Our Eminence

by Kegisak

Act 1, Part 2: Of Music and Mirrors

Act 1, Part 2: Of Music and Mirrors

The sun hung its head in the western sky. The day had been long and hard, and it wore upon the mighty star with a crushing weight, sinking it lower and lower into the horizon. The world sat with baited breath, awaiting at last the moment that the sun's eye would close and the light would die.

Shadows grew long, straining against their chains to flood the world. The wind swept and howled, cackling laughter at the thought of the chill to come. Leaves skittered across the ground, like tiny creatures seeking shelter from the darkness. Cold air bit at the hide of those few who were left outside. Slowly, ever so slowly, the fading light turned orange, then to blue as the last inches of sun disappeared over the horizon. Then, night.

The Mare in the Moon rose her head and saw the world. She saw the Upper Quarter in Canterlot, and along the very edge she saw a great, ancient mansion. It was nearly as old as Canterlot itself, and it looked its age: plain white flaking paint, dreary shutters, and wide windows from which one could gaze without being seen. The antiquity seemed an aesthetic choice, however, to judge from the carefully tended lawn and flowerbeds – or perhaps the gardener was merely the last remnant of a once plentiful house staff. Whatever the case, even he could not have contended with the vast, endless expanse of forest in back of the home.

It was not these things that concerned the gaze of The Mare in the Moon, however. Her eyes peered through the open windows, casting silver moonlight into the home. The lines fell across empty hallways lined with paintings, across dusty candlesticks and unused furniture, and across a lone mare laying in bed.

A stray breeze blew Erin's windows open with a snap, jolting her awake. She sat bolt upright, her head whipping back and forth for a moment before finally settling on the open window, curtains swaying in the wind. She sighed, brushing her mane out of her face.

“Mmm,” she hummed, leaning back on her elbows. She stared at the billowing curtains for a time, blinking idly. Eventually she flopped back down, letting her head roll to the side to gaze at the clock beside her bed.

Eight o'clock. Her alarm was liable to go off if she waited any longer anyways. She reached over, grunting softly as she switched off the waiting alarm, and let the momentum roll her out of bed. She plodded over to the window, shutting it tight and checking to be sure that it was properly locked this time. She only paid to heat as much of the house as was necessary, and she didn't have any intentions of heating that more than necessary either.

Which, come to think of it, was becoming more and more necessary these days. The wind blew a chill through her, causing her to shiver violently even after they had been shut. It was the sort of wet cold that clung to a pony’s bones. It would probably rain tonight, she imagined.

She pulled her blanket off her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders as she trotted out into the hallway. She didn't bother with the lights; she knew her home too well for that. Her hooves had tread it over and over, and even if the pale moonlight didn't filter through the windows she would have been able to navigate blind.

The house was silent, as it always was. Tucked away in her tiny corner of the huge mansion, nopony living there but her. Nothing but the necessities. A kitchen. A bedroom. A bathroom. Her laboratory.

Erin sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around her. She peered out the windows as she passed by them, watching the night go by. In the distance, a flock of birds flew away – or was it perhaps a colony of bats? Whatever it was, their shadows flickered across the window for a brief moment, and Erin smiled, continuing her journey down the empty halls, beneath the staring eyes of dozens of portraits of well-to-do ponies in all the fashions of their days. She was oblivious to their judging eyes, however, and moved on, naught but the creaking floor beneath her hooves to hear.

Her journey was short, though in the stillness and silence of the night it seemed to take far longer than it did. Eventually though, she reached her lab, hidden away behind a set of large double-doors. It had once been home to a great dancing hall, but it had fallen into disuse many years ago. Nopony had danced here for a long, long time.

Erin's horn lit up, a pale green glow made almost sickly by the dim of the night, and the doorlatch clicked down. The doors swung open slowly, creaking on their hinges as they revealed the darkness behind them, black as pitch. The mare stepped inside and paused.

She didn't reach for the light switch immediately, as she normally would have. Something stopped her. It was a feeling, vague and half-formed. It sat on her shoulders, gripped at her neck, festered in her stomach. It was a feeling that she had forgotten something, and was struggling to remember, but the memory wouldn't come. She could hear the wind howling outside, and it caused her to shiver almost instinctively, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“What was it?” she asked the emptiness. Her words echoed, reminding her of the hugeness of the room, even if she couldn't see it. Once it was gone, the silence seemed deafening. Her skin prickled as her coat stood on end, and she felt her gaze begin to flit about the darkness. She looked over her shoulder at the square of light leading out into the hall.

The silence was broken by the sound of scraping hooves and beating wings.

She whipped her head around, and her blood froze.

There, in the blackness, were two pools of light. Bright, orange light, strangely cold. They wavered and moved, but they never went away, always fixated on her as though they were staring. Erin took a sharp step backwards, and her horn came alight, her magic desperately fumbling for the light switch. She felt something that felt close enough, and flipped it madly. There was a flash, and Erin was blind.

“Geah!”

“Grrrrrraaaaaaaooooooooowowooooh!”

The howl had come from the scarred pony, who in spite of the roar’s ferocity, was currently occupied with being debilitated, cringing and clutching at his eyes as the blinding light struck him, thrusting him fully into wakefulness with little more ceremony than a forceful boot to the behind. He blinked painfully, hardly daring to open his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time for how bright it was. He shook his head, flopping his ears back and forth as though he were trying to shake out the light.

Slowly his eyes began to adapt to the bright light, the blurriness fading and the world coming into focus. He still blinked, snorting loudly as the last of it faded, and he was finally able to see the world that the sudden luminescence revealed.

He blinked in confusion, for a while. while his vision had begun to clear, his mind was still fuzzy at best, and he stared blank-faced at the odd world of stone and steel before him for some time, taking a particular interest in the mare rubbing her eyes on the other side of the bars. Something clicked in his mind, then, and his ears perked up as he finally recognized the mare, and remembered the place he was in. He got to his hooves, trotting forward with a spring in his step.

“Princesses,” the mare sighed, putting a hoof to her chest to compose herself. “You scared the piss outta me, you know that?” She giggled and sighed. The scarred pony tilted his head, and was surprised to find himself smiling in kind with the creature, if only to find that it at least laughed like him. He chuckled softly: a deep, throaty noise, like the rumbling earth.

“Goaw own!” he chimed. His companion, who had previously been asleep on the bed, peeked an eye open and snorted.

“Goaw own to you too,” the mare said, eliciting an ever wider grin from the scarred pony, his heart fluttering gently. The mare rubbed her eyes again as she trotted across the room, pulling the blanket from around her shoulders. She draped it over the back of her chair, sliding down into the soft, high-backed seat and staring across the room at the strange beasts. “And how are you two doing this evening?” she asked.

The sleeping bat pony grunted again, and the scarred stallion narrowed his eyes. His ears drooped back in concentration, befuddled as he was by the creature across the room. It seemed to be expecting something of him, though he drew a blank on the sounds that it had made. He began to trot about, a tiny haphazard pace in the space of the cage as he wracked his mind, trying to find a reason – any reason – to the words. He was close to grunting in frustration when he instead found himself yelping in surprise as he had strayed too close to his companion, who had in turn taken the opportunity to bit at his ankles. The scarred pony snorted, his companion snorting back.

“Gu'f!” the sleepy stallion said. “Snuh!”

“Snuh,” the scarred pony responded, turning away sharply and back to the thing-like-him, who was smiling softly, her head leaning against her hoof.

“Honestly, you two,” she said, pushing herself out of her chair. “I'm not sure whether you act more like a married couple, or like brothers.” She shook her head, taking a seat in front of the bars.

The scarred pony stared at her for a while, eyeing her suspiciously with ears half-drooped. Now that she was so close to him, he was finding it a bit harder to share her apparent enthusiasm. His smile faded, and he found himself taking a small step backwards. The mare continued to smile at him, a strange, half-there look in her eyes. She didn't seem dangerous by far, but even still, the scarred pony found the compulsion he felt around her strange, and unnerving. Everything about her was so familiar, and yet so foreign, and this close he could only see the tiny differences so much clearer. He could smell flowers on her, but no dirt. He could see luster in her mane, but it was not wet. He sat down hard, a meter or so away from the bars, letting the flump of his rump against the ground signal that he wasn't going any further. The thing-like-him giggled again, leaning against the bars.

“I wouldn't bite, you know,” she said. “Haven't got the teeth for it, not like you... hm.” She tapped at her chin, her eyes flicking up and down the scarred pony. He eyed her back, his wings folding in front of his body protectively. The mare chuckled. “Meadowlark.”

He blinked, staring at the mare. She nodded sharply, apparently set her mind on something. “Meadowlark,” she said again, more confidently this time. She pointed at him, repeating the strange sound. “Meadowlark. That's you.”

“Ma'ark?” he echoed, tilting his head. The mare nodded, grinning widely at him. She turned to the sleeping pony then, pointing at him.

“And you,” she said, acquiring his rather sullen attentions, “will be Nightingale.”

The bat pony dubbed Nightingale grunted impassively at this, rolling back over and returning to his sleep, leaving the scarred Meadowlark staring in confusion at the thing-like-him, who was now trotting very happily back to her desk, humming a soft tune. He shook his head. So much like him, and yet so different... she was fascinating.

She sat heavily in her chair once again, this time spinning it around to face the massive beast of a desk that sat behind it, stuffed full of books and papers and other strange tools of her trade. She stayed still for a long while, too long by far for Meadowlark to understand what she was doing, save perhaps for sleeping. Eventually though her horn came alight, and he could only look on in awe as one by one books came alive, drifting off the shelves as the mare muttered their names. Meadowlark's ears twitched, swiveling to listen in.

“We'll start with Order Chiroptera,” she muttered, brushing aside a loose bang. “May as well go with Laurasiatheria while I'm at it. Better to see how far up they go. They've got hooves, after all...” She paused, grunting and scratching her head. “Carnivora? Or Insectivora? Eph... too hard to tell.” She shook her head, and two large books drifted off the shelf, adding themselves to the stack on the desk. She rubbed her chin, then paused. Her eyes lingered across a thick, ancient book bound in dusty leather. Embossed across the back, in golden letters, were the words Equus sapiens-magicae. They rested there for what seemed like hours, so long that the curious bat pony observing her began to grow anxious. What were these tomes, he wondered, and why did they capture her attention so? Were they something to be concerned about? Something good. From his seat in the cage, he could not help but shuffle forward almost instinctively, ears eyes and nose all craning to discover just what it was the mare was so fascinated by. Her horn came alight again, jerking the book roughly off its shelf. She held it above the stack for almost as long as she had spent staring at it.

“They can fly,” she muttered. “They might have some kind of magic. I should be... thorough.” Still the book stayed in the air, never touching the stack. She sighed, tossing it beside the stack.

“Feh,” she grunted. Three more books came flying off the shelf, each with the word Equus, followed by other strange phrases printed across their covers, and shoved herself up from her chair. “Research comes later,” she said.

Meadowlark watched carefully as the mare began roaming through the room, or at least he tried. The mare walked between the rows created by the large, humming machines, performing some strange actions. Meadowlark craned his head to see her amidst the enormous machines, but all he could make out was the sound of clicks and clangs, and still more whirring and humming.

Once the mare had completed these checks to her satisfaction, she appeared once again, sneaking out from between the rows to gather a crate full of supplies from a nearby shelf, hovering it over to the cage. Meadowlark jerked away from her again, almost landing on his sleeping companion, but stopped. This time, he did not retreat as much. This time, he did not sit down. This time, he sniffed at the air, twitched his ears. She had a crate. No doubt, a crate full of even more strange things. He gazed at the sullen form of the newly dubbed Nightingale once more, then back to the mare.

“Hello, you,” she said, smirking. He took a slow step forward, tilting his head and imitating her smirk.

“Oh-oo?” he asked, nosing towards the crate. The mare-like-him giggled, and Meadowlark found himself smiling once again. He took another step forward, more confidently this time.

“That's right,” the mare said. “You!” Meadowlark flicked his ears, beaming as she set the crate down and looked to Nightingale. He was no longer sleeping, but he hadn't decided to get up just yet, it seemed. He simply lay on the thick cushion, staring out at the mare through one eye, his gaze as cold and unblinking as always.

“So what about you, huh?” the mare asked. “Not even gonna get up to say hello?” Nightingale merely snorted in response, and the mare rolled her eyes. “Well, you've probably got the right idea anyways,” she said, pulling a pair of glasses and a book out of the crate. She slipped the glasses on, flipping through the pages as she spoke idly. “I hate to do this to you, honestly. I mean, I've probably messed you up enough just by having the light on in here, but we can't all see in the dark. I guess I could buy a lamp, or something. Wonder if I could get one that looks like the moon? Eh... I probably don't need my eyes getting any worse.” She scratched her chin, laying the book down at a heavily dog-eared page.

“You should probably go lay down too,” she told Meadowlark. He merely tilted his head this way and that at her, leaning down to snuffle at the book through the bars, trying to figure out just what this thing the mare had presented him with actually was. He pressed his nose into the bars, trying to squeeze through and pushing his nose back to reveal his teeth. He snorted softly against the book, staring intently at it.

“Suit yourself,” the mare said, shrugging. She turned down to stare at the book as well, every bit as intensely. A slow, soft light began to form around her horn, gathering near the tip. For just a moment the light faded, almost going out, before exploding out from her horn in a wave of soft light.

The wave washed over the room, covering everything but the mare-like-him herself, tiny particles of light clinging to every available surface. Most faded soon enough, those that had touched stone and steel, but those particles of light that fell upon the bat ponies stayed.

Meadowlark stared down at himself, baffled by the tiny motes of light clinging to his body. He considered snapping at one when it began to sink into his body, and he felt a familiar sensation. It was as though the lights were becoming a heavy sheet of snow, clinging to his limbs in a thick, full coldness. His eyes bulged even as the first wave of tiredness washed over him, and he leaped back. He looked sharply to his companion, who it seemed had already fallen asleep.

Meadowlark's heart began to race, and he danced in a small circle even as the numbness set in. He desperately tried to shake off the lights, but to no avail. His limbs were heavy now, stone and lead. He staggered, his spinning throwing him off balance in a way he could no longer recover from. He fell heavily onto the bed his companion lay on, and fell just as heavily into sleep.

Erin waited for a long time, Never moving, never blinking. Her eyes were dead-set on Meadowlark, hardly even drifting an inch. She barely breathed, her breath caught shallow in her throat with each twitch and murmur the stallion made. From the other side of the room, the soft ticking of the clock's hands could be heard. Tick... tick... tick...

It could not be said that the silence was broken, though it could be said it had been disturbed: a small snore escaped Meadowlark's lips, and Erin sighed quietly, barely exhaling. She lay her hoof on her chest, as though attempting to restart her heart. Even so she was almost supernaturally quiet, as though she didn't dare disturb the bat ponies.

“Well, I guess that answers question number one,” she said weakly, smiling. “Subjects are susceptible to magic.” She tapped her horn against the cage door, producing a metallic clicking sound, and the door swung open. Lifting her crate alongside her, Erin stepped inside and began her work.

Her task was not a short one, and certainly not a common one to average eyes. The first object to come out of the crate, and by far the most pedestrian, was a measuring tape and notepad. She wrapped them around every conceivable limb that could be measured – front and back hooves, neck, muzzles, head, and the length of their wings in both directions. She was almost obsessively thorough in her measurements, so much so that one might question if she really needed all the measurements she took.

With the measurements all taken and carefully noted on individual charts, the measuring tape went away. The next tools out were a series of glass vials and other various implements. Syringes, scissors, scalpels, cotton swabs, and several pairs of rubber gloves.

“Better safe than sorry,” she muttered as she tugged the gloves on. She worked quickly, her hooves and horn working with practiced precision, and a nervous uncertainty of just how much longer the sleeping spell would work.

Blood, fur, mane hair, flesh from the wings and body, and saliva. Each quickly taken and carefully stored away in its individual vial, the vials moving to the rack even as the next sample was taken. Erin's face was impassive the entire time save for a barely furrowed brow; the professional gaze was akin to a surgeon at work. Her hooves joined in the effort with her horn, stopping and moving vials automatically. When her work was done, she packed her equipment every bit as quickly, levitating the crate behind her and almost dashing out the door, kicking it shut behind her. The heavy metallic 'thunk' of the door locking drew a breath of relief from her, and she set the crate down.

“Well,” she said breathlessly, rubbing her eyes, “That's the hard part done. Now for the harder parts.” She stretched her neck, resulting in a loud cracking sound, and did the same for her shoulders. Her horn came alight, and across the room a record player began to play.

The mare went about her strange work, weaving in and out between the machines. She had retained her spectacles, slipping into a long white lab coat as well, and finally brushing and tying back her wild mane. Quite surprisingly, not only did she not look completely bedraggled, she actually appeared to be rather professional. Indeed, if were not for her location in the bowels of the ancient mansion, or for her haunches eagerly swaying to the beat of the record as she worked, one might actually confuse Erin for a respectable, professional scientist.

Each machine had its own bizarre combination of tests, its own odd actions and esoteric obsessions to captivate Erin's attention. The moon crept across the night sky as she worked, the ancient mare held within peering through the mansion’s windows. High above Erin's head the top floors were flooded with moonlight, creeping through the walls and up and down the stairs. It was as though the light were searching for something, but Erin paid no heed. She paid no heed to the light of the moon, nor to the sound of the howling winds outside. She paid no heed to the clouds forming overhead, or to the branches scratching against the windowpanes, or to the shadows that crept through her halls. She merely slouched over her equipment, staring so intently that she failed to notice even the the soft hissing of the finished record, or to the pair of eyes opening behind her.

Meadowlark was beginning to wake, much to his dismay. The feeling of rocks in his head was back, much worse this time than it had been before, though at the very least its intensity seemed to fade with each sickening pound. At this rate, it might even be bearable by the time he died. He groaned, though if there were anypony who might convince him to admit such a thing in an intelligible manner, it was not so much the pain in his head that bothered him. Yes, it was still irritating, but he did not find himself irritated. In fact, he found himself sighing, an empty feeling that he could not put his hoof on lingering in the pit of his stomach. He sighed again, as though exploring the sound, and snorted. Nightingale rolled over, staring at Meadowlark over his shoulder.

“Goaruh?” the sleepy pony grunted simply. Meadowlark shook his head, beating his wings.

“Go-oh oh,” he said. He pawed at the ground, pulling a face and flaring his nose. His sleepy compatriot merely grunted, shrugging and rolling over, waving his wing in a less-than-polite gesture. Meadowlark snorted at him, turning his attentions back to the room, and to the empty feeling in his gut.

The feeling was not something he had encountered before, that much was certain. It was not a hunger. He doubted he could manage to eat anything at the moment anyways with the ferocity of his headache. It was not anger - far too cold for that - but he felt it rather similar. It was as though his gut had frozen over, the frost biting at his innards just the same as the heat of fury did. He got to his hooves, moving as though he was trying to hide from something. His limbs were heavy and his head hung low. He flicked his ears and tail and he meandered in the direction of the bars, leaning against them and peering out through the room.

The mare-like-him was nearby. Meadowlark stopped leaning, his gut churning just a bit. He sniffed rapidly at her, tilting his head this way and that. A strange white sheet was draped around her body, like a set of folded wings. For a moment, a brief, curious moment, the empty feeling subsided. It was replaced by curiosity. He found himself wondering more than anything just what it was she was doing.

She was leaning against what looked like a large blocky piece of the same material that made up the floor, and was swaying back in forth in an odd, sharp bobbing motion. It almost looked as though she was trying to attract prey somehow, some sort of strange dance to draw in unsuspecting animals. He narrowed his eyes at it, snorting his confusion.

The creature stopped moving with a start, clearly having heard his snort. It seemed to shrink and turned around, and the empty feeling returned to him, this time accompanied by a more distinct annoyance. He found any interest in what she had been doing disappear just as suddenly as the empty feeling arose. He took a sharp step away from the bars, beating his wings and folding them tight against him with a snap. He narrowed his eyes at her, snorting pointedly, although he could not say why.

“Oh no,” the mare-like-him said, putting up a hoof. “No, don't you worry, I'm not some other predator. It's just me, Erin, see?” She removed the sheet of white that had been draped over her shoulders and forelegs, returning to her normal green coat. She smiled, trotting up to the cages. Meadowlark took another sharp step back. Her closeness only exacerbated his annoyance, but strangely he found that she exacerbated his emptiness, as well. Either way, he could not say that he was fond of her presence.

“So, you,” she said, oblivious, “finally decided to wake up, huh? How're you feeling?”

Meadowlark flicked his ears, turning away from her in a huff. He had only caught a little bit of what she had said, and hadn’t really understood any of it. She seemed friendly enough in spite of everything, which only served to make him angrier. Even so, he found himself pausing. He turned back ever so slightly, staring at her out of the corner of his eye. He found her noises strangely compelling. Perhaps she was trying to explain to him why she had done what she had done. She might have even had a decent reason.

“Goo fing?” he grunted.

The mare smiled. “Well, I'll take that as a 'good',” she said. “I've gotta say I expected you to be up earlier. I might need more practice with the spell, I suppose. It's been awhile since I've had something to study directly, and you're new to all of us. I still don't even know how much you sleep normally!”

Meadowlark furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate, but this creature made too many noises, and they all blurred together. He couldn't be sure where one noise ended and another began, which ones meant anything, if they ever meant anything at all. “Ser... nourm,” he said, snorting and planting his rump on the floor, turning away from her. The creature laughed, and Meadowlark pinned his ears back. This certainly didn't feel like an explanation to him.

“Whatever you say,” the mare said, turning away. “You're just in time, though – I was just about to put on another record before I got back to work. What do you think of... The Whoof?”

“Woaph?” Meadowlark asked, tilting his head. His eyes narrowed further, the empty feeling and irritation only growing. He could feel a growl rising in his throat, though he held it down – for now. Erin shook her head, turning away.

“Well, woaph to you too,” she said, giggling. Meadowlark's eye twitched, and he decided rather suddenly he'd had enough of her. Clearly, she had no intention of explaining herself to him. She was content to keep poking and prodding and laughing at him, and he was tired of it. He barked loudly at her, causing the mare to jump into the air. For a moment she looked as though she were going to speak, but Meadowlark didn't give her the time. He unfurled his wings with a loud snap, beating them powerfully as he leapt into the air, the force of his jump and wingbeat propelling him into the air. He reached out, feeling his hooves strike the lowest of the strange branches, and curled them around it. His wings beat again, his muscles twisting and pounding as he yanked himself up, kicking off the branch and deeper into the cluster, bouncing from branch to branch until he found a particularly wide bough that hung out over the others. He walked along it, crouching as he did so and peering out through the foliage. He could see the tiny mare from here, even tinier from the height of the fake tree, but judging from her slowly turning head and vacant expression, she could not see him. He nodded, taking a seat and scowling at her as though he was somehow proving a point.

“Well,” Erin said, giving up her search and turning away from the cage, “We're listening to them anyways.”

Meadowlark watched her carefully from his vantage point as she trotted across the room, weaving in between the large somethings. He saw her pause to fiddle with something across the room, and through his fuzzy vision he imagined that she lit up for a moment.

The sound struck him then, something unlike he'd ever heard before. They cut through the mire of anger and emptiness, striking his heart with an almost electric sensation. It was not an animal's cry, nor the whistling of the wind or the rustling of the bushes. It was not the babbling of a stream, or the tumbling of stones. It was something deeply alien, and yet somehow familiar.

It was slow at first, and soft. He had to listen carefully, twisting and craning his ears in the direction of the sound. The sounds were small, sharp, but there were so many of them, more and more joining in every moment. They repeated themselves over and over, like hooffalls, but they sounded sharp and sweet. They sounded like a drink of cool water after chasing prey. They sounded like cold winds when the world began to die. They sounded like rain against his skin.

He shuffled forward along the bough, trying to hear better. More sounds joined in now, like being alone when the moon was gone. The sounds sounded like emptiness. They sounded like lonesomeness. He shook his head, waggling his ears. He wanted to bark, to bray, to howl, but he couldn't. He couldn’t do anything. He was captivated by the sounds he heard. Noises like the creature had made at him, but so much more powerful. Noises like being tired, like missing prey, like being sick or injured. They repeated themselves over and over, pounding into him. They sounded like something he had never realized he didn't know. In spite of the warmth of the air, he found himself shivering. Before long he was completely captivated by the sounds, laying silently on his bough, so intent that he completely forgot about being angry at the mare-like-him. The fire in his belly and shoulders had only faded, but the emptiness had not. It clung to the inside of his chest, Coming out of his back in a sharp pain that throbbed when he saw the mare-like-him. He sighed deeply, ears and wings hanging limp at his sides as stared out through the leaves at her.

The scientist flopped down into her large chair, sighing and rubbing her eyes. She set aside her glasses for a moment, staring across the room at the cage, observing it in silence. There would be more tests to do in the future. Many, many more tests, both updates on those she had just performed and more. For now, though, that much was over. The machines were doing their work, and so there was little for her to do but wait. She glanced at the pile of books sitting on her desk, and sighed.

“Eeeeeeeh...” she groaned. “Where's a grad student when you need one?” She paused for a moment, as though she were expecting some over-eager undergrad to come bursting through her doors offering to aid her research, but she was disappointed. She sighed again, looking between the cage, the books, and the machines. Nightingale, at least, had not moved. Nor had the state of her research. The machines had probably done something, but they were far from having their tests completed in most most cases. A glance out the windows told her that dawn was still a ways away, as long as the night had seemed already. She'd been busy, to be certain, but it was good. Work was good. Even if it could be tiresome at times.

Still, she thought to herself, best to start slow. I'll make my reports for the day, I think. She pulled open one of the desk's many drawers, pulling out a small recorder. She fiddled with it for a moment, setting it down on the desk as she swiveled her chair around, staring at the bat ponies in the cage.

For a long time she was silent. In a strange way, even she did not know what was on her mind. She merely understood a sense of vague confusion, or of doubt. Perhaps it was the nature of discovering a new species. It was one thing to know intellectually the gaps in one's knowledge, but to actually see something, in the flesh, that no pony had been aware existed until a mere two nights ago, was breathtaking.

Or perhaps it was merely how strange the beasts themselves were. So similar, and yet so alien, so animalistic. She stared for a long time, shaking her head.

“September 22nd. Approximately two days ago, what I currently believe to be a new and unidentified species of animal was discovered. I've managed to procure two live subjects – both males. Thus far, the only subjects of the species that have been spotted.

“The species resembles some sort of... bat pony. I'm honestly not sure how else to put it. Blood and tissue samples are currently being analyzed, and very soon I'll be able to send the data in for analysis. The results should show how much DNA they share with bats... or ponies. There seems to be at least some form of latent magic, as they've demonstrated ability to fly, which would be as impossible for them as it is for pegasi without magic – possibly moreso.”

Erin paused again, turning her attention back to the curious pony. He was still pressed up against the cage, his ears flicking wildly. “I'll admit,” Erin continued, “I'm reluctant to ask for assistance in analyzing the data regarding the subjects. A discovery like this is monumental... I really have no guarantee that an expert wouldn't claim the discovery for themselves... I would probably be tempted to do the same. But more to the point... I feel like there's something strange about these two I can't put my hoof on. The bat ponies... rather, the subjects are extremely unique in a lot of ways, more than just their resemblance to ponies. They seem too...” She shook her head, shrugging.

Erin got up from her seat, her horn coming alight as the recorder floated behind her. She trotted across the room to check on the progress of the tests as she spoke idly to herself.

“Behaviorally, it's too early to make any accurate assessments regarding the subjects, but I do have some initial theories. I'll record them for posterity, if nothing else. They may be completely worthless, but they may turn out worthy of investigation later.

“First and foremost, I believe them to be at the very least omnivorous. In spite of their largely equine appearance they exhibit very sharp teeth, resembling most predatory omnivores, though they may have molars further back I haven't seen. From the presence of the tapetum lucidum I would guess that they operate mostly via sight... though they've demonstrated to lean at least to some degree on scent and sound. According to a witness account, I believe they may have hearing superior to most ponies.”

Erin shook her head, catching herself. “That is,” she said, “They likely have superior hearing when compared to ponies. Not to imply that they themselves are ponies.” She sighed, growling to herself at the slip-up.

“They appear to be intelligent, but it's impossible to tell to what degree thus far. They appear to respond to communication, though it's unlikely they understand me to any real degree. If anything they likely just assume me to be one of their species due to visual similarities. The two subjects, at least, are close, as I've noted them engaging in simple communication. One of the subjects, who I've named Meadowlark, seems friendly enough... if a tad edgy, so I imagine they're a social species. Determining just how far their communication goes will play a vital role in determining exactly how intelligent a species they are in the end...”

Erin stopped. There was a sense of finality to the words. “how intelligent they are”... the words held a terrifying, unspoken suggestion. Erin shivered. “I will continue my logs with further details as they become available,” she said sharply, flicking the recorder off. She set it down on a nearby counter, leaning against it and sighing. Something weighed on her, but she couldn't quite say what. No, that wasn't true. She knew exactly what it was, but she couldn't bear to say it. Not to the recorder, and certainly not to herself. She groaned, rubbing her eyes as though it would chase away the lingering, troubling ache in her shoulders.

The was a clunk and a soft hissing across the room. The record had finished, and the player was resetting itself automatically. Erin didn't budge from her position on the counter as the music began again. The slow, steady beats, rising and falling and slowly accumulating more and more variety as they went along. The sharp sound of the singer drifted through the air, and it did nothing to ease her ache – particularly when it suddenly became a duet.

“Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill, Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill, Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill~”

Erin's head rose, slowly turning around to look over her shoulder. The sound seemed to be coming from the cage, but Nightingale wasn't singing. In fact, he looked just as confused as Erin, his head raised and rotating like a periscope, his ears twitching idly. The scientist whipped her head around, scrambling to her desk as a notion struck her. She rummaged quickly through the various drawers and shelves, eventually producing a small rectangular gem with pointed ends. She dropped it on the desk, her horn coming alight as she did.

The gem flashed and a scene displayed itself for her, a tiny, flickering image of light. It was the branches of the fake trees in the cage, though there was nothing else. She grunted, her horn lighting up again as the scene changed. Still branches, still empty. Her brow furrowed in concentration and irritation as she continued to change the scene, until at last she came upon the one she had been looking for: Meadowlark, nestled on his back in the branches. Singing. Singing along to the record he had heard once, no more or less than an hour ago. Even more distressing, what truly sent a cold spike through the pit of Erin's stomach, was that the singing was very nearly perfect. The words were clumsy and off-kilter, but he clearly knew them, and with the exception of the odd stumble over a word, the notes were all perfect. The rhythm as well, lining up perfectly with the record. Meadowlark was singing along as though he had known the song his entire life.

Erin reached for the recorder slowly, expression dead and mind empty, and switched it back on. “Subjects...” she said, “subjects show remarkable talent for... mimicry.” With that, she switched the recorder off again, staring at the cage. The clock upon the wall ticked away, and the record continued to play, the soft hiss of vinyl undercutting the music.

The noise was deafening.

It needed to stop. Erin needed it to stop. She pushed herself away from her desk, dashing across the room and throwing the needle off of the record and switching the record player off as fast as she could. She listened to the spinning slowly wind down before walking away again, shaking her head.

“Gods,” she muttered to herself. “Gods. No. I'm imagining it. Just because they look like...” She shook her head again. “Magpies can mimic tone too. Parrots can remember phrases. I should just... check to see if they have any bird DNA, and... damn.” She bit her hoof, scratching at her mane nervously and peering back to the flickering image on her desk. Meadowlark had stopped singing now, a deep frown on his face.

“The sun shines!” Erin called out. Meadowlark's ears perked up, but he didn't make a sound. Erin wandered closer to the cage, close enough that she knew he would be able to hear her clearly. “The sun shines,” she said again. She could not see Meadowlark, too far away from the image on her desk as she was, but the sheer weight of the pause made her certain he was listening.

“Pones for't,” he sang.

“...Wine pours.”

“Pones For't.”

“The snow packs?”

There was a long, cool silence, and for a moment Erin's face lit up. “Skee 'rack!” the curious pony sang.

Erin slumped against the bars. She felt as though she had been shot through the heart, and she gulped, putting a hoof over her mouth. Nightingale peered up at her. Even he, uncaring and lethargic as he normally was, could feel the weight. He eyes her coolly.

Erin paid no heed, pacing around the room. She muttered to herself, her voice weak and weary. Her mane had fallen loose and it splayed over her face once more. “It doesn't mean anything,” she said, repeating it over and over. “Mimicry. Nothing else. Recognizing sounds... I mean sure he did it fast, but it's not like the lyrics are diverse... h-he’s smart, but intelligence isn’t the same as...”

She sighed, collapsing into her chair. “It can't mean anything. There's no way that we could have missed them. How could... I mean, this close.” She drooped her head into her hooves, groaning.

The clock ticked away in the silence as Erin sat. Thoughts ran through her head at a million miles an hour, desperately trying to rationalize the situation. After what seemed like hours of thought, she finally stood up. She knew what needed to be done... the only trick would be actually making herself do it.

She left the lab, walking slowly through the halls. The night was winding to a close, and the world had reached the curious time when it is at its darkest. The lack of light didn't bother Erin at all, though. She knew that if she let even a single thing distract her from her mission then it would never be completed.

She trotted into a nearby drawing room, looking around idly. Across the room she spotted what she was searching for – herself, reflected in a large mirror hung on the wall. She nodded, levitating the mirror and carrying it along behind her as she dashed back to her lab, carrying it to the cage.

Meadowlark had returned to the floor, staring out of the cage. His ears perked up when Erin walked in, but he snorted, turning his head away. He moved to stand, but in the end all he did was shuffled closer to Nightingale. Erin didn't bother to recognize this, instead merely sliding the mirror through the bars and propping it up against the wall. She trotted away, grabbing her recorder like a beggar grasping at fallen change.

“September 22nd,” she said, her voice breaking as she switched the recorder on. She paused, collecting herself, and continued again. She fought to remain in control of her voice, fighting it down to a dull, stoic tone squeezed out through deep, calming breaths. “September 22nd,” she said again. “The sample tests are continuing along well enough. For the time being, however... I'm going to go against the standard method... well, it's not as if anything to do with these... with the subjects, is standard. I'm going to jump the gun a little bit and perform some behavioural tests. Specifically, I... I'm going to perform the mirror test on them.

“The test setup is very rudimentary for the time being,” she continued. “Just a single mirror in the room, no real... setup. Not very scientific, I'll admit... depending on the result I'll follow with more tests. If they don't demonstrate self-awareness, however, then...” She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Testing will continue as normal one way or another. This test, for now, is out of personal... personal curiosity. It will not be put into any of my findings or journals, but kept as a personal log. It... shouldn't matter.” She switched the recorder off, watching the bat ponies as the test unfolded. “It shouldn't matter,” she said again.

For a while, nothing happened. Meadowlark still seemed to be sulking on the floor, peering over at Erin every so often, and hadn't noticed the mirror yet. He snorted occasionally, but that was about it. Eventually though he sat up, flaring his nostrils. For a moment Erin thought he might be doing it at her, but she put the thought from her mind, trying to focus on impartial observation.

Meadowlark snorted again, turning away. It was then that he saw the mirror. His ears snapping up on his head like a pair exclamation points. He stood stock still, staring. He got to his hooves, tilting his head left and right. He snuffled the air, his ears twitching. Though his vision was blurry, across the room from him he could make out another creature like himself and Nightingale. He had never seen another one of them, though. Who was this strange thing-like-them he saw, he wondered. It seemed every bit as curious as him, at least. It tilted its head back and forth, back and forth, and it wiggled its ears. It must have been just like him.

Erin watched the scene play out, captivated and breathless. Bit by bit, a smile began to form across her face. The curious pony didn't seem to realize that his reflection was not, in fact, him. He continued to move, continued to make social gestures, trying to greet the reflection as though it was another one of its species. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, running a hoof through her mane. She must have been mistaken. The phrases... the sociability... the bat ponies were intelligent, surely, but intelligent animals. The coldness in her shoulders was beginning to warm up, and she looked back up at the cage. Her eyes narrowed, and the coldness came back in.

The creature was too much like him. Too much to be just another one of him, at least. The movements too familiar, the shape too perfect. It wasn't just another pony. It was Nightingale! Of course, how could he have not realized? Even still... something didn't sit right with Meadowlark. He snorted, nodding at his companion. It wasn't like him to move about too much, much less fast enough to sneak around to the other side of Meadowlark. As far as he knew, Nightingale was still sitting on the bed...

He looked over his shoulder. His companion was indeed still on the bed, the bulk of his movement being to roll onto his back and stare at the false branches weaving above their heads. Meadowlark narrowed his eyes, turning to stare at Erin.

“No...” Erin muttered, biting her hoof. “No, no, look at the mirror. The mirror.”

Meadowlark continued to glare at Erin. If he was aware of her wishes, then no doubt he intended to spite her. The empty feeling in his stomach was unbearable when he looked at her, the creeping fire of anger resting hot in his shoulders. He looked between her and the strange thing-like-him, and much as he didn't want to, he couldn't help but wonder just what hoof Erin had in it. The mere sight of it made him curious, compelled him forward, and yet... he remembered her putting him to sleep, all too clearly. Even now the last remnants of the stones in his head still remained, rattling whenever he moved too fast. The empty feeling was almost painful when he thought about what the mare had done, eating away at him. He tore his view away from the mare, and for a long moment considered letting the thing-like-him be. Yet, it too seemed distraught. Perhaps it was another thing she had taken away and put in this cage. Another home stolen. Meadowlark tilted his head, whimpering with something approaching sympathy.

He lowered his head, taking a step forward. The thing-like-him took a step forward as well. He turned his head, and so did it. He flicked his ears, and so did it. He swished his tail, and so did it. Perfectly in tune, as though it were imitating him... but it was too perfect. He flapped his wings and started. The thing-like-him's wingtips had disappeared! He beat his wings again, and it happened again.

He stepped closer, snuffling at the air. He certainly didn't smell any other creature. Or hear one. No... this was not another creature. No creature just had parts of it disappear, or mimicked him. This thing was him, but not him. His face lit up as he realized – it was like the him in the water! The him that looked back at him when he drank, now floating in the air. How strange! For just a moment the empty feeling slipped away, allowing the compelling curiosity, the thrill of mystery to rise once more to the surface. He danced anxiously, reaching out to the side with a hoof. The tip disappeared, causing him to smile faintly.

“Goaw!” he barked at his companion, “Gaow!”

Erin quivered in her seat, watching the proceedings without a sound. She began to swear under her breath as the curious pony dragged his companion over to the mirror, waving his limbs and turning around as if to demonstrate the qualities of it. Nightingale grunted at his companion and tried to shove him away with his wing, but Meadowlark snorted back and yanked on Nightingale’s mane. He gestured towards the mirror. They growled and barked back and forth for a while, before Nightingale finally flapped his wings once, staring at his eager companion. Meadowlark barked, smiling back at the sour stallion. He flapped his wings again, looking for all the while as though he was about to say something when he was cut off by Erin’s deep, melancholy groan from across the room.

She clutched at her neck as though it was broken, like she was trying to keep her head on her shoulders. “No, no, no,” she groaned, very nearly begging. She buried her head in her hooves, and Meadowlark paused.

Once again, the emptiness had returned. This time, however, he was not angry. He left his companion, who merely rolled his eyes, sighing, but Meadowlark ignored him. Or rather, he didn't notice him at all. He crept, hoofstep by hoofstep, towards the bars. Anger had been replaced by something, something he understood even less than the empty feeling in his stomach: a tightness in his head like a gripping claw. Them are-like-him looked up at him from across the room, her eyes slightly puffy. She stood as well, trotting to the cage with weak, halting steps

Meadowlark paused a few feet away from the bars, his wings half-flared as the mare approached. He turned his head back and forth, staring at the mare as she reached the cage. She leaned in, shaking her head.

“Meadowlark... you... you can, can't you?”

Meadowlark narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. His ears perked up, hearing something in the words he certainly hadn't before. He took a cautious step forward. He still remembered what she had done, but... the grip on his heart squeezed tighter.

She continued to murmur, leaning her head against the bars. “Oh gods.” Her shoulders shook, and her voice became weak, and trembling. “I... I...”

Meadowlark took another step forward. He was worried, he couldn't deny. Part of him thought that this must be some ploy to do something else to him, though what he couldn't say. Part of him simply didn't care if she was trying to trick him or not, and simply thought that her apparent misery was none of his business anymore. Yet there was still that tightness in his chest, driving away all other feelings like a territorial hunter. He realized that he had continued walking with slow steps, and that he had reached the bars. The mare leaned up against them, peering through at Meadowlark. He shuffled his wings, his ears drooping back. He could see her eyes, now, peeking out through her mane, and the empty feeling inside him lurched, his heart thudding. In spite of himself, in spite of his trembling and his reluctance, he leaned in. He pressed his nose against the bars, breathing onto the mare's forehead. She looked up at him and reached out, pressing her hoof against his chest through the bars.

Meadowlark leaped back, barking and flaring his wings. He beat them several times, holding them wide above his head. His heart pounded in his chest, and the empty feeling felt like a gaping, searing hole where he had been touched. His body turned cold, trembling as the icy grip of fear overcame him. He barked again, backing away from the bars. The mare stared at him, their eyes meeting for just a moment, but Meadowlark turned away. He tried to bring back the anger, but he couldn't. He tried to repress the emptiness and fear, but he couldn't. He felt cold and hollow, and his chest burned where the mare-like-him had touched it. Worse than all that, though, worse than the stones in his head or the ice against his shoulders, or even than the hole in his stomach, he found himself trembling. In that brief moment they had shared their glance, he had seen all of those things in mare's eyes.

“Oh, Meadowlark,” the mare said, stepping away from the bars. “I'm... I'm so sorry... I had no idea that... That you...” She sniffed. “I didn't mean to. I swear... oh gods, I... I need to go. I'm so sorry, Meadowlark... Nightingale...” She turned away, dashing from the room and leaving Meadowlark with the empty coldness.

Comments

[Truth_Seeker]

I can't imagine what it would be like to meet a feral human.

[doctor dapples]

This is quite the story so far.

One question: that thing at the bottom with Vimbert...is that supposed to be there?

[Kegisak]

2309322

With Vim... ACK!

No, that was a comment leftover from his review... I must have forgotten to close it before transferring the story over here. Thanks for pointing that out to me.