Letters With A Side of Mocha
The ponies I've been interacting with most are one who thinks she's part-cat with a penchant for jump-scares, and one who would be considered certifiably insane back home. With all due respect, I hope you don't let whatever quirks you might have go to your head. Otherwise, this friendship you're offering is going to go south real quick. If we can keep things civil at worst and professional at best, that would be wonderful.
I'm sorry if I sound a bit dour in this letter. My patron found out that a family member was pregnant and took off for Baltimare not an hour ago as of this writing, leaving me alone and in charge of the theater until she returns in three days. The logistics of running a military squadron are very different from those of house-sitting a civilian operation, never mind a theater, so I'm out of my element. I'm contemplating just hanging a sign on the door and putting myself in hibernation until she comes home.
So to pass the time, I have a question I want to ask you. Assuming you're as long-lived as everypony claims you are, you've probably read your fair share of fiction. If you have, then you've likely seen stories about those that end up trapped in other worlds. What's your perspective on them? Obviously no one story is going to be able to please everypony, but if the author at least tries to show as many relevant perspectives as possible--with emphasis on relevant--wouldn't you agree that getting others to see the bigger picture is one of their primary goals?
The reason I bring that up is because I once had someone I viewed as a genuine friend. That friendship ultimately ended thanks to my insistence on following the orders of a maniac, though from time to time I still wonder if he's doing alright. The fact that he was right all along and I was just too blind to see it indicates to me that my perspective was incomplete, that I wasn't able to see the bigger picture. And the fact that I'm still alive after being thoroughly disintegrated tells me that my own journey is not complete, that I still have work that I need to do somewhere.
With that in mind, I would like to get your point of view. Bear in mind that I'm not trying to sound suspicious or accusatory when I ask this: what is your ulterior motive in wanting to become friends with me? What could I possibly have done to earn that sort of attention from somepony who probably has a hundred better things to do--like, say, running the country? What sort of role do you want to play in this story that hasn't yet ended?
Don't get me wrong; your invitation was a very pleasant surprise, and I'm happy to have gotten it. It's just that operating with incomplete information rankles to some degree, and I'd prefer not to go through that again. The need to see the bigger picture is something I need to keep reminding myself of, lest I fall into the same trap that I did before.
Regarding your question about the Heartbreakers, I am unclear. One of my acquaintances referred to them as "the Holy Grail of sugarholics", so I have to assume it's as Hassleberry said. However, since sugar consumption does absolutely nothing to my systems, the numbers on the packaging mean nothing to me. I doubt that's what you wanted, but it's all I can offer on that topic. The mystery as to why it's both a viable Energen substitute for me and unhealthiness personified for ponies is still just that: a mystery.
Fairy Leviathan
Private Citizen
P.S. I agree to your offer of a collaboration. In harmony with the above, if you keep me informed, I will do the same for you.
I give the letter another once-over. This is probably as good as I'm going to be able to get it, I decide as I date the letter. Just like I knew what I was doing.
Getting it ready to mail isn't too difficult, as I'm able to use the other envelopes that haven't been opened yet as a template for what to do. Once it's fully prepared, though, I set it aside. I took a peek outside in-between paragraphs, and it's still raining. The letter isn't so important that it can't wait for the weather to cooperate. Keeping it intact and entirely undamaged would probably give those at the Castle a better impression of me if they ever saw it.
Compared to the Princess's letter everything else seems minor, but I suppose I should at least look things over just to be safe. Alright, Message #1...
"'Get out of here, freak! Nopony wants you here!'" I read aloud, rolling my eyes. "Huh. Tell us how you really feel." I rip the letter and its envelope to shreds over the wastebasket. "Message #2, with no name provided... and yet they're threatening me with a restraining order? Yes, really useful info there." Rip, tear, done. "Message #3... it's a letter from 'a secret admirer'. Charming, but they're not my type or my species." Impalement via Frost Javelin; by coincidence, it's straight through a heart doodle that was in the center. "Message #4... it's from someone who isn't impressed with my life story as printed. The truth has that effect on ponies, I see." Crinkle, crinkle, stuff. "Message #5..."
Now this one seems a bit more worthwhile. It's from Turkey Bowl, inviting me to attend his next competition as a spectator and offering to pay any fees. I know as much about bowling as I do about barbeques, but it seems like it would make a fun little distraction. I take note of the printed date and confirm it as the day Drama said that she'd return, setting the letter aside.
And as for Letter #6, it's...
...
Huh. And here I was just trying to get her to keep her hooves off the Pyre. She took my presence a little harder than I thought. And what's this piece of paper that just fell out...?
...! Alright, this merits a closer look.
Machine, a few words with you. You have no reason to listen, but I beg of you: please hear me out. I have a confession to make.
The night of the hit against the Pyre, I had told those ruffians that Salamandra was the reason why my theater wasn't bringing in as much money. I was lying through my teeth: the fault lies with me, and me alone. Years ago, my dear Moissanite died through circumstances that none of us saw coming, and his lack of support has worn away at my nerves since. I suspect that others saw past my friendly facade and concluded that my business sense had taken a hit from my grief, and they wouldn't be wrong. My critical thinking ability has suffered, and I count it a blessing most days if I am able to think straight without wailing in grief. I have been seeing and hearing threats where there are none, internally viewing even those I trusted as threats: paranoia has sunk its fangs into me despite my best efforts at shaking its grip. Even the Lonely Heart nightclub, the one place where I thought I might be safe outside of home, has felt increasingly threatening in the days since the Midnight Castles were toppled.
In my distress and jealousy, I saw Salamandra as a threat to my well-being and sought to demoralize her. If you hadn't been present, I would have ruined an innocent pony's life. I do not deserve forgiveness for this, so don't you dare start thinking that just because I'm complaining about my life. That is not my goal.
As long as I am getting everything off my chest, I suppose I should tell you. Whatever caused my husband's death struck out of nowhere. Up until then there were few things I feared, but the suddenness of it left me wondering just how many threats to my own life there were.
To this day nopony that I have asked have been able to determine why and how it happened. He was friendly by nature, and had no real enemies; he had no harmful vices, so he was of sound mind and lacked any lingering health issues. The autopsy revealed no heart or blood problems, nothing wrong with his brain, no sign of physical harm, and no traces of either malevolent magic or poison. The only clue is that his Cutie Mark was completely erased as if it had never existed.
My point is that I am not a strong pony. I am afraid of the unknown, Miss Leviathan. I am afraid that whatever killed my husband will claim me as well. As the cherry on top, your emergence has not been good for my health. You talked about yourself at length in the newspaper, but your words served to frighten, not reassure. And the revelation that there's another world out there, chock full of ideas and concepts that I don't understand, has driven me to act out of self-preservation. I refuse to meet the same fate as my beloved Moissanite.
So, I am leaving Manehattan. As of now all of the real estate that I own, up to and including the Golden Bell Performing Arts Center and Museum, are up for sale. Whether or not anypony buys them and closes on the properties in a reasonable time frame, I intend to be gone from here as soon as possible. In laypony's terms, I am quitting the theater and retiring from management. It's just not the same in this city anymore, not without my husband and not with my life in potential danger. Perhaps Las Pegasus will be a pleasant change for me; it's certainly far enough away, and maybe there I can find a new career to get involved in that's not so stressful. Anything would be wonderful, if only you weren't a part of it.
For the trouble I caused you and Salamandra by sending those thieves to the Pyre, please find enclosed a check for 4,000 bits. Use it to start your own account at a local bank, if you desire. It's yours if you, your kind, and your creators never interfere with my life again. I don't think my heart can take another scare.
Good-bye, Miss Leviathan.
Alexandrite
That's... not good. By that I was referring to what happened to her husband, not the money.
That little mystery is disturbing, assuming her paranoia didn't lead her to lie to me as well. I don't have any real reason to believe her, at least not entirely. But I can at least determine that she's not using her mindset as a means of escaping judgment for her misdeeds, which I can respect to some degree. Someone saying "please forgive me for doing this because I have an excuse" doesn't sit right with me unless it bothers them more.
If everything she says is true, then...
I shake my head, putting the letter down. No. What goes on in this city is none of my business. This is not my place. A one-off event like this is better off left in more practiced hands. I shouldn't get involved. I am a fighter, a strategist, a nature lover, and at times a hacker. I am not a detective.
If anything, it sounds like the sort of thing I should ask the higher-ups in the Police about. Maybe even the Princess, see if she knows anything about what could have happened---
I said stay out of it, girl. I palm my forehead, sighing. It's a struggle for me not to feel sorry for them. I don't want to get in the habit of playing hero here. Once was enough.
I pick up the check and examine it intently. As stated in the letter it's signed by Alexandrite and good for 4,000 bits, with the logo of her bank of choice in one corner and a row of numbers along the bottom. There's also a blank box labeled "Endorse This Check Here" on the back. One more thing I'm not familiar with. I should probably make a list of what I do know by now. It would be easier than listing what I don't.
I put both the check and the business mail aside until I can consult somepony. If there's one thing I do know, it's not to go into things half-prepared.
Now, how should I spend the rest of the day? I stretch my arms out in front of me as I consider my options with half my mind, double-checking my repairs with the other. I could return to hibernation like I told Celestia I was contemplating, certainly... but there's also getting back into the swing of things with my combat exercises, which Drama's excitement had interrupted. In addition, my momentary triggering of a heartsong has cued me in that magic usage might not be out of my reach, meaning that I have some research to do...
The possibility of an upcoming fight is making me grin, shoving the magic research and desire for rest aside. "Preparation it is," I say to no one as I walk quickly back to the auditorium, my weapon piecing itself together in my hand as I hurry. This should clear my head satisfactorily.
...
Or so the folder in my memory labeled "Might Need This Someday - I Hope That I Don't" would like to tell you.
Two adolescent pegasi, barely old enough to legally be considered mares, sat across from each other at a chess table. Both had deep brown eyes, coats and manes, though one of them had cream-colored specks throughout her coat and a darker manestyle, making it easy to tell them apart.
The lighter of the two favored frilly and expensive dresses and jewelry, not being afraid to throw her money around. The darker-maned pony was going through a 'tomboy' phase, shunning anything that made her look "pretty" and going for full navy blue suits and ties instead. Nopony who knew them believed that this phase would last long, thinking that she would be adopting the same dresses that her sister favored soon enough.
They were the Mocha twins, Caramel and Hazelnut, and they were the heirs to one of the oldest--if not the oldest--businesses in Equestria.
Both of them kept their eyes on the game they were playing, keeping up a running conversation all the while. "She should have received the offer today," Caramel uttered, moving one of her pawns forward a space. "How do you think she is going to respond?"
"I think she's going to write back and tell us that we're a bunch of nutters." Hazelnut did the same, if only to set her queen loose on the board later. "I don't know what the board of directors was thinking. She's a robot. She can't eat anything except those candies. She wouldn't have a reason to make a big show out of visiting one of the restaurants."
"She would not have to actually drink any of the coffees, Hazel. Nothing is stopping her from just giving what she buys to some random joes off the street. Word would still get out that the alien robot liked the restaurants enough to buy from them. I can picture the billboards now: 'I am Fairy Leviathan, and this is my favorite eatery in Manehattan.' She gets a bit of money, and the chain gets plenty of business. Everypony wins."
"As if. Did those bozos ever stop to think about the possibility that the robot's not going to want to get involved? She spelled it out plain as day that she doesn't want to linger. You'd think that they'd have figured out that not everypony are greedy slobs like they are. If the whole world worked the way they think it does, civilization would collapse because the entire population would be too busy fighting over bits to feed themselves."
"Exercising your mean streak today, Hazel?"
"I'm just fed up with the way they run this entire business, Carrie. I can't wait for the day when we can legally take charge of the company. I'd boot all of those bozos out onto the streets and replace them all with baristas. Sure, they'd need serious training for the job, but at least then we'd have actual professionals running the show. ...And we'd have some tasty coffee for meetings, too."
Caramel sighed as she moved a knight from its starting point. "I do not know what Grandpa was thinking when he hired them. I am starting to think that he does not care if the company is run properly as long as he is able to do... whatever it is he wants to do."
"Speaking of Grandpa, how is he?"
"I can sum it up in three words: 'Make your peace.'"
Hazelnut expelled a sigh of her own. "It's finally happening, isn't it?"
A few tears formed at the corners of Caramel's eyes. "I am afraid so, Hazel. You have to understand that he is an old pony, with everything that entails. He cannot make decisions like he used to, or think clearly. A year ago he was not able to spar with us anymore, if you remember."
Hazelnut moved her hooves away from the chess board. "I'm surprised it took him so long to give that up. He always seemed to be so strong." She looked up over her sister's head, her eyes distant. "I still remember the first time I saw him buck a hole through a steel beam, of all things. It wasn't even the physical strength of an earth pony that let him do that. He claimed that his muscles and his magic were in perfect alignment thanks to the family's own school of combat. I knew right then and there that I wanted to be like him."
"He seemed eager to have students, like he'd been expecting us to ask. He said that he had taught it to our parents, but... yeah.”
“Do you think we're ready, Carrie?”
Caramel placed one of her rooks into position near a pawn, daring Hazelnut to capture it with her queen but not caring when the bait wasn't taken. “I certainly hope so. I mean, we have been training in it for almost ten years now on top of everything else. Haven't managed steel yet. Best I can do is iron.”
A few seconds went by without words. “...Why do we always end up off topic like this? We were talking about the idea of a robot buying coffee.”
Caramel whickered, amused. “Give us a few more years to stop being teenagers, then ask me again. I'm having fun here.”
“Seriously,” Hazelnut complained. “Suppose somepony in the far future decides to write our biographies. What are they going to say? 'These ponies didn't stay on topic, so we intentionally left this chapter blank!'”
“That's assuming somepony would even want to write about us,” Caramel countered. “Or read about us, for that matter. The company's been around for more than nine hundred years and has survived all manner of events and disasters. The chances of us doing anything of note compared to our predecessors aren't very good. To manage that...”
“...we'd have to do a lot better than convince a robot to buy coffee.”
“Hazel, I'm telling you. The robot doesn't actually have to drink any of it...”
…
Two sibling mares on the verge of adulthood. They talked about a wide variety of things, as children are prone to do. They did it for fun, for distraction, and for consolation in the face of what they knew would soon come. And they did it because they knew that they wouldn't be able to keep this up forever.
They knew that sooner or later, they would need to grow up.
In a darkened room three floors above their suite and on the opposite side of the building, an elderly pony fought with everything he had to stay alive in the face of the inevitable.
Slow, measured breaths. No wasted movement. Everything he did was in defiance of the prognosis he was given the evening before.
He wasn't going to go down without a fight. Far as he was concerned, it was not going to happen. He just had too many cards to play. All the same, it continued creeping closer.
Gingerly, he raised a hoof up to a bell kept on his bedside table, tapping it. A moment later, a torrent of light and a unicorn-shaped silhouette signaled the arrival of the one being he trusted the most in this world. "What is it, sir? Do you require any painkillers?"
He started to say no, but flinched and gritted his teeth at a sudden spasm. "...Yes, please. And some water. In addition, I would like for you to send word to my agents elsewhere in Equestria. Notify them only that 'it's almost time'. That should be enough to make them run to Manehattan..." He coughed a few times. "Blasted dry throat... and that young good-looking unicorn. What was her name? Stratos...?" He shook his head minutely, cutting off his servant. "No no, doesn't matter. Just make sure she lingers in the city for a little while longer. Use any means you see fit."
"Of course, sir. Would this be about Manehattan's foreign resident?"
"Heh... ech... what gave it away?"
"The newspaper on the floor, sir."
"Forgot that was there. The so-called 'Siren General' is only half the reason. Can't you feel it?" The old-timer found the energy to smile. "That sensation like an earthquake in your ribs?"
"Not at all, sir."
"I can. It's getting bigger, just a little more with each passing day..." A violent coughing fit interrupted him for several moments. His servant remained unmoving at the door, knowing from past experience that his boss wanted to fight this on his own. "...Ucccch... one day soon, one day. Leave me, Ignition. Carry out your duties... wait," he backpedaled, the pony stopping before he could go. "This can't be emphasized enough. Make sure that my family does not find out about any of this. Those nosy runts are too good-hearted to be trusted with their silence. One whiff of this, and they'll..." A pause to clear his throat. "...they'll go straight to the Royal Police. Keep them from finding out, whatever you do."
"As you wish. Anything else, sir?"
"No. Dismissed."
The silhouette turned and left, and the pillar of light disappeared as the bedroom door shut. The old stallion turned all of his attention to his struggle to outlast the final enemy that all ponies must face someday.
Slow, measured breaths. No wasted movement... and a wicked smile, indiscernible in the darkness.
The time to vacate the throne may come sooner than you think, Celestia, and not in the way you think... "Eh-heh-heh-heh...heh...hehccchhh!" Another wracking cough. Rrrgh, blasted poor health, won't even let me do a proper evil laugh anymore... Fine. If I can't laugh at you out loud, then I'll just laugh in my thoughts. Eh-heh-heh-heh...
...heh...
Wait, what was I just laughing about? I could've sworn it was something important... ah, well. It'll come to me eventually. It always does.
Thus Cocoa Mocha's struggle continued for another day.
...
And far below any of them, concealed within three heavily secured safes hidden in the tower's sub-basement, the future lay in wait.
The music links to this chapter include: that one song from Dwarf Fortress that everyone who's played the game is familiar with (and even some who haven't), and a remastering of the Study area from Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow. I think I need to start diversifying my playlists. 
A few of you might notice that I've updated the divider for the chapter. It's meant to reflect Leviathan's condition; the better she gets, the brighter and less mottled it'll look.
"The only clue is that his Cutie Mark was completely erased as if it had never existed." Sound familiar? But nope, I'll confirm neither Tirek nor Starlight Glimmer are responsible for this. We've got something new going on here.
And on that note, we say hello to our story's antagonist at last! How is he going to come into conflict with Leviathan, and why? Well, I'm sure not going to spoil it to its full extent now, so you'll just have to wait and see! 
The character here named Caramel is not the same as the Ponyville resident with the same name from the show. I doubt that really needed explaining, but it's best if all my bases were covered.
Following up on the Gray Ghost image I posted not long ago, have one of her daughter Ebony. People who haven't read prior chapters might jump to conclusions about her personality from her appearance alone, so I'd like to point out that she's just trying to find her flyswatter and go bug hunting. >^_^<
NOTE: As of 1/7/2023, for reasons I don't understand, Fimfiction is dead-set on giving me the standard "invalid img" box for Ebony's picture. So, here's a link directly to the picture at Imageshack: http://imageshack.com/i/poNUCNZhp
One quick note is that I do have an image of Drama Heart. It's just a matter of making her Cutie Mark look more like how its described and not like something straight out of middle school.
Estimated Chapter Deadline: February 3, 2022
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I got to say, this is a really good story. I was looking around and came across this. I'm going to keep up with it. You're doing a really fine job.
Sorry Levi, but your geting involved wheter you like it or not.
Are you trying to say something
11127631
Mmayyyybe...
11127531
Yeah. Wouldn't be much of a story if she didn't. The fun, of course, is in the getting there. >^_^<
11127504
Thank you very much.
It would be interesting (and probably heartbreaking) to see our Fairy learn about Zero's allegedly failed reentry attempt, and her fellow guardians' fates.
It would be far funnier if Phantom just lands on her porch, while cursing Zero with a burning passion.
11128175
.
And also,
.
Oh shoot... Starlight?!
11144505
I can understand why that connection would be made, but Starlight Glimmer isn't to blame for this one. That answer will come in due time.
Someone's trying to become an Alicorn...
Didn't expect to see a Mass Effect reference in here. Noice.
How? Like, this damn Mare can move the sun, the simple thought of beating her is laughable.
Luna for example can move stars from light-years away, it wouldn't be unreasonable to think Celestia can do the same, meaning she can possibly draw power from all the stars in the universe.
The Alicorn sisters aren't star-level in power, they are at the very minimum multi galaxy.
Hence why I find these kinds of plots funny, it's fated to fail.
11670897
It’s called ambition. It’s not meant to make sense. So long as people exist someone will think that they can do something better than someone else.
...Is she talking about Kraft? Or Neige? Heck, maybe Andrew?