Entry Thirty-Nine
October 16, 1000 ANM
Sister Dearest found me. Apparently such a feat is a simple matter when one’s quarry has been dyed orange. I had been certain that using the table for cover was a stroke of brilliance, but it was all for naught, for which I feel a distinct measure of chagrin.
She was not angry, of course. She rarely is. Rather than berate me on my minor oversight regarding the fact that orange soda is a liquid, she lightly chastened me for not taking responsibility for my action. I cannot see how she thinks that to be a possibility. Does she not know that I do not do so easily, if at all? I much prefer to avoid making such mistakes in the first place, which means that when such instances do occur, I am woefully unprepared. Whenever I misstep to a small degree, it is only logical that I should err to a properly more impressive degree.
I admit, that is where many of my problems stemmed from in the first place. My desire to be in the right, even when I was very close to being in the wrong, led me into the tempting clutches of the Nightmare. It is a strange combination: in my quest to be a shining example of leadership, I have sunk to depths that even anglerfish would not dare to plumb. If I had realized that thousands of years ago, when the staring contest seared the image of the inferno into my mind, would I have tread down a different path? I wonder. It would have been quite good not to be banished from the face of Equestria for a thousand years.
But enough of my brooding. Sister Dearest did not show many signs of sour scolding. In fact, it was Blueblood who boasted the bulk of being bothered, though the servants had no small share of sulkiness themselves. As I was led back to my son’s quarters, it seemed that the entirety of the staff had been gathered to correct my little mistake.
I had never before seen anything like it. All present members of the servant body were in the midst of a large group spell—apparently, scrubbing at the mess would have made it worse. It is amazing how the wonders of science have extended into janitorial corners. Indeed, the unicorns who were standing throughout Blueblood’s chamber concentrated solely on extracting the orange soda from each strand of carpet, a task made easier by the efforts of the earth ponies; the latter used their innate magic to make the soda pull itself from areas that could not otherwise come clean. Once any measure of liquid had been removed, the pegasi would swoop around and add it to the tornado of soda spinning in the center of the room, supported solely by weather magic and the wind of wings.
I considered the scene for a fair amount of time. Then I looked at Sister Dearest. “Would it not be a simpler affair to simply install new carpet?”
“It would,” she agreed, smiling at the scene before us. “But one of the servants came up with the idea, and everypony else was so interested in all being able to take part that I didn’t have the heart to tell them no.”
That was not quite surprising. Being very familiar with Sister Dearest, I am well aware that she often uses a hooves-off approach. She often says that all ponies needed friends, but she also believes that none can solve a pony’s most personal problems quite like the pony herself. Weighing those contradictory ideas, I was somewhat bemused as to why she had not relegated the cleaning duties to Blueblood and me.
When I told her so, she laughed lightly. “The thought did cross my mind, yes. But, not to put too fine a point on it, I had the idea that you would use more forceful methods. Subtlety is not your strongest suit.”
I nodded in admission. Aside from my plots for tyranny, I do not employ many cloak-and-dagger operations. Perhaps I channel all such silence through that single outlet? That would certainly explain the substantial secrecy of my superlative subversive schemes.
Somepony tapped my flank. Turning, I saw that it was none other than Blueblood. Judging from the bright orange glow of his coat, it seemed a fair guess that this was the real Blueblood and not his impostor.
“Motherrrrr,” he whined. “I’m a mess.”
“I see that,” I told him, taking note of his mildly frazzled mane. “I must say, you are taking this with far more grace than I expected from you.”
“I don’t want to be graceful,” he pouted, stamping the floor with an orange hoof. “I want to be not orange. How can your fur mix blue and orange and not look hideous?”
“Now, Blueblood,” was my chastisement, “be a mature little pony, will you not? If you are truly bothered by this development, you will nevertheless accept it with dignity.”
“I’d be glad to,” he said grumpily, glancing back at his rump, “but my dignity is just as orange as the rest of me.”
“Don’t worry, nephew,” Sister Dearest cut in. “Things could always be worse.”
“Dare I ask how they could be worse?”
“It could have been grape soda instead.” Her eyes twinkled. “That said, I believe that situation would be a horse of another color.”
I applied my hoof to my face. “You are awful, sister.”
“I don’t know.” Blueblood looked thoughtful. “When you put it that way, it’s vaguely humorous.”
Blueblood has grown quite soft over the last thousand years if he can find such witticisms amusing. I love him, of course, but it is that love that drives me to write such a fact. Did I not teach him a number of forbidden arts, as is befitting of a prince of darkness? As a child of the powers of Sombra and myself, he has something of an expectation in regards to destiny and so forth. Or perhaps I should say he had such an expectation. The last thousand years have not been kind to anypony’s knowledge of history, even for those who experienced it.
I really should speak with him about it. Despite that need, however, I am wary of broaching the subject around him, because when I last attempted to do so hundreds of years ago he pointed out that if by dark powers I am his mother, Sombra must be his father. The images that idea produced were so terrible as to cause me to seek acid to pour into my ears, in hopes that I could obliterate the portion of my brain responsible for conjuring it up. Even now I regret reliving the memory. I must write of something else.
Of course! The changeling. After Sister Dearest had cheerfully informed me that the servants’ income for this chore would be coming out of my allowance, I meandered in the vague direction of my chambers, mumbling to myself in such a way that even I cannot recall what was said under my breath. Truly the rightful empress of the night is naturally the best at steeping even the spoken word into shadow. It was in the midst of my mumbling that I caught sight of the strange pony.
Of course, it was not a pony at all, but rather the changeling. Its earth pony guise did not prevent it from betraying itself through the little insect-like twitch it gave upon noticing my presence.
“You are terrible at maintaining such an illusion,” I told it happily. “If you wish to achieve some measure of competence at it, you must first remember to act like a pony.”
“Yes,” the changeling said flatly. “And if you were disguised as one of us, you’d immediately think to act like a bug, right?”
“But of course!” I boasted. “I consider myself an expert in scintillating schemes. I am a master of chess, you know.”
The changeling was skeptical. Of course it was, for my skills at chess must be seen to be believed!
“But important matters are more important,” I said wisely. “Tell me, how fares your queen?”
“Doing well,” it said, with an ounce of respect for its kin. “Progress is being made very quickly. At this rate, the Dreams—that is, the changelings—should be ready to enter reality within a few days.”
“Well, I am pleased that they … days?!”
“Of course.” There was a pause. Then the changeling’s eyes widened, slowly. “You mean … she didn’t tell you?”
“Chrysalis told me that the exodus would be prepared for in a matter of years.”
It looked at me, stunned. Then it shook its head. “No, that can’t be right. She told us you were up to date on everything.” It fidgeted uncomfortably. “But if she lied about that …”
I gasped. “But pause a moment! It makes sense. She did tell me that she had a surprise for me, and what better surprise is there than to reveal that everything is going perfectly?”
It said nothing. I threw out my forelegs dramatically for emphasis. It only frowned in reply.
“... You seem less than excited about this,” I perceived. “What troubles you? Was this meant to be a surprise for you as well?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.” The changeling shook itself. “Princess Luna, something strange is going on. I’ll see if I can’t bring a few friends up to speed and see what the deal is. Our queen has something up her sleeve.”
At this point I was beginning to suspect that Chrysalis may not have concealed the projected exodus date for purely equinitarian reasons. “I assume this is not a preferable situation.”
“What gave it away?” the changeling sneered. But it could not hide the little tremor running up its body as it spoke. “This is bad, very bad. She has her own plans … she hasn’t always been all that fair in the past, and now this …”
“What do you suggest?” I asked kindly. “If you require peace of mind, I would be glad to assist despite the fact that you have done nothing for me beside help turn Blueblood orange.”
Its head tilted. “I … I wasn’t expecting you to say that. You really want to help? Huh. I. Huh.” It bit its lip in thoughtful confusion. “I might need to think this over.”
“Do not be in a rush,” I advised. “I shall look forward to speaking with you again when we next meet. But I should probably be sure it is you, and not some other changeling attempting to pull a pathetic prank. I shall name you.”
“... How is that going to help anything?”
“It is a common philosophy in the kingdom of Equestria to steadfastly be true to the attributes and desires that separate a pony from the squirming mass of its sisters.”
It appeared baffled.
I sighed. “Identity is magic, changeling.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” It did not sound particularly convinced. “I assume you’re going to call me something bug-related?”
“You sound as if you would be averse to such an idea.”
“It sounds so stereotypical. We wouldn’t go up to a pony and tell her, ‘You are now Fuzzyhooves!’ It’s practically an insult.”
“I did not think of the matter in that way,” I admitted. “Very well. I shall call you Bumblebee!”
“Okay—wait, I’m sorry, what? Did you not hear what I just said?”
“Of course. But you were too narrow in your specifying what you did not wish to have. You should have realized that while all bugs are insects, not all insects are bugs.”
“I won’t even pretend to find the logic in that,” it said, exasperated. “But Bumblebee? Seriously? That’s really the best name you thought of?”
“It is fitting,” I said proudly. “For you are the bumbling sort, and you first impersonated Blueblood, whose name starts with the letter B.”
“But there are so many better names I could have!” Bumblebee protested. “Like, say … Thorax? Acari? Heck, even Gauze would be better than freaking Bumblebee.”
“It is too late. Already the walls of your new identity are defining where you can and cannot go.” I frowned for a moment, then allowed my expression to lighten when the changeling began to hyperventilate. “It is not so bad a fate, Bumblebee. I am merely saying this in jest. In any case, such a name will help you blend in much more effectively. I can overtly call for your attention without anypony batting an eye. I am not entirely stupid, you know.”
Bumblebee considered this. “Ugh … I guess when you put it that way, it lives somewhere within fifty miles of actual sense.” It made a face. “But I don’t bumble.”
“See there! That was not so terrible!” I crowed, giving it a friendly cuff on the shoulder. “We shall help one another, good Bumblebee. I shall appease you in your insecurities, and you shall be an asset to me in many regards. Such is the magic of friendship! I have already almost forgiven you for causing me to think that Blueblood was in danger yesterday.”
“Not friends,” it grumbled, rubbing its shoulder gently. “You can’t just say ‘let’s be friends,’ especially when it’s due to matters of convenience. We just have similar interests, that’s all.” But its ears turned pink, which I assume is a favorable sign.
Bumblebee returned to the Dreamscape not long after. I will assume that it is implementing some variety of plan to determine the exact designs of the queen. From what I understand, Chrysalis’ underhooved schemes are alarming when revealed to her henchponies. Such schemes cannot be particularly dangerous, of course, considering the fact that she is dealing with me, but Bumblebee’s worry gives me reason to doubt.
…
That is a terrible way to end a diary entry. I must determine an event that bodes less doom and gloom. Aha! Mi Amore Cadenza rode on her bicycle today. It did not end very well, but at least she was not playing tennis again. How she jammed that ball between her opponent’s jaws, the world may never know.
That, too, was a ridiculous object to note. But I have instilled confidence in myself, which is all that truly matters! For no matter what happens, it cannot possibly be worse than my niece’s “skills” at tennis.
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Cadence had a bicycle accident... I get the feeling that Luna was somehow involved.
Oh gods, Luna is using the extremely technical definition of the word bug that is used or even known of by the common lay person.
Poor Bumblebee.
Oh, forgot to mention but you might want to describe the 'earth pony guise' at least a little. Color or gender or something.
4604631
I thought about it, but the idea of "emphasizing" Bumblebee's lack of even physical identity was too good to pass up.
Will Bumblebee turn into a yellow Camero with black racing stripes?
So, does this mean that anytime that particular changeling gets into a fight it's a...
Bumble B. Rumble?
Anybody?
...anybody?
4606212 Give it time. I'm sure it'll eventually bring up a Frenzy of laughter.
Ooh, dissent within the ranks! I look forward to seeing where this particular thread is going.
4609940 I'm not certain 'Dissent' would be the right way to put it... That suggests that they are going against what the Queen has told them. Seeing as how she told them Luna was informed, it seems more like a honesty issue.
Also, does that mean that Luna can mess with Cadence's relationship for the next month or so until Shining is taken over?
4610122 Fair enough, that was just the first phrase to come to mind. It's like, the queen isn't telling her followers what she's doing, and they might not agree with her when they find out. Then it would be dissent, but until then I can't find a better word for it.
I can't help but feel that Chrysalis is going to punish Bumblebee for his treason by ripping out his vocal chords, forcing him to communicate in a series of beeps and radio snips
Her chess skills "must be seen to be believed".
Well, this is true. Had I not read this story, I never would have believed it possible to fall for the Fool's Mate ten times, in a row, while being taught about it. And that's not even taking into consideration her (anti) grasp on strategy.