Glissando
Mercury’s Journal, Jubilation Day 2
Wow. I have no idea what I expected from my very first assignment, journal, but it wasn’t this.
Yes, I am aware of the title—day two. I never said I’d write in a journal every day. Just when I need some distance to process what happened on board the Two Blushing Brides. And yesterday, I had no time to process it.
I was warned, before coming here, that the city of Jubilation would be nothing like what I expected. I grew up in New Canterlot City. I understand big urban areas. Jubilation is a fraction of NCC’s size. But somehow, it is so much… more in so many ways I can’t describe. There are more sounds, more smells, more peoples. I’d never seen griffons or minotaurs or even dragons until I came here. And, of course, it is a zebra city, so there are zebra everywhere.
They all look at me with hostility. I’m wearing Knight armor, the symbol of home, the symbol of our might and our magic. I wish they’d relax; I’m not one of the Inquisitors of the Saint Twilight’s Knights Mystic, nor am I one of the warriors of Saint Rainbow’s Knights Adamant.
I am a Radiant, and Saint Rarity’s three diamonds on the flank of my armor should declare loudly to all who can see what I am. A healer. A giver. I bring the generosity of Saint Rarity to any who require it, just as my predecessors have since the great Lady of Generosity herself founded our order.
But I was warned about the stares. I knew it would happen. Elsewhere in the FZR, even as I’m writing this, zebra fighters are at war with our forces, with my brother and sister Knights of other Orders. Perhaps I’d hoped it wouldn’t matter in this neutral city, but a fool prays and hopes; a wise mare prays and hopes and works.
My first day was unpacking and debriefing. My arrival here was unconventional, to say the least. The commanding officer, Lady Frosting Flare, spent at least an hour grilling me about the time spent as a hostage of the pirates. She didn’t even stop until her XO, Sir Triumph Gate of the Adamant, intervened, demanding that the commander take a break so I could eat. Lady Frosting insisted that I share a meal with her.
It took me the first five minutes of that meal to learn everything I needed to know about Lady Frosting. She’s a gossip.
I found myself silently grateful for my mother's advice about gossip years ago. Smile, nod, stay silent, don’t engage, and don’t take it personally when they eventually gossip about you. They can’t help themselves; it’s an addiction.
Much more interesting is what I’ll be doing here. The Knights have a poor reputation in Jubilation; the Equestrian embassy is a sad thing. Not the construction or the decoration; it is simply underused. Our whole purpose here is to bring the light of the Saints to the heathens who live here; we cannot do that if they’re afraid to even come into our building.
That’s going to be my job. To go out, live among the people here, and offer my magic and talents as a healer. For free. Build goodwill, as Lady Frosting puts it.
I pray I’ll be up to the task.
Day 3
I don’t even know why I’m bothering to write today. It was a disaster.
Lady Frosting suggested I explore the city, and maybe even happen upon anybody I could share my healing with. I did. Angry stares. Hostile people. I wore my armor, and I’m starting to wonder if that was a mistake. It wasn’t too hot in the morning, but it got worse and worse as the day went on. But did I go back to change? Not this stubborn pony, no sir.
Around noon I took a break by a large fountain and paused for a drink. I was starting to feel dehydrated. That’s when I heard him.
“You’re baking in all those tin pots,” he said.
I looked up. He was a pony. I realized just how rare we are in the desert city. He had yellow fur, though that was about all of him I could see. The rest was hidden behind a robe of thin, airy-looking cotton.
“Why wear your armor? You’re not going to be attacked.”
He was holding out a canteen. I thought it odd; we were next to a public fountain. We weren’t the only equines drinking from it, so I assumed it was safe.
“I want ponies to know who I represent,” I said.
“Ouch,” he flinched. The reaction was odd. But I was happy to be talking to any friendly pony. “Here.” He offered the canteen again. “Homemade electrolyte drink. It’ll taste weird, but it’s my mom’s recipe. She came here from Equestria when she was a teenager.”
I took the canteen and drank. It was a little salty and very sweet. I must have made a face because he laughed.
“Trust me, it works. I’ll give you the recipe.”
“Thanks.” I took another drink. I really was sweating; it was probably a good idea to replace the fluids. “Um. My name’s Mercury Shine.”
“I’m Bolero. Nice to meet you, Mercury.”
He didn’t use the honorific ‘Lady’ that I was due because of my status as a Knight. But I didn’t want to call him out on it. I was a stranger in his town, after all, and this was the first pony who was kind to me.
We talked a bit after that, about entirely superficial stuff. He asked me what I was up to and commiserated my lack of success. I asked about him, what he did. He was a musician, a composer. He even told me he had a show coming up.
I guess it wasn’t as much of a disaster as I thought. I may not have used my talents, but I did meet a new friend. And isn’t that what outreach was all about? If Bolero was living in this heathen city, I’m sure his soul needs to be saved, returned to the Light of the Diarchs and the true path of the Saints.
Day 7
I made a mistake. I told Lady Frosting about my new friend.
My forays into the city are still less than successful. I even applied at the local hospital to volunteer but I was told by the zebras who ran the facility that my services weren’t needed. Why are the people here so hostile?
I’ve been making up for my failures with a growing friendship with my new composer acquaintance. Bolero is more than happy to tell me all about Jubilation, the best spots to try new foods, where to go for perfect vistas, clothing shopping, and all sorts of sights, sounds, and smells. He’s the best tour guide.
But I mentioned him to Lady Frosting. The gossip.
“The composer?” she said with a sneer. “Stay away from him. He’s a coltcuddler.”
To my naïve shame, I had to ask what the term meant. So I learned something new today.
I’ve always been taught that homosexuality is sinful. But I can’t say I’ve ever met a pony like that, besides the zebra pirate captain Yukie. I found myself going over all my interactions with the friendly earth pony. But nothing I can think of stood out as being particularly sinful. I said as much to Lady Frosting. And mentioned that he’d been helpful in introducing me to the city.
“Well, he’s on The List..”
Then I had to ask what The List was.
Apparently, at the Embassy we have a list of all the Equestrian expatriates living in Jubilation, as potential sources of problems for us. Maybe they were heretics, maybe fugitives of some sort. Many of them have arrest warrants on them back at our home. Bolero didn’t, apparently. But his live-in lover did.
I have to admit, I had a hard time digesting that in my head. Not the part about finding stallions attractive. Even with my Oath of Chastity, I have still looked on occasion. But the idea of… living in sin like that felt alien to me.
I tried to explain to Lady Frosting that nothing else was working. I couldn’t just wander around the town like some sort of lost lamb, waiting for somebody to help. It was silly, and a complete waste of time. She wouldn’t listen, though.
“Stay away from the
There is a bit scribbled out in dark ink, here
Sorry, journal. I believe in honesty, but I didn’t want to leave that written here.
I think I’ve always had a rebellious streak. Technically Lady Frosting was just giving me advice, not orders. At least that’s how I interpreted it. And Bolero is my only ‘in’ in this hostile city. I’ll see him again tomorrow, and ask him about his issues. And then decide what to do.
Day 8
Well, I’m going to a concert. That’s how well my conversation with Bolero went.
We were meeting for lunch. I’ve started wearing ceremonial robes instead of armor; the white cotton is much cooler, and I still have Saint Rarity’s cutie mark embroidered on the flank, so everypony who sees me still knows what I stand for. I hate it; armor is a comfort. Besides, I love how I look in armor.
But at least the hostility is slowly becoming indifference. Maybe that’s Bolero’s influence. Everybody in town seems to love him.
We went to a really exotic place. Bolero called it ‘bat pony cuisine’. I’d never heard of bat ponies before; Bolero told me they were a race of nomadic ponies that traverse the southern grasslands of the Free Zebra Republic. He says they’re like pegasi, but they have bat wings and fangs.
I was half convinced until I saw the chef. Then I had to stop myself from staring. Bat wings. Fangs. Slitted eyes.
The food was great, though. Lots of vegetables roasted on skewers, and starchy vegetables stuffed with all sorts of delicious cheeses and sauces.
I think Bolero could tell something was up right from the beginning. He asked me what was wrong as soon as we ordered. I deflected. But he was too persistent. Finally, I told him.
“I’ve been given some soft orders to avoid you.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “I’m not surprised.”
He knew exactly why.
“But I’m still here,” I said. “I want to be your friend.”
“Why?” he asked. It wasn’t a hostile tone, nor was it combative. I paused to think of my answer, but he kept going. “Be honest, Mercury. Do you want to be my friend? Or do you want to save me? Because if it’s the first, fine. But if it’s the second? We shake hooves, I pay for our lunch, and we’re done.”
He leaned forward.
“I don’t believe like you do. I don’t follow your faith. I am not a project. I am not broken, and I am not in need of saving. And my story belongs to me, not you.”
It took a long time for me to answer. A very long time. And I have no idea even now the truth.
“Is it okay if I take some time to think about it?” I said.
He smiled and nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
Maybe the truth is it’s a little of both. My duty is to try and save him. He’s sinning, after all. And I’m a healer. Maybe this is something I can heal?
But even that felt wrong. And I didn’t want to spend time with him to fix him, even if that’s what I’m expected to do. I wanted to spend time with Bolero because… well, because he was fun. Kind. Charismatic. Generous. He lived the words and truths of the Saints without even believing in them. Perhaps that’s why They put him in my path, so I could learn from him, not the other way around.
“I have something I would like to show you,” he said suddenly. It pulled me out of my contemplation. “A new symphony I’ve been working on. It’s debuting in a week. Would you like to be one of my guests of honor?”
Music? I didn’t know much. My family regularly took me to chamber orchestra performances growing up, but I always fell asleep. My mother hated that. But this felt different. Bolero was a friend.
“I’d be honored.”
I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t tell Lady Frosting.
Day 15
Bolero has been busy preparing for his debut, so I’ve been bored. I’ve been busy working with the guards at the Embassy on a new diet and exercise plan; many of them are out of fighting shape. Jubilation is a fairly sleepy assignment, after all. Saints above, though, I’m hating it. It’s not what I trained for. I want to be out there. A combat medic. This ‘hearts and minds’ mission is going nowhere.
Except for with Bolero. I can tell he’s excited. I can tell he’s happy I’m coming. And I can’t wait.
I borrowed a dress for the performance. I hate it. I’ve always felt like a clown when I’m wearing a dress. I would much rather be in armor. Or even my formal robes. But I’m sure Bolero will appreciate me trying to fit in and dress up a little. This is about him, after all, not me.
The concert hall is amazing. Some genius zebra architect created the entire auditorium so that the acoustics project sound naturally from the stage back towards the cheap seats and the balconies. And a balcony is where I’m seated, alone, by myself.
I’ll admit, it feels a bit like when I was growing up. My Oath of Poverty has been difficult to adjust to. Even with the uncomfortable dress, the trappings of wealth feel familiar and comfortable.
I didn’t talk to Bolero before the show. But I can see him down on stage; he’s wearing a formal suit, and he’s moving among the performers. Most of them are zebras, though there are a few ponies and other people. The percussionists are nearly all Diamond Dogs.
From my perch, however, I could tell that Bolero was just as friendly and engaging with his performers as he was with me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could see his expression. I could see their reactions as he patted backs, touched hooves, gave hugs, and generally encouraged and bolstered his team before their debut.
Somehow I had this image in my head of a conductor as some kind of musical tyrant. It felt good to see that image disproven.
Eventually, the lights dimmed until a single spot glowed on the conductor’s podium. Bolero stood there, a nervous sheen of sweat visible on his fur.
“Everybody, welcome,” he began. “Thank you for coming. Tonight I am honored to bring to you, from myself and the Jubilation Symphony Orchestra, my fourth symphony. Or, ‘The Sea Voyage’. Please enjoy.”
It wasn’t much of a speech, for sure. His voice seemed nervous, and he had difficulty projecting it to the back of the room. But when he turned around and faced the orchestra, the nervousness seemed to sluice off him like water off a melting glacier. He stood tall and confident, and then he raised his baton.
Mother, if I ever get to tell you about all this, I swear, I owe you and Father an apology. I was an ass of a foal about all those orchestras you tried to take me to. To be fair, if they’d all been like this, I wouldn’t have minded.
The opening movement started out upbeat and cheerful; a single clarinet solo, bold and allegro, filled the room with her voice. It wasn’t long before the entire orchestra was joining in, the voices of the instruments all blending together. And for the first time ever when listening to music, I started to hear the story.
Because it was about me.
No, I’m not really that arrogant. I’ve only known Bolero for a few weeks. I know he didn’t write this piece about me specifically. But I found myself in the music. My story, my family, my history, was in the notes and voices that drifted to my ears.
I was the clarinet; quick and nimble, always standing out from the rest of the orchestra. Never out of place, but always somewhat different. Other.
The bassoons were my father. Strong, stern, noble. Stability and structure.
My mother was the violas. They wove in and out of the strong foundation of the bassoons, sometimes in front, sometimes behind, always supporting.
My three brothers were the cellos. Usually a strong, unison front until suddenly breaking off and dueling each other.
The symphony’s story was my story. I heard, in the bright song of the clarinet, the path of my life. The military cadence of the snares marched through my time as a page and a squire. The timpani drums announced my training as a Knight, a martial rhythm of structure, discipline, and training that I had excelled at. The brass trumpets and trombones heralded all the mentors who guided my hoofsteps.
The symphony moved to the second movement, and I heard the trials I’d faced. The tests I’ve overcome, my victories, my failures. The pulsing rhythm of the marimbas played the song of rolling waves and tempestuous seas, and a piccolo floating above it all sang in Captain Yukie’s voice.
It was the most beautiful piece of music I’ve ever heard.
I couldn’t help but watch Bolero the entire time. He was a pony completely lost in what he was doing. His movements were passionate and frantic— he wasn’t just a conductor, he was a dancer. Every movement flowed with perfect grace.
I wasn’t sure how he lasted the entire performance.
When the final note sang out into the empty room, I felt myself tear up. It was a moment in time, and now it was over. Perhaps I would hear the song again. Perhaps not. But I would never hear it like this ever again. The delicate ephemera of it all broke my heart.
The audience, too, seemed unwilling to break the magic, waiting for at least three full breaths before surging to their hooves, stomping and cheering as a blushing Bolero turned around to take a bow. Then another. A third. And then turned to get off the stage.
I could see it in his eyes. He humbly tried to move to the side, so there would be nothing between the performers and the applause.
I knew at that moment there was no sin in this pony. Whoever he was, whatever he was, I had misjudged him. And I knew my decision. I wanted him as a friend. And there was nothing in him to fix because he was absolutely perfect as he was.
I have no idea what this means for my theology now.
A few moments into the applause, another pony mounted the stage, carrying a huge bundle of roses. He handed them over to Bolero, and then leaned in, embracing him close. This black-furred pony must be his lover, I realized.
Something that became obvious when they kissed. And no, journal. This was not a chaste kiss.
The audience applauded, and the couple kissed. And kissed.
Saints, it went on for hours it seemed; long enough for the audience applause to become laughter and catcalls.
My faith demanded I turn away. My eyes would not. I could not. I imagined I could read Bolero’s mind at that moment. It was as if the passion he had shared with all of us was now being returned to him, in the form of a lover’s embrace.
And that’s when I had the thought that has kept me awake all night long until I finally had to get up to write all this down.
Nopony will ever kiss me that way.
The jealous knife twisting in my heart in that instant was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt.
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I was expecting the refutation of homophobic dogma, but not the envy. I'll bet a high percentage of the ponies in the Radiant are Ace.
And side note, it's kinda funny seeing the word piccolo be used outside of a Dragon Ball context. Shows how nerdy I am.
I need to point out a story error here. All Knights in training have to learn how to fight against a live Griffin, as a proxy for fighting against pegasi, and unicorns.
First off, condolences for your loss.
Secondly, Mercury's a character that I simultaneously want to hug and smack upside the head. That's a good thing in terms of writing quality.
11491686
I appreciate your vigilance in pointing this out and alerting us of this!
Hi there! Rekindled Embers Lorekeeper Celeste here.
However, this story (and Mercury's attendance at Ivy Seminary) takes place a few years before Emberglow's own. Adorjan the Griffon (from Chapter 4) was not yet employed by the Knighthood, meaning therefore that Mercury couldn't have met or fought the griffon. At the time of Mercury's training, an alternative method was used to drill pages on how to combat unicorns and other magic users, as well as some flying opponents. Adorjan was a recent addition to the curriculum as of Emberglow's term, so Mercury is correct to say she has not yet met a live griffon (at least, that she knows of!).
Hope this helps clarify! Happy reading!
11493208
Ok, I just thought it was a standard educational practice.
I may have known about the background lore if I ever went to the discord server.