Chapter 1
‘Twas the day before Hearthwarming, and a nameless horror had taken residence in Dotted’s chimney. Again. He was trying to ignore it and keep on working, but a blocked chimney meant no fire, and breaking the ice on his inkwell was getting very tiresome. The otherworldly gibbering wasn’t helping any, either. Dotted sighed.
“Professor, is there any chance of getting that thing out of here before I freeze?”
Professor Ivory Abacus lifted her gaze from a thick book unaccountably decorated with tiny silver bells, and frowned.
“This is delicate work, Dotted. We are dealing with a class three manifestation drawn by the dimensional instability of the Royal Palace. Very tenacious. Very dangerous.”
Dotted looked unimpressed. He got out of his chair, joints protesting, and walked around his desk, slipping slightly on the foothills of some of the lesser paperwork mountains.
“Don’t give me that. It’s the same every year. Come Hearthwarming, like clockwork, this thing sets up shop in my chimney. It gibbers for a while, does that bloody annoying laugh, and then disappears, taking with it all stockings within one hundred and thirty-seven feet. I don’t dare imagine why. I need it out, so I can finish up my work.”
“Ah, but this year is different! We have finally tracked down the last surviving copy of De Rangiferis Mysteriis,” Ivory said, shaking the book in question. It gave a sad little jingle that, against all odds, managed to sound sinister.
“And that helps us how?”
“Well, we can finally find out just what this thing is and how to banish it permanently. Now if I’m reading this right, uh, there’s an ancient poem here giving instructions on how to act…um…you are supposed to watch out for him, and you are enjoined not to cry out. So good hearing. We can use that. Apparently, he can see you when you are asleep. Possibly a dreamwalker. We could enlist princess Luna to give us aid in that respect. And apparently he knows your sins. Very troubling.”
“I don’t want his encomium, Professor, I just want him gone.”
“This is useful information! There’s a description. He’s said to be a fearsome beast. Crimson and bone-white…and something about, uh, sandy claws? Maybe he’s aquatic or littoral! And it is said that he has an eldritch laugh like unto—”
“HO HO HO”
“Yes. I’ve heard it,” said Dotted with considerable annoyance. He walked around Ivory Abacus and towards his fireplace.
“Dotted, I don’t think you ought to—”
But Dotted had already stuck his head up the chimney with considerably more enthusiasm than sense.
“Hello there, Sandy if that’s your name. Do you mind pushing off and finding some other chimney to haunt? Just this once? It’s just that I’ve plans for Hearthwarming and—”
There was an explosion of sound, a deep rumbling more felt through the hooves than heard, and a flash of light. Then darkness.
* * *
‘Twas the day before Hearthwarming, and a nameless horror had taken residence in Spinning Top’s chimney. To make matters worse, it was her boss.
“Dotted! How did you get up there?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Spinning Top considered this, briefly and shrugged.
“Oh. Alright. I’ll just get back to work, then, shall I?”
She chose to interpret the silence from the chimney as a ‘yes,’ and sat back in front of the desk, continuing to write industriously. Occasionally she paused to think of the right word to use, pressing the quill into her muzzle absentmindedly in the way that used to make mother absolutely livid. It was during one of these moments while she was trying to think of a pleasant way to say “reprehensible idiot” and idly looking through the window at the playful flurries of snow, that a voice came again from her chimney.
“So, uh, what are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m trying to run damage control on this Blueblood business. You?”
“Hanging upside down in a chimney. What Blueblood business?”
“He insulted the ambassador of the United Cities and Heartland of Zebrica. Something about grass huts. Or possibly skirts. He may have quite ruined the trade agreement. Do you want help with the, you know, whole chimney situation?”
“Damn. I wish the Princesses would let us just gag him when he’s in public. And no, I’m fine. Professor Abacus dispatched a handy chimney sweep to help. Any moment now—watch it with that brush you’ll make me—”
There was a yelp, a curious sliding sound, and Dotted fell into the, mercifully, cold fireplace in a cloud of soot and cinders. Apparently, he had decided that the best way to preserve what little dignity he had left was to pretend that nothing untoward had happened at all. It was, Spinning decided, a singularly poor decision. He got up to his hooves, tried to brush off his coat, realized that he was trying to do so with a hoof that was as covered with soot as the rest of him and gave up, walking instead out of the fireplace as if it was entirely normal for him to drop by on the press secretary in this manner.
“Right. Ahem. So what is your plan?”
“Draft official apology and file it with the embassy. Draft a ‘spontaneous and unrehearsed’ apology for Blueblood, and get him to rehearse it. Cart him over to Mkali and get him to say it with a minimum of errors. Hope that smooths things over. Try to fight the press off, which is going to be a nuisance and a half. They are always starved for material come Hearthwarming and would love to pick up a delicious slice of recreational outrage like this. Half of them will go for the ‘HRH BLUEBLOOD INSULT SHOCK,’ and half of them for ‘EQUESTRIA TO GROVEL BEFORE ZEBRAS,’ which is always a popular choice.”
Dotted made a face.
“Weren’t you supposed to visit family for Hearthwarming?”
“So I was. I was just dropping by the office this morning to sign some papers when I heard tell of Blueblood’s latest faux pas. I’ll have to send word that I won’t be coming, it seems. This needs handling right now.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Pardon? You cannot be serious,” said Spinny, her eyebrows shooting up.
“I am. I’ve sent everyone I possibly can away already, anyone with any family at all. Go. Spend Hearthwarming with your family. I’ll take care of the whole mess.”
“Dotted, I—”
“Go. It’s Hearthwarming, for Celestia’s sake. I’ll go and talk to Mkali myself.”
Whatever Spinning wanted to say died in her throat. Her eyes grew wide and she unconsciously leaned back in her chair. Obscurely embarrassed for giving an emotion away, she tried to cover it up by slipping on a sharp little half-smile[1] and leaning right back forward, her forehooves on the desk.
[1] Smile #38a — mocking, yet affectionate, disbelief.
“You? You are going to go hat in hoof to Mkali?”
“Yes.”
“La belle zèbre sans merci?”
“Indeed. She may or may not owe me some favors.”
“What sorts of favors?”
“I can’t tell you that without violating section two of the Official Secrets Act.”
“I hardly know what to say—”
“Goodbye.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what you ought to say. ‘Goodbye.’ As you are leaving.”
“But I have to finish—”
“I’ll do it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go. Be with family.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t you worry about me. I’ve plans for this Hearthwarming. Now go. And I swear, if I see that you are still here when I come back from the embassy wing, I’ll bloody well find a palace guard that hasn’t been sent home yet and get him to chuck you out.”
With these words, Dotted strode out of the office trailing little wisps of soot behind him.
* * *
The usual place for embassies and the like was in the more fashionable district of the host city, but Canterlot was different. No matter how much ponies chose to pretend otherwise, Canterlot was first a fortress and only later a city, and so the embassies were in a separate wing of the palace. Dotted, brushed clean and fortified with a meticulously prepared cup of tea, trotted down Embassy Court and its cobbled paths, treacherous and slippery under a thick blanket of snow, and reflected how here it was impossible to keep pretending. The walls of the palace came in close around the Court, massive hulking shapes, sloped low, almost seeming to crouch in readiness. The fact that they were clad in brilliant white marble, and decorated with cheery bas-reliefs and sculptures, seemed almost farcical. Dotted slowed his steps as he approached the embassy of the United Cities and Heartland of Zebrica and looked around. With the walls pressed in so tight, no place, save perhaps the academy, was as well defended. Here was a message, Dotted thought, that these guests were given into our care, and that come fire and come fury, they will be kept safe. He hoped Mkali would see it like that. He could certainly use some goodwill.
The stern guards, one from the Guard and one from the embassy’s own modest staff, scrutinized him, his identification papers, his chain of office, and his saddlebags, presumably in case he was a devious assassin wearing a remarkably convincing ‘aging bureaucrat’ costume. Finding nothing on his person that could cause more injury than a papercut, they let him through. Dotted let the obsequious footzebra guide him to the threshold of the embassy’s reception room, and after a brief pause he entered with the level of caution and trepidation usually reserved for entering the lairs of particularly ill-tempered dragons. As he went through the door, his eyes scanned the room automatically and he felt his breath catch, just a little bit. It always did, no matter how many times he saw the room.
The room itself was plain, almost pointedly so, though in deference to its august purpose, the wooden beams that held the ceiling were carefully polished. But the contents of the room were anything but plain. A couple of Equestrian statues from the Classical period flanked an exquisite Qilin painting on silk—Tea Pickers at Hu Gong Temple, if Dotted was any judge[2]—which hung just above a delicate bit of Griffon scrimshaw. In a corner, almost as if forgotten, a camel-made statue of The Counting Goddess in beaten silver and lapis lazuli. And so on, and so forth, with treasures from across the world. It did not escape Dotted that the rug that he was already fetlock deep in was from Saddle Arabia, and could, if sold, provide enough bits to retire comfortably, possibly on an island you owned. And here, too, was a message. “Behold wealth,” it said, “and power, too, for think how far all of these things had to travel to get here.” All this splendor and beauty almost obscured the most important thing in the room—the true representative of Zebrica who was sitting in an armchair and was giving Dotted, who had gotten quite lost in thought, a Look.
[2] Dotted didn’t know much about art, but he knew what he liked. And that was, by and large, tea. Also paperwork and chemistry, of course, but that was rarely the subject of Qilin paintings, which was a bit of a mystery because according to all accounts they were exceptionally good at both.
Dotted resisted cringing. The last time he gave anything that sort of look, half exasperation and half analysis, was way back in his chemist years. He didn’t have a mirror handy at the time, but he suspected that that Mkali’s expression right now closely mirrored his while he was observing a solution of lithium-borohydride in hydrazine that was stubbornly evolving hydrogen. He ended his frustration with that particular blind alley by blowing it up[3]. Not wanting to see just how explosive Mkali’s solution to a similar problem would be, he gave a carefully measured half-bow and spoke.
[3] Which was an entirely reasonable way, as he explained to Goldie while she was bandaging him up, of disposing of a substance that could poison you, set you on fire or explode you in any of three fascinating ways. Just dumping it down the sink wouldn’t do.
“Ah, Your Excellency, I was just admiring—”
“Yes. You always do. Please, Mr. Secretary. Sit,” Mkali indicated a comfy looking chair, just on the other side of a low table inlaid with silver. It was of Griffonstan make and worth, Dotted estimated, about half his yearly salary. Walking very carefully so as to be certain of not breaking something that would, undoubtedly, turn out to be impossible to replace, Dotted approached and sank gratefully into the cushions.
“I would love to be here on a more pleasant errand, Your Excellency, but it’s about the, uh, Blueblood business.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I am aware that what he said was very, ah, regrettable, and poorly thought out, but I think you’ll find—”
“Is this the official apology? Generally they are couriered over, I find. And put together better, too.”
Dotted blinked, and was thankful that his thick coat hid the flush of embarrassment. He gave up on canned diplomacy and tried another tack.
“Well, generally Dr. Spinning Top writes them. But I’ve sent her home today. Hearthwarming, you see. So I’m afraid that today you get me.”
“I do? Well, then, Mr. Secretary, go on. I warn you, Dr. Top has set a rather high bar for you to clear.”
Dotted blinked once more and, again, had that curious sense of being regarded like flask of bubbling solution that was interesting, but not quite acting the way it should. Well, then, if Mkali wanted to experiment with hypergols, she’ll have to deal with the occasional explosion.
“I’m afraid I won’t be attempting that particular hurdle, Your Excellency. What His Highness said was idiocy, and I can deliver an apology to you and, if you insist, I can have His Highness dragged here to deliver it himself, but I’m afraid you’d be able to spot the strings quite easily, as me or Spinny puppets him through the motions. The truth, Your Excellency, is that Prince Blueblood is not sorry. Not even a bit. And he cannot be made to be sorry. To the best of my knowledge he has never offered a sincere apology to anyone in his entire life. I am sorry, on the other hoof, sorry that you were given offense and that His Highness embarrassed my government and my people, especially on a day when we ought to be dedicated to our better natures. I am sorry, but I can’t quite apologize for a slight I did not make. So I can only ask, in the spirit of Hearthwarming, in the spirit of good will, that you let this instance slide. I can offer no better.”
Dotted paused, took a few deep breaths, and recalled, as the bridges behind him burned merrily, that he generally avoided negotiations like this. For good reason. Still, there was nothing for it. He waited to see what Mkali would do, fully prepared to be cast headlong from the embassy and to have to explain to the assembled government and his own civil service why the trade agreement fell through. Absentmindedly he tugged at his chain of office, and got it to sit a little bit more straight. He was quite surprised as Mkali spoke, her tone unusually mild.
“Hearthwarming. Hm. A very unusual holiday, I always thought.”
“Excuse me?” Dotted asked. This was not how he expected things to go.
“Hearthwarming,” said Mkali, picking up a glass from the table, taking a sip, and gesturing with it as she continued to speak, “is an anomaly. Oh, a lot of cultures have a holiday at just about this time of year, some sort of festivity to call back the sun from the brink of solstice. What puzzles me is why would ponies celebrate such a thing—and with such enthusiasm!—when they of all peoples should know that the sun will never abandon them.”
It was only by a supreme act of will that Dotted kept his mouth closed. Not how he expected things to go at all. He was so surprised by the unusual direction the conversation had taken, that he was half-startled to hear himself reply.
“It’s not really about the solstice.”
“Oh?”
“The historical event that it commemorates did happen in the dead of winter. During a distant period the three tribes—”
“Yes, I am aware of what it commemorates. I read about it and, of course, I watched a rather excellent play a few years back.”
“Right. Well. It’s not about the cold or deprivation. We’re hardly hungry at this time of year, far from it, and the holiday isn’t called hearth warming for nothing. It’s not about the night, either. We cherish it as much as the daytime. What Hearthwarming is, Your Excellency, is a reminder.”
“A reminder? To be good? Good will to all, and all that?”
“Such is the cliché, but that’s not what I meant. I’ve only ever met two ponies who could be said to truly bear good will to all, and the Royal Sisters are divine. Indeed, it could be said that this capacity for universal goodwill is what makes them divine, more so than the fact that they bring forth night and day. But we, Your Excellency, are small, and our capacity for good will is commensurate.”
Mkali leaned back in her chair, and took another sip from her glass. Then she put it back onto the table, and spoke again, her eyebrow quirking upward.
“Does that not strike you as cynical, Mr. Secretary?”
“Not really, no. Rather the opposite, in fact. If we could feel for everypony—excuse me—everyone everywhere, our hearts would burst. It is no more reasonable to expect a pony to be able to bear universal good will, than to expect them to be able to move the sun.”
“Than what does Hearthwarming remind us of?”
Dotted looked thoughtful for a moment, and the tension in his shoulders appeared to melt away. When he spoke, his voice owed a lot more than usual to the island of his origin, his prim and perfect Canterlot accent slipping slightly.
“Of family. And of friends. We are enjoined to love our families and our friends more fiercely during Hearthwarming—not because the time itself is important, but to remind us to truly appreciate that they are there. To not take them for granted. To remember, Your Excellency, the sheer miracle of not being alone. It’s like gift giving, which is an Equestrian custom at this time. The cliché is that it is better to give than to receive, but that’s not really true. Better to say that the point is to give. An old school friend of mine, from Griffonstan, was talking about this remarkable custom and described gift-giving as ‘a thoughtful infliction of joy.’ Perhaps not the most felicitous turn of phrase, she was still coming to grips with Equestrian, but it stuck with me. I guess you could say it is about being thoughtful. A reminder to not only love, but to be mindful of that love, and to be grateful for having somepony to share it with.”
Mkali smiled which, for a moment, made her look like someone’s grandmother. Someone with an expensive education, yes, and possibly a princedom, but a grandmother all the same. Dotted’s imagination, at full extension, could just about imagine her in conjunction with an apple pie, though she’d probably insist on discussing the symbolism of this particular form of dessert. She leaned forward and spoke, still keeping a smile.
“Put like that it sounds quite cheering. Thank you Mr. Secretary, that does bear thinking about. Oh, but forgive an old hippologist for indulging her interests. Now, the, what did you call it, Blueblood stiuation,” she said, sighing. She seemed lost in thought for a second, looking for the right word, and then spoke again.
“You know that my people consider words to be of great importance, yes? We set great store in things said?”
“Of course. It’s why the Sent only speak—”
“Quite. Quite. But in thinking like this, you perhaps lose sight of another aspect of this worldview—to be of worth, to a zebra, is to speak things worth hearing and worth remembering. It so follows that the words of someone without worth are of little significance, indeed.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“It’s simple, Mr. Secretary. The word of someone like your Prince Blueblood is worth, oh, so very little. He cannot insult me, nor can he flatter me, nor, for that matter, can he influence what I think about the trade agreement your government is offering. I might as well be insulted by the growl of a dog or the whistle of wind.”
Dotted was taken aback, so taken aback that all he could manage was a quiet little, “Oh.”
“So you see, Mr. Secretary, I did not need to be apologized to.”
“I see. I’m sorry I took up your time, then,” Dotted said as he stood up to leave. Halfway out of his chair, his motion was arrested by an upraised hoof. Mkali motioned him to sit, and said in an agreeable tone.
“It’s quite alright. I enjoyed our little talk, and your visit allows me to ask a very important question. The word of Blueblood may be worthless, but I think that the word of Dotted Line is another thing entirely. So, Mr. Secretary, this agreement. Equestrian grain and finished goods for our paper. Is it a deal worth making, do you think?”
“My government claims—”
“Now, now, Mr. Secretary. The word of Equestria’s government, well,” Mkali said, rocking a hoof back and forth, “not particularly solid. The word of a princess, now, that’s as good as gold and just as rare. But I’m not asking either, Mr. Secretary, I’m asking Dotted Line. Is the deal fair?”
Dotted thought about the situation and decided to go for broke. If the truth had worked once, perhaps it could work again. Spinny would never approve, and would chide him for squandering so precious a resource as the truth, but she wasn’t here, now was she?
“Yes. I believe it is fair. For all its wealth, Zebrica can’t support proper crops. Cheap Equestrian grain will be a boon, and help pour more of the bits now used for food into, say, fresh trade or infrastructure. And Equestria needs the paper quite badly. Our demand easily outstrips our own production, and we dare not cut down old growth forest just to turn it into,” Dotted said, waving his hoof dismissively, “forms and newspapers. Trees take a lot of time to grow back. Papyrus doesn’t have that problem. And we’ve silo upon silo of grain just moldering away. Much better to send it where it will be of use. I’ve seen the reports and I suspect the deal will favor us initially, but will provide the greatest benefit to Zebrica in the long run.”
“And this is the truth, then?”
“No. I don’t know the truth. But I’ve not deceived you, and I’ve hidden nothing.”
Mkali's smile grew even broader. Dotted wasn’t sure what sort of bubbling flask he was now, but he suspected, based on Mkali’s look, that it was the sort of flask whose contents could be turned into a dissertation, a couple of papers, and a grant, with enough left over to cause a seriously satisfying explosion.
“Then it is done. I’ll send my recommendation to my government tomorrow.”
“Just like that?”
“I chose to trust you. Apparently, that’s appropriate, given the season. And speaking of that, I mustn’t keep you any longer. There are celebrations you need to get to, no doubt.”
“Indeed, Your Excellency. I’ve plans for Hearthwarming.”
* * *
Dotted made his way to his office quickly, mind racing. There was a lot to do, sure enough, but at least everypony was heading home for Hearthwarming. He made a mental note to send word to Spinny that the Blueblood fiasco was well in hoof. No sense in her worrying over the holidays. He raced down the plush corridors of the cabinet office, quite strange and alien now that they weren’t bustling with activity, and heaved open the door marked “D.H. Line—Cabinet Secretary.” Once inside he sidestepped a stack of 0451/DX forms that needed countersigning, jumped over a pile of 1138/T reports that he was reasonably sure were in his office by mistake, and nearly fell when he saw a familiar shape reclining in his chair.
“Leafy! What the hay are you doing here?”
Leafy unfolded from the armchair and gave Dotted a brittle smile.
“Dotty! I was waiting for you, actually, and was just getting—”
“Waiting for me nothing! Aren’t you supposed to be in Fillydelphia? Oh, Celestia, is everything okay? Did something—”
Seeing the panicked look in Dotted’s eyes, Leafy made a placating gesture with his left hoof.
“No, no, everything is fine. I’m flying to Fillydelphia in a little while, I just wanted to, uh—”
Hearing that everything was fine, Dotted deflated, and leaned back onto a suitable pile of paperwork. Leafy got up from the chair and motioned to it with his hoof, but Dotted waved it away. Instead he spoke.
“Why are you here then? It took me long enough as it is to get everypony to leave. Damn near had to pry Spinny out with a crowbar. Don’t tell me I’ll have to go see if there are any guardsponies still on duty to get them to toss you out?”
Leafy smiled, but it was clear that his heart wasn’t in it. He fluffed his wings a few times, looking anywhere but at Dotted. Finally, and with considerable reluctance he spoke.
“Look. Dotted. About Fillydelphia. I’ve been thinking. We could probably get you invited somehow. I know they said family only, but when you think about it a godfather is really—”
Dotted raised a hoof and shook his head.
“Leafy, no. No. Even I know better than to go where I’m not wanted. Inky’s family, bless ‘em, never liked me, and would like me even less if I were to drop in—at Hearthwarming of all times!—uninvited.”
“But—”
“Relax. I’ll be fine. But it’s good that you dropped by, actually, because now I can give you this.”
With those words, Dotted trotted over to a cabinet, dislodged a draft proposal for a flat tax scheme he intended to burn, and fetched a stack of parcels. Picking them up in the dim glow of his telekinetic grip, he carried them over to the desk and set them down with a considerable amount of satisfaction. Seeing Leafy’s bemused look, he explained himself.
“Presents. I won’t be there to give them myself. I would have given them to you earlier but this one,” he said indicating a very slim parcel marked ‘Rose’ in Dotted’s neat hoofwriting, “was a bit of a challenge.”
Smiling, Leafy picked up the parcel, weighed it, and raising it to his ear gave it an experimental shake.
“Very light. I can’t imagine what it could be…unless,” Leafy’s eyes went wide, “unless…the tickets? Celestia! You got the tickets? How? There’s not even standing room left!”
Dotted sniffed, a smile that, under any other sort of circumstances would seem insufferably smug, playing on his lips.
“Standing room, indeed! These are box seats, I’ll have you know. Nothing but the best for my goddaughter, d’you hear?”
“Box seats? Box seats? How in Tartarus did you manage to get box seats?”
Dotted leaned back onto his makeshift paper chair, and grinned.
“Well! You know how I’m technically the civilian head of all the intelligence agencies?”
“Oh…Oh! Suddenly, I’m not sure I want to hear the rest of this story.”
“Probably for the best, really.”
“Rose will be ecstatic, you do know that?”
“That was the notion, yes.”
“My present should find you somewhere tomorrow. Should have been here early but you know how it is with delivery. Oh, and Rose got you something, but she’ll want to give it to you in person.”
“Oh? She didn’t have to. What is it?” Dotted asked slyly.
“I think she thinks she did. And I’m not telling. I’d never hear the end of it if I ruined the surprise. But I can tell you that it is even lighter than your present, and may be even harder to find,” Leafy said smiling, and then seemed to remember something and a shadow seemed to pass over his features and he looked uncomfortable again. Reluctantly he spoke again.
“Dotty, are you sure? The kids will miss you, you know, and—”
“Yes, I am sure. I’ll be fine. And Rose, Dandelion, and Marigold can pester uncle Dotty to their heart’s content once they come back. Now go. It’s a long flight to Fillydelphia. Make sure to wrap up warm. It’s cold up there. And bring a warm drink.”
Despite himself, Leafy had to roll his eyes.
“Yes, Mother,” he said, “I’ll look both ways when I’m crossing the street, too. Are you absol—”
“Yes. I am. Now go. I’ll keep. Don’t you worry. I’ve plans for Hearthwarming.”
* * *
Night had fallen. The weatherponies, as their last job before leaving for home themselves, cleared up the skies, driving away clouds thick with snow, and so the sky was crystal clear and thousands of stars burned bright in the night. Luna’s best work for the year, without a doubt. The only thing that occluded the magnificence of the stars was the occasional burst of fireworks, gleaming in red, orange, and green, and then settling back to the ground in a shower of dancing sparks. Dotted saw none of that, however.
He sat quietly at his desk, his office cold and lit only by a small desk lamp, the fireflies in it sleepy and sluggish. Occasionally it flickered, sending shadows dancing on the walls. Methodically, he picked up the next form from the stack on the floor, scanned it, scribbled his name in a corner, and placed it on a separate pile which had in the past few hours grown to worrying proportions. His desk faced a rather handsome picture window, but somehow he managed to not look through it at the gleam of the stars or the inviting warm glow of windows all over town. He especially didn’t look up at the glare of the fireworks. He liked them altogether too much.
The room was quiet, the only sounds the scratching of the quill over paper, the creak and pop of the building as it adjusted to being empty, cold, and dark, and the tick-tock of the desk clock, as it sliced the all-too-long night into manageable bits. Dotted sighed, shifted his position, winced at an unexpected stab of pain from his back, and picked up another form. A particularly magnificent firework burst over downtown Canterlot, bathing everything in crimson light. Dotted averted his eyes, focusing on the form. He read the incident summary. Checked that the appropriate boxes were filled in. Made a complex scribble in the lower-right corner that looked like a seriously tangled piece of string or, if one squinted just so, the words “D.H. Line.” He put the form onto the pile. There was another burst of fireworks, even more brilliant than the last, strong enough to cause sharp shadows to be cast all over the very nearly deserted office. This time Dotted covered his eyes with his hoof. When he lifted it, it was unaccountably damp. He sighed again, and levitated a piece of paper he had put just under the edge of his blotter. It was a neat list of various jobs with, it must be said, a great many checkmarks, but even more empty boxes. And the last item was a real doozy. “Finalize draft proposal for Zebrica treaty & check for legality,” it said. Normally a job for twenty ponies. Tonight, he was doing it, and not a few others. His fault, really. He had sent everypony home. Well, almost everypony.
Dotted growled in frustration at those empty boxes and looked at the clock and frowned. It really wasn’t that late, but he was bone tired. He looked at the mess of paperwork that surrounded him and sighed. It’ll keep until tomorrow. The thought of home did not cheer him, not in the slightest, but he needed sleep and, if at all possible, he needed to sleep in his own bed. His back couldn’t take many more catnaps in unlikely places. Moving like a clockwork automaton with half its gearing stripped, he dried his quill, put it away in the little holder that was, inexplicably, shaped like a small chintzy sofa, capped the inkwell, sorted the paperwork, and got up, ever so carefully. He could swear he could hear every single joint creaking. Then, he slipped quietly out of the office, unable to escape the feeling that he was sneaking away like a thief.
He had intended to make way straight to the gate, and then home, a tiny little house at the outskirts of Canterlot, but he had been lost in thought, or rather a swarm of half-thoughts he never quite dared complete, and his hooves, operating on automatic, took him wandering through the familiar corridors of the palace. Most of it was cold and empty, just like his office, the ponies that normally filled the place with life elsewhere, quite likely behind those cheerily glowing windows that Dotted avoided looking at, as if they were accusing eyes. At one point he looked around, and realized he had wandered all the way to the part of the palace quite opposite his usual haunts, and was at the end of the hall of Easterly Radiance, just at the base of the Tower of Dawn. And since he was there, he saw no reason not to climb up. Having climbed up, he saw no reason not to round the corner where a rather important door was.
Normally the door the the study of the Solar Princess was guarded, but it was Hearthwarming, and the princess had sent the guards away. What did surprise Dotted was that the door was open, and that light was spilling into the empty corridor. He knew the Princess’ schedule to the last moment and he knew that she ought to be well asleep this late, having gratefully given over the duty of presiding over the festivities in the Palace itself to her sister. This left him in a bit of a quandary. That was the Princess’ private study, and what she got up to in there was her own affair. On the other hoof, he was one of a very very small number of ponies who could just walk through those doors whenever he wished, and the only member of that exclusive group whose name didn’t include the title ‘Princess’ or start with a ‘T’ and end with ‘wilight Sparkle.’ And, to be honest, he was quite curious and not a little worried.
He walked down the corridor, making a bit more noise than he usually would, in lieu of knocking, and peered cautiously inside. At her writing desk was Celestia, muzzle pressed against the polished cedar surface, surrounded with papers, and snoring very very gently. Somehow, against all reason, she managed to look dignified and regal doing this. Drooling just a little bit, yes, but doing so in the most majestic way possible. Dotted’s face grew very pained. Whatever it was she was up to, it was his job. She ought to be resting. Moving with stealth that belied his bulky frame, he crept closer and peered at the top page. In Celestia’s calligraphic script it was titled “Zebrica Treaty—Draft Proposal & Legality Report.” Dotted spent a long time looking at that page, and looking at it he was reminded. He smiled, and felt the smile, like a surge of warmth unaccountably spreading across his muzzle. Moving with great care, he picked up the papers and notes, packed them carefully into his saddlebags, and turned to leave. Then he stopped, spied a cashmere blanket on a sofa across the room, picked it up, and, with the sort of delicacy he used to employ when dealing with seriously explosive reagents back in the day, draped it over his princess. He didn’t know if gods grew cold, but he’d take no chances. Not with her.
Dotted made his way back to his office much faster this time. Instead of wandering, he walked in his usual manner, quickly, picking the most direct routes. He even braved the inner courtyard, despite the icy weather, in order to save a lengthy and circuitous trip through the southern wing. He rushed into his office, stamping to dislodge the little bits of snow that clung stubbornly to his thick coat. He surveyed the room, dark, cold, and uninviting, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. With a few taps he awoke the fireflies in the globes set along the walls, and with a flare from his horn, he made the fireplace burst into cheery flame. He warmed his hooves at the fire for a few moments, making a mental note to send something nice to the good Professor, and once sufficiently warm, trotted over to the window where, tunelessly, he made himself a cup of tea. Occasionally there’d be a flare of fireworks from outside, and he’d lift his eyes from his very important work, to look and grin like a foal. As his thesis adviser could mournfully attest, Dotted did like things exploding. Once the tea was safely in a steaming cup, he carried it over to his table, flung himself into the chair which creaked, just like it always did, and he uncapped the inkwell with a decisive snap and set to work, humming tunelessly. He had plans this Hearthwarming.
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Author's notes
The story came about from a discussion with Kobalstromo regarding Christmas specials and he helped, too, with some pre-reading and idea-bouncing. Also pre-reading and bouncing ideas pretty damned hard was Bad Horse who not only made me shorten bits of it for the greater good of the story, and convinced me to bin an unpromising starting section, but is also chiefly responsible for the way the story ends. Also casting a benign eye of writerly skill over the story was Varanus, who needs no introduction.
I hope you enjoyed yourself, and thank you for reading!
YES.
I
This Story 
Another great story! looking forwards to more from Dotted Line and co.
Wonderful. Though you forgot to capitalize Leafy a few times.
Another lovely piece of work.
Happy Hearth's Warming.
SPOILER ALERT!!!
and a nameless horror had taken residence in Dotted’s chimney. Again.
-Something mundane, like creosote perhaps? Or did his brush with the disemvoweled one have long-term consequences for him beyond the temporary brain leech?
and breaking the ice on his inkwell was getting very tiresome.
-Shades of Bob Kratchet from "A Christmas Carol"?
The otherworldly gibbering wasn’t helping any, either.
-Ok, so probably not creosote, but it could be that he had to dispose of something nasty in a hurry by burning it, and ever since then the creosote in that particular chimney does a bit of gibbering from time to time.
“Professor, is there any chance of getting that thing out of here before I freeze?”
-Or maybe the extra-dimensional studies professors (or whatever they are called) feel he owes the a favor? Or maybe they now consider him a comrade in arms and thus tend to involve him in their little adventures?
unaccountably decorated with tiny silver bells
-Original copy of Starswirl the Bearded's work? Or a historically accurate reproduction? Or do they ward off certain things that would be attracted to the brain-waves of anyone reading the book, or the book itself? A crude anti-theft mechanism to keep someone who shouldn't be reading it from making off with it? Some combination of the above?
We are dealing with a class three manifestation drawn by the dimensional instability of the Royal Palace.
-I assume that that is less problematic than the class two manifestation in the last chapter?
We have finally tracked down the last surviving copy of De Rangiferis Mysteriis
-*Googles Rangiferis* Ah... hahaha! I wonder if it can be turned pleasant? Probably not. The bells, the chimney, the stolen socks. I wonder if he should have scheduled to move his quarters to a different office, or if it would have followed him? I also wonder why the surrounding rooms don't keep the temperature above freezing. Perhaps he needs enough space for paperwork that the room it very large? Perhaps in addition to being a corner office with sizable windows? Perhaps with historically significant stained glass that is out of the question to add an outer pane over to increase the insulative value of?
you are supposed to watch out for him, and you are enjoined not to cry out.
-*Snerk* I wonder if the researcher is reading too much into it, or if you are continuing to twist the legends into a pretzel?
We could enlist princess Luna to give us aid in that respect.
-I guess she could use the work, unlike her sister, who tends to be overloaded?
And it is said that he has an eldritch laugh like unto—”
“HO HO HO”
-*Chortles*
To make matters worse, it was her boss.
-So has he been transformed into a horror, and his name striped away?
And no, I’m fine. Professor Abacus dispatched a handy chimney sweep to help.
-I wonder if the chimney sweep gets hazard pay, or has Sandy Claws departed from the area? Probably no hazard pay given that it took a bit of doing to get that in the last chapter. I suppose that hanging upside down in a warm chimney might be a nice change of pace from freezing while trying to do paperwork. I hope he wasn't badly scorched or suffer too much smoke inhalation on his arrival? Or did the protective aura of Sandy Claus against such things last long enough for the fire to be doused?
Draft an ‘spontaneous and unrehearsed’ apology
-"a" not "an" I believe.
They are always starved for material come Hearthwarming and would love to pick up a delicious slice of recreational outrage like this.
-Not focusing on "feel good" stories given the season? I guess even Equestria isn't THAT nice.
I’ve sent everyone I possibly can away already,
-And besides which, his own chimney might not be decontaminated, and he can justify working from her office, since that is where her notes are.
[1] Smile #38a — mocking, yet affectionate, disbelief.
-You COULD try putting these in the newly released "author's note" area, but I think this will work very well actually.
I’ve plans for this Hearthwarming.
-Three cups of tea in a row? Cathartic acts of utterly silliness in the workplace when he is sure nopony will see him who will care*?
*In other words, Celestia the tea-troll who rejoiced when the gala was ruined doesn't count.
With these words, Dotted strode out of the office trailing little wisps of soot behind him.
-I wonder if he is going to clean up before meeting the zebra, or say that, on behalf of Equestria, he "Repents in dust and ashes, and you can see the ashes" or some such.
Canterlot was first a fortress and only later a city,
-The amount of large stained glass windows that invite catapult stones would tend to argue against that, but perhaps military theory is different in Equestria? Or it was ORIGINALLY a fortress, and Celestia had the windows carved out to celebrate X centuries of peace?
-((This is where I ended up taking a long-ish break.))
-It occurs to me to wonder of Sandy Claws is simply trying to get Dotted to take a break. Perhaps his "plans" are simply to shut down the treadmill of work he is on so he can actually have the satisfaction of getting ahead a bit? I still think that three properly appreciated cups of tea in a row (or more?) is more likely, but you never know.
Dotted, brushed clean and fortified with a meticulously prepared cup of tea,
-Well, there goes the "repent in dust and ashes, see provided ashes", as well as a strong hit to the "lots of tea in a row" theory.
and reflected how here it was impossible to keep pretending.
-Pretending what? What illusion is he holding onto for his sanity?
The walls of the palace came in close around the Court, massive hulking shapes, sloped low, almost seeming to crouch in readiness.
-Oh, I see...
He hoped Mkali would see it like that. He could certainly use some goodwill.
-I would think that would already be factored into Mkali's disposition, and thus his reputation if Mkali is a resident of the embassy.
presumably in case he was a devious assassin wearing a remarkably convincing ‘aging bureaucrat’ costume.
-Hey, it hardly takes much strength to slit a throat, still less to slip poison into a drink. And that is letting out the idea of unicorn magic (although I forget if he is a unicorn). The mix of guards is interesting. Is that to show Equestria's protection, or to protect Equestria's interests?
which was a bit of a mystery because according to all accounts they were exceptionally good at both.
-Paperwork and Chemistry? Interesting. I guess the Chinese did invent gunpowder IRL, and they had some pretty efficient bureaucracy.
the true representative of Zebrica
-So there is somezebra who is only nominally the representative of Zebrica, but actually wields very little power?
a Look.
-I wonder what fraction of The Stare said look is equivalent to? Which in turn makes me wonder if Dotted might be able to withstand The Stare, and from thence I am given to wonder if Fluttershy coming to Canterlot by herself (as unlikely as that would be) would be any problem to Dotted, and from thence I am given to wonder how "Sweet and Elite" would look from Dotted's perspective. I also wonder if this is the same Hearth's Warming where the Mane Six starred, but given the absence of "All Hooves On Deck!" I have to assume that either it isn't or that Celestia elected not to inform Dotted, as her personal present to him.
The last time he gave anything that sort of look, half exasperation and half analysis, was way back in his chemist years.
-Ruined delicate, and time and bits intensive experiment? Maybe the ruiner of such an experiment or expensive piece of equipment?
while he was observing a solution of lithium-borohydride in hydrazine that was stubbornly evolving hydrogen.
-I do believe that hydrazine is highly flammable although I could be mistaken... *Uses Wikipedia* Yep, rocket-fuel all by itself (As in it does not require a separate oxidizer) and can hit 800 C in milliseconds. Thus, while hydrogen doesn't burn very hot (compared to carbon), it could prove dangerous as a fuse leading to the hydrazine... which might already be decomposing. Lithium-Borohydride is very high energy density, although for some reason this isn't made much use of (IE nobody uses it for fuel or explosive). In short, said mixture would SEEM to me to be of great concern.
Just dumping it down the sink wouldn’t do
-Missing period. Also, I would think that he should have used a containment vessel if possible, but he may have been in a hurry. He probably learned to have the disposal method in place before performing such experiments in the future.
-Sorry, but I am going to have to take another break here. Hopefully it won't be as long as my first one.
Glory be. This story is going on the short list (with A Cat Town Christmas): one of those works of graceful laughter and subtle profundity that have the genuine capacity to draw my cynical pagan heart into the
ChristmasHearthwarming spirit. A thoughtful infliction of joy, indeed.I was also going to make some comment on the declension of reindeer ... but, you know, on further reflection, it just seems inadequate. Thank you for a deep-winter smile, and I wish you the same in return!
1863964
Aw. Thanks.
But, really, what is the declension of 'reindeer?'
To be honest I didn't look it up, because the joke was that the name looks very much like 'De Vermis Mysteriis' a noted tome from Lovecraft's mythos, but now I'm quite curious.
I love the Civil Service OC's, and fully approve this second story featuring them. I did a little inner squeal when Leafy finally showed up. It's not like he's a scene-stealer or anything, I just really enjoy the mincing little guy. Dotted, of course, remains the star; he's got such a lovely no-nonsense nose-to-the-grindstone approach to everything from otherworldly horrors to the Secret Equestrian Government to basic low-level paperwork. Plus, he really knows how to gift. Well done!
1863991
Well! As long as you're asking ...
> the joke was that the name looks very much like 'De Vermis Mysteriis' ...
And that's exactly why I thought better of my comment; because we're writing for English speakers, and you did have the parallel going on, and a little bit of dog latin that helps the joke is actually more valuable than getting it correct and mangling it into some huge mouthful that breaks the flow of the line.
In other words, don't change it in the story; your version isn't an error. Literally the only reason to discuss the topic is to geek out over language a little bit. (Which isn't itself a bad thing, and with a nom de plume like yours it seems like the sort of thing you might appreciate -- which is the only reason I mentioned it at all.)
That having been said, "vermis" is singular (the worm), and I suspect we're going for "on the mysteries of reindeer" plural. Looking up vermis, as best I can tell we're in the genitive case (they are mysteries belonging to the worm). I'm not sure that rangifer was ever an actual word used by Romans, so I don't know what declension the word is, but I'd lay odds that it's the same as lucifer, with which it seems to share a root. Which would make the "proper" Latin the plural genitive second-declension: rangiferorum.
(edit: Or we could just look it up directly! Why couldn't I find that earlier?)
Disclaimer: This is all armchair scholarship.
1864187
Thanks! I just may write something someday that follows Leafy, you know. There's a lot of fun to be had with a pony who is silly with determination and tenacity. Maybe have him flex those lawyerly muscles.
Just...mincing? My foreign may be showing, but I don't actually know what that means.
1864230
To "mince" is "to walk with an affected fastidiousness, typically with short quick steps." It's how I see him move in my head, whether he's "walking" or not. Your internal picture may vary.
This! This is so much yes.
1864212
Do I like geeking out over language? Hah! There little I like more. And have a follow just for writing an entire post about the declension of an obscure word in Latin.
But yes. Our template phrase[1] can be De Rerum Natura -- On the Nature of Things. Rerum is indeed the genitive plural of res while natura is, indeed, the singular of the ablative. Just so, we use the genitive plural of Rangifer, and the ablative plural of mysterium [because it is mysteries of the reindeer, not mystery of the reindeer] and we get the correct phrase:
De Rangiferōrum Mystēriīs.
But you are, again, correct. It'd ruin the joke a bit. And Classical Equestrian isn't quite Latin. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
[1] I'm leery of De Vermis Mysteriis because Lovecraftian terms are rarely linguistically reasonable. Unaussprechlichen Kulten lacks a "Von" in the front and means something closer to "Unpronounceable Cults" which, actually, fits real well with the man that gave us Cthulhu. And Abdul Alhazred isn't a proper Arabic name at all, though I've seen one spirited theory that it is in fact a corruption of Abd-al-Azd which means "Servant of the Approacher." Fitting.
1864332 Yay! I don't generally get into such hardcore linguistic geeking in my stories, but I can't resist getting the little details right, which is part of the reason why my output's so slow. (Someday I'll start getting Haylander: Origins posted, and then there can be a pony story which has characters occasionally talk in Anglo-Saxon. Someday ...)
I hadn't personally analyzed Lovecraft to that extent, but that footnote was awesome to read.
> Classical Equestrian isn't quite Latin. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
For what it's worth, Princess Luna agrees with you [1].
--
[1] Context: I was running a perfectly lovely little all-OC-pony online RPG when suddenly Luna herself hacked into the board, created herself an account, and threw the narrative into a screaming left turn by adding her own recollections of the historical events. It got awkward but glorious when she realized that her collaborators weren't ponies. The whole thing was an Experience, and there was an amazing amount of great writing sunk into that game by all parties. One of my favorite moments was, and remains, learning how Daylight Savings Time nearly restarted the Celestial War.
Wonderful!
1863455 Nice, but I was really hoping to hear more about the trade relations between Zebrica and Equestria.
1864513 That is some high-quality roleplaying there.
1864266 Or are you just mincing words?
I analyzed how the scenes of this story work together to convey its theme.
Awesome, I love these little guys.
Seriously Dotted line has to be one of my top 3 favorite OCs.
Also I love how you portray the world of Equestrian bureaucracy.
Thank you for sharing this wonderful story and letting us read about these great characters again.
The description of this story would greatly benefit from a note indicating its status as a sequel to Whom the Princesses Would Destroy, and a link thereto.
That said, this was wonderful.
Heh. Love these stories.
Anyone but me hoping that DL has better plans than just work for Hearth's Warming?
Just... wow.
"1138/T reports" Yay for old Lucas movie references!
Dotted is still Best Bureaucrat!
and the scene with Celestia? Awesome! and dignified! but mostly Awesome!
I promised meself I'd try to write more comments an' communicate me views more clearly, which'll explain me rambling and disconnected writing here.
Dotted's raison d'etre can be summed up as "Because someone has to". He's a joy to read (on account of you bein' such a fabulous writer and all). Also the embassy bit was great, on account of Mkali being a joy to behold and all the little treasures givin' hints about the bigger picture.
Applause. Great reams of applause.
I think I say this everytime, but you have a serious gift with how you can so perfectly convey the story with your words. I will not stop saying this until it stops impressing me.
(I am also more than a little jealous, I have no where NEAR this degree of linguistic skill.)
Dotted is in the running for my favorite OC, and I think is angling for best pony status. (Good luck, your gonna have to dislodge Twilight for that.) //dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/Twilight_Sparkle_lolface.png
Though, Quizzical is doing very well herself.
The final part though. A father to his men, full stop. That nearly brought on tears. Not to mention him giving Celly a blanket. It was very nice (read: so heartwarming my heart has actually melted and fused with my ribs as it cooled.) seeing someone taking care of her, instead of the other way around. I really like the dynamic we are seeing between the civil services and the sun princess. Though, I can't help but notice there has been virtually no interaction with the OTHER princess so far.
*Hint hint*
1865753
Oh, Twilight Sparkle is indubitably Best Pony. Beyond dispute. But I am pleased you like my little group of bureaucratic OCs. See, paperwork IS magic!
I kept wanting to write a scene with Dotted and Luna, but I still haven't found the right context. It's coming, though. Just so you know, my Luna is a socially awkward genius, and a millennium of temporal displacement helped none. Her and Dotted ought to get along like a house on fire. You know, flames, screaming, ponies running for cover, that sort of thing.
1865391
Ah yes. One of these days, I'll have to make my extras, deleted scenes, and alternate endings story. I even have a name I rather like: Obiter Dicta. Pretentious enough?
But yes, this story does have a coda. A What Happened Afterwards, if you will. It was never written in the main body of the story because it would dilute the story structure.
1865521
Ha! Someone did spot it! Far from the only reference, mind. There's a significance to 0451, too. Especially in conjunction with the letters 'D' and 'X'.
1864632
You're lucky it's still Christmas.
1865811
Huzzah! (This site needs more Luna emotes)
I am filled with holiday spirit and it's not even Christmas anymore - love Dotted Line, he's a well fleshed out and endearing character.
“He insulted the ambassador of the United Cities and Heartland of Zebrica. Something about grass huts."
And somewhere, the Duke of Ridinburgh wipes a proud tear from his eyes
Draft an ‘spontaneous and unrehearsed. Tsk tsk, how'd you miss that?
is an reminder.” Again?
“An reminder? Another?
here eyebrow her
The word of Equestria’s government, well,” Mkali said, rocking a hoof back and forth, “not particularly solid.
I think you are missing an is in there.
It's always nice to have more Dotted Line and this outing was quite enjoyable. I quite liked the slow build-up to the entity's reveal and the conversation with Mkali.
1866537
Problems fixed. Thanks!
1866601
That was quick. If I may ask, what's your word processor? The fact that the an's got through a grammar check astounds me.
1866647
I use Scrivener for writing. It doesn't have a grammar check. It makes up for this with a host of other lovely features.
And that's how Dotted Line saved Hearthwarming. With paperwork. And tea.
That was ludicrously beautiful and heartwarming. Thanks! More?
I love this story please do more with dotted line. My favorite scence have always been him when he meets/ talks to the princess
I've been hoping for more Dotted Line, so I may have squealed with joy (in a very manly way, of course) when I saw this story.
Oh Blueblood, you silly little pony. Good thing the zebra Ambassador has a great understanding of who has useful things to say and who doesn't. Interesting little aside about The Sent, I'm guessing that's a reference to Zecora?
Wonderful ending with Celestia.
That was wonderful! Absolutely so! Although, there is one error I caught.
"She ought to be resting. Moving with stealth that bellied his bulky frame, he crept closer and peered at the top page. In Celestia’s calligraphic script it was titled “Zebrica Treaty—Draft Proposal & Legality Report.”"
Shouldn't it be "belied" instead of "bellied"?
1869260
Sharp eye!
That was an embarrassing error to make, sure enough.
1866706
Well that answers that question. I'm too used to Word and it's grammar Nazi-ness.
You know, I wonder. I've just seen an advert for the new series of "Yes, Prime Minister", and now I see this beautiful work of art. I can't help but believe the two must be connected, somehow. You wouldn't happen to discuss your story ideas with a man in the BBC, would you?
This really is quite fabulous; superb diction, metaphors, and a hook to keep everyone wondering about the next chapter. Do write more, right now.
If a horror is "unspeakable," how do you discuss it?
This is why I feel the urge to call in air strikes on mimes.
Right, finally got round to this!
I have to say my favourite bit was the beginning. I love how you manage to very subtly imply that Santa Claus is getting lost in Dotted's chimney each year (without doing anything that would require [Human]) and that the ponies consider him some kind of extradimensional invader. I also love the resonance between the first and second scene.
Yeah, that.
I'm very intrigued about Dotted's history with the Princess now. That's a very exclusive club he's in. I wonder how he ended up where he is?
1865002
What are your other two favorite OCs? I'll probably want to read whatever stories they're in. Dotted Line is one of my favorite characters as well, along with Sepia Tock.
Santa Clause as Eldritch Abomination? I like this headcanon.
Can I, like, just, um, can I like,
stealborrow that or something? Please?I'd give you credit, of course. I have no idea what I'd use it for, but that's a great idea and if I ever have a use for such a thing I'd love to.
The Counting Goddess... I'm scribbling that down in my 'deities headcanon' file. No idea what use I'll find for it, but it's a good note to have.
I do believe I like this new footnote style of yours. Unobtrusive, but easy to read.
I think there's a misplaced dash (long dash? em dash?) in the paragraph with the second one, though.
Ah, flaming metaphor. (Sorry, I've got a textfile open and commenting while I read
)
Oh, now I'm curious about these "Sent". Do you expect that's likely to express itself elsewhere if given the time?
I also like Mkali's ...interesting dismissal of Blueblood.
1866706 Hmm, now... I'm sure I've heard of Scrivener before, but I honestly don't remember anything about it... I take it it's good?
1873351
By all means. It was inspired by "Santa Claus is Coming To Town" where some of the lines sound...creepy as all hell, really. So, yes, take the idea. I'm not the first one to have it, either. Charlie Stross used it once, I believe.
I wrote some backstory on that in a comment here, should you care to read it.
It's not really a footnote, and not an endnote either. I've decided to call them ghostnotes.
Will fix.
Flaming? To what are you referring, precisely?
Do you believe my very next story?
Mkali's one cool old lady, no doubt about that.
It's like a development environment for writing. It has basic formatting options and all sorts of ways to split things into scenes, rearrange them painlessly, track progress, organize research, character sketches, and the like. I like it quite a bit. If you are curious, there's a free demo here. I wrote Whom The Princesses Would Destroy on the demo version and liked it so much I bought the full thing. It may be overkill for use with fanfic only, but I used for my work, too.
1873429
Well, I was specifically referring to the "eldritch abomination" portion. I'm aware of the creepyness factor associated with Santa Claus, although that's mostly a recent development (and mostly the same song, too...). But thanks muchly, anyways! (I mean, the dude's a stalker who hands out stuff, and we perpetuate it by lying to our kids and then sneaking around behind their backs. Mixed messages much?)
That's a fascinating comment. (I need to google "hippomorphic" now though, I can see what the relation is but I need the specific etymology) I suspect you, PrettyPartyPony, and myself share similar approaches to headcanon/backstory. I feel like I'm in a similar situation to PPP, though...
On a tangentially-related note, let me ask you this: Do you consider Celestia and Luna to be outright immortal (and eternal)?
In any other context, with a name like 'ghostnotes', I'd have expected them to look more like this. I think yours are easier to read, however.
In this case, the flaming metaphor is Dotted's cheerfully burning bridges. In your last story, you had another excellent spot where Spinning Top pictured her burning career.
I dunno, it's like a theme or something. (Probably the "or something".)
You know, I actually got smart and decided to google* Scrivener. It looks quite good, and I'm inclined to try it, maybe even buy it.
The complication is that use Linux. Not quite to the point of exclusivity, but for all practical purposes that might as well be the case. And Scrivener isn't really available for Linux -- there's a 'beta', but I still don't rightly know what's involved in all that.**
I suspect what it will come down to is that I'll try the beta/demo, and attempt to re-create most of it's features with other software. I'll be missing several bits, of course, but I'll try.
* Well, not technically, but seeing as the words' developed into a verb by this point...
** Add to that, I'm really spoiled rotten by pretty much Linux's entire approach to software -- I'm so used to not paying anything for software that ~$30-40 bucks looks borderline outlandish. Based on the screenshots I'm sure it's worth that much, don't get me wrong, but I don't know if it's worth that much per platform.