task. Any lapse would fall upon him, and failure was not an option. Not this time.

He stared into the cell and looked upon the pony within. A unicorn mare. Young, maybe early twenties? A rough guess, not important. She was malnourished, her frame thin enough that he could just see the faint outline of her ribcage. She was nude, of course, a method of further demeaning her. Her horn had been broken. He'd done the deed himself with a sledgehammer; it was quick, blunt, and most importantly, painful yet nonfatal. In the darkness he couldn't tell what color her coat and mane had once been; he hadn't been the one to personally take her down here, either.

Who had this mare been a month ago, he wondered. The thought was brief, however, because that didn't matter anymore.

The most important thing about her was her eyes. In the faint light created by his flashlight's reflection, he could see that her eyes were not those of a mare with any fight still left in her. Hers were the eyes of a truly broken mare, a soul who had utterly given up on hope. She barely even reacted when Flux aimed his light directly at her; she clearly had not the energy nor the drive to do so.

Yes, she was ready to harvest.

He turned to the pony behind him, a robe-clad pegasus stallion just like himself, though with an off-white coat. "Brother Skyfall, you have done well. Bring her to the altar. Our Dark Lady feeds tonight."

Skyfall nodded, a faint glimmer of a smile visible beneath his robes. "At once, Brother Flux." Without much aplomb, he took a key from his belt and opened the cell door, then strode in and grabbed the other mare by her mane. "Come along, girl. Your suffering is at an end."

The mare did not respond; she did not fight back or struggle. She just allowed herself to be dragged along by Skyfall, with Flux walking behind them.

They passed several other makeshift cages, each with a pony of their own held within. Some of the ponies watched the two Brothers walk past with their sacrifice in tow but said and did nothing; Flux could see the fear in their eyes.

One moved forward and tried to reach out to snatch the keys from Skyfall's belt; Flux bashed the fool on the head with his flashlight just once—he enjoyed the feeling of impact on the skull—enough to dissuade others from a similar attempt.

Some even groped at the cages and pleaded for release, and these were mostly ignored, save for Flux shining his light in their eyes to shoo them away like the rats that they were.

The altar chamber had been built at the center of the prison using an old room that had been mostly intact and which was large enough to suit their needs. The altar itself was made of solid stone, carefully crafted by hoof from the derelict bricks and concrete of the surrounding structure, repurposed for something far greater than whatever purpose the building had once served in centuries past.

Skyfall set the mare upon the altar upon her stomach first, then rolled her over onto her back. Flux busied himself with lighting a few scented candles around the altar, ushering in a pleasant light to the room and replacing the stench of mold with the aroma of sandalwood.

The mare barely reacted to any of this, which was perfect; any sign of struggle, any showing of fear or worry, and he would know she was not ready. A pony's soul was not suitable unless it was completely drained of any sense of hope, be it for escape, sympathy, rescue, or anything else.

The only hope that was accepted was the hope for the sweet release of death.

The ceremony itself was simple. Skyfall, as the lesser of the two Brothers present, would perform the low, guttural chanting to set the tone. Flux, a dagger in one hoof, situated himself above the mare, and looked to the ceiling. It was his duty to invoke their Mistress's presence, a duty which he relished. He had never been this close to the Dark Lady before; these several months had been the happiest of his life.

"O, Dark Lady, we entreat You," Flux called, loudly enough that his voice would carry out of the room and be heard by other prisoners. "We offer up a soul this evening, a meager offering from Your pitiable mortal servants. May Your darkness never falter. May the world quake at Your return, drowned in fire and blood!"

With a sudden, sharp motion, he drove the dagger down with all of his weight into the heart of the mare beneath him. Whatever life was left in her was released as a pitiful, pained screech, one that only intensified when Flux twisted the dagger as hard as he could to elicit the most pain possible. Then she went silent, the light in her eyes dying out as her soul left this mortal coil and was consumed by its rightful owner.

Flux rose from his handiwork, leaving the dagger buried in the mare's heart, and briefly wiped his nose. He could feel the wetness of her blood all over his hoof; he could smell it as it ran under his nostril, taste it as it brushed his lips. It was a truly wonderful feeling. Someday soon, the blood upon his hooves would be that of the Dark Lady's most hated enemies, and he hoped more than anything that he would be permitted to deliver them to her.

"Well done, Brother Flux," came a voice from the back of the room. "You make our Mistress proud."

Flux was shocked that there was another pony in the room, seeing as tonight, only himself and Skyfall were on duty. Well, he was always on duty; Skyfall rotated in and out with others as needed to maintain their cover on the surface. The other pony present was one of the twins, a yellow-coated unicorn stallion with a two-tone white and red mane, and this brother bore a goatee—the other bore a mustache, and this was the only way to tell the two apart. An appreciated courtesy.

"Leader Grit, this is a surprise," Flux said with a slight bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Skyfall, who turned in shock as well to see one of their Glorious Leaders present and gave a bow just as quickly, but said nothing.

"This is only a brief visit, comrades, yes, very brief indeed. I bring tidings, tidings both good and ill." Grit stepped over to the altar and casually ran his hoof under the dead mare's chin. "But first, I must commend you on your work here. In such a short time, your dedication to the cause has given the Dark Lady such a deluge of souls that She has regained in strength."

Flux's eyes widened in glee. "Truly?"

"Truly. My dear brother mine has been given visions most clear, the clearest they've been since the Betrayal. In time, he may yet be able to commune with Her as he once did, before these troubling times." He set his hoof upon Flux's shoulder. "You have done Her a great service. There will be a place for you by Her side in the end times."

"I eagerly await that day, Leader," Flux said with a nod and a grin. "You spoke of tidings, though? What news do you bring?"

Grit absently fiddled with the dagger in the mare's chest, a curious look upon his face. "Do you read the papers, Brother Flux? Specifically the New Pandemonium Times, perhaps?"

"I get few opportunities to do so, Leader," Flux admitted.

"I read it, Leader," noted Skyfall with a nod. "Daily, in fact."

"Then you know of the recent trends, Brother Skyfall?" asked Grit, turning to face him. Flux was left only slightly upset that attention had been diverted away from himself.

"You mean the fixation with Hope's Point?" Skyfall asked, eyebrow raised. "Believe me, Leader, I am well aware. Admiral Hotstreak has begun issuing discreet orders among the officers that we are likely to dismantle much of the fleet in the name of peace."

"Hmm, yes, you are well-established within those ranks, are you not, Brother?"

Skyfall nodded again, pride flickering across his features. "Yes, Leader, though I am but a mere Captain. I heard the news directly from my CO, Commander Rocket Flare."

Grit smirked. "I see, I see. You may yet have future responsibilities in our Glorious Design, Brother Skyfall. Yes, a grand purpose indeed."

He turned back to Flux, who was just glad to finally get the attention back. "This 'peace' is an abomination, Brothers. A true antithesis to the very core of Our Dark Lady's wishes. However… it presents an opportunity. Our enemies are blind with ambition. While their eyes roam south in an attempt to foster peace, they lose focus on what is beneath their very noses."

"But… the CIA has opened an investigation into our actions, Leader," Flux said, tilting his head. "They will never find us, true, but I am not so certain that we are beneath their notice."

"Perhaps, Brother Flux, perhaps, but that is itself an opportunity." Grit grinned and set his hoof upon Flux's shoulder, hard. "While our enemies scurry in the light in search of crumbs and clues, and while you and our Brothers and Sisters harrow them at every turn, their eyes are not where they should be."

"And where is that?"

Grit gently set his hoof to his lips. "Ah, that is known only to me and my dear brother mine, Brother. Our Dark Lady's clearer visions have gifted us with the means to bring about Her Glorious Return. My brother and I depart soon with all the resources and brethren we can spare, to someplace where our foes will never find us.

"You, my dear Brother Flux, and those that remain behind, have been given a great purpose, and you will continue on with the tasks set before you. There will come a time soon when our Dark Lady will want you to strike at Her foes, to drag them down when they are at their most vulnerable." Grit tapped Flux's chest. "You will know when the time is right."

Flux put his hoof to his heart, feeling slightly breathless. "She… She will speak to me?"

"My dear brother mine has assured me of it," Grit said with a smile. "But the road ahead will not be easy, Brother. In the end, you may yet lose your life in service to Our Dark Lady. Are you prepared for that eventuality?"

"Nothing would make me happier than to give myself to Her, Leader," Flux replied with a deep bow. "Body and soul."

"Well spoken, Brother Flux, well spoken indeed." Grit casually took the dagger from the dead mare's chest and passed it to Flux as an offering. "May Her return drown this world in fire and blood."

Flux grinned and took his dagger back. "Fire and blood, Leader. I wish you well on your journey."

"And you as well, Brother. Until we meet again at Her side."

And with that, Leader Grit stepped back into the darkness at the back of the room, vanishing as suddenly as he had appeared.

Flux turned to Skyfall and gave him a terse nod. "Brother Skyfall, we have much work to do. Are you prepared to give everything in the name of our Dark Lady?"

Skyfall briefly crossed his hooves over his chest. "As always, Brother. Body and soul."

Flux simply smiled, then hefted the corpse of the dead mare into a deep, dark pit behind the altar where it joined the dozens of others just like it.

Comments

[RoboRed]

Poor, tortured unicorn pony...

Looks like the cultists are planning a move now, but it's yet unclear if they plan to strike at Pandemonium or at Hope's Point.

Dawn is still being abrasive and single minded but I hope she takes Insipid's insight and attempts to help her to heart. At least it got her in contact with Silvertongue again.