1 - The Worst Painting in the World
THE WORST PAINTING IN THE WORLD
The air stirred gently, slight drafts pooling around the hooves of a score of colts and mares standing still throughout the throne room, stunned in shock and fear.
“…”
The celestial Goddess herself was standing before her throne, glaring with an open ire that threatened to boil the vast chamber and those within in its’ rising heat. The golden regalia adorning her would likely be melting into her perfectly maintained fur, threatening the mare’s calculatedly kept appearance were they not enchanted and warded to withstand the blazing fury of their bearer.
“…”
An unkempt mane of the night, billowing wildly in a non-existent hurricane, constellations and stars exploding in and out of perception on the fringes of the mare’s frame. Her gaze leveled back at the white-coated Alicorn sat at the throne, but unlike her this figure quaked openly. Not in fear, but frustration.
Both sisters had their hooves resting on a big, red button. One flinch, a mistimed blink, and it would all go nuclear.
The hoof-full of staff stuck in the place between life and death bearing witness to their crumbling diarchy were far from the only ones in the blast radius. The tightly packed stone roads sprawling out from the castle were lined with angry or disheveled ponies, holding hoof-made signs and banners depicting insignia of the moon or sun. Some were groomed and clothed, others ragged with earth-stained fur.
There were a lot more on Luna’s side.
The heat quelled a few degrees, the flames licking at the tips of Celestia’s mane suppressed behind a century-honed poker face. She took a deep breath and addressed her sister, standing cool and tall before her subjects.
“… I will allow you-“
The pin dropped.
A blur of black and blue flashed in a streak straight to the throne, a lighter cyan aura of crackling magical energy leaving a violent trail in its’ wake. Within moments the moon had eclipsed the sun, and a fight for the throne had begun.
- - - -
… The hay noodles are about to boil over.
I know this because the boiling point of standard purity water is 100 degrees centigrade exactly… Except for when it isn’t.
In the case of Ponyville, not only is the water purity superb due to the diligent efforts of the weather pegasi, which lowers its’ boiling point considerably (as if there were such a thing as an inconsiderable variable!) but Ponyville is roughly 200 meters above sea level.
I’m glad you asked why that matters.
The higher up you go, the lighter the effects of atmospheric pressure on a given liquid, lowering its’ boiling point. The inverse is also true, so it’s also harder to boil anything the deeper you go! And given the stovetop has been well over said threshold for six and three-quarter minutes without the world’s number one assistant stirring it-
“Spike! Hay noodles!” I call out, startling him from his daydreams. I hear him fumble around for a bit before the clattering of metal on metal confirms my suspicions.
“Oh, horsea-“
“Spike! Language!” I poke my head over the top of a large easel to give him a stern look. He’s dismissive of the scolding, but he gives me a big-claw up to tell me he received the message, even if he’s not willing to vocalize it. He’s been doing that more recently, and I’m still torn between the possibility that he’s entering the dragon equivalent of a rebellious teen angst, or maybe I’m being too motherly lately. Or both.
I turn my attention back to the easel.
‘what the buck am I doing’ I suddenly think, followed quickly by ‘language, Twilight!’
Do as I say, not as I do.
I know color theory. I have a full spread of simple and complex brushes, watercolor and acrylic paints perfectly rationed into open-topped jars I threw together a quick Cumulus’ Consolidated Condensation enchantment over so they wouldn’t dry out. I got an extra-large easel, so I could be much more precise with my telekinetic brushstrokes. I got two spare canvases at the suggestion of Artsy Partsy, who didn’t even up-charge me for them. If I were a betting mare, I’d have deduced her nervous chuckle meant she thought I’d have trouble painting on my first try.
I didn’t say anything, but after studying Pinkie sense, I’ve found picking up on ponies’ other social cues to be much less impossible in comparison. And it gave me an expectation to surpass, it’s basically a test when you compartmentalize it. And I never fail a test.
’Hold onto your perspective charts, Artsy, I’m about to blow you away.’ I think smugly to myself, as the beginnings of an idea formulate in my mind. I hone in on it, visualizing the curvature, solving for possible deviations, and…
“Eureka!” I shout giddily, and my horn sparks to life wrapping a brush, ruler, and protractor in my telekinesis.
I hear Spike mumble something from the other room about quoting Eakinstien, but I’m all but entranced by the perfectly crafted curves of the shapes I’m creating. The world melts away from me, the same way it does when I’m absorbed into a new century-old encyclopedia, hyper-focused and rigid, and I just know that this is going to be the best painting ever.
- - - -
“… It’s not the worst painting ever?” Fluttershy sheepishly says, as if she were asking a question instead of offering her thoughts on my masterpiece. She was the one who suggested painting in passing a week ago, actually, when we were discussing creative outlets. I doubt she expected me to actually do it. Hell, I didn’t expect me to actually do it, but Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie caught wind and began an elaborate prank spree revolving entirely around paint and art supplies as a way to torment me in the lovingly infuriating way only they can.
“Oh.” I reply.
I invited her over today for a late lunch so we could spend some more time together after a bit of a stressful week. A Lobster-based chimera was felling trees left and right at the edge of the everfree for three days straight, and loads of local critters were scared into ponyville proper from the disturbance. It took a long time, but between my holding spells and Fluttershy’s calming presence, nopony got hurt.
Today, I had a secret reason for inviting her to the library. Normally we spend quiet evenings at her cottage where there’s less disturbances, and in a building that isn’t in the public domain. I wanted her to be the first to see my creation, it just seemed fitting. Maybe she just doesn’t get it? It makes perfect sense, and the curvature is perfect! I triple-checked the angles and even traced a spiral rune series mid-air to guide the brush to make sure I didn’t deviate even an iota.
“You don’t think it’s pleasing on the eyes? It’s a Melbourian Fractal based on the Golden Spiral rule, I even solved for five iterations!” I say, forcing a bit more enthusiasm than I’m really feeling. It was a lot of calculus.
The small yellow and pink ball of silence shrunk even smaller, looked anywhere but at me, and muttered a response quieter that the first day I met her. After a few moments, she idly hooved at the ground.
“Fluttershy, you’re doing it again.” I deadpan. I promised her that I’d be honest when she was slinking back into her shell, and as much as I’d love for her to understand my artistic vision here and drown me in praise, it’s clear I’m making her uncomfortable by pressing the issue. Better to drop it and move-
“…uhm, I said most paintings don’t usually have numbers in them.” She repeats before I can give her an out. I’m a bit impressed. “It doesn’t have any soul to it, I don’t feel anything when I look at it, if that makes sense.” She looks back to me and I quickly put on a contemplative face, eager to absorb her feedback while she’s dissecting it. “But… I definitely know only you would have made it, if that makes you feel better?” She shifts back into comfort mode effortlessly. Surprisingly it does ease the blow on my ego a little bit.
“It does, actually.” I force a meek smile, and I nudge her cheek with my nose. “Thanks for being honest, Fluttershy. AJ would be proud,” I joke. I know letting someone down is harder for her than most, so the least I can do is take it in stride.
I pour us some tea, and we chat about nothing for hours, only occasionally interrupted by ponies coming in to loan out or return a book or two. One in particular took my interest, an earth pony with light tan fur checked out a copy of Advanced Warding Circle Thermodynamics for The Aspiring Mage. I’ve read it twice myself. It’s not completely unheard of for earth ponies to get curious about magical theory, glancing over the pages of rune matrices and trying to visualize the process. More commonly though, they’re loaning out a book in their name for a unicorn friend as a favor.
Much more commonly, you’ll have a distribution of steamy romance novels, biographies of important ponies, historical recollections and documentation on any plethora of topics, or Daring Do books. Tragically, Fiction is nearly 80 percent of all traffic, and most of the remaining 20 percent is either research material for Cheerilee’s Higher Education Prep groups, or something related to the Canterlot Cross monthly crossword puzzle, which has a 400-bit prize pool for the earliest office-dated response that completely solves it.
That leaves a fraction of a fraction of Ponyville to rent out awesome books like the Aspiring Mage collection, or even agriculture and horticulture based tomes. I try my best to not judge anypony, but I do get a little academic joyfuzz in my chest when I see a fresh set of hooves wander into the non-fiction section.
“-ight? Twilight, you’re spacing out again.”
“Wha-huh?” I blink, and fluttershy is smiling at me with that unreadable gentle smile. I realize I was watching her mouth move and nodding along, but I hadn’t actually been listening to anything she was saying. “Oh, I’m so sorry, my mind just wandered off and I didn’t mean to-“
“It’s okay, I understand.” She says gently, still reassuring me with that gentle smile. This happens sometimes during our chats. At first it was really awkward, with Fluttershy sort of teetering off mid sentence when she realizes I’m not there anymore, and I’ve apologized countless times and reassured her that I didn’t mean to make her feel unimportant. I treasure our little activity detox sessions, but my mind needs constant stimulation or it finds something to fixate itself on, whether or not I want it to. She understands, and she’ll often head me off before I can begin apology ranting, which I appreciate more than I can put into words. Trust me, I’ve tried.
One thing we’ve learned from many months of these zen days is that when that happens, it’s usually best to call it an afternoon. No matter how hard I try, once I start wandering it’s impossible for me to sit still for very long after. To Fluttershy’s credit, she always takes the initiative when it happens and gives me a quick hug, then we help the other pack their saddlebags and head home. Though it’s a change of pace helping her pack, having her at the library for a change instead of the other way around.
Once Fluttershy excuses herself and leaves, I’m left to my thoughts.
“Are you happy now, brain? You got what you wanted.” I grumble to myself, turning back to my painting for something to stare at while I brood over my inability to relax. My eyes idly trace over the curves of the fractal, and it does a great job of mesmerizing my eyes while I lose myself in thought. I hear spike up in the alcove, and occasionally the flip of a page breaks the silence as I continue tracing the edges of the mirrored shape on the canvas.
He must be reading one of his superpony comic books. I’ve tried to read them myself to bond with him a bit more, but unlike the Daring Do series they’re just completely disentangled from reality. I find myself laughing off the absurdity of the physics and breaches of fundamental magical laws every time I pick one up. It’s all I can do to keep myself from falling into a recursive loop of agitation and disbelief.
I blink, and I realize I’ve been staring at my painting for at least ten minutes, thinking about recursion formulas and the Mare-Do-Well incident.
“Well, maybe it’s at least good for conducting experiments in hypnotism.” I remark to myself dryly. I suddenly stop tracing the lines, and I realize Fluttershy was right. I don’t really feel anything when I look at it, now that the rose tinted glasses of pride have been taken off by a fresh perspective. I take a step back into the middle of the room, staring intently at the whole painting. It doesn’t stare back. It doesn’t say anything. It just sits there, solved. Nothing left to it but to look at the ‘completed’ fractal. My brow furrows.
“Hey Spike? Can you take a letter?” I call up. I try to not interrupt his relaxation time, but friendship reports come first. He gives a little grunt of effort as he scurries over to a pile of parchment at my bedside, but he’s ready at the drop of a dime, and looks down at me expectantly. Sweet Celestia I love that baby dragon, he really is the world’s number one assistant.
“Dear Princess Celestia,
Sometimes, pride in your work can blind you to glaring issues, something that only the perspective of a close friend can overcome…”
- - - -
The sun is low in the sky, and soon Luna will be waking up to raise the moon. Applejack and the other stalls will be closing shortly, but I still have maybe 30 minutes until they start packing up, or more if the princess drags her hooves getting out of bed.
We’re not running particularly low on anything, but heading to the market is a good excuse to get some external stimuli. I find even just saying hello to the right pony can spark ideas on slow days.
I ask Spike to prep for dinner tonight, and I grab my saddlebags and a small neck pouch off my desk, slipping a hoof-full of bits into it. I don’t have any pressing academia to catch up on, all the library return and membership renewal forms have been completed, and I haven’t been outside in nearly a day and a half.
“Hay Fries or Daffodils?” Spike asks as I’m heading out the door. It’s a tough call.
“Surprise me. Want anything while I’m out?” I send a smile his way as he sighs.
“No, thanks.” He pauses for a second, and I see a light bulb pop up in his mind. “Unless Mr. Papers has issue 88 of the MegaMare series.” He amends.
“Okay, I’ll check in with him again if he’s still open this late. I’ll be back in 15, and don’t forget to-“
“Stir the pot, clean the bottom of the baking sheet, use plenty of olive oil, and extra carrots, I got it.” He lists nonchalantly, getting entrenched in his work. I stop in the doorway to watch him for a moment. Spike takes his job as my assistant very seriously. I can’t remember the last time I gave him a job and he didn’t do it. Sometimes he messes up, or something gets in the way, but watching him diligently sort through various kitchenware I feel a sort of melancholy I can’t quite place. I can’t tell if I like the feeling or not, but if I stand here any longer he’s going to look up and ask if I’m about to say something mushy, so I turn and head outside.
I catch a glimpse of him turning to the left cupboards as I close the door behind me. Hay Fries it is.
The trip to the market only takes a few minutes at a brisk trot, and I’m relieved to find that most of the stalls are still open, if getting ready to wrap up for the afternoon. Applejack sees my approach, and I wave to her but point my head in another direction and make a motion to the low-hanging sun. She nods in what I assume is understanding, and I give her a smile that says ‘I’ll be right there.’ She returns with a nod that says ‘And I’ll be here.’
I trot up to a wooden stand filled to the brim and then plenty with newspapers, magazines, comics, and other assorted reading paraphernalia. “Good afternoon, Mr. Papers. You didn’t happen to get the new superpony comics yet, did you?” Papers Please is an old, lean colt with a coat grayer than his mane, and a cutie mark of an open newspaper. He runs the newsstand and he’s a pleasant pony, but he has a habit of telling you the news instead of selling it. It’s a contagious bug, being passionate about current events, and he’s stayed uncontested in his business just by the sheer threat that even if a competitor opened up, Papers already gives out all the juicy bits for free. Most ponies just chat with him for a few minutes, get caught up, and buy the paper out of courtesy.
“Matters’a fact, I gottem just last afternoon! Spike came just a day too early, y’see,” he chuckles a bit. “Did’ja hear about tha’ new trials tha’ princess sanctioned on Chronourgy? Has all’a tha’ magist conservatives in a tizzy they weren’t consulted, wouldn’t happen ta’ know anything, would’ja?” He leans in a bit expectantly. I don’t blame him for expecting me to have a scoop, with my ties to both magic and the princesses, but it’s the first I’m hearing of it which is strange. Had I known about a newly sanctioned branch of magical study, I would have been in Canterlot’s Royal Library in a heartbeat. It seems like the sort of thing the princess would have at least brought up with me before going public.
The thought dawns on me that it could be a test of how informed I’m staying, but it’s quickly dismissed as baseless and only slightly paranoid.
“Sorry to disappoint Mr. Papers, but this is the first I’ve heard of it actually, I haven’t spoken with the princesses directly in a while.” I give him an apologetic shrug, and he nods in understanding, and quickly stands down.
“Y’know it’s just Papers ta’ you, Twilight. Bit surprised though, figured you’d be runnin’ tha’ gauntlet on something like this.” He prefers to go by his first name, though I’ve never figured out his criteria for who can and can’t drop the ‘Mr.’ Part. Mr. Papers makes sense though, from a business and a personal perspective; Going by Mr. Please has a bit of a strange connotation to it.
He’s right though, I would be had I known, and suddenly I’m glad for my impromptu shopping trip. It seems like there’s work to be done after all.
I put down three bits; two for spike’s comic and one for the paper, even though it’s just for the headline. I levitate them into my bag and thank Papers for his time, make a few minutes for small talk with AJ, and trot back to the library with a fire in my chest. It’s time to brush up on advanced temporal mechanics.
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> The higher up you go, the heavier the effects of atmospheric pressure on a given liquid
I think you meant to light “lighter the effects”.
> I didn’t say anything, but after studying Pinkie’s pinkie sense, I’ve found picking up on ponies’ other social gives
Social cues.
> only occasionally interrupted by ponies coming in to rent out or return a book or two.
… rent? Does this version of Equestria rent books like movies (remember that?) instead of just loaning them like libraries normally do?
> It’s not too uncommon for earth ponies to get curious about magical theory, glancing over the pages of rune matrices and trying to visualize the process, or more commonly they’re renting out a book in their name for a unicorn friend as a favor.
“Not too uncommon” and “commonly” are close to the same thing but they’re separated here, making the meaning confusing. Perhaps you mean “it’s not too common”? The unaltered meaning suggests earth ponies would borrow unicorn magic books just for fun, which is contradicted by what you later say about the 80/20 of who borrows, and what they borrow.
> bedside, but he’s ready in moments on the drop of a dime,
Unnecessary duplication of metaphor, only one of these is needed to convey the idea.
> Papers Please
I love this name for a pony. For extra fun, give him a background working the border-control office for the Equestrian government.
> advanced temporal logistics
… logistics? They have a branch of magic that has to do with time-travel *and* the flow of goods or materials?
Amazing work. I. LOVE. THIS.
The hard reset story is the first story I have ever read on this site, and I loved it. The extremely grimdark prospect, mental challenges, endless potential and the mystery created a nigh-perfect story. To see it being recreated is a dream come true. I will be keeping an eye on you, my dear word-smith!