Temporal Magic

"Oh, and ask River if she enjoyed her time in Canterlot!" an orange pony exclaimed excitedly. With a beaming smile, she primped her burnt-pumpkin and light cream mane and gazed at the stallion scribe across from her.

Behind the couch on which she reclined, evening sunlight poured through a pair of large windows into the spacious office. A golden statue of a quill scribbling on a piece of paper stood on a coffee table in the center of the room.

A name was etched into the statue’s base. ‘Golden Swirl: Unicorn Messenger and Occasional Paralegal Advisor,’ it read. From the barely visible streaks on the surface, it was clear that it was cleaned semi-regularly. Not a speck of dust was currently resting on it, letting it reflect bright sunlight elsewhere into the room. Some of the rays reflected into the scribe’s eyes. He shifted slightly, softly grunting as he used the sheet he was currently writing on to block the sunbeam.

"Oh Celestia, I almost forgot!" the orange pony cried again, pressing a hoof to her muzzle as she let out a small gasp. "Tell River that Princess Luna has returned! I can't believe she missed that. It was so... exciting!" She punched the air a couple of times. "I mean, there was chaos in the streets with Nightmare Moon's return, then BAM!"

She slammed a hoof onto the table, causing the unicorn to jump in surprise. Flattening his ears against his head, the pastel-green stallion lowered his paper ever so slightly to glower at his client. Twin golden eyes shot daggers toward her, if only for a second, before he returned to his writing.

'Missed the crazy alicorn's return,' he scratched down, rolling his eyes as he barely heard the mare state something else. 'Sucks to be you.'

Brushing aside his own light yellow and white mane, he huffed and set the paper down. Pumpkin Swirl—the mare—still seemed like she had some more details to add.

What one does for family, he mused as he slipped out a second sheet of paper and began to scribble down more short sentences as Pumpkin Swirl continued her babbling.

"I think she said that she was going to run for office when she returned to Rijekograd?" she asked aloud, scrunching her muzzle and staring at the ceiling for a second. Those soon dragged into about a dozen, and Golden Swirl stared at her tiredly.

Hanging on the wall to his right, a fancy old cuckoo clock clanged that it was five o’clock. With each passing chirp of the fake bird, he held the quill in his golden magic slightly tighter.

Pumpkin was a fairly sweet and simple mare, but that simplicity sometimes caused her to drift off in her thoughts. What exactly went around in that head of hers sometimes baffled him. She could have been double-checking if River Swirl did indeed plan to run for the chancellorship of the River Republic. Alternatively, she could have been thinking about her next trip. Or what dress to buy and wear for a total of an hour. After all, with the money that Pumpkin had managed to inherit, she could do whatever she wanted.

Frolic halfway across the world just to spend ten thousand bits on a supposedly "original" piece of armor from Grover I's kingly suit? Check. Purchase a small island between Equus and Zebrica and then never visit it after the first time? Double check.

Given her propensity to stumble her way into wealth, it was a wonder that she hadn't paid off the entire debt of the Griffonian Empire and became its new empress. Why was it that earth ponies seemed to have all the luck?

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes and spat, "Any day now, Pumpkin."

"Oh! Sorry," she stuttered, a faint blush forming on her features as she gave him a weak grin and then hummed while rocking back and forth in her chair. "Well, I guess tell River I wish her the best of luck, and maybe I'll see her again after she wins the election!" She beamed happily. Golden Swirl averted his eyes as the sun bounced off her immaculately white teeth.

‘Get elected. I want to live in another opulent palace for a weekend while wasting everypony's money.’ He scratched his chin momentarily. "And that's all?" he asked as he arched a brow and gave her a quizzical look.

"Yep!" Pumpkin chirped, still springing happily on the couch.

"Wonderful," he huffed, signing the letter with a short flourish.

'Love, your gallivanting cousin, Pumpkin Swirl. P.S. you better win that election, because I'm counting on a royal welcome whenever I decide to show up in Rijekograd!' For added emphasis, he drew a small face of a pony winking.

Pondering for just a moment longer, he scribbled down something for himself. 'This is Golden Swirl. I wrote down the gist of what Pumpkin wanted to say. Please, the next time that you're aware she's near Mareposa, let me know. It'll be such a shame that I would be on vacation and got waylaid in Zebrica whilst traveling to New Mareland.'

He paused. If she didn't catch his sarcasm, then he was in trouble. Not that he expected Pumpkin to show up again any time in the next few years. After all, while he might have been the premier unicorn messenger in Mareposa, it was a fairly backwards place for Pumpkin to see.

It was only a fluke that she had to rest for the night on her way to see the great ice sculpture festival in Hjortland in Olenia. What a lucky break for him.

Signing off with his characteristic signature—a small dip of golden ink swirled around a couple of times into a fancy GS—he peered up at Pumpkin and declared, "It's done. I'll get this sent out once the ink dries."

"Oh! I can't wait to hear what she has to say!" Pumpkin squealed as she hopped off her chair and made her way around the coffee table. As she did, she bumped the edge with her small hoofbag, and the statue fell over with a clank.

Golden winced as he saw it smack onto the wood, and a couple of chips of varnish fly off in random directions. Before he could say anything though, Pumpkin had slipped behind his desk and gave him a strong hug, enough to make his ribs feel like they were going to pop out of his chest.

He gagged. Pressing against Pumpkin, he exclaimed, "Okay, okay! If you want this sent today, don't send me to the hospital."

At that, she chuckled nervously and released him before anxiously looking away and rubbing at the back of her head. "Sorry," she mumbled. After she had regained some composure, she tightened the scarf that was still around her neck, and she asked, "Will you see me to the door?"

"Yes, of course," Golden Swirl responded, glaring flatly at her as she giggled and started to canter her way toward the exit. When she passed the coffee table, her hoofbag hit it again, causing the statue to roll off and onto the floor.

Gritting his teeth, Golden gave a long, sharp sigh and grumbled, "Let me just first calculate the 'I'm a rich cousin who is too poor to afford a magic letter' family discount." He tapped his hoof on the desk a couple of times, then exclaimed, "Ah, yes! It's free. How could I forget?"

Rolling his eyes, he trotted after Pumpkin Swirl and picked up the sculpture as he went past the table. He wiped off some of the dirt that had stuck to the golden quill, but breathed lighter when he saw the metal was undamaged. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of the finish on the table or the floor, but that was minor.

If Pumpkin was any other customer, he would have made a handsome profit after having to break out a second page. Most ponies who visited him only used a third at most to talk with their loved ones. If only his cousin would do likewise.

As they reached the door, Pumpkin grabbed her peachy cream-colored jacket and fastened it securely around her body. After steeling herself, she motioned with her head for Golden to open the door for her.

Groaning under his breath, Golden flared his magic, and the knob turned before he swung it open in a single, fluid jerk. Pumpkin had only a split-second to jump out of the way, which she somehow managed to do.

Facing him again, she gave him a stare for a second before she smiled and leaned in for another hug. He yelped in surprise as she wrapped him tightly with a foreleg and patted him on the back. Some of the cold winds of early winter swept through the office, howling and causing faint trails of snow to swoosh in.

"We'll have to connect again, cousin!" Pumpkin Swirl exclaimed, giving him a quick nuzzle before she pulled back. "You'll have to tell me all about how you became such a famous scribe!" With that, she giggled and gave a wave as she walked out of the office.

Briefly keeping the door open so he could see if she turned back to see him, he nodded when she continued trotting down the sidewalk of Butterfly Avenue. A couple of other ponies looked to be hastily cantering their way to the intersection a block or so away.

From that direction, he heard some laughter and music playing, and he arched a brow as he shut the door with a slam.

With a shudder, he got rid of most of the chill from his system. As the sunlight glimmered off the gilding on his desk, he smiled softly. It took him nearly three years to save up enough bits to get that highlight, but it had completed the look.

Suspended behind him on the back wall were a number of certificates and degrees of accomplishments, along with ceremonial checks from the city of Mareposa. On either side of his desk were two pictures, one of him just out of magic school in Luna Nova, one of him receiving one of the prizes from the city.

Standing in between them was a name placard, restating his name as well as indicating him as the head of the local scribe guild.

Like every large settlement, Mareposa had families that were split by immense distances that would take ponies weeks to travel on hoof. With the advent of the steam engine, trains had started taking travelers far and wide, but even then, times had only been reduced to days at best.

For those ponies who didn't feel the desire to meet with parents, siblings, or other family members, but still wished to inform them of their lives, there was the option of using mail. However, for a respectable fee, ponies could get their urgent communiques to loved ones, business partners, or what have you, in a matter of minutes or hours.

It had been for hundreds of years the sole domain of captive dragons to instantly transport scrolls to and from important ponies. Yes, the unicorn magic that mimicked dragonfire was not as potent, but a letter traveling in hours was far more useful than the months of standard mail and less costly than taking a physical trip.

While there were a number of effective and even excellent scribes in the city, if a pony wanted their message delivered with the best speed and accuracy—most of the time—then there was only one pony to choose. And he was currently staring out the window of his office, eyebrows raised incredulously at the crowd that had gathered on the other side of the street.

About two dozen ponies had assembled outside of a row of businesses, albeit they were concentrated around the center of the seven buildings. On top of the block of buildings’ roof, a shabby-looking construction of metal, which appeared to already be rusting, swayed gently in the wind.

Through the throng’s jabber and his closed window, he could faintly hear the creaking of the tower as it rocked side to side.

With a scoff, he poured himself a glass of water from a jug on a small end table near the couch underneath the windows, and he sipped contemplatively on it. It tasted a tad bitter, like the sensation that was beginning to rise in his throat.

Stepping out from the middle building, a dull grey unicorn with a black mane and electric yellow streak going through it greeted a few of the closest ponies. He was wearing some strange earmuff-like contraptions that seemed to be attached to a wire.

Only recently did Golden know what a wire was. It was in 999 ALB that Mareposa had gotten electricity, and his office was one of the last to get it as a utility. If he had wanted to spend insane amounts of bits for it, he could have been an early adopter. Yet, candles and oil lamps had served him well, so there was no real need for him to start on a fad.

Admittedly, the electric lights were very useful, if a tad grating, once their buzzing filaments kicked in.

Focusing further on the stallion who came out of the building, Golden furrowed his brow as the stallion's cutie mark came into view. A small metal box with some bolts of lightning shooting out of it. What could that mean?

He switched his eyes away from the stallion and toward the sign that was being floated up in a cool blue field of magic. After it had been stabilized by the stallion reaching up and adjusting it on its nail, Golden read what was written on it.

"111.1 BCK?" he wondered aloud. Squinting harder, he continued, "First radio station of Mareposa State and northwestern Equestria! Owned by Shortwave, in service to Her Highness, Princess Celestia."

For a hot second, Golden felt his stomach churn and his veins freeze as he let the word "radio" sink into his mind. He had read something in the newspaper about Mareposa receiving some technology grants from Canterlot. It never crossed his mind that they'd actually not waste the bits. Perhaps the princess had appointed one of her aides to ensure that it had actually been implemented.

After a couple of seconds, he managed to shake his head. While radio promised near-instant communication, as far as he knew, it wasn't for the common pony. Now, if there were also a telegraph station, it'd be a bit more of a threat.

As he took a sip of water, he coughed and spluttered as he read the next sign that the stallion—whom he assumed to be Shortwave—erected by the door. "Low-cost telegraph communication services for all!" it read.

Hacking and wheezing a couple of times as he desperately wiped off the spittle-infused water from his window, he growled as he saw Shortwave shake a few more hooves before turning ponies back. He pointed to a small piece of paper in the window of his radio station, which Golden assumed was the hours he was on-air and open to the public.

Some of the ponies assembled gave some sighs of disappointment before they shambled off, but more stuck around to continue to chat with Shortwave.

Scoffing, Golden Swirl turned from the window and set his glass down with a soft clink. He grabbed the two letters that Pumpkin had dictated to him and gave a grunt as he powered his horn. As some energy crackled around it in a rush of energy and power, he focused on the familiar Manehattan scribe drop-off point.

In a bright flash, the letters disappeared, along with about twenty bits for the relay pony working in the Manehattan office. They would have the range and coordinates for the cruise ship that River Swirl was still on. It took a couple of months to travel from Equus to the eastern side of Griffonia, after all.

Clapping his hooves together to wipe off some dust, Golden glanced at Shortwave's radio station again and rolled his eyes. Shortwave was showing off a small silver box on a metal stick and speaking into it before letting other ponies have a go.

Bunch of pointless toys, Golden grumped. Giving a onceover of the office, Golden nodded to himself and floated his own winter coat over. As he fastened its belt and then cantered to the door, he snatched his keys and stood in the doorway.

A couple of excited cries could still be heard from the crowd, and he rolled his eyes. "It'll never catch on," he groused as he slammed the door in his wake and locked it with a loud click.

***

"How did it catch on?!" Golden Swirl snarled, smacking a hoof onto his desk. Some of the other unicorns assembled in his office jerked in surprise, some soft mumbling passing between them as they sat around his coffee table.

In all, it was around eight unicorns, all scribes of the highest caliber, who had met in his office to discuss their next course of action. They had been the first ponies in his business all day, and they weren't even buying his services!

Golden Swirl huffed and rolled his shoulders, earning a crack from them as he eyed a small bottle of cider that he left out for everypony to take from. Misery liked a bit of company, as they said, although only a couple had indulged themselves.

An overcast sky blocked most of the sunlight from Celestia's great sun, casting a muted glow over most of the room. It did not hide the cracks that had formed over the years in the corners, nor the spiderwebs that looked to have cemented themselves as the fly capitals of Western Equestria.

Only a single painting of Manehattan hung on the right wall, and whatever decorative plants that had once been there had long since wilted away. A calendar resting on his desk indicated that it was nearing the fifth anniversary of Luna's Winter Moon Celebration. It was only a couple of weeks away.

Everypony assembled all had cutie marks of quills, bottles of ink, or even dragon-like fire pillars. All of them were skilled scribes, ones who had at one point been his competitors, before he was allowed to set up shop.

Gritting his teeth, Golden Swirl felt his jaw throb as he shifted his gaze out the slightly dirty windows of his office. Where a plush couch had once been, now there were only a few foldable chairs for customers—if he ever got them—to rest on.

Gone were the other establishments that had once shared the block with 111.1 BCK. In their place stood a large, and dare he say, sprawling complex with a boxy main building and a much, much taller radio tower. Unlike the first one that Shortwave had, it was still in mint condition and didn't even jiggle in the wind.

Every few seconds, a bright light flickered on the radio tower, indicating that it was still transmitting. Still mocking him with its promise of instant communication with others.

Heading into the back of the headquarters were a pair of telegraph lines, which, as far as he knew, were still used daily. Not as much as Shortwave's free radio message half-hour that he provided during the noon lunch break for workers. That had shot up his popularity almost overnight.

Sure, maybe the first year of Shortwave's operation, ponies still went with what they were familiar with. But each following year, the clientele appeared less and less, not just with him, but with the other scribes in the city. And this year was when enough was enough.

There was still hope that ponies could be swayed, but things would have to be a bit more drastic. That was where his colleagues would come in.

Clearing his throat, Golden Swirl cut through the bickering that was bouncing around the room and exclaimed, "Everypony, shut up!" It got everypony's attention, and they slowly returned to a slightly discontent murmur.

Some of these ponies he had known for years, others he had only met once the infringing business started to be noticed. All of them had just as much a chip on their shoulder to fix as him. With almost a dozen minds coming up with a solution, they were bound to find the right one in no time at all.

With a nod, Golden stated, "Now, I don't think I need to explain to you why we're here." After receiving various angry replies, he smirked. "Good." He jerked a hoof in the direction of Shortwave's radio station. "This bastard has got to go. Immediately!"

Glowering at all of them, he asked, "Any suggestions?"

While he had a couple, he doubted something like a surprise singing telegram that actually was a magic automaton with a gun was very feasible. That, or taking over the station and playing pro-changeling propaganda. It'd be just as easily assumed a changeling took over for a while instead of him supporting Chrysalis' threats.

A shudder worked its way down his spine. He still cringed whenever he thought about how close Equestria had been to being ruled by those damned bugs. In the back of his head, he pleaded with Celestia, Luna, or whichever Griffon deity truly cared that war would never break out with them.

After a couple of seconds of silence, one unicorn, a white mare with an orange and golden-brown mane, exclaimed, "We could burn it all down!" She flashed her horn briefly, sending a swirl of orange fire up its length before it dissipated.

"Yes, but that'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it?" he asked, earning a solemn nod from the rest of the group.

"Yeah, true," the mare replied, pouting and crossing her forelegs irately.

Tapping his hooves together, he mused, "It has to be subtle enough to not be traced back to us, but also serve as a warning to him." He smacked his desk again, sending the dusty pictures of his graduation and ceremonial check bouncing almost off the edge of the furniture piece.

On the coffee table, where seven mugs of various drinks were resting, there was a crude drawing of the radio station's compound. In the top-right corner of the map, a stick figure of Shortwave with huge eyes bulging out of his head was drawn. It was hanging from some gallows, and some other stick figures were cheering on.

Golden blinked. When did that get on there?

Whatever the case, it could be erased later. So long as it wasn't ink. Which it seemed it was.

Maybe it was better to just burn the paper once they had planned everything. Much safer, and they wouldn't have need of it once they were done, anyway.

"We could always talk it out with him," another stallion suggested, garnering some bemused glowers headed his way. With a shrug, he asked, "What? It could always work. He seemed nice enough."

"I could talk to Celestia and have her shut it down!" one more chimed in perkily. A soft pink mare, her mane was overly long, and she flopped it behind her back as ponies stared at her in astonishment. Wrinkling her nose, she asked, "What? We share a special connection through our dreams."

"And when was the last time you 'dreamt' with her, Primrose?" the first stallion demanded as he shook his head. "And what were you smoking before then? I'd love to try some."

"Buck off, Soot Cloud," Primrose fired back, glaring in everypony's direction as she hopped off her chair and stomped to the coffee table. Gazing at everypony, she snapped, "I've been in the business since it started ten years ago! Now you don't trust me?!"

"It does seem far-fetched," Golden Swirl admitted in conjunction with some other murmurs following the same vein. At that, he saw Primrose bristle and growle under her breath.

"I'm telling you, she was in my dreams, talking to me! We, we had honest conversations!" Biting her lip, Primrose mumbled, "Mostly about whatever my nightmare was." She coughed into a hoof. "But they were conversations nonetheless."

"So you say you have a special connection?" the white unicorn mare asked with an eyebrow raised incredulously.

Vigorously nodding her head, Primrose smiled and exclaimed, "Yes! I know it because she saved me every time I was having a nightmare." With a shiver, she grumbled, "Except when Nightmare Moon returned. And... every one after that."

She sighed and sat back down, hanging her head limply as she grunted, "You're... right, it's crazy." At that, she held back a sniffle before taking a sip of her water and giving a small grimace. With her tirade over, the group settled down for a second before Golden Swirl hummed to himself.

"Well, we can't speak to Celestia directly... but perhaps we could still send her a message." As ponies' turned their attention to him, he elaborated, "If we were to maybe... cause a bit of damage." He held up both his hooves. "Without hurting him. Maybe he'd eventually be unprofitable for the princess?"

Earning a few shrugs, he got up from his desk, winced as he felt his left hindleg tense and cramp up, and then started to stagger forward. Brushing some of the scragglier bits of stubble down on his chin, he added, "It might have to be a few times, but he isn't always there." Shrugging, he suggested in a smooth, suave tone, "If we just... snipped the telegraph wires, maybe broke some of his outside equipment, that could send a message."

"And it'd cost him dearly!" the white unicorn exclaimed, a sneer growing on her face as she and some of the others there let out small chuckles.

"Yes, that too," Golden admitted with a nod. In the back of his head, his conscience pricked at him, but he was able to push it down. Shortwave had caused enough pain and strife in his short tenure in the city to last a lifetime. If the still nascent profession of a unicorn letter scribe were to remain fruitful, something would have to break. And that would be Shortwave, not Golden or his colleagues.

As his fellow unicorns murmured in agreement, he peered back out the window and frowned as he watched a couple of ponies giddily gallop out of the radio station. Shortwave cantered after them to let them out of the small gate that had been constructed to keep him from being swamped in his early days.

Things had calmed down a lot since then, but that only meant that all the information that Golden and his ilk would have been profiting from instead had been communicated. However, it now presented itself as the first obstacle in their mission. The other being when would they strike.

Probably best if they did it as soon as possible, before anypony backed out because of nerves.

Looking around the room, he gave a small grunt, as he determined there wouldn't even be enough drinks for them to stay hydrated while they potentially waited. If they stuck around for a couple of hours or more to do it, they'd need to order food.

That would be a problem if it happened. For now, it was a matter of getting ponies to agree on a time. He had just the idea, too.

***

"Can't see a bucking thing on the street!" one of Golden Swirl's colleagues whined, kicking the side of one of the few streetlamps on the road outside of 111.1 BCK.

Nightfall came sooner than expected, and all of the electrical lights had died years ago. The city council had never bothered to replace them, at least not in this section of Mareposa. On the north side, where all the fancy restaurants and touristy areas resided, there was plenty of maintenance. And to the south, with the new industrial sectors kicking off, it was like Celestia let her sun just sit there all night!

But for the ponies who just lived in the city? Nope, not a single lick of extra funding to keep things safe and secure.

To himself, Golden pondered if Pumpkin had ever visited the casinos since they were constructed. They were only constructed a few months after she sent that letter to River Swirl. All the lights and colors would have been right up her alley. Probably would have cleaned out each casino, too. Somehow.

Growling, he forced the memory of his financially blessed cousin out of his mind and grumbled to the pony, "It'll help us stay in cover, so shut up." He flicked his tail irately and started to approach the gate.

Unsurprisingly, when he tested it, it was locked. With another couple of hard rattles, he finally gave up at opening the gate and then he scrunched his muzzle. Taking a step back, he sized up the height of the wall and entrance as he hummed to himself.

He glanced back at his compadres, all seven of them, and smirked. It looked like they would have to get a bit more acrobatic.

With a soft hiss, he ordered them to file up and start making a pony tower, but by the time they got to the third unicorn, things were growing unstable. As the bottom unicorn let out a small cry, they all collapsed hard onto the pavement, various groans and moans escaping their forms.

Smacking a hoof to his face, Golden Swirl grumbled under his breath and perked an ear when he heard a pony open a door. Swiveling around, his heart froze when he saw the outline of Shortwave leave the radio station and lock up. With a muffled whistle, Shortwave started to traipse his way toward the gate when he stopped mid-stride.

For a couple of seconds, both he and Golden stared at each other, and then Shortwave powered his horn and cast everything in a cool electric blue color. Stepping to the gate, he gave an awkward smile and said, "Oh, uh, you're Golden Swirl, right? I heard about you when I started here."

All Golden could do was nod. Heart beating frantically and pounding loudly in his ears, his mind raced as fast as it could to come up with something to say. Yet, the only thing he could think was, Not planned! Not bucking planned!

Scrambling back a couple of inches, he finally stuttered out, "Y-Yes, I'm, uh, Golden Swirl." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

Peering out at the other ponies, Shortwave asked, "And these are..."

"Friends!" Golden quickly replied. When he received a mistrusting look from Shortwave, he hastily interjected, "And family! And, uh, one or two colleagues." Now that his brain was running a mile a minute, he stammered, "W-We were just out for a walk, and then, well, I remembered your radio and how I never got a message out when you started, and—"

Halting for just a second, he felt a hoof tap him on the shoulder and hiss, "Stop it."

He ignored the warning, instead letting his improvisation start to take over. It was a talent, after all. What could possibly go wrong when he let his autopilot take over?

Clearing his mind, he said the first thing that came to him. "I realize that I've been rather rude these last few years, but I thought that, well, we could bury the hatchet." He smiled widely and stuck a hoof through the gate for a hoofshake. "There's a cousin of mine who I've not spoken to for years. Perhaps you've heard of her? The current chancellor of the River Republic?"

"You're related to River Swirl?" Shortwave inquired, still sounding far from convinced.

"Yes, absolutely. Best friends, hung out all the time!" he fibbed in return. Admittedly, he didn't mind River Swirl when she did occasionally visit when she was young, but to say they were on good terms would be exaggerating. But when there was a need, there was a way.

From Shortwave's shifting jawline, Golden could tell that he was pondering heavily the proposal. It was a long shot, for sure, but if they could be handed the keys to the kingdom, it'd be a much simpler operation.

Giving his hoof another jitter, Golden asked, "What do you say? Would you let me quickly talk with River Swirl? I know you let ponies use your radio from time to time."

Shortwave narrowed his eyes for a moment. Another tap on the back of Golden caused him to nicker. He shrugged off whoever was trying to talk with him. Congratulations and the like would be in order afterwards. At this time, it was all he could do from breaking out in a sneer as he could see Shortwave start to break.

Finally, Shortwave sighed and nodded his head. "Okay, sure, let me take you to the station." He pointed at the other ponies. "But they wait outside. Clear?"

"As a crystal pony," Golden quipped, giving him a wide grin as he motioned for the other ponies to stay back. All Shortwave had to do was turn his back, then Golden could give him a quick smack on the head, claim it was a loose bit of brick or something, and be on his way. With his crew.

Stepping back, Shortwave unlocked the gate, pulled on it, and winced as there was a sharp squeal as the metal scraped on the ground. Everypony else also covered their ears, some small moans escaping their lips. Although, all that Golden did was flatten his ears against his head. Most of his hearing was overpowered by the thudding of his heart against his sternum.

Come on, turn around! he pleaded as Shortwave waited for Golden to come closer. With a long sigh, Golden marched in, stating, "You go on ahead, I just need to think of what I need to say."

"You can do that in the station," Shortwave grunted.

"I think best for personal matters by myself," Golden stammered, biting his tongue at the last second to keep him from adding, "you bastard." Smiling widely, almost to the point of ruining his cheeks, he declared, "Then I'll need to be in the station alone!"

"No, you don't know how to operate it," Shortwave replied, narrowing his eyes a bit. Grumbling under his breath, he stated, "And I don't trust you around fifteen thousand bits' worth of equipment."

With all restraint gone, he heard one final warning from his crew as he retorted, "Then I guess I'll just have to be blunt." At that, he lunged at Shortwave while raising a forehoof. Clocking Shortwave directly under the jaw, he grimaced as the solidity of Shortwave's bone caused pain to lance into his foreleg.

Dropping like a bag of wet cement, Shortwave stayed on the ground, completely knocked out. Grabbing the key from where it had fallen from Shortwave's magic, Golden turned around and smugly snarked, "I suppose he's been written off."

His eyes went wide as he saw that there were three police ponies currently apprehending his group, with a fourth one marching toward him. He stuttered, the keys tinkling as they fell back onto the ground.

The white mare shrugged and whimpered, "I tried to warn you."

"Buck."

***

"Bucking traitor unicorns," Golden Swirl slurred, guzzling down the last of his drink as he rested woozily against the back of his seat. What bits he had left were basically spent here. Where there was at least some cold, mild comforts.

On Golden’s left, another unicorn burped as he fell to the table, smacking his head against the surface before sliding slowly off onto the ground. About all of one pony bothered to look in his direction, and it was the barkeeper of the restaurant, who simply rolled his eyes and scratched off a note before sticking it to the bar itself.

Some ponies would call the establishment, Night's Embrace, to be a rather quaint or even nice restaurant. Granted, for the most part, it was, as the bar was well-cleaned despite the worn manner of it, all the staff were chipper and friendly, and the food was actually pretty good.

Also, the booze was to die for. Maybe it was more something that would make him die. If that were the case, it was doing a horrible job as he generally just felt like he wanted to perish.

How long had it been since he got out of jail for socking Shortwave for what he deserved? Eight months? Nine? A year? Two? Everything was a blur. All that he could really recall was that when he finally did get released, since Shortwave decided not to press charges as it was simply a "misunderstanding," things had gone downhill even further.

As Shortwave’s radio and telegraph services took off, most unicorn scribes lost at least three-quarters of their business. Golden had been lucky enough to see roughly half of his clientele disappear. However, after the… incident, Shortwave’s jabbering about that fateful night had completely tarnished Golden’s name.

Golden had never been humiliated in such a way! Not once.

Outside of maybe that one time where he accidentally sent a rather... intricate love letter to Princess Luna rather than the mare in Ponyville that was requested. It was an honest mistake, as the two sorters for Canterlot and Ponyville were only different in their first letter!

If one quickly glanced at the name Herpy, it could look like Derpy. He still couldn't fathom why his client was so upset, anyway. Luna had written back, most intrigued.

With a grunt, he pushed himself back toward the table and held onto his head as he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. As his vision swam for a second, he managed to keep his stomach under control, and he motioned for the nearest waitress to get him another drink.

After selling his office, since nopony had ever bothered to return after he got out of jail, he had mostly just wandered around. Eventually, even his home had to be sold to keep himself from going completely homeless. It was enough bits to at least convince the proprietors of Night's Embrace to let him have a permanent habitation in one of their four guest rooms. Probably the constant flow of bits for food and drinks helped keep them amicable.

In one of the few still semi-rational parts of his brain, he mused to himself, Says something if it's cheaper to live here than in your own home. He scoffed and waited for the waitress to bring him his drink.

Glancing mopingly at his companions, he sighed and shook his head. Only a couple of the unicorns who had gone with him to Shortwave's had stuck around. Those that had the means moved elsewhere to brighter pastures. For instance, the white unicorn had gone to Manehattan, as she said that she could probably pass off some of her fire magic as just show tricks and land a job as a magician or magician's assistant.

Others had moved to the Crystal Empire, which had yet to install any telegraph or radio devices. In the end, that would mostly likely stave off their destitution for another year or two, then they'd be in the exact same predicament. Except with a lot more snow and cold.

With a soft hiss and a crackle of static, he caught the sound of somepony’s tinny voice coming through the device. Smushing his ears against his head, he growled and rested his chin on the table. Blearily blinking, he held back a couple of tears as he heard the pony of his torment, Shortwave, happily read off the latest weather forecast.

After a few seconds, Shortwave switched off from the weather forecast, and grew far more serious. "Folks," he said, the metallic sound of his voice from the hidden radio receiver somehow growing more organic and personal. "Latest news from Acornage and Vanhoover."

There was a rustling of paper, and he cleared his throat. Almost inaudible through the radio, he let out a small gasp and exclaimed, "Dear Celestia and sweet Luna." Coughing again, he stuttered nervously, "W-Well everypony, uh, there was an... 'altercation' near the border of the Crystal Empire and the Changeling Lands."

Pausing for a second, he muttered something into the microphone, but it was too muffled to discern. That, or some of the alcohol was finally starting to take its proper effect and dulling Golden to the world. Preferably the latter.

"The report states that... uh, that..." Shortwave coughed again. "That a patrol of the Equestrian Military was captured by a detachment of Chrysalis' Heer." Some more paper ruffled as he cursed outside the audible range of his microphone. "According to Chrysalis herself, the ponies had wandered into changeling territory, and the Heer was dispatched to apprehend them."

While there had been some commotion from other patrons of the restaurant when the radio broadcast had begun, everypony had gone deathly silent. Only the small murmur of a couple of foals asking their parents what was going on could be heard as Shortwave tried to keep his composure.

"Uh, parents, cover your foals' ears." There was a sudden sound of multiple hooves clamping over said body parts.

"According to the reports from Prince Blueblood's office, the Equestrian soldiers were... well, probably the earth ponies got off best." After that, he read off exactly the shape of the patrol when they were returned to Equestria. Mutilated would have been a kind term, especially for the pegasi who were de-winged and the unicorns who lost their horns.

Even through the stupor of booze, Golden Swirl felt himself shiver as he gave a brief, but detailed description. All of the haze in his brain had melted away, and he could see that in the eyes of Primrose on his right and Soot Cloud on his left.

"In a statement by Queen Chrysalis, she stated that it was a horrible misunderstanding, and that she would ensure the families were compensated." Another cough. "But, she also added that her soldiers wouldn't have been so willing to do what they did if 'Equestria was not the aggressor along our border.'"

A small chorus of boos and jeers rose from the patrons of Night's Embrace, and even Golden felt himself get swirled up in the action. After a few more cries of derision, he fell back onto the table and smiled when the waitress brought his drink.

Sipping thirstily on it, he winced as the sting of the alcohol worked its way down his throat before settling in his stomach. Somehow, despite all the comfort it gave him before, it didn't this time. It clearly meant he needed to drink more.

Staring momentarily at a dirtied poster of Celestia standing overtop the Wonderbolts, he let out a small whimper as he finished his drink. It almost seemed like the Celestia in that banner was glaring at him, daring him to pony up and get over himself.

But could he do that when all his life's work had been ruined by that bucking race traitor? Unicorns were supposed to stay in tune with magic, not utilize the very things that would obsolete them.

With that, Golden felt some sleep overcome him, and his vision grew black. Startling, he jerked up a moment later, or at least what he believed to be a moment later, when he heard the door to the restaurant burst open and the noise of thudding hooves marching in unison become clear for a moment.

Wincing, he covered his eyes when he saw the bright shafts of light from the door silhouette the figure of a stallion. Figurative nails jammed into his skull as he continued to squint at the shape, his brain trying to place exactly where he had seen it before.

After a few seconds, the stallion trudged inside, his posture weak and defeated as he reached the waitress's greeting table. Shortly, said mare appeared and asked where he'd like to sit. He motioned to the bar, and she nodded before taking him in that direction.

As she did, the stallion glanced over his shoulder, and Golden stiffened. Gazing directly at him was Shortwave, although there was a far-off, haunted look in his eyes. If only briefly, there was a flash of recognition, and Shortwave blinked in surprise.

When he was left alone with his menu, he pondered over the selection for a moment before ordering something. Halfway through his meal, he nickered, pushed himself off, and trotted toward Golden's booth. As he approached, he exclaimed, "My Celestia, Golden Swirl?"

At that, Golden just grunted and checked the spilled glass that was next to him. All three of his companions were passed out, with the one who had collapsed to the floor still sleeping there. It seemed there was no backup for him in this confrontation.

"What do you want?" Golden spat, pushing himself up enough to focus on Shortwave. It seemed that, aside from a slight lump where his broken jaw had healed, Shortwave looked no worse for wear. Compared to Golden, whose jowls had grown a bit flabby and also covered in stubble, he appeared just as young as ever.

"Do you want to taunt me about how I'm nothing but a washed-up piece of—" He gave a snarl and stopped talking. After a second, he grumbled, "Just leave me alone."

As an awkward silence settled in, Shortwave eventually rested his forehooves on the table and stated, "Look, Golden, I, uh, see that your job meant a lot to you."

Golden snorted.

"And it was never Princess Celestia's intention with setting up these public broadcasters that it'd drive ponies to homelessness." He sighed when Golden showered him with a long, hard glare. Tracing a hoof along the table, he continued, "She wanted this to improve everypony's lives, and, well, there are still some grants available." He smiled and looked at Golden.

"One of them is for training new ponies into the field, and it just so happens that BCK has a couple of openings." Reaching over to whack Golden's shoulder lightly, he cringed as he smeared off a bit of sweat from his hoof afterwards. With a small gag, he stated, "You could always work for me. You have a good voice, and you were pretty quick on your hooves back when you—"

Suddenly there was a pop from his jaw as he grimaced and worked out what appeared to be a bit of a kink. Shortly thereafter, his chin locked back into place with another loud crack. He sighed contentedly.

"When I punched you?" Golden finished, seeing the nod from Shortwave.

Neighing softly and shooting Shortwave a derisive sneer, Golden growled, "I'd rather die than work for somepony who betrayed magic."

"Looks like you're doing a good job of that," Shortwave snarked back, although there was clearly concern and sadness hidden behind his annoyed frown. "But why waste your money, your life, when you can help other ponies and—"

"Tradition comes before any of this, idiot!" Golden retorted, smacking a hoof onto the table and whimpering as spears stabbed through his forelegs and into his brain. Whining and holding his head in his hooves, he sniffled, "I had it all before you showed up! Respect, income, status. Then you had to ruin it!"

"Golden, I—"

"Get out!" Golden screamed, thrusting a hoof forward and indicating the door. "Go destroy somepony else's life some more!"

At that, Shortwave pursed his lips and gave a slow nod. Glancing back at his food, he grunted and floated out about fifteen bits. Far more than what the meal was worth, even with a generous tip.

After sealing up his wallet, he made it quickly disappear with a poof of magic and cleared his throat. Standing up and stepping away from the table, he let his hooves thud heavily onto the wood floor. It momentarily matched the rhythm of the marching outside.

Without a word, he trudged toward the door and paused. Looking back over his shoulder, he called, "Maybe apply to the military. They always would appreciate a new mage in case of war." At that, he opened the door and stalked out, the beat of ponies' hooves moving in unison drowning out any other sounds.

As the door swung shut, Golden was able to make out the tired and depressed forms of soldiers moving by in the streets, with a few civilians cheering them on. If they had to rely on this military to protect them in a changeling attack, he feared if they would last the month.

Licking his lips, he finally called to the waitress, "Give me another!" With a groan, he rested his chin on the table, trying to keep the words that Shortwave said out of his mind.

***

With a bemused sigh, Golden Swirl tapped the empty pint glass next to him with a hoof. It clinked, and he sadly listened to it echo as it wobbled precariously back and forth from the momentum. In the glass itself, he could see the distorted reflection of his face.

No more did he have the extra weight that he at one point had a couple of years ago. Since about six months prior, he had finally been vacated from his suite atop the Night's Embrace, as his funds had almost completely run out at that point. If it weren't for the fact that prevented him from completely drowning himself in the drinks that the restaurant provided, he wouldn't had cared less.

Forced to wander the streets, he carefully rationed what savings he had left—and what he could scrounge or beg—to feed himself from the sweet nectar of the diner. Even then, that was starting to get expensive, but he'd never sacrifice at least a bit of a dulling of the mind from a drink.

By now, most of the clientele had left the establishment. It wasn't exactly clear what time it was, but it was late enough that Luna had risen the moon and the many streetlights had flickered on. Warm glows of yellow from the lights above the bar pierced into his skull. Although he was far from hungover, they still felt like fireballs that were worming their way through his eyes.

Blearily blinking a few times, he sighed and pulled out a few bits for the food. Unlike most patrons, he never had to worry about being kicked out for the night. Given how much money he had given the Night's Embrace over the last couple of years, the owners, Midnight and Clear Sky, felt that they at least owed him something.

While it would have been nice if that meant he could stay there rent-free, at least being able to rest in a booth every night was worth something. The cushions were comfortable enough to snooze on.

Sighing, he glanced to the side, catching the sleeping form of Primrose, the only remaining unicorn messenger that had stayed around. Probably because she still had more money than him, since she was around from the very start. On nights where she wasn't already black-out drunk, she sometimes talked about what it was like in the early days.

He scoffed. 995 ALB seemed only a few moments ago, yet now they were already in the 1010s, and in a bloody war with the changelings no less. Everything he heard, whether out on the town or back in the restaurant, was how things were tight, ponies were coming back from the fronts wounded, and how the princess had no idea what was going on.

In fact, there were some rumors that shortly after she had her fiery speech where she promised the total eradication of every changeling who joined Chrysalis in the war, she had started appearing less and less often. Already, there were changes in society.

Soldiers were more venerated, and it had become more difficult for the average pony to talk about the worst of the war. Since he had first seen Shortwave in the restaurant, the stallion had come a couple of more times, the latest only last month, and he appeared far more haggard than he had before.

Barely a month before the war broke out, Mareposa had reached a total of three government-supported radio stations, hosted by Long Range and Wideband, respectively. As the conflict progressed, the other two ponies’ stations were shut down for "dangerous speech and changeling propaganda,'' whatever that meant.

Rolling his eyes, Golden grumbled, "Eh, serves the bastard right."

Flicking an ear, he heard Shortwave come back on the radio, his voice a bit tinny as he read the late evening news. Since the war, he had taken it upon himself to give frequent updates, even though he was working at least fourteen hours a day.

In a way, Golden envied him.

"Greetings, mares and stallions," Shortwave began, clearing his throat and rustling the papers he would have had in front of him. "River Swirl—" Golden perked his ears at the mention of his cousin "—chancellor of the recently formed River Federation, has pledged to supply more economic aid and military weapons for our brave troops. As of yet, she has only promised to inflict more sanctions on the changelings, despite the military of the Federation standing by for conflict."

There was a brief shuffling of papers. "In her statement, she expressed solidarity with the ponies of Equus, and she—"

Abruptly, there was a loud explosion near the outskirts of the city. In short succession, another series of bursts, preceded only by soft "fwump" noises and a short screaming sound, reverberated through the restaurant.

As the blasts went off, Shortwave ceased his report, and the radio went silent for a moment. After a couple more booms, as well as the crashing of bricks onto the street, he murmured, "By Luna's great moon, they're here!" Panic becoming palpable, his voice cracked as he exclaimed, "The changelings are here, everypony!"

With some frantic scrambling and a couple of crashes and curses, he fumbled around and then yelled, "Everypony who can fight needs to help our garrison! They aren't ready. All those who have to flee, run south to—" There was a sudden screech as the radio screamed, and Golden flattened his ears against his head.

After a few more seconds, all that came from the radio set was white noise and static, and the barkeeper trotted over to start fiddling with the dials and knobs. As each successive turn brought nothing, his motions became flightier, and eventually he whinnied before bolting out the door.

Another series of explosions, which Golden could only guess were artillery shell impacts, echoed through the city, and warning klaxons began to blare in response. Soon enough, cries and wails of anguish and panic swarmed through the streets, and Golden huffed before resting his head on the table.

Figures, even River Swirl got somewhere in life. Me? I'm just stuck here. At least I can raid the bar now.

He stared at said bar, but didn't move. What did it matter if it was now or ten minutes from now? The changelings would probably find him, execute him if he was lucky, enslave him if he wasn't. Not like they'd get much love from him.

For what felt like an eternity, he aimlessly watched the bursts of orange and red occasionally light up the diner. After a couple more bombardments, the streetlights blinked out, leaving only the dim illumination from the Night's Embrace itself.

Tiredly staring into his reflection, he brushed back some of his greying mane and rubbed his stubble. There was still a glimmer of something in his golden eyes; probably the Swirl tenacity. And that was the only reason why he wasn't dead on the streets yet.

Eventually, he heard some hoofbeats pounding toward the door, and he steeled himself. If the changelings were kind, maybe they'd give him a drink before shooting him. But they probably wanted the booze for themselves.

Instead of invaders, only one pony burst through the door, huffing and puffing, with sweat reflecting off his body in the fires that were raging outside. A long trickle of blood flowed down his forehead, and his horn sputtered with broken, blue electric arcs as Golden spotted that the tip of it had been sheared clean off.

Whipping his head around for a second, the pony finally rested his gaze on Golden and exclaimed, "Golden!" As the form dashed up, the softer light revealed a wounded Shortwave, his characteristic calm and cheerful demeanor completely gone.

"They—" He coughed and hacked, wheezing as he tried to get air into his lungs. "They are jamming all our frequencies. I can't alert Canterlot of the surprise attack!"

"So?"

"And they cut the telegraph lines! There's no way to communicate out of the city!" Wiping at some sweat, he added with a sigh as he flopped down on the booth bench beside Golden, "They must have infiltrated ahead of time to sabotage us!"

"Again, so?" Golden just rubbed at his forehead. What was even the point of Shortwave telling him this?

"We have to warn Canterlot! There's the fifth army under General Sentinel only a few dozen miles from us!" With a shiver, he whimpered, "Maybe the changelings will have taken the city by then, but General Sentinel could take it back!

"I was looking all over for you! I-I know that it's been rough, but you're still a pony! You still can help us!" Shortwave pouted and gave him a plaintive look.

"Bah! And you'd go right back to technology!" Golden retorted with a wave. As he looked away from Shortwave, he stared at the even dirtier poster of Celestia and the Wonderbolts.

Like he had a dozen times before, he felt like the princess was staring at him, daring him to do something with his life beyond fatty liver. For a single moment, he felt something in his chest; a small spark of excitement, of... pride. He was still an Equestrian, and as an Equestrian who could help, that would be what he'd do.

Maybe this was the last time magic would be useful, but for this one instance, magic was the only thing that could save the day. Not tech, not smart ponies who thought they could solve everything with machines or electricity, just plain, old, magic.

Pulling himself up, Golden Swirl glared at Shortwave for a second, then he demanded, "Do you have a paper and quill?"

Eyes brightening, Shortwave gave a rapid nod and hastily dug into a frayed saddlebag that was on his side. Scrounging around for a moment, he finally drew out some wads of paper and a capped inkwell with a small quill. He floated them over to the table, and Shortwave asked, "You still know how to do this?"

"It's in my DNA."

As a couple of explosions went off, showering the street in debris and rubble, the front of the Night's Embrace collapsed indwards, sending bricks in every direction. But the smoke and haze didn't faze Shortwave.

With a single cough, he dictated, "Tell Princess Celestia that..."

As his brain went on autopilot, Golden felt a swell of joy as he started to scratch on the paper. He would make this letter the best damn one he'd ever written. When the princess was through, she'd frame it on a wall.

If she didn't, then he wasn't a Swirl.

FIN

Author's Note:

Well, this is another one in the bag. I originally had a separate idea, one which I plan on fleshing out more now, to do for the writing contest, but then this concept came to me. Had to write it down while the iron was hot, so to speak, and this was the result.

It was a lot of fun writing solely with non-canon characters again, and Equestria at War always provides an enjoyable playground to try new concepts that we could never see in the show. Golden Swirl was a treat to write, and I found it humorous to throw in Pumpkin Swirl as a nod to those who know who she is.

Once again, EverfreePony has provided immense amounts of help, and has helped turn this into a much tighter story overall. I'm quite glad that they've always been willing to assist so long as they've had the time. Thank you again for all your work!

T4E

505 views

Comments ( 5 )

Viewing 1 - 50 of 5
- Newest First
- Oldest First

Super Trampoline

Super Trampoline #1 · May 28th, 2022 · 1 · ·

Thought that title sounded like a familiar combination of words...

Test4Echo

Test4Echo #2 · May 28th, 2022 · · ·

11254838
Yep. I was waiting for someone to get the reference in the title. I did not actually know that that CD existed, though, so now I have one more to add to my collection at some point.