> Catherine the Great
>  by Scarheart
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1. They Came from Beneath the Bed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights


Father looked at Mother. Mother looked at Catherine. Catherine was holding something dark and questionable on her lap. The room was abuzz with an alien nervousness. Father had awakened on the couch, his head propped on the armrest and a throw pillow. A blanket had been draped over his prone form. Mother had scooted the ottoman over next to her husband. Her hand held his and she hovered as nervous eyes flit from her daughter to the thing on the child’s lap. Of course, there were the other things in the living room she really hoped did not exist. Father fainted again. It was overwhelming for the poor fellow.
   
Yet, they did exist. Not fifteen minutes ago, they had showed up in her daughter’s bedroom. All of them were roughly the size of collies. All of them were black, with bug like shells and fluorescent compound eyes that swirled and could somehow focus. Gossamer wings like those of a dragonfly buzzed and flit, stirring the air in the room and keeping the flow constant. Mother noted how each one sported a little horn from the center of their head. Notched ears swiveled this way or that. The woman also noted each creature had holes in their legs. They varied in size and went all the way through their legs. She could not help but stare at those holes, fascinated, yet put off by how adorable the creatures were. Even their fangs just made them cute, like oversized naked mole rats. Gross, yet oddly adorable.

Catherine sat in her father’s overstuffed chair, clinging to one of the bug creatures. She was still in her pink pajamas. She had the sleepy look of a child who had been up all night with a great deal of excitement to spur her on. Thankfully, it was Saturday. This meant no school.

One of the things was currently being cuddled by Catherine. It identified itself as Speaker, and had made a rather unusual proclamation. It was one Mother had yet to come to grips with as she found herself wanting a cigarette. She had quit years ago when she discovered she was pregnant with Catherine and had not looked back since. Well, until now.

As much as she wanted to scream and panic, perhaps even faint, she could not. Her husband had done that the moment he hit the light switch and saw his daughter’s room filled with the black bug creatures. Their fanged smiles were terrifying. Some of the others tried hard to be adorable, but had instead, in her mind, managed to appear to be in dire need of a laxative. It was a disturbing image for her.

Windows had been cracked open and there were two pairs of eyes staring out every one in the house. The first rays of dawn were beginning to reveal the neat rows of houses on Maple Street. Several cars could be heard starting outside as some of the neighbors were off to work early. It was early spring and the leaves were just beginning to bud on some of the trees.

The creatures at the windows watched in silent fascination, chirping at each other in low tones. It was a new world to them.

Fear gnawed at Mother as she stroked her husband’s hand. She gave him one more worried glance before focusing her attention on Speaker. “So,” she began, struggling to find the words.

“So,” agreed the bug creature. He wore an expression she supposed was bliss. One blink, two, a third; each slow and deliberate as his own thoughts needed to be collected. “I am sure you have noticed things about my brothers and sisters.”

A light chittering of agreement sounded, mindful of the inert form on the couch. 

Sher found a cup of tea offered from her right, held within a strange soft and barely noticeable light. “Tea? It’s chamomile,” offered another creature. It seemed to have a feminine voice, but it was difficult to be sure. Mother noted there seemed to be a buzz in their voices, as if a second was layered upon the first. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

She accepted her own tea cup, scrounged from her own kitchen. They had been exploring the house ever since they had emerged from beneath the bed. Some had found refuge from the crowded floor by simply clinging to the ceiling. Mother stared at those who had found the corner of the ceiling a nice place to cozy within. They stared back with expressionless gazes. It was mildly disturbing.

“Thank you,” she managed, her hands trembling. Surely they were destroying everything in the house. Her kitchen, recently remodeled, possibly reduced to shambles.

“We respect your house,” the creature told her, flicking a notched ear. They all had notched ears. The notches, Mother noted, were not all in the same place, like the holes in their legs. “You are afraid, correct? Please, do not be afraid. We would never harm the family of our Queen.”

Speaker cleared his throat. “Mother abandoned us. She abandoned us so she could chase a selfish dream of conquest. We found this portal. We did not want to do harm to others. Mother was angry with us for not supporting her. We came through the portal. We feared Mother more than we feared the unknown. We love Mother, but she can be violent when she is upset. We could not bear seeing Mother upset, but we could also no longer accept her neglect. We left the hive. We broke our bonds with Mother. We need a new Queen or we will not survive. We need love or our minds will slowly devolve to plain oatmeal mush. Noling likes oatmeal mush.”

Mother blinked. She inhaled deeply, then sipped nervously from her cup. “What do you call yourselves?” Mentally, she wondered when they would stop with the charade and begin devouring everyone.

Catherine was petting his neck, the little girl smiling tiredly. She fought to stay awake. Her eyelids were heavy. “Is Daddy going to be okay, Speaker?” she asked.

“It’s a promise. Wesley is watching over him,” assured Speaker. To Mother, he replied, “We are called changelings. Our kind have lived in the shadows, imitating other species and feeding off of their emotions.” His face scrunched up in mild annoyance. “Wesley, please don’t stare at him like that.”

Mother looked up. One of the changelings was attached to the ceiling, his head dangling as he stared intensely at her husband. “He hasn’t moved yet,” observed the observer.

Speaker assumed a wan smile of apology. “He takes his role rather seriously, I’m afraid.”

“He’s silly!” yawned Catherine. She giggled and hugged Speaker again.

“He’s creepy,” Mother said with a shudder. “Does he have to stare like that?” Her hands still shook as she tried to have more tea.

“Wesley, less creepiness,” commanded Speaker, trying to look authoritative. A six-year-old human girl was hugging the stuffing out of him. It felt nice to be loved unconditionally and without reservation. The new Queen was growing on him, as well as the others.

Mother noted the envious grins on the faces of the other changelings. A happy group sigh filled the air. Was it all a charade? Were they serious? They did help bring Frank from Catherine’s room to the couch. It took three of them, but they were gentle. She noted how they seemed to hang one every action and expression on her daughter’s face.

“We are the Changelings Who Say Ni!” piped up a squeaky male voice behind her.

“Shh!” shushed the others.

“You are still confused,” Speaker noted. “This is understa—urk!” He was glomped by Catherine, who was giggling again. “Understandable!” He had to pry her off while still managing to look somewhat respectable.

Mother sighed. She was afraid. Oh, so afraid! Still, these...changelings seemed nice and fawned over her daughter. They were respectful. None of the furniture was broken, contrary to her previous fears. There had been not one sound of something breaking over the buzzing of wings, clicking mandibles, and curious hissing. What was with the hissing? It would be adorable, if adorable was creepy and unsettling.

“My house. You will ruin my house.”

“We will not ruin your house. We respect the home of our Queen, as it is now our own.”

Mother did a spit take. “What? You are not staying here!”

Speaker’s ears flattened against his skull. He rubbed one leg against the other as Catherine glared at her mother from his side. “Mommy! They’re staying!” she proclaimed.

“We’ll take out the trash!” Cried out one changeling.

“We’ll do the dishes!”

“We’ll dust the furniture!”

“We’ll clean out the garage!”

“We’ll burp your Tupperware!”

“We’ll clean the toilet!”

All eyes darted to the last changeling to make a suggestion. All hooves pointed to Frank. “That’s what he’s here for!” The changeling was cowed into submission by the others and nodded sagely at their collective wisdom.

“You won’t even know we’re here,” assured Speaker as he cast a holed hoof over the throng of changelings filling every nook and cranny of the house. “We can literally live on love, so you don’t have to shop for food for us.”

Mother was shaking her head. “No.”

“We can change form, if our appearance is also a concern. We are less dangerous than pit bulls.”

“Or savage squirrels,” added another changeling helpfully. Mother sensed the changeling was female as a hoof was offered. She introduced herself. “Hi. I’m Angela. I’m a Virgo.”

Hesitating, the woman took the hoof gingerly with her hand. Did she just grasp it? Would it feel slimy? It didn’t look slimy. Thankfully, upon contact, her fears proved to be unfounded. “Beatrice.”

“You are concerned about many things.”

“That goes without saying,” laughed Beatrice nervously. “I have monsters in my house!”

“But we’re adorable monsters!” insisted Speaker. “We’re even making up names for ourselves as we go along because Mother assigned us numbers and letters for organizational purposes. There were too many changelings; not enough time to name us all.”

“She has a library of baby name books!” Called out an unnamed changeling.

Speaker added, “She used them all at some point, giving up on Swahili names. After around egg number one million, she more or less threw in the towel when it came to giving us names.”

“There are one million of you?”

“Not at the moment, no. Mother has laid over a million eggs, but that has been over a span of a couple of thousand years. Each of us drones only live sixty to eighty years and Mother lays eggs to maintain a certain population number. It’s over a million. She just stopped naming us after she started running out of names to give. It was becoming frustrating for her. That and diaper bills.” Speaker laughed weakly. “Mother was both brilliant and stupid. We love her and will always love her, but she’s a lovaholic.”

“Too much Cadence.”

Angela turned to the unnamed changeling who spoke. “Kevin, you dummy! She was drunk on Shining Armor’s love for the Princess of Love.”

Kevin shrugged. “Same difference. We’re here. Mother is a bed. Mother turned herself into a bed to escape responsibility! She does not speak to us. We did what we had to to get the love we need to stay civilized. I don’t want to drool in my own stupidity.”

“I get the feeling there’s a story behind this,” Beatrice said.

“It’s a terrible story, filled with plot holes, bad innuendoes, and other things that don’t make sense.” Speaker sniffed. “But, we wrote a song about it! Want to hear it?”

“Not really—”

“Here it goes!” Angela took in a deep breath and sang out:


Our Queen


We love our Queen


Even though


She’s kinda mean


She’s more than a queen


She’s our moooootherrrrrrr!


“A song really isn’t necessary…” Beatrice wondered where the music was coming from as the changeling scrambled to take positions. They were warming up, jostling each other, shushing each other and clearing their changeling throats. Speaker sat up straight and proud, and sang:


That day was going to be perfect!


She promised we’d all have a lovely ball!


But the love she took in


A decadent little sin!


And she screwed the pooch for us all!


‘Where have I heard this melody before?’ Beatrice blinked. Catherine was moving her head from side to side as she absorbed herself into the song. Angela went next:


That day was going to be perfect!


Mother assured us there’d be enough for all!


She promised us a home


We wouldn’t be like garden gnomes


But the promises she made fell like a stricken dove!


Speaker filled in smoothly even as Catherine hugged him again. She refused to let him go.


We snarled and we spat


We conquered in your name!


Mother, we did what we were told,


“Feed my children!” she cried,


“Equestria will fall before our pride!”


The truth is, we didn’t want to hurt anypony!



No, we did not want this war


But Mother had to settle a score


She wanted Celestia to feel her pain!


His voice faded and Angela filled in smoothly.


The truth is we want to love


By the stars that shine above


To come out into the light


To others no longer be a fright


The truth is, we wanted to be loved by all!



No, we did not want this war


For that we felt Mother’s ire


Silent, we watched


And witnessed Mother’s doom!


A sense of sadness fell over the room. The music faded and Frank stirred. The man groggily sat up. Whispers surrounded him as the changelings backed away from him. Except Wesley. Wesley assumed a wide grin and wagged his tail happily.

“Daddy!” Cried Catherine happily. She slid down from her seat and went to her father. She crawled into his lap as he sat up, a hand to his head as he groaned.

“What happened?” He asked, looking to his wife. “I had the strangest dream. We went into Cathy’s room and saw...saw...saw?” Drifting from wife to surroundings, his eyes grew wider and wider. “I heard music,” he went on, not comprehending there were unusual guests in his house. His arms went around his daughter protectively. Frank craned his neck over one shoulder, then the other as he blinked, uncomprehending.

“Do not adjust the center of your screen,” said Speaker in a monotone. “We control the horizontal. We control the vertical. There is nothing wrong with what you are seeing. We are real. We serve your daughter. Your daughter is our queen.”

“Ni!” cried a couple of changelings.

“Shh!” shushed a couple of more.

Frank fainted again.

Beatrice would have loved to join her husband on the couch. This whole thing was absurd! And where had that music come from? It was as if a horrible children’s show had spilled out and into her home!

“So,” Catherine chirped happily, bouncing on her unconscious father’s lap. “Can I keep them? Is it alright if I become their queen! I promise, I’ll be a good queen!”

Beatrice patted her daughter on the head. “No, honey. You can’t.”

The changelings gasped.

“But, we can change!” Speaker exclaimed over his own sputtering.

Angela groaned. Wesley simply grinned creepily at Frank. Several changelings facehooved. “We have simply started negotiations,” the female changeling reasoned. “First of all, we will listen to the terms of the mother of our Queen.”

“Get out,” Beatrice said sternly, pointing at the door.

The female changeling stared at her. She then nodded slowly. “Starting at the bottom. Good. We can work our way up from that.”

“Mommy, you can’t throw them out! They’ll be lonely!” declared Catherine with a pout. “They’ll die!” Tears formed, brimmed, threatening to come out.

“We can negotiate terms amicable to all, I’m sure,” assuaged Speaker. He wore his best and most diplomatic smile. “I promise we will make it worth your while! There is little we can’t do! We are magical creatures! We can be anything we want to be. Literally.”

Beatrice was overwhelmed.

“Please, Mommy?” Catherine looked at her father.

“I don’t think it’s a very good idea,” said the woman. “They’re illegal aliens…”

“We technically don’t exist, so we really can’t be considered illegal aliens. Undocumented, sure, but illegal?” Angela blinked and shrugged. Her wings buzzed in irritation.
	
	
	
	

> 2. Frankly being Frank
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights.

Frank awoke to the sounds of buzzing. His memory was fuzzy, filled with nightmarish images of dark figures with glowing eyes and sharp fangs. Recalling the disturbance in his daughter’s room was the easy part. Opening the door and flipping the light switch and seeing monsters had ended in darkness. A hiccup of consciousness was another bad dream. Glowing eyes and smiling fangs. He shuddered and wondered if he should cut back on drinking. Or was his stomach telling him to lay off on the starches?

    The man groaned, rolling on his side as he became aware of his surroundings. He was laying on the couch. Frank could not remember how he came to find himself on the sofa. It was a comfortable thing. The cushions were broken in just right and the armrests were padded to allow for a lazy afternoon of watching sports with a bowl of popcorn on his stomach. Yet, he kept his eyes shut as he allowed his mind to adjust to where he was. His mental logic processes went back, trying to piece together the series of events which had placed him in the living room.

    There was a buzzing sound. The four year military veteran and independent contractor for carpentry regarded the sound, wondering if someone was using some sort of newer model electric saw. His eyes flew open as an image of his daughter playing in his power tools came to mind. He found Beatrice sitting in her chair next to him, her hand in his. Instinct told him to sit up, but his wife pressed a hand firmly down on his chest. Her blue eyes met his greens and she heaved a sigh of relief.

    She gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re awake!”

    Bleary eyed, he asked, “What happened?”

    “You fainted, honey.” Her eyes flicked up and around nervously before settling back on him. The buzzing stopped abruptly and the room seemed to grow still.

    “Fainted?”

    “Are you okay, Daddy?” Frank could hear his daughter. “Mommy, is Daddy going to be okay?” She sounded worried. What a sweet little girl!

    What happened to make him faint? No matter what he tried to recall, there was nothing but shadows with fangs and...buzzing?

    “Frank, please get up and don’t faint again,” his wife pleaded. There was also urgency in her voice. “I’m barely holding it together. There are… monsters in the house.”

    Monsters? Frank blinked, unable to comprehend as he wrapped his mind around what was currently going on with his wife’s distress. His recollection slowly undimmed, became brighter. The shadows became more defined in his memory. Slowly, he became aware of something else in the living room. A lot of something elses.

    “The sleeper has awakened,” intoned a buzzing voice. Frank thought someone was talking through a microphone with a slight sound distortion in it.

    “Wesley, give the poor guy some air.”

    There was a sigh. An inhuman sigh and it was above Frank’s head. He turned his head towards the ceiling and saw something dangling from it. It was large, the size of an average dog. It had translucent wings and they flitted restlessly as the owner had glowing solid blue eyes staring down at him, unblinking.

    “Don’t you dare faint again, Franklin Benjamin Thomas!”

    The man swore even as panic welled up within him. Beatrice had both of her hands on his chest and shoulders, trying to calm him down with a reassuring voice. His legs kicked as he stared in horror at the thing grinning down at him.

    “What is that?!” he screamed, pointing a finger at the black winged monster. The monster laid its ears back and jerked its head away from the offending digit.

    “I’m a changeling!” it snapped as if scolding a child bereft of common sense. “My name is Wesley!”

    “It’s okay, Daddy,” chirped Catherine happily, the corners of her mouth upturned in a wild grin. “I’m his queen!”

    “Cathy!” admonished her mother sharply. “You are not the queen of anything, young lady! Your father and I are going to discuss this as soon as he stops panicking.” To her husband, she pleaded, “Please pull yourself together! They’re everywhere and they want our daughter to be their queen!”

    “Please, Queen Father, we mean you and your family no harm,” said a new voice filled with concern. “We only wish to be loved and accepted. We are new to your world. We have nowhere else to go. Please, will you not listen to us?”

    As the new voice pleaded, Frank’s head whipped towards it. He found his daughter petting a bug... thing. It was a big bug thing. It looked armored and dangerous; a wicked horn growing out of its head. “Cathy, what are you doing with that thing?” If he sounded frightened, it was because he was.

    “Petting him, Daddy. Don’t you like Speaker? He’s a nice changeling! They’re all nice changelings!” To show her father just how safe and nice Speaker was, she gave the changeling a hug. The changeling named Speaker squeaked like a rubber ducky.

    “Huh?” Frank blinked, shaking his head. “What is going on here? What is all this?” He turned to address the unwanted collective. “Why are you here?”

    “Get the hooman some water!”

    “Water for the hooman!”

    “Agua!”

    “Right!”

    “Glass? Where are the glasses?”

    “Top right cabinet, bottom shelf!”

    “Found it!”

    There was a yowl, several yelps, a feline hiss of fear and anger, the sound of slamming doors in the kitchen, as well as the clatter of what sounded like silverware upon the floor. A gray and white streak darted briefly in the corner of Frank’s eye. The changelings hopped out of its way or took to the air, hissing at the spitting ball of fur heading for the basement.

    “Cat!”

    “Kitty!”

    “Rat slayer!”

    “Meow!”

    “I taut I taw a puddy-tat!”

    A changeling sneezed somewhere in the group. In the chaos of the family pet streaking through the throng of dog-sized cockroaches, Frank finally began to get the idea his house was full of the things! He sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. Beatrice leaned away from him, allowing him to see every inch of the living room was covered with changelings. They were everywhere, like ladybugs in winter. Every eye seemed to be on him and the man imagined they were holding their collective breath, waiting for him to say or do something. An avalanche of disappointment seemed to hang over them. All he had to do was sneeze.

    “Hello Mr. Hooman,” said one of the changelings. It sounded like a female. “My name is Angela. I’m a Virgo. I am sorry our appearance made you faint.” She stood very still and wore a smile that did not reveal her fangs. “We will get you some water. I’m sorry if it’s a little crowded, but there are forty-seven of us in your house. We can’t go outside because we don’t know how your world will react to us.”

    “Okay,” the man said dully, his voice a monotone. “Okay...” He could feel his brain still trying to understand and make sense of everything. This day was starting out weird.

    “Reggie, do you have that water for Mr. Hooman?”

    A glass floated in the air and hovered in front of his face. Frank cried out and shied away from it.

    Angela tilted her head towards Beatrice. “Mrs. Hooman, you married a wussy.”

    Unafraid, Catherine let go of the changeling she had been holding and slid off the overstuffed chair. Boldly, she seized the floating glass, completely unafraid. “It’s just magic, Daddy. It can’t hurt you! I’m the queen and they can’t hurt you because I’m the queen!”

    “We will do no harm to the parents of our chosen queen,” chanted the entirety of the buggy body.

    Gingerly, Frank took the glass of water. He warily glared over the throng. “What is it? Are you guys sharing the same brain or something?”

    “What do you mean?” Speaker blinked his eyes quickly. Frank mentally noted how large those eyes were. They were cute-ish. “We are brothers and sisters. We are telepathically linked. It is a part of the magic we share. It is through our familial bonds we are linked. I don’t know what it’s like for you humans. The air of this world is very alien to us. Your magic is different.”

    “Magic? What magic?”

    “We are creatures of magic,” Speaker said. “The magic…” The other changelings nodded in agreement. One of them had to have his head restrained as he bobbed uncontrollably like a bobblehead. A chirp went out. It sounded like some form of thanks. “Charles, contain yourself!”

    Frank gulped down his water, some of it dribbling down his chin and onto his chest and lap. His eyes were round saucers. None of this was real, it couldn’t be! He had to be hallucinating. It was college all over again! “Magic isn’t real.”

    “Whatever,” dismissed Speaker, as if he had just been insulted. “We came here to find our queen. We traveled from our world to yours because we want to be loved. Mother made it so love would be very difficult in the future for us to get. Us changelings need love. Mother was once our queen. Our queen became greedy. Angela has already explained to your mate. We sang our abbreviated tale. We faced the Pink Bubble of Doom!”

    “It tasted like victory!” chirped one of the changelings.

    “I dunno, tasted kinda like cinnamon tarts.”

    “It was victory for those fleabag ponies!”

    “Rupert! Calm yourself! Did you take your medicine?”

    “All I need is love!”

    “All together now!”

    The changelings all chorused, “All we need is love, love! Love is all we need!”

    “Oh, God, the Beatles are real!” moaned Frank sullenly. “Which one of you is John?” His wife loved the Beatles.

    One holy hoof shot in the air. “Me!” cried out a female changeling. “My name is Jon!”

    “I’m going to learn all of your names,” announced Catherine as she stood up on the couch. “Because I am your queen!”

    The changelings gave out a cheer. It was an odd, buzzy cheer, complete with stomping hooves from those on the floor.

    Frank glared at his wife. “This is your fault.”

    Beatrice flinched, her mouth hanging open. “What do you mean this is my fau–Catherine, get your feet off of the couch! You know better, young lady!” She was grabbing for her daughter as she re-addressed her husband. “Again, how is this my fault?”

    “The whole princess thing. You encouraged her she could be a princess!” He snorted, throwing his arms in the air. “Look where that got us!” Frank gesticulated wildly at the changelings, who had gone oddly quiet.

    “We don’t like princesses,” said Speaker, who was ignored by the parents as they glared at each other. “My queen!” he turned to Catherine, pleading. “Please, say it ain’t so! You can’t become a princess! We need a queen! You must be our queen! We just want to be loved, don’t you see? Please, love us! We need you to love us! We are pitiful without love!”

    “Just like Liza Minnelli,” proclaimed Reggie. He plucked the empty glass from Frank’s hand unnoticed. He was on his way to refill it.

    The growing argument between husband and wife abruptly died a rather sudden death. “How do you know who Liza Minnelli is?” asked Beatrice in confusion.

    “The Enquirer,” said the changelings in one confident voice.

    “Inquiring minds want to know!” declared a changeling.

    Another replied loudly and proudly, “I want to know!”

    “Mother was a lifetime subscriber,” said Speaker, waving off the unrelenting looks of confusion. “But enough about this. We need to discuss crowning Catherine to be our queen. We need the Queen Mother and the Queen Father to be in agreement with this. We will do whatever you need us to do!”

    “Except toilets!” cried a voice in the crowd. There was a buzzing of muttered agreement.

    “Yes. No toilets. And unlike Discord, we do clean windows!” Angela lifted her head proudly.

    “I’m so lost,” muttered Frank. He slumped into the couch. “My life is over. If this is real, then there is no way we can escape scrutiny. We’ll have to go into hiding. We’ll have to move to Canada. Canadians are nice. They’ll take us in.” Helplessly he regarded the changelings, who all had fallen silent again and were staring at him.

    “This is why we want to sit down and talk,” soothed Speaker, daring to draw himself closer to the large human. He imagined he was large as the man was easily twice as tall as the changeling. Probably twice as heavy, too. “We have chosen Catherine to be our queen. For us, it is a matter of survival. This is how we must stay alive.”

    Again, the changelings broke into a chorus. “Stayin’ alive!” one started.

    “Ah-ah-ah-ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive!” the others finished.

    Angela raised her voice, “Silence you nincompoops!”

    Reggie returned with the refilled glass. It had a tiny umbrella in it, as well as a wedge of lime. “Gin and tonic, anyhooman?” he asked politely.

    “Anyone,” corrected Speaker absently.

    “Anypony.”

    “Anyone.”

    “Anyling.”

    “Anyone!”

    “Anybirdy!” Reggie snarled. Both changelings by now were forehead to forehead, their horns crossed and their snoots pressed firmly into each other.

    “And then they kissed,” mused Angela before giggling. Catherine began to giggle as well. Reggie and Speaker broke away from each other, hurling icy daggers at their sister.

    “Can I keep them? Pleeeeease?” begged Catherine, assuming the needy pout. The changelings noted their chosen queen’s choice of facial expressions and emulated it.

    It was the creepiest, cutest thing either man or woman had ever seen.
	
	

> 3. Love is a Burning Thing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights.


Catherine was giddy, wading through the throng of adoring changelings. Her hands went out to each of them, touching and petting. Her newly acquired subjects melted at her touch, purring contently in harmonious bliss. She did not know they could purr. It was almost catlike. They bowed before her and gasped when she hugged each one. Organization began and even though there were no words, they began to arranged themselves in an orderly fashion. Mommy and Daddy were talking to Speaker and Angela. The other named changelings were around the group, remaining for the most part silent.

“We are love starved,” she could hear Speaker say. “Mother could not feed us because she failed. Greed made her fail.”

“Are you dangerous?” Mommy then asked. “How can we trust you? You creatures are not from this world. People don’t know anything about you… we know nothing about you. Nobody would believe us if we told them.”

Catherine frowned. How hard could it be to show her new friends to the world? If only they could see how lovable and huggable her changelings were! Why, there would be no reason to be afraid of them! The girl, on impulse, felt she should share the changelings. Mommy and Daddy always said it was important to share her things. Her friends at school would be jealous of her changelings. She just knew it!

“I’m going to my room!” she announced to her parents.

“No! Stay in the living room where I can see you!” Frank twisted from where he sat on the couch. He was looking at Catherine intently, his eyes darting to the throng of changelings confused as to whom they should be focusing their attention on. A couple even bumped heads in the confusion. The poor man looked on the brink of developing an aneurysm.

“I’ll be okay, Daddy! They won’t hurt me. I’m their queen!”

Mommy turned her head and tugged on Daddy’s shirt. “Sit down, Frank. She’ll be all right.” A smile was beamed at Catherine. “Honey, why don’t you go fix yourself some cereal? Just stay in the kitchen where I can see you. You can play with your new friends there while your father and I speak with their leader.” Her voice did not sound right. There was a hitch in her words. They seemed...uncomfortable?

Mommy had look on her face that was not good. Catherine knew both her parents were scared, but she didn’t understand why. She played with a strand of her long, dark hair, wanting to object. Worry creased her forehead. This whole thing was stressing her parents out. There were too many changelings in the house. Too many 'monsters'. Maybe they were worried about the mess? The changelings were not messy. In fact, they were, in the girl’s eyes, making every effort to respect the cleanliness of the house.

“We brought you a crown,” said a changeling to her right. It was sitting on its haunches and had been looking at the photographs mounted on the wall next to the hallway. Curiosity had given way to nervous awe. “A cape, too, if you like capes.”

“Yes! A crown!”

“A nice crown!”

“Not a tall crown!”

“A circlet, if you wish to be technical.”

“It is ancient. Mo—our former queen thought it once was the crown of Princess Platinum.”

Catherine’s eyes went wide with wonder. “Really?” She had tracked each changeling who had spoken, almost as if she knew who was going to speak before they did. They all wore excited expressions. Changelings were really expressive!

“Cathy, please go to the kitchen. Have a bowl of cereal.”

Catherine noticed Mommy trembling, but not with her eyes. It was a tingling sensation in the back of her mind. The sensation was as if a pair of invisible hands had reached out and touched her mother. Through this connection, she could feel fear. It made her jump a little as it flared. The girl turned, staring at her mother, not sure what to think or say.

Instead, she nodded without uttering a word, her lips a thin line as her smile faded. Contemplation burrowed through her flightiness. On a normal day, Catherine was a flighty girl. She could not, for the life of her, pay attention to anything for too long before something else caught her eye. Today, however, she felt keen and aware of her surroundings and of the changelings, to a lesser degree. There was a need, but she could not place a finger on what that need was.

Tugging at the front of her pajama top, Catherine smoothed it flat. Her fingers twitched, rubbing the fabric between them. Her other hand snaked out, falling to rest at the withers of the changeling she had just spoken to. The skin was hard and cool, she noted, as they walked with shuffling steps towards the kitchen. Beneath it, she could feel the warmth. Her fingers stroked up the neck. Changelings were very petable, she decided.

“Breakfast!” whispered several voices. The kitchen only have five changelings in it. They were exploring: opening cabinet doors and peeking inside. One had figured out the stove and was busy turning burners on and off—a clear and unmistakable ‘oooh!’ coming from its mouth. “Feed the Queen!”

Another changeling was poking around the refrigerator, its head buried at the bottom of it. “It’s cold in here,” it declared with a flick of its tail. The changeling backed from the opening, its hoof holding the door in place as it peered over its shoulder. “What a marvelous device! It keeps food from spoiling! A far more efficient appliance than what the ponies store their perishables in!” There was childlike wonder in the changeling's voice.

“Are there eggs?” inquired the changeling at the stove. It had quirked its eyes so one was larger than the other, forming a mask of inquisitive curiosity. “I want a skillet, butter and the eggs, if there are any. And a spatula! I won’t let my days infiltrating as a royal chef to go to waste!”

"Mother's eggs?"

"What?" cried the changelings in the kitchen.

"No, you dummy! Chicken eggs."

There was a collective sigh of relief. Humans did not eat unborn changelings!

“You can cook?” asked Catherine, her eyes lighting up. The kitchen had barstools lining a breakfast bar divide separating the kitchen from the dining room. Clambering into one of the stools, she plopped down on her seat. As she made herself comfortable, the changelings formed an impromptu cooking staff. Catherine propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the palms of her hand.

“I can, my queen! If there is anything I can cook with, I can make a masterpiece! I once had Princess Celestia tell me I was responsible for the expansion of the sun!” The changeling grinned at her broadly, his smooth skin crinkling slightly around his muzzle. If he would have had brows, he would have wiggled them.

Flush with excitement, Catherine twisted around at the waist, elbow on the table while the other arm swung around to help keep her balanced. Her green eyes sparkled. “Mommy! Daddy! They’re going to make breakfast!”

“Oh my God, no!” exclaimed Beatrice, flinging her arms in the air as she rose in a panic from her seat. “Not in my kitchen! Get out!” Changelings scattered as she charged like an enraged tigress. Her charged ended as she wrapped her arms in a protective hug around her daughter and peered over the breakfast bar. Outrage came in the form of wide, dark eyes, laugh lines that weren’t funny at the moment, and the darting gaze of a queen witnessing the collapse of her kingdom.

There was a solid tan vase holding various kitchen utensils Beatrice used for cooking. It sat in the corner of the bar, next to the stove. Reaching over, the woman snatched up the first thing her fingers touched. It was a spatula, the one she used for flipping pancakes and eggs. Now, it became a swatter for oversized bugs. Wielding it like a scepter, she rounded the bar, unleashing a warcry that would have impressed an Amazon.

Fear of being swatted set the changelings in a panic. Large eyes went larger and alarmed chirps and cries started a symphony of chaos as the battle for the kitchen began in earnest. They crashed into each other, falling into tangled heaps as blows rained down upon them. The chef changeling at the stove stood his ground, but he cringed as he watched and heard the sounds of a large spatula impacting upon chitin, slightly offended that the tool of his trade was being used in such a way. It must have been a metal spatula. Perhaps aluminum? Such a rare metal, aluminum!

Tong! Tong! Tong! Tong! Tong! Tong!

“It’s annoying! By the Queen, it’s annoying!” cried each of the assailed. They fended off the brutal spatula assault with the combined skills of panicking nerds. Their tone was pitch perfect and synchronized, save for the physical aspect. A landed fish would flop with more grace.

“Mommy! Don’t beat up my changelings, Mommy! Please, stop!” Catherine cried, hopping down from her seat. She was quick and nimble, reaching her mother’s side in the blink of an eye. She began pulling and tugging on her mother’s elbow, pleading, “I’m their queen, stop!”

By now, the group of unhurt (but embarrassed) changelings escaped from the kitchen, save for the chef at the stove. They were also impressed, elated even!

“The queen protects!”

“Savior from the swatter!”

“It’s just a spatula!”

“It burns! It freezes!”

He was balanced on his hind legs while his forelegs were on the edge of the stove. Shifting forward and to one side, he watched over the small island in the center of the kitchen as the human female herded his staff out. It went without saying this was a territorial dispute. So, like any well-behaved changeling with good manners and zero military training, he dropped to all fours, cringed when the woman’s wild eyes fell upon him, and promptly went stiff. He flopped over on his right side and exposed his belly to her. Mournful eyes full of sad and soulful surrender looked up upon the raging female. The battle was hers! He surrendered unconditionally!

“Honey, calm down!” Frank called from the living room. He emerged with Speaker and Angela on his heels. His palms were up and facing his wife as she towered over the cowering changeling chef.

“Tell Mother I love her!” whimpered the chef.

The man grabbed his wife’s arm wielding the deadly spatula and pulled it away from menacing the poor changeling. “The Crawfords. Remember the Crawfords. Lina. Remember what she does. The gossip. The wild accusations. Remember Linda Crawford!”

Beatrice stopped cold, her skin paling at the mention of the woman's name. With a squeak in her throat, she turned her head whiplike. Her lips moved in silent prayer, her lungs expanding and contracting. The rage fell away, forgotten. An old threat reared its ugly head, a bad comedy skit she had seen played time and time again. The now listless woman dropped her arm until it hung limply at her side. A look of utter helplessness shadowed her face. Her eyes misted over. “Frank, I have bugs in my house and the Orkin man isn’t going to fix it!” she sobbed, collapsing into her husband’s arms.

“We… have inconvenienced you,” said Speaker in contemplation. Sad buzzes and chirps echoed his statement. “We are sorry.” He closed his eyes, his ears drooping as rejection was now a growing reality. His crest fell and the changeling looked as miserable as the human. The other changelings offered their countenance.

Angela shuffled her hooves uncomfortably on the edge of the plush tan carpet where it met with the gray colors of the kitchen tiles. “We had hopes for a better life. A life where we had a bright future. We could have come to you as kittens or puppies.”

“Or parrots!”

“Marsupials!”

“Jehovah’s Witnesses!”

Leaping around and facing the others, Angela hissed in frustration, splaying her legs out aggressively beneath her. She lowered her head, flaring her horn. It reflected her unhappy mood, it seemed. “Shut. Up. Please, just shut up, all of you!” the changeling snarled. “This is serious! I know you are all excited about exploring your individuality, but now is not the time! Our future hangs in the balance and you guys just have to be so random and idiotic! Please, just stop!”

Sad faces were thrusted deeper into melancholy. Ears splayed out and there was a great deal of shuffling hooves and shamed posturing. Someling passed gas then coughed awkwardly.

“We need air freshener,” muttered Reggie as he waited in resigned anticipation of stinky changeling methane. No doubt the silent killer would soon be upon them. Already the changelings closest to the one responsible were trying to cover their nostrils. Holed hooves were poor barriers against natural gas. “It was Foghorn... again.”

Catherine was confused. She was sad. The changelings were sad. But, a funny had been said. There was a changeling still on his back and on the kitchen floor. He was holding his legs to his body and whimpered quietly. He trembled visibly and had tears in his eyes. She went around her parents, who were also completely lost. Mommy didn’t know what to do. Daddy was scared. The changelings were depressed. The little girl felt something had to be done. She was a queen!

“Stop being sad!” she cried, hugging the chef changeling. “Gordon didn’t do anything wrong!”

The changeling she hugged blinked. How he could blink with compound eyes was astounding. “Gordon? Did you give me a name, Highness?” Fear melted away and a spark of hope could be seen in his orbs.

“You’re a chef, right?” reasoned Catherine with a quirky smile little girls her age used impulsively all around the world that made them universally adorable. “Chefs cook. Mommy watches a chef all the time named Gordon. He’s always yelling. But he makes yummy looking food and wants other chefs to cook as good as he does. I want to call you Gordon because he wants people to eat good food that tastes good.”

Beatrice stared down at the pitiful thing daring to cast hopeful eyes upon her daughter. Catherine glared, her eyes warning, yet pleading for her mother’s approval. Frank could do nothing more than run a hand in a circular pattern over his scalp. He kept rubbing it around and around, unable to stop as habit and circumstance did wage war upon his comprehension. Torn between his wife and his daughter, the man was receiving no help from his unwanted guests.

Without warning, Gordon exploded in green flames. Frank and Beatrice recoiled, throwing their arms up as they cried out. The changelings flinched in response, baring their fangs as if in sudden distress. Fear broiled over to horror. Both parents reached towards Catherine, who was screaming.

There was no scent of fire.

There was no smell of burning flesh.

The flames grew larger and larger, encompassing both girl and changeling. For some reason, ‘Ring of Fire’ began to play from the entertainment center in the living room.

As the fires receded, Speaker gravely said, “The song speaks true. Love burns within us. We cannot hold on to it. But, we can change and that change is affected by the love we are given. Look, Mr. and Mrs. Human, upon the changeling your daughter freely gave love to. Look upon my brother. It is our gift. It is…” The changeling’s monologue fell away like a discarded candy wrapper. “Really, Gordon? I mean….really?”

Catherine looked at Catherine. The Catherines poked at each other with fingers.

Mother and Father suddenly found the floor demanding a hug.
	
	
	
	

> 4. Help!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 


Their study of the human anatomy began as soon as Frank and Beatrice were placed gently upon the couch. There were some complaints of having to lug unconscious bodies around the house, it being inhabited by what were apparently fainting adult humans. It was suggested that, perhaps, they were a subspecies that inherited this specific trait. The changelings arranged them as comfortable as possible on the couch, each parent with a head on an arm rest. There was a discussion as to how to arrange their feet. Did humans tangle their hind legs? Did they space them evenly? Why did they cover them? What was that horrible smell? There was heavy sniffing involved to determine from where the smell was coming from. The results were less than ideal.

“Why is it,” complained one of the changelings, a female who had yet to select a name for herself, “that noses run and feet smell?” There was a rumbling of agreement. “The human species seems to be upside down!” This confusion was shared by more than a few of the changelings who listened to her.

Catherine fretted over her mommy and daddy. Gordon stood behind her, testing out his newly acquired body. Since he had absolutely no experience as a biped, he sat with his rump on the carpet. Walking had been impossible, but he refused to revert to his normal self. Fingers, he discovered, were magical. Especially the thumbs!

After the confusion and mild panic from watching the two adults collapse like two bags of potatoes, the changelings sprang into action. The good news was that Mommy and Daddy would be fine. The changelings promised Catherine that her parents would be all right. She showed enough trust in her new ‘subjects’ to pat Speaker on the head and make him pinkie promise on the wellbeing of her parents. There was a collective gasp from the changelings, but they acquiesced to her request.

It had already been a long morning for the newly minted Queen. Once her parents were made as comfortable as possible, the changelings witnessed the girl crawl up alongside her mother and curl into an unhappy ball of miserable. Her feelings were raw, as to be expected for such a young queen. Or was it? This was as new an experience for them as it was for Catherine. The changelings felt them and were amazed at how rough and unpolished they were. In stealthy silence, the gaggle formed a circle around the couch as the girl snuggled in. A blanket was sought out and found in a nearby closet.

Eyes filled with wonder marvelled at the construction of the house, the off-white walls, and the pictures hanging in what appeared to be chronological order. It did not take more than a few moments to realize the photographs were time capsules, catching moments of familial joy and accomplishment. Mother Chrysalis had never taken pictures. She never even put drawings on the refrigerator back at the hive. It was built with a combination of comfort and efficiency in mind.

For the first time, the changelings drank in their surroundings, wings buzzing in a soft manner, stirring the air. Changelings could feel the temperature of the room. They preferred a moderate climate. They did not mind the slight humidity. It was reasoned through the collective that the insides of the abode made for a comfortable living arrangement. There was no panic, no sense of urgency beyond the concern for their hosts.

“Let us see where we are,” whispered Speaker. It was unnecessary to speak, but he was the speaker and had taken the word for himself. He spoke for the collective, after all. “Brothers and sisters, we are in uncharted territory.” 

“No duh,” muttered a changeling in the crowd.

Speaker glared at him even as there was tittering. “Nevertheless,” he went on with a huff, “we must come to understand these humans.”

“Hoomans,” corrected another changeling.

“Some kind of bean…” 

“Who, man?”

“You, man!”

“Pod people!”

“We’re more alike than we thought!”

“Mother said she picked me from the cabbage fields. I’m special!” 

Speaker ground his teeth then clicked his fangs. “If you would, please, focus!” He had noticed this disturbing trend as of late. When they had been around Mother before, in their old lives, the spontaneous blurting had never happened. It was vexing. Mother’s mind had guided their thoughts and encouraged certain actions, while discouraging others. Here, there seemed to be a lack of direction. It also felt right, somehow. “Our new Queen has been given our link. She is growing. We must not give her too much. We still do not know how fragile her mind is. She has accepted us. She must be kept safe and unharmed at all cost. We have searched for far too long—”

“Three weeks.”

“Three tendays, plus one!”

“I should have had a V8!”

The changeling hissed, working his jaw. It clicked and popped, reflecting what he was feeling. This was becoming irritating. Why the sudden blurting? It had grown in recent weeks even as the small group of changelings spent more and more time away from Mother’s influence. Was this what it was like to have minds of their own? “Focus, my bothers and sisters,” he sighed in a worn down, weary voice. His eyes fell upon his Queen and her family. Sleep looked like a good idea. It had been a long night and an even longer day.

There were many changelings who did not have names yet. Speaker, and the others who did, felt bad. Was it guilt? Or did they just want their fellow changelings to also know the joy of having a name for themselves? Was it guilt? Maybe. Some emotions were still quite alien to changelings.

“All right,” he announced, forcing himself to straighten up. Speaker popped his neck and set himself for the task at hand. “We are tasked with not only protecting our Queen, but the Queen Mother and the Queen Father.”

“What’s a Queen Father?” asked a voice somewhere in the throng. At least the speaker was moderating her voice so only sensitive changeling ears could pick them up.

Speaker nodded towards Frank. Frank was drooling. “That is the Queen Father. He is the father of the Queen. Hence, he is the Queen Father. Got it?”

There was an awkward moment of silence. “Not really.”

“Let’s just call him Daddy. The Queen does,” suggested Kevin. He lept up onto the back of the couch and padded on nimble hooves from one end to the other. The changeling stopped when he was above Catherine and tilted his head from one side to the other before glancing back at Frank. Frank was still drooling.

“Who is our father, anyways?” asked Jon, now curious.

“Mother never said,” replied Speaker with a shrug. “There was that rumor about the tree and the pond and bones, but I think she was just trying to get us to go to sleep.”

“Daddy was a potato,” the changeling from the cabbage field said, “and he only had eyes for Mommy.”

There was always that one special changeling...

Angela, meanwhile, had moved right up to Beatrice’s face and was studying the woman’s features. With a hoof, she rubbed her own chin with studious determination as her magic flared in her horn. Humans were new and this was about as close as she would ever get to one. As her horn flared, so did her eyes. It was important for changelings to understand new species. It was a matter of survival. Physically, changelings were weak and their magic was subpar. However, they were nature’s perfect imitators, if nature was a twisted, evil magical thing born from the hatred and greed of a dark queen with delusions of adequacy. 

The female changeling shook her head. It wasn’t nice to think of Mother in that way. If it weren’t for Chrysalis, then there would have been no Angela, she reasoned reasonably, and with good reason. “I have scanned Beatrice. I have a basic concept of the hooman female anatomy. I am going to practice my silly walks. Because bipeds.” Honestly, how did the minotaurs do it?

Her wings blurred, lifting her from the carpet. Smiling down at Catherine and her mother, she went to glean this new information. If Gordon could turn into a human, then by golly so could she! “Girls, with me!” she announced, a bit too loud for Speaker’s taste as he winced.

“Shh!” he shushed through his fangs, glaring at her.

He was ignored as his sisters followed Angela. Gordon went to follow, still disguised as Catherine. He had no idea about how locomotion worked on human legs, but he was game to try. “Bollocks!” he cried in Catherine’s voice.

“Shh!” hissed the changelings at him.

“Stay with the boys, Mr. Gender Bender,” said Wesley. He was still staring at Frank. His eyes never left the man. Good old Wesley. When told to watch something, he did just that until told otherwise. “He has stubble. Do hoomans all have stubble? Ponies have stubble, but it is hidden beneath their fur. You can’t see the stubble because of it. Does having bare skin make them cold? Is this why they need so much clothing?”

“Shh!” Exasperated glares and copious stinkeyes were hurled at Wesley.

“Not paying attention,” he whispered like a mouse sneaking past the cat.

“Just,” Speaker hissed, trying very hard not to explode on his brother, “just keep quiet. Scan him.”

“Already did it.”

“When?”

“First time he fainted.”

“Why didn’t I notice?”

“You were too busy hogging love from the Queen.”

Beneath his chitin, Speaker flushed. He did feel fuller than he had in a long time. His ears splayed out, then flicked. He glanced at his brothers and ire crept up from them, slapping his own emotional receptors. This elicited a wince from the changeling selected by the others to speak on their behalf. What was he, a senator?

“All right, all right. We will establish hugging shifts to make sure everyling gets their proper share of hugs.”

Reggie asked, “What if the Queen favors some over others?” He had been quiet since chapter two. Which meant less than an hour. Which meant he still talked too much. Maybe it had to do with the slight nasal quality in his voice.

“We are changelings. We can modify our original purpose.” Speaker waited with a patient air as Reggie worked out his reply in his head. He could almost hear the gears turning. 

“...How is looking like Mother going to help us?” asked Reggie. He blinked with quick, successive bats of his eyelids, his brain still churning. “That would mean…”

A changeling next to Speaker opened his mouth. Speaker jammed a hoof into his opening maw. “Wait for it.”

A lightbulb  went off over Reggie’s head. “Oh! We can turn into each other! That’s”—Reggie frowned, paling beneath his natural armor—“creepy.”

“Gordon already showed we can adapt as humans in a pinch,” said Kevin, wanting to change the subject. He was a little green under the gills. “By the way, ew, Speaker. Just… ew!”

Changelings hated imitating each other, unless there was a task specifically intended for it. It was one thing acting as decoys, but to actively use each other for personal gain? Nefarious!

Or was it?

Several changelings were beginning to understand; to come to a realization. The discussion, disturbing as it was to their eyes, cast a new, darker light upon their beloved Mother. Several were already beginning to file Chrysalis under ‘She Who Hatched Us and was Definitely Not Mother of the Year Material, Despite Her Lofty Claims, Which is Sad, Considering Our Lives were Lies, but There’s No Point Bellyaching About It, Because That Would be Silly, Wouldn’t It’. Others were still not able or wanting to let her go. Love was a strange thing. For instance, love had hurled thousands of changelings through the air, which proved the ancient legends that it could, in fact, hurt to feel love. Then there was Catherine, who smothered her changelings with spoiling amounts of love, which could lead to overweight changelings and diabetes (possibly).

“All right, all right,” Speaker said in a placating voice, wagging a hoof to console the others. “We’ll put that on the backburner for later consideration. In the meantime, let’s get to know this place, make some food for our hosts, and try not to be the parasites we really are. Gordon?”

“Yes?” asked the chef, perking his ears forward.

“Cook something humans like to eat.”

With a voice full of hope, Gordon asked, “Can I stay in my Catherine form?”

“Is our Queen in danger of assassination?”

“Well, no… I hope? I just feel pretty. Oh, so pretty!”

“Revert to your normal self. You don’t know that body and it’s mildly disturbing to see you as our Queen. Now, get in the kitchen!”

Gordon, feeling snarky and irritable, replied, “Shall I lay eggs whilst I cook?” 

“If it will get you to shut up, then yes.”

One hiccup of green fire later, Gordon sulked off into the kitchen, muttering under his breath. A few of his brothers followed who had themselves some experience in cooking. One of them was even putting on a chef’s hat as he put his game face on. “Van Damme,” he could be heard hissing under his breath.

Speaker cleared his throat with a soft cough. Mindful of the sleeping humans, he said, “All right, you lot! We need to get organized and get a better understanding of hoomans. We have moved from observational operations to infiltration and socialization status. Let’s get cracking and learn what we need in order to survive on this world.”

Somewhere, a harmonica was tested. Throats were cleared. They could feel it coming.

“Mi, mi, mi, mi!” chorused the boys.

Angela poked her head out from the door leading into Catherine’s room. She huffed with the spite of an irritated badger, “You just couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Music happens, sister!”

The boys cried, “Yeah!”

Angela rolled her eyes, shook her head and tossed a glance over her shoulders. “Come on, girls! The boys are blaming it on the music again!”

They poured out of Catherine’s room even as the music was tuning itself. There was still time. The changelings mingled, scrambled, and jostled for position.

“What’s the song about?”

“Let’s sing it and find out!”

“I swear, if it’s that small world song, someling’s gonna feel my wrath!”

“I regret nothing!” 

Speaker lead off, putting his face right in front of Angela’s until their snoots almost touched.


Learn, we gotta know


Learn, it’s more than show


Learn, know we gotta know, learn


        He weaved in and around his bothers and sisters, who bobbed along in time with the music. Angela glared at him as only a sister who hated being beaten to the start of a song would be.


When we arrived (from under the bed) not knowing what was here


(We really needed) We really needed to learn what goes on here


(Wow) Don’t have a clue, don’t know (We really didn’t know), What we were thinking


(Guess we gotta find) Guess we gotta find, expand our minds, open up those doors


        Angela butted in, shoving a hoof into Speaker’s mouth. Her wings reflected her delight as he tried to pry her hoof from his mouth. Instead, he bit down, forcing her to yelp. Still, it was her line and she was not going to miss it for the world. The backup vocals were on point and as flawless as a group could be from using a shared mental link. Go figure.


Learning what we can, we will survive


We wanna get out of this life alive


Learning is the only way to get around


We’ve got to really, really start learning



(See) We see our new queen to brighten up our days


(Our indoctrination) Our indoctrination fell away on that fateful day


(But) But realizing (Realizing we are free) and afraid of the unknown


(Understanding) Understanding love can honestly be given freely 


        Speaker finally spat out Angela’s hoof and shoved her aside. Once again, those not singing lead (or not singing at all) performed their roles seamlessly. The dancing was a sight to see.


Learning what we can, we’ll get around


We love our queen not duty bound


Learn how to live in this world so round


Why don’t we please, please learn more?


        The two siblings glared at each other between beats before they realized they were perhaps being a bit too petty. They threw a holed hoof over each other’s withers, mindful of their wings and mashed the sides of their faces together. Speaker and Angela swayed together to the music. Sarcastic cheers came from the kitchen where those not involved with the song were busy preparing breakfast.


When we arrived (from under the bed) not knowing what was here


(We really needed) We really needed to learn what goes on here


(Wow) Don’t have a clue, don’t know (We really didn’t know), What we were thinking


(Guess we gotta find) Guess we gotta find, expand our minds, open up those doors




Queen Catherine, please teach us how


Though you’re too young to lead us now


We’ll show you the power you have, ow!


We’re free, curiosity, to learn, to learn, to learn, ooh!


        The song finished with changelings twirling with unbound joy in the air on excited wings in a circle formation around the couch. Two bemused humans were staring at them while the third was clapping in unbridled excitement.

        Frank and Beatrice took a long moment to drink in their surroundings. Where did that music come from? Both were wondering, pondering, and considering.

        “Well,” said the father of Queen Catherine, his eyes blinked in disbelief. “That happened. What power?” He wiped the drool from his chin.
	
	


> 5. Now, If We Could Just Get on Topic
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



Breakfast was a dish best served with pancakes, smothered in butter and syrup. Gordon glowered at his helpers as though they had not met up to his standards. The ratio between butter, syrup, and sogginess was all wrong! He had declared thusly, prior to the declaration that the breaking of the fast was underway. The humans, having been awoken by a rather rousing musical number, were both baffled and amused. Where was the music coming from? It was a question that repeated itself in the minds of both adults as they found themselves seated at the dining table. Nervous eyes went from changeling to changeling, each one trying to be pleasant and quiet. Catherine was still yawning. The little girl was exhausted, but she was also hungry.

        “Pancakes,” announced Gordon with pride, using his glowing horn to levitate several dishes at once. “Pancakes, crepes, and bacon. Everything will be wonderful. Full bellies can mean minds more receptive and pleasant to deal with.” Throwing one last glare at his kitchen staff (raspberries were thrown back at him with great prejudice), the chef set a plate down in front of each human with practiced ease. “Enjoy!”

        He then went back to the kitchen for a cold dish of revenge for the raspberry blowers. He would return his domain to a place of blissful harmony once more! Dirty dishes awaited noling!

        Now, having a table lined with the heads of changelings poking up along the edges might have been disconcerting—nay, even disturbing—but there was something of a spark of hope in each and every one of those blue, buggy eyes. There was a sense of anticipation, as if the entirety of the peace process depended upon the taste of bacon and crepes. Bacon universally made everything better.

        Frank dared a look at his wife. Beatrice picked up her fork and stared at the plate. It smelled wonderful. “My kitchen?” she asked in near duress as she started to rise from her chair. What startled her was the sound of dishes clattering loudly by the sink. Worry etched her face. It was a completely remodeled kitchen, made to her specifications. 

        “They’ll clean it all up,” Catherine promised. “I am their queen!” She was already digging into her plate.

        “Chew with your mouth closed, honey,” her father said out of habit. Catherine was still learning the fine art of not looking like a slob when eating. A thought popped to life. He smirked. “Is that how a queen would eat?”

Other phrases Daddy liked to say at the table were, ‘don’t talk with your mouth full’, or ‘keep your elbows off the table’, and even his more frequently used ‘bring the food to you, don’t bring your face to the food’. Learning to eat should never be this complicated!

“Is it safe?” Beatrice indicated her plate with her fork.

Frank stared at her plate, then he stared at his own. Catherine was like a school of piranha skeletonizing a cow. The little girl hummed a happy tune through a bulging mouthful of breakfast. “It has to be,” he reasoned, poking at his food with his own fork.

They felt dozens of eyes on them. The anticipation in the air was thicker than the best maple syrup. Breakfast might have been less uncomfortable if there were not eyes staring at them. It was as though the fate of the world depended on how the food tasted. Catherine seemed not to mind. She was halfway through her wolfing.

Frank tried the crepes. His fork cut through the flaky, paper thin pancake. It was smothered in strawberries and topped off with what appeared to be freshly made whipped cream. He stared at the bit on his fork, then at his daughter. With a shrug, he took a bite.

The intake of air from the changelings was audible. One inhaled too much air and became light-headed, toppling over backwards. The resulting thump to the floor led the entire collective to look back in one fluid motion, but they were quick to resume their stares at Frank and Beatrice. The result had more than a little skin crawling creepiness.

Quirking an eyebrow, Frank noted how no effort was being done to help the poor fellow, other than one of the changelings taking the fallen fellow’s place. It was unnerving at how all of these creatures could mirror each other almost perfectly to the point where it was impossible to tell them apart.

“Get on with it!” they all shouted with abrupt suddenness at him. 

Startled, the man noted his wife had a tiny, almost imperceptible grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Beatrice was already into her breakfast. She flicked a finger at him. “Eat. It’s good.”

And like that, all resistance collapsed as the family as a whole fell upon breakfast with increasing vigor. An explosion of flavor assaulted his mouth. One bite followed another. Then another. He chewed slowly, savoring each bite. Soon, all too soon, his plate was empty and he felt sad.

“Well?” Gordon asked in a hopeful voice. He was hovering over Frank’s shoulder. “How was my cooking?” The sudden appearance of the changeling nearly made the man jump out of his skin.

A voice from the kitchen shouted, “Our cooking!”

The changeling chef rolled his eyes. “Noling cares, Bob!” 

A female changeling cleared her throat. “I care.” She was sitting on Frank’s left, her chin hovering less than an inch from the tabletop.

“Good for you,” Gordon said as he hissed with irritation. “Point being, Daddy, did you like it?”

The human arched an eyebrow. “Daddy?”

“Yes. We decided you’re our daddy.”

He was not liking where this was going. “Wait. Who’s your daddy?”

“You’re our daddy.” The smiles thrown at him were full of hope.

“Potato!” 

“Ni!”

Frank set his fork down. It clattered upon his empty, syrup smeared plate. “What do you mean: I’m your daddy?” 

Beatrice snorted, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh, God, this is hilarious!” Her sides heaved and she wrapped herself with her other arm.

“What’s hilarious, Mommy?” Catherine asked, a picture of innocence.

“Never mind, sweetie. Your daddy is just being silly.” The woman smiled at Gordon, her first smile at any of the changelings that was genuine. “The food was wonderful, Gordon.” She turned towards the kitchen. “And thank you, too!”

A cry came from the kitchen. It was in perfect unison. “We are loved!” 

“May we remove the dishes?” came a little whisper in between Beatrice and Frank. They turned to the sound of the voice and saw an adorable, if nervous, changeling flitting her wings. She shifted her weight from one foreleg to the other, flicking her tail and licking her lips in nervous anticipation. 

Beatrice cooed, “Oh, you’re so cute!”

Frank deadpanned. “She looks like all the rest of them.” He indicated the other changelings with a careless wave of his hand.

His wife gave him a frown. “Nonsense! This one is different, see? She has hair growing on the top of her head.”

The man leaned over to the changeling. She cowered a little and flinched when he reached a hand out. “May I rub the top of your head?” Frank gave her a gentle smile.

“It’s okay!” Catherine chirped as her dishes were cleared away. “Daddy won’t hurt you! He’s the nicest, bestest daddy in the whole wide world!”

Heartened by her Queen’s declaration, the stubble-headed changeling leaned into Frank’s palm. She was a little scared, but the fear passed as soon as the man’s fingers touched the top of her head. The touch was like magic.

“Wow,” Frank commented with surprise. “It’s really wispy to the touch. Kind of like angel hair, or something. I really can’t describe it. Hon, feel this!” Wonderment spilled from his awe for the sensation at his fingertips. It was not so much hair he was touching, he thought, so much as it was the finest silk ever imagined. “You’re silky!”

“Silky?” the changeling asked, blinking her eyes slowly. She purred and had started to smile from the fingers now scratching her behind an ear. “I want to be called Silky.”

Beatrice let out a squee. “Oh, you are adorable!” Maintaining the smile and tone, she added, “I just hope your friends don't ruin my house.”

“Coffee?” One of the kitchen changelings had appeared without making a sound. He hovered on silent wings with a pair of coffee mugs and a fresh pot. Without waiting for permission, the mugs were set down on the table and filled. Then the coffee wielding changeling disappeared as quickly as he had come.

“Strange morning,” Frank commented as he found himself picking up one of the mugs. “Wake up to strange sounds in Cathy’s room, go to her room, flip the light switch and see all of you guys staring at me. Pass out”—he refused to say ‘faint’—”wake up on the couch, find out my daughter is now Queen of the Bug People.” He took a sip and tried to keep himself collected. Frank was looking at Silky while he spoke. “I have frayed nerves from all of this. I want to scream and run away.”

Silky blinked up at him. The changeling seemed uncomfortable that she was the focus of his voice and his eyes. She did not move because the scratching of his fingers between her ears was divine.

“Speaker, right?” Frank pulled his hand from the changeling and sat back, regarding the male across the table from him. “Why are you here? Why are you so interested in my daughter? What is this power you’re yapping about?”

The changelings hummed the first chorus of a song that explained every— 

Frank held up a finger as he interrupted. “Don’t you dare pull a Disney number on us! Just tell me straight. What is going on here? How did you guys get here? How did you appear in my daughter’s bedroom? The window is locked from the inside.”

“I don’t mind their singing,” Beatrice admitted to her husband.

Frank gave her a tired look. “Honey, do you really want an explanation given to you while these guys are tap-dancing on the tables and singing about how they’re supposed to hug their way to happiness, or some Disney crap like that? And where is that music coming from, anyway?” The last question was directed at Speaker.

“The Magic of Music followed us from Equestria,” came the reply. Speaker shrugged helplessly. “It simply happens. The timing can be unorthodox. Music might not happen for long stretches of time. Sometimes we get many songs in a day. It seems as though Equestrian magic bled through the portal. It is a mystery even to us changelings. Mother forbade singing unless the songs were about changelings triumphing over all, or something like that. She enjoyed her rants. Some of them were epic.”

“Magic?” Beatrice peered over her coffee. She seemed about to object, then realized something and closed her mouth. Her troubled face indicated inner conflict as she looked at what seemed to be examples of living magical beings milling around her house and staring at her family.

The music started again.

“No! Stop that!” Frank glared at the changelings. Sad and confused faces returned the glare. “No singing! Talk like normal people! This is a discussion, not a musical!”

Sad changelings were sad. “So, no singing?”

“Crickets sing!”

“Birds sing!”

“What about whales? We should sing like whales!”

“I’m a whale! Aroooo! Aroooo! Aroooo!”

Frank facepalmed and let out a long suffering sigh of frustration. He bemoaned, “Why me?”

“I’m a potato!” Cabbage chanted, then stood completely still, eyes wide.

Beatrice was laughing, poorly containing her mirth behind her hands. Catherine, however, had no compunctions on how funny she thought it was. Her laughter was picked up by the changelings, who were more confused than they were amused.

Speaker hissed at his brothers and sisters loudly. All noise stopped, save for the drop of a pin. The changeling who dropped the pin smiled sheepishly and picked it up.

She quipped, “I was just curious!” before slinking off to hide in a corner somewhere.

“For the sake of our hooman hosts,” Speaker said loudly, making himself as tall as possible. His wings fanned, then buzzed, then settled down along the length of his back. “We must try to fight the musical compulsion and explain things in a way they can understand.”

“You ask the impossible!” 

He made his voice a little louder. “We are changelings! We can adapt! We must adapt! We must understand this world and it’s confusing, hypocritical ways! We must stand united in the face of unhealthy fast foods and the hooman desire to communicate through small, plastic devices that slowly eat your soul and sap the intelligence from your brain with stupid little games that require a significant investment of time!”

“What about writers and creative writing?” Came the question at the far end of the living room. “That’s somewhat useful, isn’t it?”

“We’ll not delve into that degenerative dive of hooman scum and villainy!”

“What about poets?” Same changeling. 

Speaker narrowed his eyes at him. “We are getting off topic. The topic is magic and how hoomans have basically ignored the fact or even completely forgotten it has always been here. We can feel it, can’t we?”

Changeling heads bobbed up and down in agreement. 

An inquisitive question was put forth. “Does this mean we’re not going to talk about writers and their evil ways?” 

“We are not,” Speaker replied through gritted teeth. He was beginning to understand Frank’s frustration. It was interesting trying to see a perspective from the view of a creature other than a changeling. He had tried it as a pony, once, and could only think of running away. Why were herds of baby bunnies so terrifying, anyways? The horror!

“The topic is magic. It is everywhere, Mr. Hooman,” Speaker said to Frank as the changelings settled down on haunches. “It surrounds us, penetrates us. It’s in everything. The air, the rocks, the water. Magic is a part of life and without life there can be no magic. It is different in your world, but we can all sense it. As changelings, we are naturally attuned to magic we are familiar with it.”

The man grunted, rolling his eyes and throwing his arms up in disbelief. “Thanks, Yoda!”

Cabbage was still chanting ‘potato’, happy to be lost in his own little world. Perhaps talk of writers had put him in a peculiar frame of mind. Maybe he wanted to be a whale. They made neat noises! He was largely ignored, though one of the females patted him on the back. Cabbage was a well-loved changeling.

Beatrice had recovered from her sudden bout of amusement. “Speaker, what did you mean about Catherine having power?”

“For several weeks, we stayed in the shadows,” Speaker said, casting nervous glances between Beatrice and Frank. “We were at a loss. We had come here, had been told to come here. Everything was new. This world felt so different from ours. Everything. The first time we witnessed the sunrise, we panicked. We thought the sun was stuck in the sky. No immortal was moving it.”

“Okay. I’m with you,” Frank said in a voice that was far from convinced.

“Right,” was the shared sentiment from Speaker. Both males paused in awkward silence, measuring each other. “Shouting match involving words like, ‘I don’t believe you’ and ‘there’s no such thing as magic’ later?”

There was a nod of agreement. “I can wait.”

“Good. Maestro!”

“No singing!”

“But!”

“I said no! It’s distracting!”

Many, many ears were splayed out in dejection. “Fiiiiiine,” all of the changelings said to a ‘ling.
	

> 6. No Singing!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



“So,” Speaker said once the next chapter started, “You want answers? I don’t have all the answers.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘you don’t have all the answers’?”

“Well, we do have a Newton.”

“Newton? Who’s or what’s Newton?”

The changelings parted, forming a path from the living room to the dining table. What approached appeared to be an older changeling, though it was difficult to say. Beatrice and Frank exchanged worried and confused looks as the changeling Speaker called Newton approached them. He had the walk of the elderly and his eyes seemed to have a duller glow to them.

“Mother and Father of ze Queen,” he introduced himself with reserved politeness. “I am Newton. I vunce vas ze Keeper of Lore, appointed by ze Mother, Queen Chrysalis, many years ago. I am ze most knowledgeable of my brothers unt sisters in magic and lore. I vill answer your questions to ze best of my ability.” The smile he flashed was reserved, as though merely to observe social politeness. “As ze foremost authority best qualified to explain ze magics of both our world unt yours, ze details fall upon my shoulders and mine alone. Do you have any questions?” By the time he was done speaking, Newton had seated himself next to Speaker, stiff and tall. His expression and mannerisms screamed evil Nazi scientist, an unsettling thought, but who were the humans to judge?

“Okay,” Frank said, the word coming with the speed of a strolling tortoise. He noted his coffee cup had been refilled with the efficiency of ninja wait staff. Taking a sip, he then asked, “What is it about my daughter that fascinates you bug people so much?”

“Changelings, Daddy!” Catherine glared at him. “They’re called changelings!”

Under his breath, the man muttered, “Bugs. Changelings. Whatever.” Louder, he said in a soothing voice to his daughter, “Honey, I don’t know what they want you for. Your mother doesn’t know what they want you for.” His gaze became icy daggers as they fell upon Speaker, then Newton. “I want answers.”

“I assure you,” Newton said, “You vill have zem.” He paused while changelings whisked away empty dishes. He tapped a passing changeling with a light touch of his hoof. “Coffee, if you please?”

“No.” And the changeling went about his business. “More coffee?” the impolite changeling asked Beatrice, smiling a smile that would warm a cold, dead heart.

“Why were you rude to him?” the woman asked the changeling.

“Never give Newt coffee,” warned the changeling. She wagged the sloshing coffee pot at the stiff changeling giving her a stony glare, then leaned in to the woman. “The caffeine. He’ll never shut up. Put a pot of coffee in him and he drags everyling into his mad lectures.”

Newton snorted, his facade cracking just a little bit. “I am not mad.”

“Mother gave you an independent mind,” she said with a shiver. “We are all afraid of becoming like you. Thinking for yourself and doing things for yourself. When I look at you and think about the things you have said and done, I sometimes wish I was under Mother’s control. So,” she finished with a flourish, “no coffee for you!”

“You are ze cruel sister!” Newton’s face fell as he pouted. “In all of my years, I have never had such an insufferable sister such as you!”

She was not moved. “Save it, big brother. I am not going to suffer through another one of your caffeine benders!” The changeling turned to Frank. “Need a warm up, hun?”

“Yes, please.” Frank held out his half full cup.

“Not fair,” grumbled Newton. His pout grew larger. All eyes were upon him. Finally, he sighed after a pregnant pause had a litter. “In any case, ze magic is to be explained, ja?”

Frank huddled around his coffee cup, hunching his shoulders forward as he leaned heavily on his forearms. “No singing.”

“Nein. There will be no singing.”

Frank tapped the tabletop with a solid finger. “No dancing.” 

“There will be no dancing.”

“Can we shuffle in rhythm?” asked one of the changelings, daring to dream.

“Ni!”

Frank thumped the middle of his forehead upon the unfeeling wooden table. Not once. Not twice. But three times. A whimper escaped his lips. “Why me, Lord? Why, oh, why must you beset me with this test?”

The changelings murmured amongst themselves. They buzzed and chirped. Newton blinked, tilting his head to one side as an ear flopped forwards and back. “To whom do you pray to?” he asked.

“Nevermind,” Frank replied. He sighed and straightened in his seat. “Nevermind. Just... look, let’s get to the point. Nobody sings. Nobody dances. Nobody shuffles. I want to discuss what is going on with you guys and why you want my daughter. Is that such a hard thing to do?”

“Ni,” came the word with growing sadness.

Newton, meanwhile caught an elbow from Speaker. “Answer his questions, Newt. I don’t think I can keep our brothers and sisters from breaking something. They’re going to get bored and they’re going to want to explore. This house won’t keep their attention for much longer. I’m a spokesling, not an egg watcher!”

Newton cleared his throat and adjusted his wings. “My explanation vill be thorough. It will be concise. It vill be easy for our human hosts to understand.”

“Hooman.”

“No, it is pronounced ‘human’. You have been doing it wrong.”

“What kind of bean?”

It was starting again. Those infuriating gabbering random words, always tearing the conversation from the subject Frank wanted to focus on. He roared. Oh, how he roared! “Just stop it!” His wife jumped in her seat, her hand to her chest as she stared at Frank, dumbfounded. "Can any of you stay focused for more than five seconds?! It's like talking to overly caffeinated squirrels!”

Beatrice leaned over to Catherine, who was every bit as shocked and amazed as her mother. “Cathy, sweetie?” she whispered in a warm, playful tone. “Why don’t you go and count the changelings, then find out their names. Would you like to do that?”

Angela nuzzled the girl. “I would like to help you, my Queen. There are many of us who do not have names and don’t know who they are yet. You can help them find themselves. It will be fun!”

“Okay, Mommy.” Catherine slid down from her chair and went the long way around the table, avoiding her father as fearful eyes locked on him. Guilt was what she saw, in his posture and in his own eyes. She could also…

Catherine blinked, shaking off the strange feeling. “I’m tired. Can I go lay down, Mommy?” She paused, looking over her shoulder at Beatrice. “I don’t feel good.”

Her mother immediately rose to her feet. She brushed her fingers over her husband’s neck and shoulders as she passed behind him. Any changelings in her way fell away like automatic doors. 

“Potato?” Cabbage asked her, full of worry. He appeared at Catherine’s side, opposite of her mother. “Strong is her potential. Guide her, we must,” Cabbage said with sage wisdom to Beatrice.

“What?” Beatrice asked Cabbage, completely flummoxed by his show of intelligence.

“Wik,” he told her with a vapid smile.

“What?” Beatrice repeated, even more confused now.

“Also wik.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Also also wik.” A thousand years of wisdom cascaded forth from the mouth of infallible knowledge. Cabbage was in someone else’s element and he relished it on a bratwurst.

Or something like that.

The woman dismissed the changeling and his dopey smile. “She’ll be fine. She’s just tired and ate too much,” Beatrice reassured the changeling with a smile. It was odd there was something missing from Cabbage’s head. “Frank, please don’t yell. These poor things have done nothing but behaved as well as they could, given what they’re going through.”

“Poor things?” Frank blinked. His coffee cup was refilled. How many cups was it? Three? Why was his mouth burned? “Poor things?!”—he smiled at the coffee wielding changeling—”They broke into our house, won't stop singing, and that one creepy one won't stop staring at me!" He flung a finger upwards as he put on a justified indignant air.

Wesley waved at him from where he stood on the ceiling.

“I’m going to chalk that rant off to the caffeine talking,” the changeling with the coffee pot told him with a flat stare. “I’m cutting you off.” She buzzed off towards the kitchen. “No more coffee for the hooman male!” 

Frank's eye twitched. He took a deep breath in a vain attempt to quell his growing frustration. “Fine! Fine! I’m sorry! Give me space. Can you guys give me a little space? Please?”

Chittering changelings slid out of the kitchen. Even Wesley did so, albeit with great reluctance. With a grunt, Frank’s stalker dropped from the ceiling, flipped upright in mid air, and caught himself on his wings. Wesley flew backwards, keeping his eyes on the human and grinning like a demented vampire. It looked menacing until his rump bumped into the wall, knocking a framed picture off. It was caught by another changeling, Silky, to be exact, who hissed.

“Dummy,” she told him, her horn flaring. Her green aura surrounded Wesley’s left ear and she dragged him into the living room. He in turn struggled, looking dejected.

Soon, it was just Speaker, Newton, and Frank at the table. The two changelings sat themselves in the empty chairs and made themselves comfortable. Frank guarded his cup with his arms and was again hunched over the table. His head went with his eyes, turning from one changeling to the other. The late morning sun bathed the table through the dining room window. Outside could be heard a couple of lawn mowers. In the living room, the television turned on and the volume was turned down low. Several changelings could be heard gasping in astonishment.

“Let us fall down and worship!” cried a changeling. It sounded like Reggie.

“All praise the idiot box!” the converts intoned in reverence.

Frank sighed. It was a tired, worn sigh. The changelings were too much. They were easily distracted. There was no direction and very little cohesion. The man thought they behaved like sheltered children, seeing a bigger world for the first time. Perhaps it was even more overwhelming for them than his experience to this point with them. If only he could convince himself to believe his own words.

“Let’s do this,” he said with a sense of defeatism. “Before it all drives me insane. I don’t care if you tell me unicorns move the sun.”

“Alicorns, actually.” Newton supplied in an attempt to be helpful. He considered his words and amended them. “Vell, one. Princess Celestia moves ze sun where ve come from. She has done zo for a very long time unt is considered one of ze most powerful magic users in existence. She vas so powerful, Queen Chrysalis had to select a public event in vich to confront her. She reasoned Celestia vould hold back a great deal of her magic in a duel, allowing for her to be defeated. It succeeded unt ve had Canterlot conquered.”

“Newt,” Speaker said in pained tones.

“Vat?” The changeling cast his brother an irritated glance.

“Why did you start there? Look at Mr. Hooman.” He pointed with a hoof.

Frank wore a flat, unforgiving stare. “Conquest?” He blinked. An eyebrow twitched.. “Canterlot?”

Newton took a moment to process the two words and associated with what he had just divulged. “I see. Keep in mind, Mr. Thomas,” he said as he flicked both ears at him, “Not all changelings were for ze invasion of Equestria—”

“Equestria?!”

“This vould be so much better if you vould let me sing about it,” Newton lamented with stoicism. He might as well have been as emotional as a corpse. “It haz ze catchy beat. Even better with ze glow sticks, ja?”

Frank could feel the vein in his forehead throb. He could feel his neck and face warming up. His boiling point was very close. It was as though these bug… horse… things were bound and determined to make him snap.

“I sense something,” Speaker told Newton with trepidation. “Something I’ve not felt since…” The changeling whipped his head at Frank. The man looked furious. “Tell him about Catherine, Newt. Please tell him now. For the love of our Mother, please tell him what he wants to know!”

“Vas?” Newton shifted his attention to Frank, who was a volcano ready to pull a Vesuvius and fast. “Ja! Ja! Of course!”

“My daughter. What. Do. You. Want. With. Her?” Frank was grinding his teeth. It was audible and jarred the hearing. The tendons and muscles in his neck were stretched taut. “Why do you need her to be your queen?”

Newton inhaled, ready to unleash a verbal tirade.

“Brother,” Speaker conversed in a warning tone, “if you so much as spout one stanza of something even remotely resembling a song, I fear Frank will kill you until you die from it.”

The scholarly-seeming changeling had no intention of singing. He sneezed, coughed, then cleared his throat. “Ve vant your daughter to be our queen because ve need a young mind that is open to magic unt can be taught to use ze abilities already within her. You humans have a great deal of magic in your world, yet you do not use it. You do not even know it is there! Ve feel if your daughter Catherine can be taught how to use ze magic already within her, she would learn to accept us without fear of harm to herself.”

Frank was shaking his head.“Magic? Here? You’ve got to be frigging kidding me!” A sneer curled his lip up. “I know you guys have it, but humans? Nope. There is no proof that it exists!”

“Magic requires vill, Mr. Thomas,” Newton said. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward a little. “The mind has to be open to it. For us, it is as natural as ze act of breathing. We sense it because ve vere born accepting magic into our lives. For you humans, it seems to be dormant. Perhaps even dead for most of you. The magic within you is strong when you are young, but I theorize it shrivels away to near nothingness the older humans get. Catherine is at ze age where her imagination is at its strongest unt our attraction to her is irresistible.”

“Why is it irresistible?”

“The secret has several factors ve look for to come together. I do not know how long ve searched, but the portal led to many openings. Ve would search at the end of each portal, find nothing, unt go back to the cave where were found ze portal which led to your world.” Newton sniffed, relaxing a little as Frank’s anger slipped away and was replaced by guarded curiosity. “For weeks ve searched, ze portal leading us from one spot to another. I am certain ze portal led us to ze same world. Ve only went out in small groups as ve understood a little more how ze portal worked. One end vas stable and ze other moved once a day.

“As ve went through, ve searched for something ve could identify with. We were lost and were frightened. Our connection to our Mother vas severed. Ze failed invasion had severed ze link. Ve feared ze worst had happened to her.” Newton teared up a little bit, but remained unwavering. “Though I wanted to stay in Equestria and find her, ze others had already abandoned ze hive long enough for us to be considered deserters. A dishonorable word to be associated with, but Queen Chrysalis never responded to our cries across to her mind. Mother abandoned us, so it vas reasonable for us to abandon her. Ve changelings have a strong will to live.”

Frank pushed his empty cup away. “So, what happened? How did you guys find the portal in the first place?”

Both changelings at the table exchanged looks. Speaker nodded. Newton nodded back to his brother. They bobbed their heads in time with each other before the elder snorted and shook his head. Spreaker frowned, not at all pleased.

“Apologies. Ve vere having a mental discussion,” Newton said in a flat tone. A slight glare was flipped at Speaker. The younger changeling looked away with a huff. “Ve were guided by a... portal master... a being who guarded the cave in which ze portal ve used vas located. He gave us succor and shelter until ve could find our new queen. Once we found her, ve all vent through and ze portal vas closed behind us. Ve need guidance, Mr. Thomas. Ve need guidance because ve do not know this world. Ve found ze link we desperately needed, ze beacon to lead us, to give us hope. Do you know vat it is like to be without hope, Mr. Thomas?”

Frank shook his head, not sure if what he was hearing was believable. “Probably not the way you have experienced.”

“I sense you believe there is some connection, ja?”

“A little. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Ve are very sensitive to ze emotions of sapient beings, Mr. Thomas. Changelings are empathic creatures. Ve are attracted to emotions. Positive emotions, especially.”

“So, there were factors about my daughter which added up and attracted you all like bugs to a zapper?” Frank grinned at his own stupid joke. He grew serious before the changelings could take offense. Judging by the flat lines along their lips and the narrowing of eyes, it was too late. “Sorry.”

“Ignorance plagues changelings as much as it plagues humanity,” Speaker noted, being a thoughtful philosopher. He still seemed sore at whatever exchange he had with the older changeling.

Frank shifted the subject as they had gotten off track. “So, why my daughter? Why not someone else? Can’t you survive alone?”

“Without a queen,” Speaker said, heaving a great sigh, “We cannot properly transition from a collective mind to many independent ones. Mother kept us under her control. Her thoughts and commands were also our anchors. She never allowed our minds to develop as individuals, save for when there was a need for it. Aside from Newton, we had two purposes. The first was to serve as hive keepers. We kept the hive clean and did all the menial tasks.”

Frank had steepled his fingers and peered over them while Speaker spoke. “You mean janitors,” he observed.

“Well, yes.”

“And the other purpose?”

“Decoys. In ze event ze hive was invaded, our job vas to assume her form unt draw attention away from her while she organized resistance unt dealt with ze threat as she saw fit,” Newton replied, happy it seemed, to see the human was no longer exhibiting hostile emotions.

“So, you guys were disposable. Civilians who served as meatshields for your leadership.” The human shook his head. “So Gordon—”

“Acted completely on instinct and became an imitation of your daughter in an effort to protect her.” Speaker fidgeted with his wings. “He was the first to change his form. It is our greatest ability, to look like other creatures.”

“Vat is strange,” Newton mused, turning his head towards the kitchen, “is ze energy required to change from a quadruped to a biped form is enormous. It had always been far easier for us to assume ze forms of ponies, as zey are closely related to us. Ze drain on Gordon’s magic should have—”

There was a loud thump and a clatter of pots and pans striking the floor. “I’m feeling a bit raw! Ow! Oh, ow! I can feel my everything! Everything hurts! It’s raw! So very raw!”

“And there ve have it! Magical drain resulting in cramps, ze massive headache, unt a complete loss of bowel control!” Newton smiled, as though he enjoyed the last bit personally.

Like rats leaving a sinking ship, the kitchen was vacated of all changelings, save one.

“What?” Frank quipped in a deadpan. “No song and dance number on that?”

Cabbage yelled from Catherine’s bedroom, “Pudding in the pants dance!”

And then the music started...
	
	
	
	
	
	
> 7. Television is Bad for You
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 




The song in this chapter is original and has no known music written to it.


Catherine woke up from her nap. She realized she was still in her bed, her favorite plushies in their rightful place in the corner, pushed up against the wall. The little girl could feel the blanket over her, one her grandmother had gotten her last Christmas. She felt better. The tummyache was gone.

Sunlight streamed into her room through her partially closed blinds. The streaks of light crossed over her bed. She sat up, rubbing her eyes as they adjusted to the light in the room. It was quiet. Crawling to the edge of her bed, Catherine first looked around. She could only see her My Little Pony plushies on her bed, her book shelf filled with toys and books. The little desk where she did her coloring sat in its usual place, her latest and greatest project unfinished. 

An unfinished coloring of Twilight Sparkle and Spike awaited Catherine’s attention. She could make out the Princess of Friendship hugging her Number One Assistant. Catherine loved Twilight. Twilight was best pony!

From the edge of the bed, Catherine flattened herself out and hung over the side. After a moment to make sure she wasn’t going to fall off, she leaned over and peered under her bed.

Two pairs of glowing blue eyes blinked at her.

“Your Majesty!” one changeling greeted quietly. “Your mother did not want us to disturb you, but we hid under your bed anyways. Please forgive us!”

“You aren’t a dream?” Catherine asked, curious. “Why are you under my bed?”

“What happened last night was real, Queen Catherine!” The changeling said, unmoving from her spot. “Cabbage and I are under the bed to watch over you. We are your guards. We don’t have a clue as to how to guard you. Our jobs were menial in the hive. Scrubbing floors, cleaning bathrooms, eating spiders.”

“Crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the peeling of the potatoes!” Cabbage babbled with a happy smile.

“Get out of there and join me on the bed,” Catherine said with a wide grin. The two changelings did so. “I thought it was all a dream!” Disbelief changed to joy. Cabbage was hugged, then Angela. Both changelings liked being hugged.

The girl looked around. She noticed the door to her room was closed. The changelings followed her gaze. Angela frowned and licked her lips. Cabbage made a low chittering sound, like a buzzing warble. The hornless changeling was always happy, or seemed it. Unlike most changelings, his emotions were always clouded and hidden. It was easy to dismiss his mind as simple.

“I don’t hear my changelings,” Catherine whispered to Angela.

Angela sighed. Telling her would break her heart. She could feel the connection between her and her new queen. It was small and fragile, but she could feel it. In time, the changeling hoped, it would grow and her brothers and sisters would have a proper queen. They had done everything to find the right fit for them! They had come so far, suffering so much!

Cabbage circled tightly on the bed, flicking his wings as he stared at his hooves. His eyes bore determination. Once. Twice. Three times, he spun. Then, he plopped down with a sigh, his eyelids lowering until his eyes became lazy slits. Cabbage yawned, then smacked his lips. Catherine reached over to scratch behind an ear. He leaned into it, whimpering as he did. There were simply not enough fingers!

Catherine, however, did not share his happiness. She was worried, a growing anxiety filling her heart. “Where are my changelings?” she asked as only a little girl could.

“They had to leave,” Angela replied in a soft voice.

“Why?” Tears were brimming in her queen’s green eyes.

“Catherine, please understand,” Angela avoided using the beloved title. She and her siblings had waited so long to bestow upon the one being they believed had all the tangibles a changeling hive needed to survive. “They were afraid of us. We are different. We are something unknown to them.”

“Where is Speaker? Mommy? Daddy?” Catherine slid out of bed, rubbing her eyes. She reached for the door knob. She found she could not grasp it. A slight green aura held her hand in place. She stared at it. The aura also shimmered for half a breath along the walls and the door. It disappeared, but the glow still held her hand fast.

“There are woods behind your house. Your mother and father asked us to go in there,” Angela said. “They were upset. The house is too small for all of us. There was a misunderstanding.”

“Party pooper,” Cabbage grumbled from the bed. “Pooper party.”

Catherine could now hear her mother’s voice through the door. “...and then they took all of my figurines and put them in front of the television!”

“I know. I saw,” Daddy replied. He sounded tired. “Everything looks nicked. There are holes in the ceiling and the walls. There is green goop on the ceiling and the walls.” He let out a frustrated growl.

“What happened?” Catherine turned to Angela. The changeling wore an uncomfortable smile.

“My brothers and sisters… well… the thing that has the talking pictures, like movie films,” she said with a shiver. “The big object that has shows on it—”

“Television?’ Catherine supplied, wanting to be helpful. She scrunched her nose. She dropped her hand and the weird tingly sensation went away.

Angela smiled and nodded. “Yes! The idiot box! Well, it turned a lot of my brothers and sisters into idiots. They began to worship the television, placing sacrifices of various small objects on the floor. Your mother had been cleaning the kitchen after Gordon made a mess.”

“Gordon turned into me!” Catherine said, remembering. “How did he do that?”

“It’s what we changelings can do,” Angela replied with a little proud smile. “We can look like anything we want, so long as it is close to our size.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Well,” the changeling blushed, if Catherine were to guess. “Some changelings are better at it than others. Gordon was an infiltrator. Infiltrators like him are very good at it. He’s had lots of practice looking like other ponies. Part of the reason why my brothers and sisters were stuck at the hive was because most of us aren’t very good at shapeshifting.”

“Can you do it?” Catherine’s eyes were round with wonder. “Can you look like me?”

Angela became downcast and stared at her hooves. “No. My magic isn’t strong enough. Mother kept us at the hive because she said we would ruin her plans. Gordon had to return to the hive because he was starting to like ponies. He liked cooking more than he liked being an infiltrator.”

“Mama loved us,” Cabbage said in a sad voice. “Mama used to sing to us. Mama had a pretty voice.” His lower lip protruded and he sniffled in misery. The change in his attitude was so sudden, it caught even his sister off guard. “Mama doesn’t sing anymore. Cabbage made Mama mad and she won’t sing anymore because of it.”

Angela splayed her ears and trotted to her brother. She nuzzled him. “Shh. Don’t cry, Cabbage. We have a new queen. Everything is going to get better.”

Cabbage burst into green fire. A jagged horn ripped through the flames and the form within it grew. When it receded, a larger and much more menacing creature lay in his place. It had longer legs. It had more holes in it. Large catlike eyes of emerald fire blazed down upon the changeling and the human. They gaped in awe as the long and supple neck bent as the muzzle tilted forward.

“Mama was so pretty,” said the transformed Cabbage in his own voice. “Mama loved us.” He sang. As his voice lifted, it changed to a gentle sadness of regret and loss:


	Love, Mama gave to us


	Love, Mama wanted for us


	Love, Mama craved for us


	Love, always slipping from us


	She was Mama, she was Queen,


	If she loved us, why was she so mean?



	Taking from the ponies


	From the shadows


	Imitating,acting, being like them


	Ponies, ponies, always the ponies


	They had more love


	Than Mama had ever dreamed



	Being like the ponies


	From the shadows


	Learning, watching, taking from them


	Ponies, ponies, always the ponies


	They laughed and played


	Not knowing we all were there



	Love, Mama gave to us


	Love, Mama wanted for us


	Love, Mama craved for us


	Love, always slipping from us


	She was Mama, she was Queen,


	If she loved us, why was she so mean?



	She saw the princess


	She saw the rising sun


	Mama wanted to be


	The ruler of the sun


	She could not be happy


	She could not feel harmony


	A queen before mother


	Evil unlike any other


Cabbage sighed a burdened sigh in his disguise, reaching a hoof gingerly out to Catherine. She took it, sliding along side until she was at the side of the bed, her bare feet scuffling along the carpet. He leaned into her petting hands and offered a weak smile.


	Mama, she wanted, wanted


	For us the very best, to rule


	Mama, she pushed, pushed


	Her jealousy, nightmare fuel


	Kindness, what we wanted, true


	Denied us harmony, made us blue



	Love, Mama gave to us


	Love, Mama wanted for us


	Love, Mama craved for us


	Love, always slipping from us


	She was Mama, she was Queen,


	If she loved us, why was she so mean?



	We ran away, ran away


	Mama did forsake her love


	We ran away, ran away


	Because us aside, she did shove


	We ran away, ran away


	We ran away, ran away


	Oh, Mama, we loved you once


	Oh, Mama, we worshipped you once


	But we had to run away


	We ran away, ran away



	Love, Mama gave to us


	Love, Mama wanted for us


	Love, Mama craved for us


	Love, always slipping from us


	She was Mama, she was Queen,


	If she loved us, why was she so mean?


Cabbage was again engulfed in flame, the large form giving way to the simple creature who had one feature that distinguished him from his brothers and sisters. Cabbage cried, for he was a simple creature who could not understand why the one changeling who had once made him feel safe and secure had become so mean and spiteful. He missed her singing. He missed her soft laughter. He missed what had once been his mother. Cabbage could not understand.

Angela wondered, as always, how Cabbage could have such moments of crystal clarity. At times, like this, he could tap into a magic he should not have access to. Her shock at his transformation rattled her. Still, he was her brother. He was her sweet, older brother who had always looked after his younger siblings after they hatched. It was the only task Mother had ever given him. It was one he was suited for perfectly. Cabbage was as gentle as a lamb, even if he was prone to drooling at times.

“Don’t cry,” Catherine pleaded. She petted the changeling. “Please don’t cry. I’m your queen now.”

“Potato,” came the sniffling reply. Pitiful Cabbage nuzzled into the affections of the little girl, who had wrapped her arms around his neck. She hugged him.

There was silence as the embrace was just long enough to make a changeling feel better. Snot ran from Cabbage’s nose and had smeared over Catherine’s pajamas. Either she didn’t know or just didn’t care, the girl chose be there for Cabbage. It was the right thing to do.

The girl thought about her parents. They were afraid. Catherine was also afraid, but curiosity and wonder overcame her fear. Where was their curiosity and wonder? Why could they not understand? Changelings could be great friends! Catherine wanted them to be her friends. If they were her friends, she reasoned, then Mother and Father would accept them as friends, too!

She thought about the changelings who had come up from under her bed and chose her to be their queen. Catherine began to think there were a lot of things that didn’t make sense to her. It was magic. It had to be magic! Beneath her bed they had all been, emerging one by one, nervous at meeting her, talking to her.

“I cast a spell on the room to keep the noise out,” Angela said quietly. “Your mother said you were sick from eating too much sugar and not getting a good night’s sleep. She was upset. I made your tummy not feel upset. How do you feel, Catherine?” She was making it a point to avoid calling the girl her queen. She remembered Beatrice and her outburst. She had felt the tension skyrocketing immediately after Gordon’s accident. The stress had been bad before, but the changeling had sense enough to put a sound dampening spell on Catherine’s room. 

Her queen waking to the rising octaves of the human woman’s voice would not have been good.

“You can cast magic?” Catherine asked with a curious gleam in her eye. “Can you teach me how to do magic?”

“You can do magic, Catherine. All humans have magic. They simply don’t know how to use it.” The changeling wondered about her own words. She was not sure how true or untrue they were. Humans and magic were new to them, even more of an unknown than this new world. Newton was the smartest of the changelings. He had theories, but even he was not certain of some things. It was quite possible, Angela remembered him saying, humans could never be able to tap into the magic they have within them. Humans were too stubborn and too set in their ways. The harmony they had with their world was uncertain and magic required certainties and harmony. It was also quite possible, he had added back then, humans simply forgot how to use magic.

“Did Mommy and Daddy kick you out?” Catherine asked in a low voice. She pulled away from Cabbage and directed her attention to Angela. 

“My brothers and sisters didn’t mean to ruin the house, but we have jagged horns and we don’t pay attention when we dance. Accidents happen. Little accidents. They added up. Your parents feel threatened. Their home was damaged. Things were dinged. Objects were dented. We became so caught up in our joy of having found our queen, we did not take into consideration how your parents might feel.” The changeling sighed, a deep sigh filled with regret. “We have never had our own minds before. Even after weeks and weeks of being separated from Mother’s mind, many of us still struggle to find our individual identities. It is hard, Catherine. It is very hard for some to adapt to having their own mind. Those changelings are the ones that can’t or won’t accept having free will. It is such a foreign concept for them. Do you understand?”

The blank look on the girl’s face was followed up with a ‘no’. “But I want to help,” Catherine insisted in earnest.

“Their thoughts are linked to those who have had a chance to go beyond the barrier of a group mind. It pulls us back to them and we have to guide them. They need to be told constantly everything will be all right and we will have a queen again. Those changelings, they need a queen. They need a strong mind to guide them. It is how they are and they can’t help it.” Angela buzzed her voice in a sad reverberation. It seemed as though she was speaking to herself more than she was to Catherine.

The girl, not understanding all of what the changeling meant, did have an idea. She was far from stupid. Catherine was a clever girl when she set her mind to it. Her teacher said she was the smartest girl in the First Grade. Certainly more mature even though her attention tended to wander. Catherine was also a bit of a chatty Cathy, or Mrs. Bates had once told her. It was even in a note attached to her report card this past quarter saying so.

But, this was not a moment where Catherine wanted to think. She became upset when Angela told her the changelings had been sent away by her parents. They were her changelings! They had chosen her to be their queen! They had looked a long time for her and now Mommy and Daddy told them to go away!

“It’s not fair!” Catherine judged, feeling impulsive. Childish rage marred her features. Turning from the changelings on the bed, she stomped towards the door and grabbed the knob. “Mommy! Daddy! Why did you send my changelings away?” she demanded as she tore the door open with all the strength of your typical six-year-old.

Angela stared after the wake of the departed child. “That could have gone better,” she muttered. The changeling took to the air and followed after Catherine. “Cabbage. Stay here.”

Cabbage wiped his snotty nose with the back of a hoof. “Mmrph,” he mmrphed.

	


	

> 8. Lost in the Woods
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



Forty-five changelings fled from the house some time ago, before the sun had reached its zenith. Now, it was halfway through its journey towards settling behind the opposite horizon. Changelings were not only very good at impersonations, but they could also alter their natural armor to bend the light around them, creating a natural camouflage. Doing such a thing did little to drain their magic reserves, but it was difficult to disguise the sound of their buzzing wings. None of them had gone through the training to conceal sound, save for Newton. The oldest changeling sighed at his younger siblings in silent dejection.

Of course, hiding and muting sound was moot, as the evicted changelings turned to song. The changelings were trying to keep their spirits up as they flew towards the woods Mr. Hooman had angrily told them to go into.


	Us little changelings, us little changelings


	Ahh, ahh, ahh, ahhh…


	


	(us little changelings)


	We had wondered about our brand new queen


	(us little changelings)


	Why did her parents have to be so mean?



	No adventures!


	This isn’t fun!


	I wanna go home


	What went wrong?


	Where was the kindness?



	Now what went wrong there?


	They were eating from our hooves



	Just look at us little changelings


	Did you know this is not an original song?


They had gone over a large yard with a wooden post fence as they sang. They had heard the sounds of barking dogs on both sides. Those who could smell the changelings went absolutely nuts, barking as though a pack of cats were cutting through their turf. It had been the most terrifying one hundred yards Speaker could ever remember crossing in the entirety of his life.

Such a depressing (and questionable) song! They had started going through the song for a fourth time when they finally hit the woods. The trees, in Speaker’s estimation, were small, but the bushes were thick and full. Thickets promised a plethora of cover and concealment from human eyes. The changelings darted into the underbrush, glad to no longer be exposed.

Still, it was warm out. There was no rain. The woods dipped into a shallow ravine where a small creek meandered lazily through. As the changelings settled to the ground and caught their collective breaths, Speaker was well aware more than a few eyes had fallen upon him in a mixed bag.

How had things gone from promising to nightmarish?

“Let’s go over what happened,” he said, trying to make sense of the events of that morning. “What happened?” The question was general, noling was called out. Speaker just wanted one of his brothers or sisters say something that was on his or her mind.

“Gordon pooped in the kitchen and it started eating through the vinyl floor,” Jo replied, throwing an accusing glare at the sickly-looking chef.

“Sod off,” he groused, managing to look the part of a kitchen staff’s worst nightmare given flesh. “It was raw!” Gordon gibbered, falling to his side on the ground.

“Nevermind that,” Speaker sighed. “Look, I think part of the problem was there were a lot of bodies in a teeny-tiny living space. We crowded the humans, invaded their private home, and sang music. Worst of all”—he glared the Glare of Disappointment—“we began to worship the idiot box. Did you honestly think offering sacrifices to that thing in their living room would endear yourself to the hoomans?”

His brothers and sisters blinked at him, uncomprehending. “No! No. No?” they said, looking at each other, uncertain. There seemed to be an unseen discussion shared through glances, looks, and uneven blinking eyes. “Yes? Yes. Yes!” they assented with great reluctance.

        “Where is Cabbage?” Jon asked, pushing herself up to Speaker. Her question came in the form of an urgent hiss.

        “Angela is missing, too.”

        “Zey are in ze house,” Newton observed, flicking his attention to the house. “Watching over our Queen. She iz safe.”

        All heads turned towards the direction from which they had come. The ivory siding was barely visible through the branches, the black shingled roof bathed in sunlight. Some of the windows on the back of the house were visible. The sliding glass door could be seen as there were no obstructions hiding it. More than a few changelings were jealous. Cabbage and Angela had been clever and stayed behind.

        Clever and Cabbage was a difficult combination.

Still, Angela was with him, so Catherine would have the voice of well-structured sentences to guide her. Everyling loved Cabbage. It was hard to stay upset with him for too long. His sister was also his clutchmate, as they had come from the same batch of eggs. Many changelings spent their lives with those who had been in the same clutch. It made a family within a family, as it were.

With this gaggle of misfits and unwanted changelings, it was surprisingly devoid of too many changelings who had hatched together. Speaker could only think of two other sets of clutch mates in the group besides Angela and Cabbage. They normally shared the same duties. The Queen had been quite adamant in ensuring clutches share the same tasks, as she believed they would do better as working teams.

Speaker sat on his haunches and looked up and around at the trees. “All right. All right. Let’s worry about what happened later.” 

He brought his muzzle level and studied the other side of the creek. There was a deeply sloped embankment. Several trees had exposed roots from years of erosion. Two were almost parallel to the ground, yet were still alive. The ground beneath him was soft beneath the rotting leaves. There were patches of sunshine falling through the canopy above. The woods were not thick. This was not a good place to be. However...

The other changelings were also taking in their surroundings, blinking with compound eyes. Speaker always wondered why they needed eyelids when they had compound eyes. He shifted his attention again to the house in which his Queen resided. He thought about the neighbors in the other houses. The hoomans probably heard the singing.

        Blast that singing! Of course they had to sing as loudly as they could. Barking dogs? They only wanted to sing, too! Catchy tune, though.

        Speaker caught himself humming a few bars before he cleared his throat. “Anyways!” he announced to his brothers and sisters. “We are going to put the hive here. We need to be near the Queen. We are changelings, we need to be near our Queen.”

        “You just said that twice,” observed Reggie. His eyes blinked in an owlish manner.

        “Said what?”

        “‘We need to be near the Queen’. You said that twice.”

        “I like our Queen.”

        Another changeling piped up, “Her parents sure don’t like us.” The sour tone was echoed by the others. Speaker could see one of his sisters kick at a dead tree branch.

        He levelled a flat glare at the changeling who had spoken. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we had nothing to do with that.” Speaker’s tone was more than enough to shame half of the changelings. “Seriously? The idiot box? Seriously!?”

        “Right! Hive! Making it here!” The changelings broke into a flurry of motions, darting apart and scurrying throughout the woods. They bumped into each other, apologized, and went about finding something to do other than listen to Speaker lose his mind.

        He did not notice, it seemed. “The idiot box? You were all idiots! We had it made! We were going to live in the basement, next to the washing machine! We, we, we—” Speaker hiccuped, interrupting himself.

        “Were going to drive them insane, anyways,” supplied Jon as she sat next to him. “Look, brother, we’re new to this world. We had a hard enough time getting the other nations in Equestria to accept us. What made you think they’d take us in openly and without question?”

        “Ze desire to have happiness. Ze need to be secure. It iz completely natural,” Newton said as he slid up on Speaker’s other side. “Ve all vant it.”

        “Newton?” Speaker asked in a whisper.

        “Ja?”

        “What’s with the accent?”

        “Vat accent?”

        Speaker sighed and rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. Look. What am I going to do? What are we going to do? You all chose me to speak on behalf of the hive. You’re the oldest and most experienced of us, Newton. Why didn’t you take the role when we asked you?”

        “Unt have ze weight of responsibility placed upon my old shoulders? Nein! I am far too old to handle zis group. My nerves, you see.” Newton followed one of the changelings with his eyes. The poor thing was flying, not watching where he was going as he dragged a dead log. The changeling had no idea what he was doing and promptly flew into a tree. “My point iz justified.”

        “Why was he dragging a log?” Speaker wondered aloud.

        Jon giggled. “Anything to avoid hearing another one of your rants.”

        “I’m okay!” yelled the tree hugging changeling. He rose on woozy wings and staggered through the air off in some general direction, rubbing his head with a hoof.

        “I know these guys don’t have the best coordination in the world,” Speaker said. “But I think we can make something of a good life here. We have to work for it.”

        “What about love? We need emotions to charge our magic and to keep us from turning into gibbering idiots.” Jon blinked and sighed.

        “Zis group is consisting mostly of hive drones. Janitors.” Newton let out a huff and resettled his wings. “Ve have no warriors. Ve have no infiltrators. Our abilities are muted unt our natural defenses may or may not work on zis world.”

        “Do you have an idea?”

        “But of course! I am ze genius!”

        “Which Mother left out of her planning on Canterlot,” Jon said with a snide smirk.

        “I vas against ze invasion!” Newton shivered in anger. “Mein Mother! Our Mother! She chose ze path to war! I vanted peace! I told her. I told her! Invasion vas foolish! Ve should have sent fruit baskets! I suggested ze fruit baskets! But vas it acceptable? Nein! So, I vas told my services vere no longer needed. I had to vait at the hive. Mother vould have punished me, I think. Ze invasion vas kaput! Mother iz probably kaput!”

        Speaker stared at the older changeling, shuffling a step or two aside and away from Newton. “Fruit baskets?”

        Newton nodded. “Vith cheese!”

        Jon smiled with social politeness. “Of course. Fruit baskets. Fruit baskets would have changed everything. We might have even gotten invited to the wedding.”

        “You zink?” Newton asked hopefully. “Ve vould have been loved!”

        The smile became uncomfortable. “Um… maybe?”

        Change the subject! Change the subject! Speaker found his attention falling upon the top of Jon’s head. Frank and Beatrice’s earlier observation struck his thoughts. “You’re growing in a mane,” the changeling said. “Just like Silky.”

        “I am?” Jon reached up with a hoof and rubbed around the base of her horn. “I am!” she cried with a smile. “I need to get the girls together!”

        Speaker let out a little sarcastic yay. “Wonderful. Now we’re going to need mane care products. It’ll be Mother’s obsession all over again and multiplied several times over.”

        “Get over it. I’ve got a mane to grow!” Jon hopped up and down, letting out a squee with each hop. “I hope my tail comes in, too!” She buzzed off in excitement. “Girls! Girls! Silky! I’m growing a mane!”

        Speaker called after her, “Find out which of you carries love reserves!” He wasn’t sure if his sister heard him or not. The changeling sighed and shook his head. “Females. I will never understand them.”

        Newton chuckled. He seemed to be feeling better already. “I am going to look for ze best place to begin ze entrance to ze new hive. I vill get ze tunnelers ve have in our group unt begin excavations immediately. Ve can have something of a shelter before nightfall, I zink. You should find some changelings who are not doing anything unt put zem on ze perimeter as lookouts. Ve can’t have ze humans stumbling upon us. It vould be bad if ve are caught unawares.” The elder changeling placed a hoof on Speaker’s shoulder. “Ve vill find a vay. I zink ve must earn vatever trust is to be gained from ze humans.”

        “We should probably put together a small group who can at least pretend to be infiltrators.” Speaker scanned the working changelings (or those who pretended to be working). “Two ‘ling teams. Clutch mates, preferably,” he mused as his mind focused. “We need to learn about the lay of the land and the disposition of the hoomans living here. We’ll need to find a way to establish peaceful contact and work towards reuniting with our Queen.”

        “I can put together a list.”

        Speaker pursed his lips and licked one of his fangs in thought. “We’ll start with Wesley. He likes to watch.” He made a mental call out through his horn, pinging for the changeling in question.

        Wesley was quick in arriving. “Yeah?” he demanded in a flat tone.

        “I have a mission for you.”

        Wesley grinned.

        “You’re going to have a partner.”

        Wesley frowned.

        “TK421.”

        “Her?”

        “Yes.” 

        “She’s never at her post!”

        “She doesn’t have one.”

        “She’s bad at communications!”

        “She’s a mute, Wesley. Take her with you.” Speaker glared at his brother. “She’s probably the best changeling we have other than you at infiltration and observation. Go grab her, get some extra love if there is any from the reserves, and get us some intel. Can you do that? Please?” His expression softened.

        Wesley worked his jaw without a sound for several seconds. “Fine,” he said after mulling it over. “Standard procedure?”

        “I’m not military. You decide what is standard procedure and what isn’t. As long as it doesn’t entail you getting caught! Be careful out there,” Speaker stressed. He made a sudden move towards his brother and hugged him. “Please be careful, both of you!”

        The hug was broken and Wesley gave his brother a hard stare. “Hey! It’s me!” he said with a grin. Wesley took to the air in search of his mute sister. “Yo! TK!”

        





	


	


	


	

	
	


> 9. The Mummy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



Catherine found the Corner to be the same as it always was: boring, white, and filling her with the desire to not think about what she had just done. Her nose was runny. The wall bore the results of her using her hand to wipe her nose and having nothing else to wipe it on.  As she stared at the corner of the living room which had on rare occasions served as a punishment, Catherine thought only of her changelings. She sniffled in misery, red-eyed from her stormy tantrum. It was not fair. It wasn’t fair!

        She could hear the sounds of her parents cleaning up the living room, talking to each other as she partially blocked them out. Catherine was angry at her parents! The little queen had believed Daddy had thrown out her changelings on purpose. The house was only messed up just a little bit! The green stuff on the walls and the ceiling was coming off! The furniture wasn’t that bad!

        “There are holes in my armchair,” Daddy said to Mommy.

        The girl sighed and with deliberate slowness, turned to see what her father was talking about. From the corner of her eye, she caught Daddy plucking at the fabric of his chair.

        “It’s ruined, honey. Just look at it! I think their horns did this. They had to headbutt everything. Why do they have to headbutt everything? And over a stupid television show!” He threw his arms in disgust and stormed off towards the kitchen. He stopped at the breakfast bar and leaned on the counter. “And look at the floor! Bea, just look at it! And the smell!” Frank made a helpless gesture towards the hole in his kitchen floor. “How are we going to explain that to the insurance company? Grease fire?”

        “Sweetheart, please calm down.” His wife darted to him like ferret, encircling her arms around his arms and chest. She leaned into his back. “It was all an accident. These things can be fixed and replaced. It’s only money.”

        The man rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “Money we really don’t have,” Frank groused. “We just redid the roof and your car is still in the shop. We’re stretched thin, babe.” Then, Daddy did something Catherine had only heard him say a few times before.

        He swore. It was not a loud declaration. It was the sort born from defeat, when a catastrophe shows its aftermath. Still, it was one of the four letter words Catherine had been told to never say. Bad words were bad and Daddy just said the mother of all bad words.

        The girl’s reaction was immediate. She turned back to the corner and pressed into it, feeling the cool off white wall at the tip of her nose. Squeezing her eyes as tight as she could, there came a realization sparking in her mind the changelings had made Daddy upset. Jumping out of her room and yelling at her parents had resulted with Frank looking at his daughter with such a pale face and wide and twitching eyes. He clenched his jaw then, closed those scary eyes and took a very deep breath while Mommy acted. Beatrice had taken Catherine by the shoulders and guided her to her corner.

        “You do not say such things to your father!” Mommy had admonished. She had then pushed Catherine into the corner. “Stay there and think about what you just said to your father!”

        Now, thinking back, Catherine could not really remember what it was she had said to Daddy. It was coming back to her, slowly, as her own anger had subsided. The little girl sniffled again and wiped her nose again. Her forearm felt icky. Catherine felt like she was going to cry again, but for a completely different reason.

        Dare she speak? Dare she say something to Mommy or Daddy? Daddy looked very hurt by what Catherine had said to him. Her thoughts reflected and reflected until she finally remembered her words spoken to him.

        I hate you.

        Catherine felt terrible. There was a hitch in her sniffle and tears began to fall down her little cheeks. She turned from her spot in the Corner, her hands listless at her sides, her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” Catherine said in a meek, tiny little voice. She hiccupped and wiped her nose again.

        Frank did not react at first. The man still was taking in the damage to his home, heaving a great sigh followed by a defeated groan.

        “My brother and I can fix that for you,” said a voice barely above a squeak. It quickly added, “I am so sorry about what my family did! With most of us still stuck in a hive mind mentality, what one does, the others follow! We’re basically unsupervised nymphs—”

        “Get out.” 

        Her ears splayed out at the coldness in the man’s voice. Angela knew she was treading in dangerous waters. His anger was unpleasant. “You were wronged. Your family’s sanctuary was violated. My brother and I can fix this. Cabbage is very good at building things. His job was to maintain the structural integrity of the hive and the tunnels beneath it. I supervised him. He may be simple-minded, but he is very focused at his work. Please. Let us undo what we have done. It’s the least we can do!”

        Catherine had spun around the moment she heard the changeling’s voice. Instead of finding the female, she found Cabbage at her back, sitting on the floor and looking up at her in absolute adoration. Leaning forward, he stretched his neck out and gave the little girl a great big lick to the side of her face. Caught completely by surprise, Catherine let out a squealed mixture of laughter and shock. The corner stopped her backwards stumble and she was grinning and giggling at the changeling wearing a happy face.

        “Cabbage won’t leave her,” Angela said in a tired tone. Frank and Beatrice were staring at the two changelings and their daughter. Frank appeared torn between rushing at them and listening to what Angela had to say. Beatrice went for the broom she had pulled out earlier from the basement.

        “Mommy! Daddy!” Catherine cried out. “Please don’t hurt them!” Her giggles had died the moment she saw her parents begin to move. She began to cry.

        “Get out!” Frank had made up his mind. The state of his home made it up for him. He grabbed the broom from his wife and wielded it like a samurai sword, bristles out. “Leave us alone! What did we do to deserve this?” Beatrice was holding him back with nothing more than a light touch to his elbow.

        “Honey,” she could be heard whispering.

        Angela lay on the floor and placed her head upon her crossed forelegs. “You have full rights to be angry. I am sorry. Cabbage is sorry. Aren’t you Cabbage?” She tilted her head to lock an eye on her brother.

        Cabbage nodded vigorously. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” He stopped and seemed to fall into a moment of deep thought. “Potato!” His head turned towards the front door of the house.

        There was a loud banging sound. It might have been knocking, a harsh rapping at the home’s front door. It was accompanied by a voice that could only be described as a banshee with a sore throat.

        “Beatrice! Beatrice! Frank! What was that noise? I heard singing in your backyard! Were you throwing an unsanctioned party? We have a noise ordinance! Answer this door or so help me, I’ll call the police and file a complaint!” The door was pounded upon again, as though under siege by the Mongols.

        “It’s her,” Beatrice groaned. A headache of a different sort began to take root behind her eyes. “I knew she’d show up. I just knew it!”

        Frank dropped the broom. “What about them?” he asked, jabbing a finger at the changelings. Catherine held Cabbage in a protective hug.

        “Who is it?” asked Angela as she tilted her head to one side. Her curious desire to know brought her to her hooves. She moved towards the door, tilting her snoot up into the air. Her nostrils flared. “Such bitterness. I can taste the bitterness. Such an unpleasant individual.” Angela scrunched her muzzle as she made a face. “Yeck!”

        “Dud spud!” Cabbage agreed with his sister wholeheartedly. He sat up, tall, proud, and stern.

        “What do we do?” Angela asked. Her eyes left the door and flicked between Beatrice and Frank for a few moments before falling upon Catherine. Before they could answer, she spoke to Cabbage with a chittering sound. He responded by chirping once and in a loud manner.

        “Do you have a bird in there?” screeched the banshee with the sore throat. It was the penetrating sort of voice that could shatter glass. Angela could feel the vibrations of that horrid voice ping her horn and ripple down its length and into her skull. It was not a pleasant experience in any way, shape, or form. The sound traveled through her body and down her legs, where her holes caught them, giving off an unpleasant reverberation much akin to pins and needles. 

The pounding on the door resumed.

“It’s Lindsey Crawford, our next door neighbor,” Beatrice hissed. “You two need to hide! She won’t go away and she will call the police if we don’t answer!” 

The woman remembered a lot of the unpleasant things her horrible neighbor had done in the past. Underhanded things. Using the neighborhood charter and the city laws to her advantage. The woman believed herself to be the moral authority for the neighborhood. Having never had children herself, she absolutely hated them. She was the witch you did not visit on Halloween for candy.

Angela stared at the door. She moved towards the hall, slinking as she went. “Cabbage!” she hissed at her brother. He stared back at her stupidly, his tongue lolling out to the side as Catherine petted his head fin. 

Green fire engulfed him. When it fell away, in his place was a dog. Specifically a brown and black German Shepherd. He laughed with solid blue eyes before a green flash turned them to a soulful brown. Cabbage was still hanging his tongue out, laughing in silence. Catherine squealed in delight at the sudden big furball having taken shape in her arms. The dog was slightly larger than the changeling, but still smaller than the average Shepherd. Cabbage barked. It matched him perfectly.

The relentless assault on the door continued unabated. “A dog? When did you get a dog?” the horrible, shrill voice demanded.

Awkward silence followed by a pregnant pause was only interrupted by what lay on the other side of the front door. Cabbage did not seem to notice he was the focus of the attention.

“One moment!” Beatrice called out. She reached out with her fingers and pried the broom from her husband’s grip. “Honey. No beatings,” the woman told him. She then rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Frank was ready to assault the door himself. The yelling matches between him and Mrs. Lindsey Crawford were legendary. The last incident had to do with leaves from a maple tree in his backyard falling into hers. The branches hung over the fence and she had demanded several times for him to trim his branches. However, she forbade him from setting foot on her property and would not let a tree trimming service set foot on her precious lawn. The old woman was, for all intents and purposes, impossible to deal with.

“Stay.” Beatrice patted her husband on the chest. Lindsey somewhat tolerated the woman. A few steps later, she was before the door, smoothing the front of her shirt before unlatching the lock on the door. Putting on her best smile, she opened it.

On the other side of the threshold and appearing as a blight on what should have been a beautiful sunlit Saturday, stood the smallest, skinniest, meanest woman that ever cursed a doorstep. It was once whispered if the Devil ever took a bride, Lindsey Crawford would get first dibs. The scowl upon her face was etched deeply with the wrinkles of a life of hard work. Her white hair was short. Her ears were like jugs hanging from a porch. Her light blue eyes carried no mirth, and were like the iceberg before it struck the Titanic. Lindsey Crawford was once described as an Irish woman forced into alcohol rehabilitation against her will. She also coated herself in enough perfume to kill a skunk.

Before Beatrice could say anything, the old woman shoved her way past her and into the living room. She glared at Frank, noting the broom in his hand with a sniff. The murder in his eyes came complete with a pair of tombstones with the letters RIP etched upon them.

“Get out of my house,” the man growled. It was pointless to make such a demand. After all, the changelings had ignored it. Now Old Leatherface was within his domain, lording over it like a conquering queen demanding her tribute.

“Your wife let me in,” she retorted. “What was that noise? What’s been going on? What in the world happened to your house? What is with this green… whatever it is? Why do you have a dog? It’s a large, vicious brute! It’s dangerous! Get rid of it. What is with the smell in here? Did a cow leave a pie in here?” Mrs. Crawford gestured with her arms, pointing with a bony finger wherever her attention took her.

“Mrs. Crawford,” Beatrice began, still wearing her smile. “We had a bit of an accident.”

“Are you cooking drugs in here?” 

“No, we are not.”

Mrs. Crawford turned on Cabbage. “That is a big, vicious dog. Dogs of that size are not allowed in this neighborhood. It is against the association’s charter! Twenty-five pounds or less! You know the rules! Get rid of it. I will call the authorities and hold you in violation of the agreement you signed when you bought this house. You’ll drive down the value of the neighborhood! You’ll open the door for unwanted families to come in!”

The horrible, horrible woman glared at Catherine, who hugged Cabbage even tighter. The girl’s green eyes were wide with fear as she stared up at the tiny old lady. Cabbage, indifferent to the woman’s scathing personality, simply panted happily. He did not even bother to acknowledge Mrs. Crawford’s existence.

“He’s a stray we found,” Frank rumbled. “If you have an issue with it, too bad.” He white knuckled the broom handle.

The woman harrumphed. “I will call the associate board members and file a grievance. You have until Monday to get rid of the dog.” Her wrinkles rolled as she worked her jaw, her eyes roaming towards the direction of the kitchen. “What is that smell? It’s horrid!”

It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but Beatrice still tried to remain diplomatic. “We had a bit of an accident while cooking. It will be fixed. Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Crawford.”

She glared at Beatrice with such malice as to turn the sun into a cold, dead lump of rock. “See to it you do get it fixed,” Mrs. Crawford commanded. She sneered. “I was against letting you and your family move into the neighborhood. Get rid of the mongrel. Stop being an eyesore to this neighborhood! I’ll be watching!”

“You’re always watching,” Frank said humorlessly. “Always being a cantankerous old bi—”

“Frank!” Beatrice snapped.

“—ddy.” Her husband fell silent, but glared at the old woman.

“I promise you, we’ll have everything fixed.” 

Mrs. Crawford gave the woman a lofty glare. “See that you do. What was with the singing I heard? It came from your house and moved through your backyard and into the woods. What was that?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“That’s private.”

“I can find out.”

“I’m sure you can, Mrs. Crawford,” Beatrice replied with practiced calm. “I’m sure there is a lot of privacy you enjoy violating simply because you live such a sad, miserable life of making others feel as miserable as you always do.”

The old woman chuckled, if a mummified corpse was capable of such an act. “It must be so nice to have the perfect family, Beatrice. Well, I must be going,” she announced with grand airs and a huff. “Do clean up. Get rid of the dog. There’s something going on here and I will find out.” Without further adieu, Mrs. Lindsey Crawford departed like a mummified Egyptian queen. 

Beatrice saw her out the door and even waved farewell before closing the door.

“She’ll call the cops,” Frank seethed. “She’ll do it because she thinks we’re doing something illegal. They’ll see the hole in the floor and they’ll get suspicious! She heard the changelings. I knew she’d hear them! Bea! What are we going to do?” Desperation was in his voice. “She’ll go to the association and take our house!”

Angela returned from where she had been hiding. “I would like to help. I am a structural engineer and Cabbage can repair almost anything if given the right direction. We can have that hole in the floor patched and looking like new. A little bit of materials, a little bit of magic…”

“Potato!” cried the changeling-turned-dog.

“What about the green stuff all over the living room?”

Angela poked at a pile of the stuff that had fallen from the ceiling and on to the floor. “Oh, this is just a sort of goop we changelings can make. It’s usually harmless and easy to clean up. It’s primary use is as a sealant and mortar for building. I think what happened was my brothers and sisters got excited and were inadvertently secreting our goo.” She held up a hoof and pointed at one of the larger holes in her leg. “It comes from here.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“No. It’s natural. That old hooman… now that was disgusting!” Angela shuddered.

Frank, meanwhile, was lost in thought. “Can you really fix everything?”

“Yep! Part of being a changeling is learning to adapt to your environment.” The changeling flit her wings and adjusted her stance, leaning towards Frank. “And we seem to share a common enemy,” Angela whispered. “This… old hooman. She is a problem you have had for a while, am I right?”

Beatrice held up her hands. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What are you suggesting? If you think I’m going to let you hurt someone simply because they’re unpleasant and about as friendly as an irate water buffalo, you’re sadly mistaken!”

“Oh no! Nothing like that!” Angela fell on her haunches and flailed her hooves at the human as if waving off the implications. She mirrored Beatrice with uncanny similarity. “We can keep an eye on her and deflect her attention. We’re civilians. We’re not soldiers! The very idea of harming another being feels all sorts of wrong. It’s one of the reasons why we left Mother. She could be very cruel at times.”

Frank cleared his throat. “So… is that why you guys left her?”

“All we need and want is love, Mr. Hooman.”

Cabbage piped up. “All together now!”

> 10. Who Made Who
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 




Night came and the first chamber of the new hive was nearly complete. The tunnel leading from it was nestled in between the two fallen and still living trees along the broken embankment. Changelings went out with smooth and efficient purpose, those leaving the entrance laden with dirt and stone. Others went in ready to help clear more debris left by the tunnelers. Routine had settled over the workers and it required little thinking to do what came to them as easily as did the act of breathing in and out.

Those going in blew raspberries at those going out. Those going out flung bits of mud at the offenders. Tongues were soiled. The giggling was endless.

Inside the first chamber were changelings who were shoring up the floor by secreting their building ooze from the holes in their legs. As they spread the substance from their legs over the floor, they fanned their wings and buzzed them to help aid in the drying process. It also helped to circulate the air. There were few enough changelings it only required three others to help funnel the old air out and channel fresh air in.

Those changelings who were not busy with anything were engaged with Speaker in something of a philosophical debate. He held his discussion in the center of the room. The poor changeling had to go over the same topic time and time again. Resting changelings had questions when they weren’t working. Some were still coming to grips with no longer having Mother guide every aspect of their lives.

“There are no alicorns on this world,” Speaker told the small group of changelings for the upteenth time. “There is no alicorn controlling the sun. There is no alicorn controlling the moon. Everything on this world moves with the intent of culling the weak from the strong. We must become strong. We must become survivors on this hostile, indifferent world. What about this part is so confusing for you? This world is dominated by hoomans, but there are other animals on this world who would look down upon you all and think of you as lunch.”

        “How do you know this?” asked one of the changelings. The question came out, a halting pause after every other word. It was a sign a personality was developing. Or it could be the changeling had an issue with information going from its brain to its mouth. Either option could be completely feasible. Individuality for a changeling could be compared to being thrown into a frozen pond with no limbs and told to swim to the bottom.

        Speaker gave the query some thought, bowing his head. He looked up at the changeling who had asked the question. “Some of you are still attached to the remnants of the hive mind. You still communicate with each other through it and keep it in working order. In time, the magic that held it in place will fade and it will break you of it, even if you don’t want to be free of the hive mind. We do not have Mother to give us guidance anymore. Her influence over us grows less and less with each passing day. Soon the last traces of her magic will fade and with it will go the link we have all grown up with.”

        “Does this mean we can laugh at jokes if we think they’re funny and not laugh at the ones that aren’t funny?” A female changeling had her hoof up in the air. Not long ago, questions were not allowed. Absolute obedience to Mother’s will fostered no patience for them.

        Sighing and rolling his eyes, Speaker then nodded. “Yes. Yes, you can do those things. You have a choice. Or you will have the option of making your own choices.”

        “So,” another changeling ventured, hesitating as he drew out the word, “why do we need a queen? If we are becoming…” He fought to find the proper word.

        “Individuals?” Speaker smiled with great patience. It was patience he was already running out of. He could hear the strain in his own voice. The fake smile he was wearing began to wear thin and become brittle. This question kept on cropping up. The question of individuality and the seeming conflict such a thing had with the desire to need a queen.

        “Yes!” chirped the changeling happily. “Why do we need a queen if we’re becoming individuals? And why a hooman child? We can all feel the pull of her magic. Why do we need her? I do not understand.”

        Speaker chewed on his bottom lip. This was a difficult question to ask and an even harder one to answer. It was a big step to take. The answer would no doubt lead to more questions in need of answers. Such was the cycle of learning. It never ended.

        “Imagine if you will,” Speaker said, making it up as he went, “the magic that once guided us. Defined us. Made us what we are. Imagine for a moment we turned on that magic in order to find a different magic. It’s the same sort of magic we need as a collective, but it’s not one that will overpower our minds and leave us unable to think for ourselves.”

        A female’s voice piped up. “That’s a horrible explanation! You’re doing it wrong!” 

        Speaker turned his head, curling his lips into a frown as he regarded the changeling who had interrupted him. She was slightly smaller than the other changelings, but carried herself with the poise of a warrior. Zilla had once harbored dreams of fighting in Mother’s military, but she had been rejected. Her organizational skills and obsession with details had instead steered her towards being designated as a recorder; a keeper of history.

        In short, the hive’s librarian. Her mind was so complex, Mother decided to use the obsessive compulsive disorder to her advantage and catalogued the entirety of changeling history within her brain. Mother had even used Zilla to prepare herself for dealing with a unicorn who shared a similar love for books.

        Speaker and Zilla did not get along. She thought he was an idiot and he thought she was an idiot. Some siblings never could see eye to eye.

        “Would you like to explain it better, then?” Speaker asked his brainy sister.

        “Didn’t you pay any attention to Newton, you nincompoop?”

        “I am not a nincompoop!”

        “Yes you are!”

        “No, I’m not!”

        “Are!”

        “Not!”

        “Look, brother,” Zilla said as she rolled her eyes. She motioned him to move out of the center of the group. Reluctance placed hesitation in his steps, but he complied while wearing a sour face. “It’s really quite simple. We need a queen because we are a hive. We are a swarm. Even if we all discover our own identities, we are going to need a queen. We were born with a need for a queen. Mother instilled that within all of us. Even if she is no more than a figurehead, and even less than a phantom of Mother in all aspects, changelings must always have a queen. Without a queen, we are not.”

        “You’re going to sing now, aren’t you?” Speaker groused, peering at changelings pulling out musical instruments from empty air. Was that a Stratocaster or a Telecaster? he wondered as he stared. There was a difference in sound, but which did what? He could never remember.

        “Yes. Yes, I am.” She smiled a broad smile and batted her eyelashes at Speaker. It infuriated him.

        “Who introduces themselves into a story with a song?” Speaker complained, throwing his hooves into the air in exasperation.

        Zilla gave him a flat glare. “I do, Speaker. I do.” She smiled like a shark before a bite.


Mama once done and told me


‘A queen just ain’t a queen unless she’s got changelings behind her’ yeah


She be runnin’ through the Mind


Queen not gonna love the last equine


‘cause she love you


True, it’s true


        “A rock song? Really?” Speaker sputtered as he had his hooves clamped over his ears. “You idiots! Stop! We’ll be heard!”

       Changelings not involved in the song produced lighters and waved them in the air.


Now we gotta pay the piper


The need to serve her


We wired in our hearts and souls


Feeling empty without her


Lead us in this world


It’s in our own blood to follow


Freedom’s reach, yeah


       Pyrotechnics flared and spotlights illuminated Zilla as she strutted in the center of the group. She stood on her hind legs, now sporting a black t-shirt that shouted ‘I’m Better Than Axel!’ in bold white print. It was freshly pressed.

      Speaker was frantic as he tried to silence the heavy metal changelings. Two changelings clad in security shirts grabbed a hold of him and pinned him to the earth. His protests were drowned out by the loud music. Where was the power coming from?


She made us, she made us


She made us


She didn’t have to tell us


She made us, she made us


If we love her and she made us


Can’t help but follow and she made us


She made us


Mind follow through


Yeah

 
        Speaker was dragged from the group, mewling as he could already picture the humans appearing, armed with pitchforks and torches. Perhaps some would bring scientists with them so they might do experiments. Catherine would be forever denied her changelings. The changeling wept as his brothers and sisters started a mosh pit. He was dropped and the two security changelings glared at him. 


Catherine’s a new figure
Innocent, we try
To bring out magic
Fillin’ in that great big hole
‘Cause we gotta have in our soul
We know we follow
Can’t help but follow, it’s what we know
It what makes us whole


       Newton appeared, along with Silky, Jo, Reggie, and Rupert. The other named changelings had gone out to explore the local area. The group observed the small mob rocking away to Zilla’s song. The bassist was quite good, even though Speaker was by now wailing in despair. Newton gave him a critical eye before flicking a tongue out speculatively. He and the others shared smirks with each other.


She’ll free us, she’ll free us
She’ll free us
From ourselves, be ourselves
She’ll free us, She’ll free us
We must begin to teach her, show her
The magic within and she’ll free us
And then she’ll teach us all
She’ll teach us
She’ll free us
She’ll teach us
She’ll free us
Yeah

Mama once loved us


        “You idiot female,” Speaker whimpered as the song died away and the changelings cheered. “What have you done?”

        Newton clapped him on the withers. “My little brother. Zis vas anticipated. Zere is nothing for you to vorry about. It iz to be expected our brothers unt sisters vill vant to express themselves in unique vays, ja?”

        Zilla took her bows and called out to her audience, “Do you understand a little better now?”

        There was a mix of nods and shaking heads. “The music was awesome!” a changeling cried. This was generally accepted as the collective truth. Chirps sounded out.

        “That rocked!”

        “That was amazing!”

        “I can’t hear a darned thing!”

        “What?”

        “What?”

        “Huh?”

        “I can’t hear you! The music made me deaf!”

        “What?”

        “Were we supposed to throw underwear at Zilla? A bra, maybe?”

        “I’m on fire!” A changeling rolled around on the ground. Speaker thought he recognized him as his brothers and sisters tried without success to put the poor burning fellow out. It was the changeling who had flown into the tree earlier. To be fair, only one hoof was on fire. Unfortunately, the burning changeling flailed his holed hoof in the air, fanning the flames and making an odd whistling sound. “Put it out!”

        Speaker facehooved. There was simply not enough stupid in some changelings.

        “Don’t worry about ze sound,” Newton assured him. “I have soundproofed ze valls. Ve vill add more concealment spells as ve dig further into ze ground. Ze vater table is quite high unt ve must reinforce ze valls of ze tunnels unt chambers.” He seemed oblivious of the flaming changeling.

        Kevin droned by carrying a large clump of earth in his legs. He was on his way out and waved at Speaker. The act of waving caused him to lose his load and it fell upon the changeling who was on fire.

        The fire was put out and the changeling who had been burning lay still for several seconds. All eyes fell on the pile of clumpy dirt. A filthy hoof shot up from the mound of dirt and a muffled voice could be heard. “I’m okay!”

        “I don’t know what to say,” Speaker said. He went over and helped the still smoldering changeling to his hooves. 

The little fellow thanked him and staggered off. Kevin dropped to the ground and began to gather up his spilled load of earth. He mumbled an apology to the unlucky changeling. It was waved off.

Jo joined the conversation. “What?” 

Speaker pointed at Zilla and her band. “How did that happen?”

Zilla took to wing, dangling her relaxed legs as she flew to Speaker. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think to appeal to the mob mentality,” she bragged as she landed as light as a feather in front of her brother. “I should have been the one chosen to be speak on behalf of the collective.”

“Well, you had one thing that kept you from the role.” Speaker narrowed his eyes and stood up on stiff legs. His wings flared and he hissed at her.

“Oh? What would that be?”

Newton, Jo, Speaker, and Kevin all said in perfect unison, “OCD.”

“You lack a certain flexibility,” Newton said. He gave her a studious eye. “You lack ze compassion necessary to bond with ze new queen. You are brilliant, deductive, unt meticulous in your vork, but you are missing ze one thing zat vould have made you a better choice.”

Zilla challenged, “And what would that be, dear brother?”

“Humility.”

She blinked. “What do you mean, ‘humility’? I’ve got loads of humility! I’ve got so much humility that—”

“Mother made you a librarian to teach you humility before you could even sniff at the lowest military ranks,” Jo reminded her with the corners of her mouth downturning a touch. “Because you’re such a know-it-all, it’s made you a bit…”

Speaker finished for Jo when her voice trailed off. “Arrogant.”

Zilla protested, “I am not arrogant!”

Speaker glanced at the impromptu stage behind his brainy rock star envisioning sister. Reaching out a hoof, he patted her on the shoulder, reading her t-shirt again. “Of course you’re not, sister. Of course you’re not.”
> 11. Grand Theft Chocolate
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



The night brought out the best in changelings, from the perspective of the sneak. Their natural body armor served to help them blend into the shadows. Their innate magic of bending light (for those who failed at disguises) made it easy for them to slip from one place to another unnoticed. The addition of flight and the human tendency to look at the ground when they walked made it easy for the pair to move through the night sky above the glare of the street lamps. Everything was so much easier once the night took control of the skies, allowing the changelings to fly unnoticed a few hundred feet in the air.

        Wesley and TK421 moved like assassins. They were quick. They were determined. They had no idea what they were doing. The area was completely alien to them, the humans were alien to them, and dogs kept barking as they buzzed over neighborhoods. Barking dogs were the worst. They barked. Barking was annoying.

        TK was silent. She and Wesley might have been clutchmates, but it did not mean they liked each other. Oddly enough, they worked well together. Wesley had the sharpest eyes in a generation and TK could hear a feather fall to the ground.

        They had spent the better part of the afternoon finding a hiding spot and waiting until nightfall. In the meantime, they bickered with each other. They argued silently about anything and everything, from human politics to the merits of spam. How they came to know these things is one of those oddball mysteries that will be revealed later in the story. Honestly, we’ve broken the Fourth Wall so many times, I’m pretty sure people are throwing things at their monitor screens by now. Why hide it?

        Once the sun went down, the air cooled. It was surreal for the changelings to watch the lights of the city they could clearly see from the air. Even Canterlot never blazed so brightly at night! It had been said Princess Celestia had declared a limit to the amount of light over her capitol so her sister’s work could be easily seen by their subjects.

        Wesley and TK could not even agree if seeing so much light at night would make Princess Luna a sad panda. What was a sad panda? Were sad pandas dangerous or were they just mopey? Humans had odd sayings. Humans were confusing, more so than the ponies. Changelings knew ponies. They knew them very well, having spent centuries among them, hidden and unseen. Mother had worked hard to make sure her children could hide for a lifetime if need be and remain incognito.

        In a world where the dominant and only sapient species was bipedal, territorial, and at times bipolar, Wesley and TK knew they were going to have to study humans in their natural environment in order to create a useful disguise. They could not don the look of any other animal. Talking animals would probably result in reactions more or less along the lines of Frank’s introduction. Or they could scream and run away. The last and least desired effect was invoking human fear to the point where they might lash out with violence. Humans were creatures of habit and were, for the most part, prone to fearing the unknown.

        It had been explained to them in the cave by the portal keeper that humans were a mixed bag. As they sought for their new queen, the changelings were opened to some of the culture of humanity. The diversity was staggering. Humans comprised of hundreds of nations filling the entirety of their world and utterly dominating it.

        Humans were terrifying. They came in all sizes. Big ones, fat ones, skinny ones, weird ones… humans were certainly not the same. The average human had a lot more body mass than the average changeling. It was going to be difficult to imitate one, if at all. At best a changeling could fit into the frame of a large dog. Ponies were the preferred template.

        Their eyes mapped the area. Their queen lived in a cul-de-sac on the edge of a farmer’s field. The field lay on the other side of the creek and the trees separated the houses from the land. The soil was untilled, but huge human driven machines could be seen pulling wide carts over the bare earth while the changelings had waited for nightfall. The black wheels alone were huge, some as tall as two average humans standing on top of each other.

        The town itself did not seem large, but did sprawl. The main roads were long and straight. The changelings could see vehicles called cars moving on them. Humans drove them. There were all sorts of variety, from shapes to colors. Some of the vehicles looked well maintained while a few looked as though they might fall apart at any moment. Lamps in the front of the strange carriages lit the roads once the sun had gone to bed, allowing the humans to see where they were going.

        There were lights at intersections following certain patterns. Green, yellow, and red. The humans in their vehicles mostly paid attention to them. The changelings assumed there were rules being followed. They moved on, memorizing everything they saw. An easy to maintain memorization spell allowed for a complete recollection of what they had seen for later scrutiny.

        Throughout it all, both siblings resisted the urge to fly into the lights. Lights at night attracted them. It was one thing Mother could never breed out of her children; the fascination with lights. There was just something so mesmerising about them! Any of the lesser minded changelings would probably have spent the entire night flying into the light, but Wesley and TK knew better!

        There was a loud metallic bang. The light flickered, then went out with a fizzling sound. For a moment, the changeling went stiff as electricity rolled through his body in shocking waves. For a few seconds, his body went stiff, his muscles spasmed. His body flashed. Then, everything went dark, leaving behind the smell of ozone and a singed changeling. 

“Ow!” Wesley whimpered, rubbing his sore, smoking horn. He shook his head, hissing in pain.

        The mute changeling rolled her eyes and gave her brother a disappointed glare.  TK chided through low chirps and whistles as she landed on top of the lightpost. Insects buzzed around her in confusion, having lost their God of Light. She motioned for Wesley to get above the light’s casting.

        Telekinetic magic shimmered, engulfing her horn in fluorescent changeling green and pointedly grasping her brother’s horn. With a yank and a yelp from her brother, she pulled him up and out of the light, clucking her tongue and shaking her head.

        TK scanned the immediate area, searching for any humans who might have been drawn to the sound of the light sparking and exploding.  She hissed, releasing Wesley from her hold. The female changeling then trilled softly.

        He glared at her, indignant. “I’m fine.” His right eye twitched and there was a nervous tick in the corner of his mouth. Every now and then, a muscle would spasm. “Really.” Wesley tried to smile, his wings cutting in and out on him. It was an awkward smile.

        TK had to use her magic to keep him airborne. He was still her brother. Family bonds were very strong among changelings, even if discovering their individuality had them at odds. Concern creased her chitinous features. She scanned the area, making sure no humans had noticed. So far, the street seemed to be deserted. It was too foolhardy to assume that would be true for very long. Wesley was the only changeling who could understand her vocalizations. Not being able to speak like other changelings had greatly restricted the opportunities available. Mother had employed her as a scout and messenger. 

        The two changelings made their way to a nearby cottonwood tree. They found a high and thick branch and lighted upon it. Wesley was still smoking. He coughed and more smoke came out of this throat.

        “That was embarrassing,” he muttered.

        TK agreed, nodding rapidly before letting out a derisive snort. Her glare was withering. The changeling kept her hisses of displeasure to a low, harsh rush of air. 

        “I’m sorry!” Wesley hunched down on the branch, wrapping his legs around the bough. His chin came to rest on top of it. “I don’t know what happened.”

        She blinked, leaning in to sniff at his smoking carapace. Her nose crinkled and the female winced. She turned away and fanned her nostrils with a hoof.

        He turned his head slightly to glare at her. Only one eye could find her as she was behind him. The branch was a wonderful branch. It kept him from falling off. “No kidding!” Wesley spat at his sister. “I said I was sorry!”

        Shrugging with indifference at his apology, TK took a moment to assess the neighborhood. It appeared to be a mix of homes and shops. The buildings seemed old and for the most part well maintained. Most of the homes were two stories high, with sharply angled wedge rooftops. Some had chimneys and a lot of them had odd grey dishes mounted. The female noted they were all pointed to the south and to the sky. What was the significance?

        “What’s the plan?” Wesley asked once he felt he had recovered from being shocked. Changelings were very resilient.

        His sister gave him a deadpan stare. An ear flicked in indignation.

        “Get a map?”

        She inclined her head and motioned Wesley to continue with a hoof.

        “Look for possible threats?”

        Again, she nodded, adding a sarcastic smile for good measure. The hoof was moving with more urgency now.

        “Assess the area?”

        TK gave a slow clap with her hooves as her brother sat up. She then pointed at her mouth, opening it and pantomiming eating. Rubbing her stomach, she stopped and spread her hooves out and wagged them. Her head darted from side to side as if searching. The act ended with a whimper, which turned into a smile a starving wolf would have appreciated. Her horn flashed little dull flares in rapid succession.

        “You mean I have to use my taste buds? Not to mention the extra weight after eating something!” Wesley opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. “Yuck! You know we can’t convert solid foods into love! We’ll run out of mana! We can’t do magic without love!”

        She sucked in her stomach and held it there. TK was on her hooves. She scanned in the direction where she thought she had smelled food earlier. As she did so, she checked the hive link for any messages. It was silent, save for the usual back chatter of siblings pinging each other. She bounced her ping from her siblings back at the hive to Wesley, her eyes flinty and unwavering.

        Wesley frowned. He hated eating. It meant moving his jaw to chew his food. It meant swallowing what he chewed. It meant having what he chewed and swallowed fermenting in his stomach. His small intestines would come into play. Then the large intestines. And then… and then…

        Some things were too terrible to think of. Poor Gordon. That stupid sot claimed to enjoy eating food! He loved eating what he cooked. A good chef, he had once tried to explain to Wesley, always tasted his own food. If it was good enough for him, then it would be good enough for the likes of Princess Celestia. Wesley did not understand his brother and his love of solid food. Simple foods, sure, but why throw a whole bunch of unrelated ingredients together to make a whole new dish? The lone exception being sweets, of course. All changelings loved sweets. Especially chocolate. Love was often associated with the taste of chocolate. Did humans love sweets? They seemed to. From what Wesley had seen, there were plenty of humans who enjoyed eating. Perhaps they enjoyed sweet things to eat, too.

        If there was one thing Wesley did not mind eating, it was chocolate.

        “Where are we going to find a map?” he asked his sister. His ears swiveled to and fro. No humans had yet taken note of the broken light.

        An exasperated look was all he got in response. TK flung a hoof towards the city, looking at him expectantly while tapping the side of her head with her other hoof.

        “Do we even know the name of this town?” The male changeling craned his neck one way, then the other, blinking his eyes as if he hoped for a sign to reveal the name. There was a large tower he could just make out in the distance over the tops of the trees. It appeared to be some sort of water tower. He guessed it held tens of thousands of gallons. There was some faint lettering he could barely make out in the gloom of night with the town lights. A red light blinked in slow intervals from the very top of the tower.

        TK hummed, tapping a hoof to her chin. She chirped and nudged her snoot in the direction of the water tower. The two changelings flew sideways, going around the tower until they could make out the name. It read:


Welcome to Springfield!


        Wesley read the lettering, speaking it out loud. He thought for a moment. “Home of the Simpsons?”

        TK tilted her head to one side, flopping one ear up and forward while the other one splayed down. She hung her jaw open just enough to mouth clearly, What?

        “A fictitious family that became something of a cultural icon.”

        His sister frowned, baring her fangs in irritation. She then huffed, arching an eyebrow and awaiting further explanation. Narrowed eyes and pursed lips begged a question.

        “From the portal guardian.”

        TK facehooved and shook her head in profound and exaggerated disappointment.

        “How would you know?” Wesley flared his nostrils and inhaled. He could smell food. Though it was late, he could still catch a faint whiff of cooking. The changeling’s stomach rumbled. It had already altered in anticipation of the coming unpleasantries. Why do you betray me, body?

        Testing his wings, Wesley found them to be functional. The shock had finally passed and his nerves felt more or less normal. There were a few numb spots along his body and he could not feel the bottom of his left rear hoof, but Wesley was more or less sound. “Let’s go find a map and some food,” he said.

        His sister replied with a chirp and a nudge with her snout on his shoulder to lead on. She stayed close to him, her ears turning like raders. Her hearing was keen and unmatched by her brothers and sisters. TK may not have gotten along with Wesley, but she didn’t like to see him get hurt. An ear always went to him, to his chest, and she listened to his heartbeat. It seemed fine to her. Still, like any sister, she worried.

        Using a starry sky as their background, the pair followed Wesley’s nose. There was less traffic to deal with now. The main roads were still busy compared to the rest of the town. The vehicles were parked outside of what appeared to be businesses. Taverns? Restaurants? Other types of late night business establishments? Curiosity plagued the changelings. One in particular had a large, glowing yellow and red shell over bold white lettering. Beneath it were a series of numbers. A large canopy was set over the majority of the lot and there were four odd looking boxes with hoses attached to them beneath it. Two were occupied by the vehicles humans drove. 

A human exited his vehicle and walked towards the building on the other side of the large metal canopy. There were large windows emblazoned with what appeared to be advertisements. Inside could be seen glass doors with bottles behind them. In front of them were three rows of what appeared to be foodstuffs. Were they snacks? 

The two changelings landed on top of the canopy and scurried on muffled hooves to the edge. It was a shadowed part and on the edge just over the building. Both looked at each other and peered over to get a better look. A startled pigeon blinked at them, bobbing its head as it waddled away from its roost.

TK narrowed her eyes and nudged her brother. She indicated the door and pinged what she saw into his head as a projection. He froze as he registered her unusual and urgent action.

Wesley squinted and stared at where TK had her attention. His eyes locked on and followed up with a single nod. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Maps?”

Maps. His sister mouthed, then grinned.

The vehicle on the other end of the canopy squealed loudly, making a loud roaring noise from the elongated front before speeding off into the night. One of the humans came running out, swearing a colorful list of words, most of which the changelings were unfamiliar with. Swear words were known to changelings, but not known. Both learned something right then and there this particular human had a favorite word to swear with.

TK observed, unimpressed. She indicated this with a dismissive growl.

“Such a crude display of displeasure,” agreed Wesley. “Mother never resorted to curses and forbade us from using them.” 

Cursing, the Queen had once proclaimed, was the bile spat forth by the uneducated and unthinking masses to make up for a lack of culture and poor parental upbringing.

As the human made the futile gesture of running after the machine on four wheels, TK darted forward on silent wings, lighting on the pavement in front of the door and swinging the glass door outward. As Wesley watched the human standing and staring off from the side of the road, TK spotted the other human who was oblivious as she perused the aisles. Reaching out and snatching one of the maps from the rack, the changeling gathered her legs beneath her and sprang into the air like a dart. Her wings blurred with stealthiness. The whole snatch and grab took less than ten seconds. 

TK was grinning from ear to ear. The pair slid back into the shadows. The map was unfolded, revealing its secrets to the changelings.

After pouring over the lines and squiggles and numbers all over the heavily detailed map, Wesley assumed a helpless expression which had grown as he tried to make heads or tails of the unfolded mass of confusion before him.

“Can you read this map?” he asked his sister.

TK421 moued, staring down at the map, then back up at her brother. She rubbed the back of her head, suddenly finding the stubble of an incoming mane to be irresistible. Finally, she exhaled and shook her head in defeat.

“All right then,” Wesley sighed. He tried to fold the map. The next few minutes was an exercise in futility. 

TK sat back and watched her brother, bemused. She could hear the human go into the store, talking to himself. Wesley had given up on folding the map now. It lay in a wadded heap. TK peered over her shoulder and frowned. Chittering in a barely audible tone, she turned and moved past her brother until she was upon the map. Picking it up with her magic, she smoothed it out and examined the folds in the paper. Then, she folded the map properly and tossed it at her brother’s hooves.

“I hate you sometimes,” he said as he picked up the neatly folded map. “Did you smell anything while you were in there? Food?”

TK nodded.

“Chocolate?”

Again, she nodded.

Determination became Wesley’s mask. “I’m going in.”

His sister hissed angrily at him.

“Well, we really can’t just sit here and starve because we don’t have money! This is survival, sister!” And he went over the side of the canopy and underneath it. His hooves clung to the painted metal, his form shimmering and blending in. He kept his body pressed as he assumed an ambush position.

TK followed, but stopped at the edge, both unhappy and worried. Her ears moved as if possessed by madness, her eyes wide and unblinking. Only the top of her head was visible. A human, the one who had ran after the vehicle earlier came outside with large plastic bags in his hands. He moved towards the trash cans in the center islands where the metal stands were.

Wesley saw his opportunity and moved. Darting down, he caught the door just before it closed and went inside. He checked on the human, who had not noticed him. Then, he began to sniff at the air. Sweets were in here! So was the other human. It was a girl, he decided. Caution overrode his hunger as he began to sneak across the floor. Focusing on the whereabouts of the human girl, Wesley peered around the corner of the middle aisle. The smell of chocolate was strong here!

Did he drool? Why, yes. Yes, he did drool.

Salivating at the mouth and cursing his stomach for betraying him, Wesley darted forward and stopped in front of rows of candy. They all had bright packaging. There were so many different names! But which one had the most chocolate? Wesley whimpered. At least they were in convenient boxes. Each box contained a number of individually wrapped sweets. He grabbed one box, then another, selecting indiscriminately. He had his fourth box when he realized he should have been paying closer attention.

“What are you?” a fearful, shrill voice demanded. 

Wesley whipped his head to the sound of the voice, his hooves holding a nearly full box. He licked his lips as a tall human female had both her hands to her mouth and was backing towards the door. Setting down the box upon his pile of pilfered candies, Wesley made no other move than to keep his eyes wide and on the retreating human. One hoof slowly rose and reached for another box of chocolate. Wesley did not move an inch. His eyes stayed firmly on the human. All he wanted was one last box of chocolate. At least he hoped it was chocolate.

Slowly the box came out of its place and was then set neatly upon the other four boxes. He looked down at his goods, then up at the human. Wesley smiled, gathering up his loot.

The girl screamed, and Wesley took to the air, overcome by a sense of panic and shame at allowing himself to be seen.

“Sorrygottagobye!” Wesley blurted as he shot past her on wings driven by adrenaline and out the door.


        

> 12. The Magical Mr. Mephistopheles
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



Saturday evening...

The process of fixing the floor was quite simple. Cabbage just needed to taste the various layers of the floor to get an idea of what he needed in his spit. The glands in his neck and cheeks would do the rest, creating an all natural formula to allow for his saliva to take on the properties of the intended objects they were supposed to mimic.

        He began his work the night before just after supper. Macaroni and cheese (with hotdogs!) had been served and the humans discovered changelings could indeed eat solid foods, if only a little. Angela was terrified of the idea of going to the toilet. It was always a messy affair. Cabbage did not care. Cabbage would sit on the toilet and sing the ‘salad shooter’ song in a happy voice. That was an old commercial. How did Cabbage know about a commercial older than he was?

        ‘Twas just another layer of mystery in Cabbage.

Cabbage was, well, Cabbage, much as Pinkie Pie was Pinkie Pie. Catherine had said so as she had spent the remainder of the evening bringing out her My Little Pony stuffed toys. She proudly displayed them to her changeling friends. Angela had nothing personally against ponies; they were a renewable resource for love. Ponies were also prone to panics, stampedes, fainting, making poor choices, and a litany of other things that made them annoying.

Still, Catherine loved her plushies. She liked changelings, but when questioned about Mother, she said with distaste, “She’s mean!”

Frank and Beatrice were wary, though far less anxious than when their home was filled to the brim with singing and dancing changelings. It seemed as though they even relaxed a little. Angela was able to answer some questions, relishing the role her brother Speaker had been chosen to fill. Changelings had a pecking order and when an opportunity rose for one to throw a wrench into it, great joy was taken with the task. When there was nothing else to do in the hive (besides the endless list of menial labor), changelings engaged each other in challenging each other in trading places on the social ladder. It was all in good fun and the game was never dull.

Winning over the human parents was going to be tricky. The first positive step would come in restoring the floor. Cabbage was pointed at the kitchen, led into it, and told by his sister to fix the hole. Well, he did sport the spit changelings were all known for, but unlike most of his brothers and sisters, he also had a secret weapon.

Cabbage, you see, was hatched from a specialized clutch of eggs. He had been an experiment, of sorts. Chrysalis had wanted specialists for construction, with possible leads into new ways to wage war. Cabbage and Angela were the results. Mother was disappointed. In the end, she relegated them and their fellow clutchmates to hive maintenance.

So, Cabbage examined the floor. Beatrice and Frank sat at the breakfast bar. Catherine stood at the door, peeking in and seeing the large hole right in front of the stove.

The hole itself was large enough for a little girl to fall through. The basement could be seen below. There was the glimpse of a gray and white cat. The mystery of Mr. Mephistopheles deepened as the cat disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared. There was a flash of eyes reflecting in the light from the kitchen from a pale furry face. The echo of his passing was a low yowl that promised sweet, sweet revenge. Cats were vengeful creatures. Everyone knew that. Except changelings. 

“Kitty!” Cabbage had exclaimed, distracted by cuteness. He could be distracted from his job by the most simple of happenings.

“Cabbage,” Angela said with slow deliberateness, “please, focus on the floor. Fix the hole, Cabbage.”

Her brother examined the hole, blinking even as he sniffed around its edges. Cabbage then came to a brilliant deduction. The changeling sang, “There’s a hole in the floor, dear sister, dear sister. There’s a hole in the floor, dear sister, a hole.”

Angela smiled with sisterly patience. Not the nun-wielding-a-ruler kind, but the familial one. “Then fix it, dear brother, dear brother. Just fix it, dear brother, dear brother, the hole.”

“With what shall I fix it, dear sister, dear sister? With what shall I fix it, dear sister, with what?”

“Use your spit, dear brother, dear brother. Use your spit, dear brother, your spit.”

So, Cabbage spat around the edge of the hole. He eyeballed each pile of goop. Each one required his scrutiny. They had a green appearance, like lime jello. His ears swiveled back to a male voice whispering in defeat, “Honey, they’re singing again.”

“I have spat, dear sister, dear sister. I have spat, dear sister, I spat.”

“Then spread the goo, dear brother, dear brother. Then spread the goo, dear brother, dear brother, spread it.”

Using his legs, Cabbage began to spread the goo. More of the stuff seeped from the holes in his legs as he spread it around the edges. Every few seconds, he would reach down with his snoot and snort and sniff at his goo. Cabbage squinted his eyes as he would judge his own goo with ruthless efficiency. If it was not up to his standards, he licked at it and drooled on the pile. Once he had a foundation around the hole he was satisfied with, he stood back and admired his work.

“The goo is spread, dear sister, dear sister. The goo is spread, dear sister, it’s spread.”

        “Use your spinnerets, dear brother, dear brother. Use your spinnerets, dear brother, spin now!”

        “Spinnerets?” Beatrice queried, not at all liking the sound of that. Alarm bells went off in both parents’ heads and they looked at each other with identical expressions of anticipated horror. Spinnerets translated to ‘spider’. Beatrice hated spiders.

        Cabbage did not pay attention to them. He was focused on his work and needed little prompting beyond Angela’s suggestion. His tail flicked, then rose. It was perhaps fortunate he faced the humans when he sat down and began to wiggle his rump in the goo. Confidence was his armor as he began to drag his rear in a side-to-side motion while pushing himself backwards and towards the hole. He peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing. Then, he rose his rump from the goop and something silky and almost translucent shot to the other side of the hole.  It stuck and spread over the edge of the hole on the other side. Cabbage set his rump back down and began to work his way across the taut webbing.

        At least Frank and Beatrice hoped it was webbing.

        Angela could feel the disgust. That would have to be remedied. “Mother bred some of us with spiders,” she explained as she turned her head to look at the humans. The changeling wore a small smile, almost apologetic. “She wanted a strain of changelings that were very good at building, so she did some experiments. At first she wanted changelings who could build barricades and be a sort of civil engineering corps for the army, but we weren’t aggressive enough. Most spiders are actually quite passive and are happy to sit in their web. It sort of carried over when we were made.”

        Beatrice, glad to have the distraction addressed Angela. “Do you have spinnerets?”

        “I do! I hate using them. It’s kinda messy,” admitted the changeling with a bashful cough. “Not to mention downright embarrassing.”

        As if to accentuate her point, Cabbage turned around, stuck his back legs in the air while still on his rump, and dragged himself across the hole using his front legs to move. As he moved across the thread, his forehooves grasped it, pulling him along. His smile was without shame, nor did it seem he was aware it was something he should be ashamed of. There was a slight side-to-side motion as he went across the thread. More thread was flung from his bottom to the side with each flick of his rump. A flash of finger-like appendages flashed from beneath his tail, flicking the strands out with no wasted motions. When he was across, Cabbage rose to all four hooves and turned around to examine his work. His glare of scrutiny would have melted a drill sergeant’s resolve.

        Frank guffawed, snorting through his nose as he could not believe what he was seeing.  He pounded the table, his sides heaving as he wheezed the words out. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen!” He squeezed his eyes shut and began to bellow with laughter, slumping forward, his shoulders heaving with mirth. “Oh, God, make it stop!”

        Beatrice hit him in the shoulder. “Frank! That is not appropriate!” The corners of her mouth, however, told a different story. The woman tried very hard not to look at the butt-dragging changeling. Despite her angry face, her feelings betrayed her. 

Angela cocked her head, blinking at the woman. “That’s why I refuse to do that sort of work. I mean, look at him!” She flicked her tail and huffed in indignation.

Catherine was laughing so hard she was holding her sides. She was pointing a finger at Cabbage. “It’s so funny!” 

Cabbage grinned and hummed, happy in his work, the food he had eaten processed to make the building materials he needed. The changeling was very much in his element.

“We’re going to bed, “ Beatrice announced as she tugged on her husband. “Somebody is being a terrible influence on his daughter.”

“I am not!” Frank obeyed his wife, wiping tears from his eyes. He could not look at Cabbage and not giggle like an idiot.

“Catherine! Bed! Now!”

“But Mommy!”

“Leave him to his” —she shuddered— “work, honey. Cabbage is going to be very busy for a while.”

Angela smiled up at the woman. “Oh, but this won’t take long at all to do! Most of the time will be spent inspecting his work as it settles.”

“Not helping,” Beatrice said to the female archly. “We’re going to bed. You two keep doing… whatever it is you two are doing.”

“I’m supervising,” Angela beamed.

“Kitty down the hole!” Cabbage sang. He was dragging his butt again. “Almost done! See? No more kitty!”

The cat could be heard hissing from the basement.

And so, Beatrice, being the matron of the house, herded her family from the kitchen, through the living room, and down the hall. Angela’s ears followed them, twitching when she heard the door close at the end of the hall. It was not a big house, only three bedrooms. How forty-seven changelings had managed to cram themselves into the domicile was beyond comprehension. It had been a literal sea of changelings. The floor had become obscured. The ceiling, too, in some places. The changeling felt even worse now.

She glanced at her brother, who was singing the doom song, before turning her attention towards the living room ceiling. There were little pits and holes there, along with the hardened silica dotting the walls. Excited changelings left behind silica based goop. Sighing at the prospect of doing the very job she had hated back at the hive, Angela knew her brother would not be able to leave the hole until he was happy with the results.

Whimpering to herself, the changeling buzzed her wings and licked her lips. “Cabbage?”

“Yah?”

“I’m going to clean up the living room. Are you going to be okay?”

“Doom potato!”

“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need me.”

“Can we pet the kitty later?”

“I don’t think the cat likes us, Cabbage.”

“Aww.”





The Very Next Morning…


The floor was fixed. Cabbage had worked all night with Angela supervised his work. This meant she sat there and watched him as he happily fixed the hole in the floor. She had to tell him several times to not whistle while he worked because humans were asleep. Catherine was taken by her parents into their room and they had barred the door with a heavy object, possibly a dresser.

        Angela had checked. Trust was a long way from being established, it seemed.

        So, she waited while her brother checked his work constantly, tapping his hoof here and there on the floor. Her own work had been completed hours ago. Cabbage prowled around the spot where the hole had been, staring and sniffing, seeking out anything that might be out of place. The changeling was meticulous in his work. If it wasn’t done right, he would undo his work and start all over again.

        The family emerged from the bedroom shortly after sunrise. Catherine had to be restrained. She was excited. Then again, she had been excited since the moment Speaker poked his head out from under her bed. Perhaps she was always excited? She was absolutely swimming in magical energy. No wonder the changelings were attracted to her. Angela felt like her world was right and good whenever she was around the little girl. Choosing her to be the queen was like coming to the end of a long, dark tunnel and finding the light was not only wondrous to see, but to feel and even touch. It was a sense of belonging and of being a part of. Angela has missed that even under the rule of her selfish mother.

        While Cabbage toiled in the kitchen, he would occasionally blurt out, “Barking spider!” Angela had to tell him to keep his excitement to a dull roar. Just to be sure, she placed a muting spell over the house to contain her brother’s joyous outbursts. Cabbage loved his job. Angela thought he loved it a bit too much.

        She had not been idle all night. She worked herself, hating what was going on at her other end and even whimpering at the indignity. But, it was in private. Noling saw her work, but she was still self concious of her appearance. Angela sang, “Nobody knows the trouble I see. Nobody knows but Jesus.”

        Huh… Angela was a bass. Who knew?

        Unknown to Angela, Mr. Mephistopheles had made it up the stairs from the basement and sat at the corner of the hallway leading into the living room. The cat had watched the female changeling work all night and had not been noticed. His golden eyes pierced through the din of the poorly lit living room. The only light came from the kitchen. Only a third of the living room was lit. The rest was gloomy darkness. Angela had no compunctions working in the darkness. It reminded her of her time in the hive.

The cat had been with the family since before Catherine was born. He was a large cat, sporting a mix of Bombay and Maine Coon in his blood. Being a loving cat, he was protective of Catherine as his first months of adulthood was an introduction to a little baby girl. She grew up having Mr. Mephistopheles sleeping with her. He was resentful from the invaders chasing him from the embrace of his human. Who else was going to provide him with the right amount of cuddling for comfort?

He could feel his young mistress warm cuddle body behind him and allowed her to pick him up. Mr. Mephistopheles loved tolerated her and tolerated permitted peace for her parents. They did, after all, provide him with food and a clean litter box. The big tom was lord over his domain and right now; there were invaders in his kingdom. Oh, they had thinned out, as the tall human with the loud voice had done his job and chased them away. But two had remained. The tall human would pay for his ineptness later. For now, Mr. Mephistopheles was content to watch these two dark things.

As the humans revelled in the reborn cleanliness of their home and the perfection of the repairs done, the cat contented himself by purring in Catherine’s arms. Happiness permeated the room and it affected him (against his will, of course). His golden eyes were fixed on the changeling female, the only one of the two changelings who seemed to understand what peril she was in. His stare was piercing, neutral, and promised only one word as the changeling caught his eye. Oh, there was joy and wonder throughout the house as it had been restored to a condition far better than it had been before. 

But, there was just one thought in the cat’s mind. When Angela noticed the cat for the first time, her blood ran cold. It was his eyes. His eyes! The word he projected was a simple one, but one with power.

Just one thought, a single, solitary word...

Soon.


> 13. This is Why Changelings Can't Have Nice Things
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 




Two unnamed changelings were in a tree overlooking a large steepled building. There were the strange machines humans used in a large paved lot behind it. The pair watched as families came out of their vehicles and walked towards the building. It was tall and white, with rows of high and narrow stained glass windows along the long sides of the building. There was a large wooden double door at one end of the building. The steeple reached three stories into the air at the other. An older human male with gray hair and a warm smile greeted each and every human who came to the door. Organ music drifted out from within the building. It was gentle music and the humans all seemed happy.

        There was something in the air. It was tranquil, yet both changelings felt as though something was being masked. It had been noticed by one of their sisters yesterday. There had been an encounter. It had been with an elderly human woman with a decidedly unpleasant demeanor. A warning had been sent out to the others. The pair scrutinized the gathering, sending out feelers as their horns glowed faintly. The light of the day hid their working magic. After some moments, they released their magic and found the taint to not be associated with these humans. There was something mysterious in the air. Possibly magic. It clung faintly in the air around the humans, barely noticeable.

        How curious. They looked at each other and wordlessly nodded.

Both changelings still could not come to grips with choosing names for themselves. They were still tied firmly to the hive mind and Mother’s belief that names were unnecessary. It was fading every day and they grew more and more frightened of the prospect of not having it. Their hope lay with Catherine and the magic within her to make things right and as they should be. They were not the only ones to hope this.

The tree was still budding, as it was still spring. The changelings were camouflaged, keeping their bodies near the trunk as they sat in their respective branches. Both were as comfortable as they could manage. Their interest stemmed on the gathering of humans.

The old man wore a genuine smile. He was glad to meet each and every person he greeted. It was not a large group, less than a hundred, but the old human was glad. He shook hands and spoke words of greeting. The changelings perked their ears and could make out one word given out freely and with strength behind it.

Friend, he spoke often and with warmth.

A pair of human males standing close to each other greeted the elderly human. One had pale skin, like most of the other humans, while the other had a far darker complexion. There was something the changelings understood between the two. Both lit up their horns and opened their mouths as they salivated. The taste was no different. Love was love.

More and more of the humans followed the pair into the building. There was a lot of familial love within the group. Intrigued, the two changelings waited until they were sure to be unnoticed and darted from their hiding spot.

An illusion spell burst from each as they deflected notice from their bodies, their buzzing wings muted. One changeling hid their forms while the other masked the sounds of their wings. This was one of the reasons why changelings scouted in pairs. One covered the other and shared the burden of magic. As always, they pinged the hive mind with their movements, always keeping Speaker up to date with their location and what they were doing.

‘Human gathering. Less than a hundred. They seem to be gathering for some sort of religious observation. Investigating the purpose of the gathering and its significance.’ Their voices were shared in the hive mind, their link strong and sure.

They waited until the last of the straggling humans went inside, following close enough to an elderly woman escorted by a much younger male the changelings assumed to be of adolescent age. The door held open for just a moment longer before shutting quietly on oiled hinges. The boy scrunched his brows in a moment of passing confusion before shrugging his shoulders and going back to guiding the old woman along.

The interior of the building smelled of old age. There was history in this place. It was a quiet and peaceful place, where the lingering feelings within the walls filled the pair of changelings with a calm and serenity they had not felt in a very long time, if ever. Both shivered, wanting to be anxious, but finding that wanting. Sliding up the walls on silent hooves, they found a corner and nestled themselves in, mindful of their surroundings and watching the humans for any indication of discovery.

The humans greeted each other, the din of their voices quiet and respectful. There were smiles and handshakes, as well as hugs. The changelings fed with great care. The love in this building was strong and it was all too easy to feed passively. This became a potential place for future love gathering.

The organ music changed and the humans slowly moved to their seats. There were chairs facing each other. They sat down while the old man from before stepped up to a pulpit at the front of the room. The sanctuary was raised two steps above the congregation. The pulpit was set to one side and next to a communion table. The old man was going through some papers, pausing to address a little boy who tugged on his shirt. They appeared to be related.

Ruffling the boy’s hair, the human leaned down and told him something. The boy giggled and darted away, going to a human woman who was smiling up at the old man with mischief. She also appeared to be related.

An old woman was seen off in one corner of the room at the bottom of the sanctuary playing an instrument that made sounds an organ would make. There were interestingly no pipes, which flabbergasted the two changelings. Blinking as they tried to understand this odd occurrence, the pair found this confusing. This would have to be investigated later, but it was low priority.

Why were the humans gathering? Was this some sort of religious event? Did they worship alicorns in this world? What gods did they have? The concept of deities was not unknown to changelings. They were raised to believe their mother was one. Mother was the word for goddess on the lips of hatchlings.

The crowd settled in their seats, the music died away. Expectant eyes rose to the old man as he stepped down with a large leather bound book in his hand. He had it open, with a large bit of crimson ribbon lain between the open pages. The man spoke words. The group bowed their heads. Was this some sort of pious devotion of reverence to their god?

The changelings found the process both amusing and confusing. After the benediction, the congregation was asked to rise in song. The pair listened as a couple of songs were sung. When the songs were done, the people were asked to be seated. They obeyed silently. To the two changelings, this was order they had once witnessed when they had been back at the old hive, when Mother was still there. Old comforts gone pained their hearts. Some things were gone and would remain gone, no matter how much they wanted it.

Then, the old man began to speak, tapping the book in his palm. He spoke of another man, who had lived long ago. He was called the Good Samaritan. The story was once first given by another man, one the changelings noticed the humans regard with reverence. This information was funneled back to the hive mind, to immediately be shared with the others. As this happened, the pair of changelings became lost in the words given to the masses. 

In the name of cultural curiosity, of course. There was also a feeling of nostalgia and a reminder of what Mother had once been. A case of the sads overwhelmed the sisters. They missed Mother. They hated what she had done, but they missed the security Mother had offered. Now everything was bared to the world and the changelings felt exposed and vulnerable.

They huddled in mute silence as the odd human ritual played out. The old man spoke for a while longer, then the group rose and sang a few songs. Then there was more speaking, followed by another prayer. Then the people intoned ‘Amen’ as one and began to file out of the room the same way they had entered.

A decision was made. This human was an important figure. The twins nodded to each other, remaining mute. There was no need to speak. Speaking was a waste of energy. The sisters had never spent a day apart and each knew what the other was thinking. After a span of an hour and a half, a mental ping was sent into the hive mind. It was a large and resonating ping. In it was a summary of what the sisters had witnessed. There was pause as the information was ingested. Then, Speaker bade them to continue before the swarm of questions assaulted the sisters.

They had to slam that mental door before the questions flooded their brains like a herd of caffeinated ferrets. The inquisitiveness of their fellow changelings had become more and more insane since the decision was made to find a new queen. The hive mind was supposed to be a place of collective calm and reasoning, not a confusing place where minds wandered about aimlessly and without direction. Alpha and Beta, as they identified themselves, found the current state of the hive mind to be unacceptable.

The old human was interesting. He was a beacon, a leader. The other humans looked up to him for guidance. Perhaps it was of a nature not unlike a mayor, like in Ponyville.

Ah, Ponyville…

Alpha and Beta still remembered the spa they had run for years, collecting love and secreting it back to the hive. They had been very successful at their task. After the failed invasion, they fell back to the hive as the hive mind fell to pieces. Mother had gone silent and the voices of the others had fallen into chaos. All of the collectors were recalled as the hive struggled to right itself.

Against their judgement, Speaker had been chosen and thus entitled to represent the small swarm of changelings who ended up under Catherine’s bed. The reasoning behind choosing such a young human child confused many of the changelings. There was nothing queenly about a six-year-old, even if the magic she held within her was promising.

Promises, after all, could be easily broken.

Catherine was clearly not Mother. Mother was dour, spiteful, and full of pride. Catherine was not. Mother hoarded love. Catherine loved everything. Mother commanded and expected obedience. Catherine was just happy to have something to hug. Mother was driven. Catherine was too young to even understand the concept of what it meant to have a drive.

Her parents, they could become obstacles. Alpha and Beta separated their minds from the hive and had considered Frank and Beatrice to be possible threats to gaining their new queen. Life without a queen was impossible. They thought of the man and the words he had spoke to the other humans. Life without a queen was like a life without knowing God.

It made sense to them.

The Queen was Mother. Mother was God. There was a great gap to be filled. Catherine had been chosen to fill it. All threats to her ascension as queen had to be dealt with.

There was more this human male could teach the twins. They made a decision together.

They watched him from a distance. He was bidding the other people farewell, shaking hands and smiling. He seemed to enjoy talking to the other humans. The man was kind and was the face of devotion to faith. Alpha and Beta saw something to be gained from watching this human. When the last human had departed in their modes of transportation, the twins moved back to the building, but lingered outside.

They had not thought this through.

Humans were not ponies. They were territorial. Ponies were not nearly as territorial. Humans had predatory traits which made them worthy of respect from changelings. What would Mother have done if she had encountered humans? Based on what was known to this point, she would have been certain in her wariness. Humans were confusing creatures. They fought constantly amongst themselves, yet could be just as capable as compassionate creatures.

The human had seemed peaceable enough, but was this his true nature? It had been discovered humans could easily change their moods in the blink of an eye.

As they stood at the door, hidden within their magic, Alpha and Beta—as their brothers and sisters had coined them—considered their options. They wanted to see the human up close. He had a tangible they wanted to understand better. Catherine might benefit from his experiences. She was young and would need guidance to be a leader. The twins had accepted her, but were confused as to how best to prepare their queen-to-be for her crown.

Even with this taken into consideration, there was the air about the humans who had gone into the building earlier. There was a faint touch of magic to their auras, one that skimmed from their beings. The purpose of the magic was unknown, but the twins were leary of it. Though changelings were magical creatures, it did not mean they were well versed in all the forms of magic. What was worse, this was not Equestria. There was an odd feeling to the magic of this world, as if it were slippery and difficult to hold. As the pair had tried to get a better sense of this faint magical residue, it had something oddly familiar to it.

Perhaps Zilla would know. Or perhaps Newton.

As the two debated mentally, Alpha opened up a path to the hive mind and sought out Newton. He pinged in reply, irritated at the interruption. The elder changeling had been working on something. Perhaps another one of his weird experiments.

‘Vat?’ Even in the Mind, Newton had that ridiculous accent.

‘Sending a sample of odd magic. Source: unknown. Purpose: unknown. Taken from a group of humans before they entered a group gathering. Possible connections to our world.’ Alpha’s voice in the hive mind was monotone and indifferent.

Beta, however, was a different story. ‘Dude. I mean, seriously. Dude. Check this out. Dude! The vibes of the magic is, like, totally negative! These vibes are like, such downers! I mean, like, you totally can’t see it until you really get a close look at it. Dude!’ The sounds of bubble gum being chewed accompanied her mental projection.

Newton recoiled from Beta’s mind. ‘Vat is zis I don’t even... Vy do you girls always do zis to me? Vat did I ever do to you? Bah! Nevermind. Vat is zis magic you are talking about?’

‘I am sending you the sample collected for analysis. Standbye. Sample sent. Do you require a follow up?’ Alpha waited patiently while Beta stood on watch. They had taken to hiding in some bushes next to the wooden steps leading up to the doors of the building.

‘One moment.’ Newton’s mind faded as he was distracted. There was pressure and a pop as he returned to the link after several anxious seconds of waiting. ‘Zis. Zis could be a problem. And you zay zere iz no indication as to ze origin of ze magic? Vat have you two been doing?’

Alpha blinked once. ‘We have found a human who seems to have influence over other humans. He appears to be a spiritual leader. There are tangibles we think Catherine would benefit from. Consideration for harvesting is being submitted for consideration. This human has a considerable understanding of how to reach out to other humans. Pacifist views have been noted in the group and reinforced by this human. This could be useful in the eventual contact with human authorities.’

‘Harvest? Vy vould ve harvest? Observe! Observe only!’

‘Unacceptable. Unknown magic is present. Threat to the hive is possible. Steps must be taken to ensure the safety of the swarm. Action must be considered.’

Beta giggled through the hive mind. ‘Dude! C’mon, Dude! This here human is like, a total asset to us! He’s got It! You know, It! We can totally get that to Cathy-boo!’

The facehoof echoed throughout the hive mind, and possibly in some other minds, too. ‘I… You… Vat… Do not move, either of you! Let me talk to Zilla and Speaker and zee vat zey think.’

“Well?” Beta asked her sister while the hive mind was placed on hold. “Were we lucky or were we like, totally lucky? Dude!” Her voice barely contained her excitement.

“The odds were very much against us,” Alpha admitted in a droning voice. “Given the estimated population of this human settlement, it is most fortunate this human was discovered on our first attempt. It would appear humans with charisma attract other humans. It seems to be as common a happening as it was with ponies in Equestria.”

Beta pulled out a large burlap sack and some rope. Uncurling the rope, she wore a greedy smile of anticipation. Oh, to again do things she used to do before everything went to pot! Things were finally going to be fun, not that there was anything wrong with spontaneously breaking out into song and dance, or anything like that. Oh, no, not all all! Beta loved singing! It was one of the downers Mommy had stood by. Mommy had been such a bore! Conquer this! Subdue that! Imitate art! Duplicate dupes! Fit Shining Armor for that maid outfit for afterwords! Bleh!

The static of the hive mind crackled in her head. ‘All right. Ve have come to a consensus. You are to—’

‘Right! On it! Moving with Operation: Foalnap!’

There was confusion on the other end. ‘Vas? No! Vait!’

But, by now, it was far too late. Considering the direction this story has been going, are you really surprised?

> 14. Changeling of the Times
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 


The morning was spent by Frank on the floor in the kitchen, running his hand over the surface of the said floor. Yesterday there had been a hole there caused by an unwanted guest. What he felt with the tips of his fingers did not correlate with the process in which the hole had been patched. No matter where he felt where he thought the edge of the hole had been, Frank could feel nothing. It was as if the hole had never been. There was a subtle difference in the feel of the floor. Where Cabbage had done his work was a sensation of something between rubber and plastic to the touch.

        Catherine sat on her heels next to her father, also touching the floor where Cabbage had dragged his derriere. The memory still had her giggling in fits, which Daddy did nothing to dissuade. If anything, Frank would start chuckling like a little boy.

        Both shared a sense of wonder, but for different reasons. Catherine thought it was all wonderful magic. Of course she would. Her opinion of Cabbage and the changelings had soared when she saw the hole gone and the living room good as new. All the girl did was point out how wonderful and magical her changelings were. Her toothy grin went from ear to ear.

Frank saw a new way of application for his line of work and it involved Cabbage. The man had a sudden spark of inspiration in his eye as he stood and cast his eye towards an exhausted changeling napping on the couch. What he had seen last night was nothing short of amazing, if hilariously disgusting. At least, his wife saw it as disgusting. Frank saw hours of work saved, money saved on materials, and possibilities began to dance through his imagination.

Scratching his chin and staring at the spot on the floor, Frank rose to his feet. Catherine peered up at him. She was still sitting on her heels, her arms wrapped around her legs. Smiling down at his daughter, he beckoned her to stand.

Catherine stood up quickly. “What?” she asked curiously.

“What did you think of the floor, sweetie?”

She blinked, looked at the floor, then back at him. “Cabbage did really good!” Catherine proclaimed with a huge, proud smile.

Frank once more looked at the spot on the floor. “Yes. Yes he did, didn’t he? Why don’t you go see what your mother is doing?”

“She’s sitting in the living room, looking at the changelings,” she informed him as seriously as a six-year-old could manage to be serious. Catherine pouted, “Mommy doesn’t like them.”

“It’s not that she doesn’t like them,” Frank said as he ruffled her hair, “it’s more that she’s afraid of them. They’re not from our world. They are strange to her. They are strange to me. They are strange to everyone. Changelings are aliens to our world.”

“Yeah,” Catherine sighed as she made a slight frown.

Frank leaned over, placing his hands on his knees for support. “What do you think of the changelings?”

The grin returned with a vengeance. “They’re funny! They make a lot of noise! I like it when they sing. They have good voices. Please, please, please don’t make them go away! They don’t have anywhere else to go and people will be mean to them. I just know it!” Her smile had faded to something filled with fear.

Her father sighed and he hugged his daughter with one arm. Frank squeezed for good measure. “And you’ve tried to tell me and your mom the whole time, haven’t you?” Small arms encircled his neck as the hug was returned.

Catherine nodded into his neck. The hug broke and Frank straightened himself. “Go to your mother. See how she’s doing. I’m going to… Well, I’ve got to think on some things. Your friend Cabbage did something pretty special.” He booped his daughter on the nose, causing a fit of giggles to erupt from the little girl.

“Okay, Daddy.” Catherine skipped off to find Beatrice. The girl’s mood had been swinging quite a bit, given the events happening since yesterday.

Frank sighed and scratched the back of his head as he watched his daughter disappear around the corner. He heard her cry out, ‘Mommy!’ and her voice was followed by an ‘oof!’ from Beatrice. Frank shook his head and chuckled. He again thought about Cabbage and changelings in general. There were a lot of questions, serious questions in need of answers. These were the questions that had circled his mind, trying to find their own voices since he recovered from his first definitely not fainting spell.

His first and foremost question had two parts: what would the country do in reaction to the existence of changelings and how would it impact his family? How would the neighborhood react? What about his own family? What about the tabloids? Oh, Lord, the tabloids!

No matter what he thought, Frank could not see anything good coming of it. He suspected the love of his life was thinking the same thoughts. Beatrice was always thinking a step or two ahead of him. She was the one who took care of the bills. Frank was just happy going from one contract to the next and spending time with his family. He made better money than his wife, but she was better at spending it. Boy, was she better at spending it!

Frank pondered the ponderable, even considering some things beyond pondering. It blanked his mind and he heaved a worried sigh. Scratching his day-old stubble, he crossed his free arm over his chest and found his eyes drawn to movement at the sliding glass door in the dining room. He had to lean over a tad to see past the breakfast bar, but sure enough, there was a changeling waving at him. Which one was it? They all looked the same to him.

But, there one was, sitting on his back porch, peering into the house and waving at Frank. It was a frantic wave, complete with the expression of utter panic. As the man stood there, staring in blank disbelief at the fact there was a changeling on his back porch, said changeling began tapping on the glass. Frank probably should have left the changeling sitting there. He imagined going up to the door and closing the blinds. Heck, it worked for Bugs Bunny. Problems went away when you hid them. It worked, didn't it? It had to!

Frank did not close the blinds. As much as he wanted to, as much as he—on one hand —wanted the changelings to go away, another part of his brain—the responsible part of it— poked and prodded the human into opening the door. There was a question in need of answering. Cursing at his own feeble inability to not ignore what appeared to be some sort of crisis, Frank watched as his own body betrayed him. He watched his hand go to the handle of the door, grasp it, then slide it open. The changeling stopped tapping on the glass and waited on anxious hooves, shifting from one to the other. It dawned on Frank as the air from outside rushed in and hit him in the face that the changeling was Speaker.

“Curse you brain,” he whispered to himself. “Curse you!” 

The changeling swallowed hard, looking up at the towering human. Frank, to it, appeared as a looming giant peering down upon a puny mortal daring to enter his domain. “I am sorry for violating your order from yesterday,” the changeling said nervously, “but something has happened.” It was indeed Speaker.

Frank wanted to close the door in Speaker’s face. The changelings were giving him ulcers. He was probably going to have a heart attack, keel over, and die. The man’s cholesterol level was going to come back and haunt him. The years of eating fatty foods and fried things had culminated to this moment, and Frank was going to die from the sheer stupidity of the past twenty-four hours. Now, if only what he had just thought actually made sense.

“What?” he demanded to Speaker, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his shoulders. Frank glowered, his stubbly chin on his chest as he spread his feet aggressively. 

Speaker, while not exactly bright, was not exactly stupid, either. “There is a problem,” he squeaked, trying to fight the terror in his voice. “There is a big problem. A dilemma. Two of my sisters have done something rash. Possibly stupid... Suicidal?” The poor changeling was shivering in his chitin. “Please let me in. I can’t be exposed out here. There is this really old hooman lady creeping us out. She’s been in her backyard with binoculars. I get the feeling she can see through our magic. It is terrifying! It makes no sense and is inconceivable, but my brothers and sisters are nervous!”

“Get in,” growled Frank, stepping aside. “Quickly!”

Speaker needed no prompting. The changeling darted in, his ears swiveling everywhere as his nostrils flared and sniffed at the air. His wings buzzed, reflecting his agitated state. The human poked his head outside and checked for any prying eyes. Frank then pulled back and closed the door behind him, his mask of worry beginning to morph into something else: Fear.

“What is this problem?” Frank asked, making the changeling jump with a yelp. The man softened his gaze just a little. “Geez, what is with you? How bad is this problem?”

“Alpha and Beta. They have done something very stupid.” Speaker tapped at the floor with both hooves. He tried to sit down on his haunches, but he was too worked up to remain seated. Up and down. Up and down. The third time Speaker finally made the conscientious decision to force himself to sit down. His body trembled as though he was sitting in a bathtub full of ice.

“Are they changelings?” Frank asked.

“Yes. My sisters. They have done something stupid. I need your help. Please!”

Beatrice’s voice rose from the living room. “Who is it, Frank?”

“It’s Speaker,” he replied, raising his voice to match her volume. To the changeling in question, he said, “Come on. Let’s go into the living room.” Without waiting for a reply, he began to move.

Speaker fell in step behind him. His wings continued to buzz in little spurts.

“Speaker!” Catherine crowed when she saw her friend. She slid down from her mother’s lap and ran to the changeling. “You’re okay!” The Mother of All Hugs came in the form of a glomp as the little girl nearly speared Speaker. “I missed you!”

“My Queen!” Speaker’s gloominess evaporated in the wake being tackle-hugged. He drank in her love and let out a happy sigh. ‘Twas good to be loved!

“Why are you here?” Beatrice asked in a flat, unwelcoming tone.

Catherine frowned and looked up from her hug. It became a protective hold over the changeling. She was becoming very protective as of late. Why was she so attached to the little buggers? Beatrice tried not to smirk at her own words.

Angela looked up from where she had been watching over her brother. She was in quiet repose on the couch, next to a huddled form swathed in blankets. Cabbage could be heard sawing logs from within the blanket. His snores weren’t too annoying. They might have even been considered adorable. A snot bubble grew and shrank with each exhale and inhale. Nobody dared touch it.

“Hello, brother,” she said to Speaker in a hushed voice.

“Why haven’t you been answering?” demanded Speaker, indifferent to his slumbering brother. “I’ve called you and called you. The others have tried reaching you! Why haven’t you answered?” He bared his fangs and snapped them. “A crisis has fallen upon us! Cats and dogs are living together! Don’t you even check your messages?”

Angela replied in a bored tone, “No. I do not. I’ve been supervising Cabbage. He fixed the hole in the kitchen.”

“Dear sister, dear sister,” Cabbage’s muzzle mumbled in dreamy slumber. The snot bubble popped as he spoke. His muzzle was the only thing poking from beneath the blankets. The whole room paused and stared until the snoring resumed.

In a much quieter tone of voice, Speaker hissed at Angela, “Why didn’t you respond? Alpha and Beta did something stupid!”

“They declared an undying love for Coke II™?” Angela ventured in mock horror.

“Well, nothing that serious,” Speaker admitted with the sureness of a pimpled nerd asking out the prom queen while thinking his zits were going to explode in her face at any given moment. “They took a hooman.”

Frank’s eyes bulged. “‘Took’? What do you mean by ‘took’?”

“There’s more,” Speaker went on, his voice taking on a sullen tone.

Cabbage bolted upright from where he lay. “I reign supreme!” he blurted with a fang-filled grin. He then slid back under the mass of blankets until only one ear could be seen. It flicked twice, then was still as Cabbage began to snore again. The world then resumed its usual shenanigans. 

“What do you mean?” Frank demanded as he glowered at a cowering Speaker. He had his Daddy Voice in full force. 

“A miscommunication happened. Old habits are hard to kick,” the changeling babbled at the floor. “Standing procedure is to take and examine. Consideration was not given in regards to consequences in a strange land with strange creatures.”

Beatrice was shaking her head. “What is wrong with you guys?”

Speaker’s lower lip quivered. He looked pitiful. “It’s what we know. It’s what we were taught. We don’t associate with other species unless we are imitating them. Even then, we operate under rules Mother ingrained into us since we were nymphs. We are taught to learn, imitate, observe, absorb, and capture if necessary. It depends on the mission and its requirements. Most of our work is passive in nature, but when we need information and are desperate for it or a source of really strong emotion, we will do a snatch and grab. Mother taught us to take the initiative when an opportunity presents itself. Alpha and Beta still cling to the old ways. They must be corrected. Things must be put to rights before it all goes bad.”

Frank and Beatrice both groaned and clapped a hand over their faces at the same time.

“My changelings did something bad?” Catherine asked with an angry pout. She released Speaker and put her fists on her hips, glaring at him. He flinched under her queenly (but adorable) glare. “They must be punished! My changelings do not do bad things! Doing bad things is wrong! I’m a good queen! My changelings must also be good, Speaker! I’m mad at you!” The diabetes inducement was strong in this one.

“I’m so glad I wasn’t chosen to be Speaker,” Angela commented as she settled comfortably into her seat. “So, so glad.” Her grin showed no mercy for her brother.

Speaker snapped his head up and towards her. “It’s not funny!” 

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Tragic.” She noted to outraged expressions on the two humans. “On a snatch and grab, absolutely no harm is done to the abducted. A damaged capture is considered a failure. At some point, they are returned from where they were taken once curiosities are satisfied.”

“Alien probes?” Frank blurted without thinking.

“Franklin Benjamin Thomas!” Beatrice slapped him in the shoulder.

Frank would not be denied his alien conspiracy theory. “Honey, they’re aliens from another world. They kidnap people. He just admitted that’s what they do!” A finger was wagged in accusation at Speaker.

“Trying to move away from it, actually,” sighed Speaker. It was turning into a bad weekend. A part of him wanted his mommy. Then he remembered what kind of mommy she was to begin with. The portal was closed. At least, there wasn’t anything under Catherine’s bed save for a roving band of dust bunnies now. “We just want to do the right thing. We just don’t know what the right thing is. We’re so used to having Mother make all the big decisions for us. We’re lost without someling telling us what to do. We’re drones. We live to follow orders.”

Frank sighed and exchanged glances with his wife. She shrugged at him.

“All right, Speaker,” he sighed in resignation, “where is he now?”

Eager to please and desperate to set things right, Speaker cried out, “I’ll show you! It’s in our hive!”

Beatrice and Frank said together, “You have a hive?” It was a mix of horror and intrigue.

“I want to see the hive!” Catherine piped excitedly.

“No!” Her parents proclaimed.

“That’s not fair!”

        
> 15. Oh Yeah, the Cat
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



Catherine was dressed and ready to go before her parents could blink. She wore jeans, a short sleeved shirt bearing the smiling image of Princess Celestia, and a pair of tennis shoes. Being a mindful girl, she remembered to grab her pink light jacket. Her eyes were aglow with excitement as she battled with the impatience of having Mommy and Daddy move so slow!

        Frank and Beatrice had clearly remembered telling their daughter ‘no’, but somehow, some way, they had changed their minds. Still, they had their own curiosities to sake. There was nothing dreadful about a changeling hive, was there? Oh, sure, the little horseflies were prone to unintended destruction, sang a bit too loudly, and made Riverdance seem like a quiet prance through the meadow, but that didn’t mean they were dangerous, did it?

        Was horsefly a derogatory term? Would changelings find offense in the word? The couple shared nervous glances as the changelings sat on the living room couch.

        “Is Old Lady Crawford still in her backyard?” Frank asked his wife. He was sitting at the kitchen table and putting his work boots on. He imagined the ravine would be muddy. Friday had been the first rainless day all week.

        Beatrice sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll check.” As she went by her husband, she swatted him in the back of the head.

        He grinned at her. “Love you.”

        “I know, husband of mine.” Beatrice stood at the sliding glass door and opened it. Peering outside, she then stepped out. 

        “I’m getting full,” Speaker quipped from where he sat on the couch.

        “We’re changelings,” Angela replied as she slid down from sitting next to him. “We’re never full. Kind of like insatiable shrews.”

        “Or movie stars.”

        “Oh, yes, that’s a good one!”

        “Is Cabbage coming?” Speaker prodded his brother’s lumpy form. Cabbage was still under the blanket. As he poked and prodded, a hoof shot from the mass of comfortable snuggliness, smacking Speaker right on the honker.

        Angela flicked her tail. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

        Rubbing his sore snoot, Speaker grunted, “Point taken.” He flit his wings and lifted himself up and off the couch before dropping to the ground. A glare of supreme irritation was thrown at Cabbage.

        Catherine commanded, “Become doggies!” 

        Frank frowned at his daughter, then found her order to be reasonable. “Manners, Cathy. How do we ask for something?”

        Shamefaced, she replied in a tiny voice, “Please and thank you?”

        Beatrice, meanwhile, had been doing a masterful job of appearing nonchalant. “She’s not in her yard,” she informed as she came halfway through the door. Her attention fell upon her daughter. “What’s going on?”

        “I forgot to ask nicely for something,” her daughter said.

        Speaker, meanwhile, had to add his own two cents. “I live to serve my Queen!” Silly Speaker.

        Beatrice rounded on him, her lips turned down in disapproval. “My daughter will have manners. My daughter will be respectful. My daughter will ask politely and be thankful. You encouraging her to be abusive of servitude given to her is not helpful.” She wanted to say more, but bit her tongue and narrowed her eyes at the changeling.

        Silly Speaker. “I meant no offense,” he squeaked.

        “So glad. So, so, so glad,” Angela grinned at him with sisterly malice.

        “Angela?” Catherine asked in a squeaky voice.

        “Yes, my Queen?” Angela sat and became attentive before her chosen monarch.

        “Can you turn into a doggie?”

        “Would something like what Cabbage became be good?” Angela asked with a soft smile. She understood as she glanced at Beatrice. The matriarch had to be appeased at all costs. The changeling understood this and hoped her brother would, too.

        “Please and thank you.” Catherine punctuated the words as if they had been drilled into her. She had been getting a glare from her mother. The girl had shrunk from her mother’s withering glare.

        “I hear and obey, my Queen,” Angela said with a bow. Speaker’s jaw had dropped as he had looked with disbelief and envy.

        “I’m worried about the cops,” Frank announced as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “We’re going to get arrested. We’re going to jail. You little idiots are going to get discovered and my family is going to get ripped apart because of this. Idiots. All of you! But I’m going to help you guys. Not because I like you, oh no. I don’t even want you things around my daughter. You kidnapped a human being! Once we get this taken care of, I want all of you changelings out of my family’s life forever!” His hands were balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

        “Frank,” Beatrice chided softly. “There was a mistake. It can be fixed. They don’t know any better.” She pulled the door shut behind her as she came in. As a wife who knew her husband, she was well aware of her husband’s moods. Frank was frustrated and standing on frayed nerves.

        Frank seethed. He was torn. He could see what changelings were capable of. They could be very useful. The repairs to his kitchen and living room were good testaments. But these creatures were self destructive. They did dumb things. They behaved like unruly children raised by an indifferent mother. They needed help. By the same token, they could very well drag everything and everyone around them down in flames. 

        To this point, it was a fair assumption the fires would be spectacular.

        “Daddy, no!” a certain daughter cried out.

        Frank hesitated. He looked at his daughter and how crushed she was. The changelings appeared devastated, with their ears splayed back as they looked up upon him as though he were some sort of wrathful god.

        “We can set things right,” Speaker started. His voice fell away as words failed him.

        Frank then grunted. He was waffling. Indecision was making him blurt whatever was coming to mind. The man was frustrated. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes. The changelings were staring at him, sharing quick looks with each other, then focusing back upon the big man. He was indeed larger than the average human, from what had been gathered to this point. This was a man who delved into physical labor almost every day.

        “We can’t,” Angela sighed. “This is what got us into trouble with the Equestrians, brother. This is why we can’t go home anymore.”

        “Frank,” Beatrice called to her husband in a gentle whisper. “Frank, we need to give them a chance. They did fix my kitchen. They did apologize. But they need us. I don’t know why, but I feel they need us. We can’t just abandon them. If we let them be, if we don’t help them, then things are going to go badly for them.” She came up to him, encircling her arms around his waist. Frank resisted at first, but relaxed. He could not look his wife in the eye. He could not look anyone—or anyling—in the eye.

        “We can feel your emotions,” Speaker said. “We know how you feel. If you really wanted us gone, we’d know. You like us, but you are also afraid of us. We are afraid of you, but we don’t know where else to go. Please, help us. Please keep us from making terrible mistakes.”

        “How is the hive coming along, anyways?” Angela asked, trying to change the subject.

        Glad for the distraction, Beatrice cut in, “I would love to see your hive. I think this would be a wonderful chance to get to know more about you changelings. I know I want to get over my fear of you all. I want to set a good example for my daughter.”

        Frank rubbed his chin, unsure. “Why me?” he bemoaned. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” Storming for the door, he slid it open with a yank and stalked outside, muttering under his breath. He was so wound up, he neglected to grab his jacket. Despite it being mid spring, it was still cool outside even past noon.

        Two pairs of forms were engulfed in green fire as a pair of gray, wolfish-looking canines replaced Angela and Speaker’s natural forms. Padding out the door, they whined as they followed the human. Beatrice scooted her daughter through the door and followed after the group, closing the door behind her. The group trekked the hundred yards across the backyard towards the creek. 





        Meanwhile, back in the house, Cabbage finally awoke from his nap. The hornless changeling smacked his lips and ran his tongue repeatedly over his fangs. Hopping down from his blankets, he hit the floor and immediately began to stretch himself out like an oversized cat. His spine popped as he worked the kinks out of his joints. Shaking his head, he looked around with owlish eyes, his ears swiveling slowly. It was quiet. Too quiet.

        Where was everybody? Where was his Queen?

        His attention fell upon the idiot box. It was dark and quiet. The monster which mesmerized his brothers and sisters slumbered, no doubt still digesting the IQ of its latest victims. Oh, it was a nasty ambush predator. It stalked the unwary and unleashed its fury upon the witless. Yet it was also capable of teaching, to fill minds with new ideas and offer up the opinions of others. This was a strange god, Cabbage decided. It was fickle and indiscriminate to those upon which it preyed.

        This made it a false god which led under false pretenses. Cabbage wanted to slay the god, be known as the Godslayer, but he did not do so. He felt such action would arouse the ire of his Queen. He could sense her presence in this room. Her scent, along with the scent of her parents, was in everything. He knew where each human preferred to sit. He had sniffed a lot of seats since coming into the house. Mother had once dubbed him her Royal Sniffer. That had been long ago, back when she used to sing and smile.

        Catherine made Cabbage smile now. Catherine liked to hear the changelings sing. She wanted them to be happy and she gave them her love. If his brothers and sisters could keep focusing on the Queen’s parents, then it would make the rest so much easier. Cabbage wanted a home for his family. A mewling  whimper escaped from his lips.

        Cabbage wished Mother could have been so free with her love.

        With a sigh, he followed the most recent scents and came to the back door. He could see figures fading into the trees and knew who they were. Blinking, he turned his head to one side as he caught movement.

        It was that old lady again. He flicked an ear and hissed at her. She was looking and she thought she was hidden. Crouching behind some bushes in her backyard, she was well hidden from those she was watching, but Cabbage could see her. The human was doubled over, wearing her bathrobes. They were pink and blue in the most hideous sort of way. Cabbage felt there was something threatening about her. Was it the yellow curlers in her old lady hair? Something was odd about this human. Did it have something to do with the support hoses beneath the hem of her robes? It was beyond the understanding of one such as Cabbage. There was something familiar about the old woman, something from the lessons taught to him before the accident.

        Evil undulated like an oppressive cloud, unseen by the others, but clinging to the frail form of the leathery-faced old woman. The others could not see it. Cabbage could not see it before, but he was staring at her hard and with undivided attention. The more he tried to focus, the more he was compelled to believe there was nothing there. It hurt his head and his eyes blurred, but Cabbage would not be deterred.

        The woman had emotional focus. It attracted the changeling. Such venom! Such envy! Such… hunger. Cabbage understood power. He had basked in his mother’s power. He knew what evil felt like. Mother was a powermonger. She was a builder of empires. She hated the other races. They were inferior. Cabbage could never understand why. But she had also encountered something like what Cabbage was feeling right now. Then, she had avoided it. It was too risky to her children. She let them all know, his brothers and sisters. This evil was not to be trifled with.

        That evil was here, right next door to the chosen Queen. The hatred that pooled around the human’s shadow made Cabbage recoil. He could sense the seething mass of unrelenting resentment around the human known as Linda Crawford.

        Compared to anything else Cabbage had ever known before in his life, that old spiteful woman was the most terrifying thing he had ever met.

        There was a meow. Cabbage turned and saw Mr. Mephistopheles. Yellow eyes met solid blue. There was an understanding.

        His ears were pierced by an unholy howl. In the blink of an eye, there was a ferocious ball of fur latched on Cabbage’s face. The changeling realized something profound at that very moment. It was a lesson he would forever take to heart.

Claws hurt like heck, man!

        

        

        

> 16. It Came from the Internet
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



Meanwhile, at the Legion of Doom’s secret headquarters… 

A pair of changelings slinked through the library, their heads turning this way and that as they explored the rooms. It was not a large building, nor was it exactly small. The interior was spacious and open to the second floor. In the open space hung odd items and banners suspended from wires. They were colorful, their wording was bold and eye-catching, but that did not interest the changelings right now. They needed information. They needed to know something about humans and their world.

        It was agreed that a library was a good place to start.

        There were rows upon rows of books, the shelves groaning under the weight of the knowledge within them. The library was clean and dusted. It was also deserted. To the changelings, it was a huge sigh of relief. Still, they were as nervous as long tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs. Just because humans didn’t seem to show an affinity towards magic did not mean they did not have it secreted away elsewhere. It was reasoned between the two changelings, if there was magic, it would be used to protect their knowledge. There had to be wards in the library!

        Yet, neither could sense anything.

        Both changelings were males. They were also from the same clutch. Smaller than their brothers and sisters, this pair was also the youngest. The brothers had stumbled and bumbled their way through the city, nearly being discovered several times. Sheer dumb luck had saved them from discovery multiple times. Yet, they were not oblivious to their near discoveries. If anything, it made the pair all the more paranoid.

        Whispers through the mind told them Wesley had found chocolate. They wanted chocolate. All they found were musty old books in a human building. Libraries. Yeck! Books were edible, but the ink used on some of them left questionable aftertastes. How would human books fare? They appeared as though they would at least make for good pulp.

        One of them found a cookbook and was tasting it. After a nibble and a speculative chew of the corner of the cover, he spat it out and made a sour face. “Hoomans make terrible books!”

        “We’re supposed to read them, not eat them,” his companion said with a roll of his eyes.

        His brother held up the book. “How else are we supposed to learn?” Shameless were his words.

        The first changeling facehooved. “I—you—ugh!”

        The grin that followed was even more infuriating. They needed something to alleviate their frayed nerves. The human world was confusing and crowded. Even in the silence of the morning, signs of human influence was everywhere. There was even a suspicion the humans controlled the weather and the sun and moon. It made sense, as there were no pegasi or alicorns to do those tasks.

        “Nevermind that. We need to familiarize ourselves with human customs. Start looking for books on local culture. They must have a catalogue system of some sort.”

        The first floor was filled with tables and chairs, along with what appeared to be the librarian’s desk. There were boxes with black screens on them to one side of the room. One was turned on.

        The first changeling spied it. Tapping his brother on the shoulder, he pointed him at it. “A god is awake!”

        “Does it require worship?” his brother asked.

        “I will not be a slave to the idiot box,” the other proclaimed. Curiosity, however, begged he should at least investigate further.

        The two changelings made their way to the glowing screen, their eyes as wide as saucers. It sat upon a small desk and was mounted on a black box with a tiny glowing green light to one side. In front of it was an odd pad with square buttons and rectangles of various sizes. The first changeling sat himself comfortably in the chair in front of the desk. His brother noted another chair at a nearby desk and scooted it next to his brother. Then, he too made himself comfortable.

        They stared at the screen. ‘Welcome to the Springfield Public Library’ proclaimed the words centered in the glowing light. Underneath it, in much smaller text, ‘press any key to continue’. The changelings looked at the screen. They blinked, turned their heads to each other, and blinked again. For good measure, they blinked for a third time, as if the act would present for them the answer to the dilemma.

        “What is the ‘any’ key?” they asked each other.

        A tentative hoof reached out and tapped the screen. Eyes searched the ground in dim hopes someling had left a key for them to use. Why must humans riddle them with riddles? This work was an enigma, wrapped in a cypher, and double-coated in dark chocolate. Were the holes in their changeling bodies riddling not enough?

        “Should we offer a sacrifice?” the second changeling asked the first.

        “What do we offer it?” The first looked around, still looking for that darned key.

        A partially chewed cookbook was placed before the glowing god. It settled upon the rectangular thing with the odd pegs. There was a click and the screen flashed with a bright myriad of colors. The startled changelings almost fell backwards out of their chairs as they reared back in surprise. They bounced forward and stared as the screen changed. The god then spoke.

        “Hello! My name is Carol. I am here to help you find whatever you might need help with! Please, type or say what book or type of literature you wish information on. When asking a question, please speak clearly into the microphone mounted above the monitor. Please keep in mind certain sites are blocked as the Springfield Public Library is meant to provide free access to the internet to all ages. Some sites are inappropriate for public computers. How can I help you today?”

        “We demand human culture!” the brothers blurted. 

They began shouting questions at the god, forgetting in the heat of the moment it could obliterate them at any given moment.

        “How do humans live?”

        “Why do humans wear clothes?”

        “What do humans eat?”

        “What country are we in?”

        “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

        “Will I ever find true love?”

        “You have a pretty voice, Carol. Are you single?”

        Both changelings waited on bated breath as the screen flickered. After a few agonizing seconds, the voice replied, “Could you please repeat your question?”

        “You had to ask her if she’s single, didn’t you?” the first changeling asked the second. A hard knock to the back of the head by a hoof followed. “Let’s be practical about this—we’ve got a willing goddess who will tell us whatever we want. All it took was a cookbook!” He rolled his lips back and forth while his brother glared at him. “We need to know about the human mind. Frank is being difficult. Speaker won’t stop ranting at how difficult he is to keep placated.”

        His rolling lips stopped rolling. Chancing a glance at his brother (who was sticking his tongue out at him, hiding it when he was looked at, then sticking it back out when attention was turned back to the screen), he asked with slow forming words, “Goddess Carol, using magical theory for mental application on hoomans, what is the best way to keep a hooman mind under control as opposed to an equines? You see, we’re having a hard time keeping a large human male docile and cooperative. He is prone to mood swings, far more than his wife, who has been to this point a lot easier to handle. What is the best way to keep a hooman male under our mind control?” 

There! The question had been posed! The changelings would have their answers and they would have their guide to this strange and terrifying world! 

        Carol thought hard on the question (given in several parts). The goddess responded after a pregnant pause, “Magic is the power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces. Among the earliest psychological theories is the psychosis theory, advanced by Sigmund Freud. According to this theory, ‘primitive man’ is not a rational being, and in fact magical thinking bears a strong resemblance to neuroses. However, this conclusion has come into question, as more recent psychological theory acknowledges that psychological testing does not cross cultures with complete accuracy.” Carol stopped, then in an altered voice, added, “Taken from Wikipedia, Psychological Theories of Magic.”

        The first changeling’s mouth hung open, his jaw hanging (even squeaking as if on metal hinges). “What?” he asked intelligently. 

        “Magic, I guess, is an irrational thing?” shrugged his brother helplessly. “Hoomans require brain damage to access their magic?”

        “I… don’t think it goes that far,” his brother replied, feeling way out of his mental league. “Newton would know. Do you have that memorization spell?”

        “Uh, yeah? I don’t think I’m going to like where this is going…”

        “Memorize the goddess’ memories. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

        “You want me to what?” The second changeling’s eyes went wide. Beads of sweat appeared on his chitin. Which was weird, since changelings don’t have sweat glands. There is a lot of explaining to do in regards to previous chapters and changeling sweat, isn’t there? Another plot hole. Go figure. Shaking aside the breaking of the fourth wall by our story, he stared at the screen. “I dunno. I don’t think my brain could handle a goddess.”

        His brother growled, “Just skim her.”

        “You skim her mind!”

        An impromptu shoving match erupted until one changeling was knocked out of his chair. The other had shoved so hard, he too soon followed. 

Meanwhile, outside and clearly visible from one of the massive windows of the library, a pair of changelings zipped past a few feet off the ground on buzzing wings. One was holding several boxes of stolen chocolate bars while the other was giving furious chase. Wesley was wearing a manic grin and his muzzle was smeared with chocolate. He was laughing. It was the sort of laugh best associated with one who was running for his life and having the greatest sugar high in the history of changelings to fuel his love addled brain. TK421 was not sharing his enthusiasm as she threw round-eyed and panicked stares over her shoulders, alternating between them. Nope, not one bit did she share her brother’s love of the chase.

        Behind them were some humans giving chase. Pitchforks and torches may have been involved. But, when a changeling is in a state of panic and has no queen to seek comfort from, well, let’s just say the imagination tends to expand just a tad.

        Anyhoo, back to our two library spelunkers!

        Oblivious to what was going on outside, both brothers picked themselves up off the carpet, glaring at each other. Then, one of them had a brilliant idea. It was a terrible, awful, splendid idea!

        “What if we both did it? What if we spread the spell along the hive mind?” one suggested to the other. It was difficult to tell which changeling was which. “Everyling will get the knowledge we seek. To this point, everything we know about humans comes from that wierd portal guardian. I think this is a benevolent goddess. She accepted a chewed up book.”

        Well, the reasoning sounded reasonable enough, so the two shared a sage nod and climbed back into their respective chairs.

        The question was nervously posed, “We’re just skimming, right?” 

        “Yeah, yeah! Nothing too much! Just enough to help us understand hooman magic! Nothing bad will—”

        “Hold it right there! You don’t want to jinx us!”

        “You’re right! Okay, then let’s just cross our hooves and pray Mother still loves us!”

        “Eh, good enough. Chargin’ my magic!” The tell-tale green glow of changeling magic wrapped itself around a changeling horn. A beam shot from the horn and to the screen. The moment the spell hit the goddess, Carol then blessed the changeling hive with a smidgen of her wisdom. And, like the old MTV commercial (before the station went to pot), a blast of invisible energy struck the two changelings as the spell responded to the information it contacted with. It even came with awesome electric guitar play. Sunglasses appeared on their faces and they gripped the sides of their cheap library seats as they gazed into the light of incoming knowledge.

        “Wheeeeee!” they cried, not fully understanding the power of the Internet and everything that comes with it. Luckily, from the library, some sites were blocked. On the plus side, both changelings found their identities and even selected names for themselves while their brains were being addled with human knowledge. 

        And thus, two Meme Lords were born.







Meanwhile, back at the Halls of Justice…

Ni was a quiet changeling. She was an unassuming little mare who did her job and did not complain about it. She loved working with her brothers and sisters for a common goal. With her was Bob, an older brother who felt unappreciated as Gordon’s understudy. Both were in the hive’s brand new kitchen, putting on the finishing touches.

“Now, we just need a stove, a refrigerator, a dishwasher, a sink with running water, and floor tiles,” Bob said to her as he brushed the dust off his hooves.

“Ni!” agreed Ni. She was always ‘Ni’ing’ everyling. There was an ongoing debate as to if this was adorable or annoying.

Another female changeling entered. She hovered on her insectile wings and wore the expression of someling who had been working nonstop for ten hours. Exhausted and unable to enjoy the sanctity of a little peace and quiet in a busy hive, she was looking for changelings who were not filling the air with their endless chittering. Pindrop nudged her sister in greeting after she entered the kitchen. Everything important in this story happened in a kitchen to this point, so… why not here?

Work at the new hive had been nonstop. The changelings had thrown themselves fully into the task of making their new home. Word came from Speaker, the Queen and her parents were coming, so there was a mad scramble to at least tidy up the construction. Things had to be in inspection order! Word had spread the moment the approaching party had entered into the woods. The Queen was coming! Joy buzzed throughout the hive mind. 

Pindrop had just finished her task of shoring up one of the side tunnels. Hope for a snack had dragged her to the kitchen. It was pleasantly quiet compared to the din everywhere else. Excitement for the pending visit from the Queen was rising to a fever pitch. Not all changelings were all about making happy noises in anticipation of Catherine’s arrival. What was wrong with a simple moment of a smile and sharing a hug... or three?

At least it wasn’t like the Beatles when they first arrived in America many decades ago.

Then, the hive mind was flooded with something different. Something overwhelming. Something terrifying! Pindrop froze, staring at Ni. Bob’s head jerked up. Three pairs of eyes glowed a swirl of color as a spell rolled through their minds. Frozen by the magic, they were held fast in place, unable to even twitch a muscle, no matter how hard they tried.

Ni tried very hard to run somewhere, anywhere!

The flood of information had almost exclusive content on humans. What they had learned before paled in comparison. Everything that defined humanity, the things that divided humanity, united humanity… The floodgates had opened and the unsuspecting changelings were bowled over in complete surprise as their minds endured the full force of learning without time to absorb it. There was no preparation. There was no defense. The hive mind was wide open and its greatest asset revealed its greatest weakness. What affected one changeling affected the others across the mind scape. The reactions varied from changeling to changeling, depending upon their mental strengths.

Quite a few dropped to the ground, stiff legged and stunned. Others yelped in pain, clutching hooves to their heads as the mother-of-all hangovers struck without so much as a ‘hello.’

In another part of the small, but growing, hive, the oldest changeling was correcting some ongoing construction. Changelings were constantly adjusting as they built, conforming to the earth and encountering odd human pipes and lines as they dug. Newton, engrossed in some last minute details before going out to greet the entourage, knew the hive mind well enough to feel the incoming wave before it struck in all its glory. 

“Mein goddess,” he whispered, scrambling to put up a mental defense. The old changeling was quick enough, but he still reeled from the impact to his mind. “Dummkopf! Idiots! Imbeciles! Dummkopf, dummkopf, dummkopf!”

His eyes rolled white, then shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. After what felt like an eternity, he blinked. The colors faded away and the immense pressure on his mind faded away. Newton took stock of the situation. He found his mind stuffed to the gills with access to information he did not have before. An odd thought struck him, and it came out of nowhere.

“Vy do I know kung fu?” 

        

> 17. Dancing Queen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. 



Meanwhile, somewhere in Equestria…

        Deep within the caverns of a hive hidden deep within the Badlands, away from the notice of the world was a lonely figure. She lay upon her throne, shrouded in shadows and surrounded by empty tubs of ice cream. This monarch was slumped over her seat, like a black bean bag, with her legs dangling over the sides of the round stone covered in plush red cushions. Every once in a while, a groan would issue forth from her throat. It was a sound best suited for a stomachache or perhaps even bad gas.

        Or both.

        A pair of guards, armed and armored stood at the entrance to the throne room, casting worried looks upon the sorry creature wallowing in self pity. When Mother took bad news, she took it hard. They carried their voices in whispers. Very quiet whispers. For the creature lying upon the throne had very keen ears to go with eyes best suited for low lighting.

        “She ordered more Triple Chocolate Eruption,” one said to the other.

        His companion winced. “That bad? Over the misfits?”

        “Well, she did and does love them, even if they were little more than cleaning crew.”

        “But she hardly even remembers their names!” hissed Guard Two. This was his real name. For realsies.

        Guard One (not kidding) sighed and threw a pitying glance at the moaning thing. Mother had not been in this state since, well… forever.

        “My babies,” a voice groaned from the throne room. “My beautiful, beautiful babies. Gone. Where have my babies gone?”

        Queen Chrysalis rose, or attempted to. Her belly was distended and full of ice cream. Some of it was smeared all over her muzzle and lips. Ice cream was even stuck to her chin, for there were moments she had forsaken a spoon and had plunged headfirst into her snacking with the gusto of a starved wolf. Or a trendy kid into a bottle of Mountain Dew. Whichever applies. I dunno. I just write the stuff.

        The Queen was in a sorry state. Ever since they had returned from the failed invasion, she had worked herself into a frenzy gathering her children together. It had taken nearly two months and it was, at times, like herding mentally challenged cats. The trauma had affected all the changelings in various ways. Everything she did, she did for them. The evil things. The evil monologuing. The evil laugh. She had worked on all of that to provide a future for her offspring, even if she had gone to the point of despair in naming them.

        After a million names, a mind tends to warp for some reason. Chrysalis had lived an Age or two to this point and she felt at this point of her life, she had badly undervalued how much her children meant to her. In all of her many, many, many years of life, the queen had started taking her offspring for granted. No matter how many came and went during her rule over the hive, she had always felt their passing and mourned in her own way.

        “Give me back my babies!” she cried to the uncaring ceiling, waving a spoon menacingly in the air. “Where is that ice cream? I want the box of memories. Bring me the box of memories! I want to beat myself over the head with pictures they drew for me, but I neglected them and didn’t put them on the refrigerator like a good mommy should have! Your horrible mother commands this! Make it so!”

        Guard One looked at Guard Two. “I’m scared.”

        “I need an adult,” noted Guard Two.

        “I am an adult! And your mother!” Queen Chrysalis roared from the throne room. “Ice Cream! Now!”

        Both guards scrambled to do as they were told. Mother knew best, after all. Besides, neither wanted to stand in the corner for disobeying.

        For two months she had scoured all the places she could to gather up her children after what had happened in the heart of Equestria. Canterlot would forever be a blight in her memory, albeit a hazy one. She barely remembered much of it, save for what her changelings had told her. Chrysalis could clearly remember the first phases of her grand scheme to take over Equestria. She had infiltrated the defenses, sprinkled her children strategically in the right places throughout Canterlot, and had even managed to foalnap Princess Cadence. Her problem began after she assumed the guise of the Princess of Love and inhaled the first bit of love from Shining Armor, Captain of Celestia’s Royal Guard and fiancee to Princess Cadence.

        Everything pretty much became a haze after that.

        Too much love could lead to an addiction. Chrysalis had not known until it was far too late and nothing was left but the aftermath of her collapse.

        So, after picking up her pride, she gathered up her children, making sure they were all right and more or less in one piece, then came home to an empty hive.

        Empty.

        As in, those who had not been deemed fit or able to participate in the invasion had not waited at home until Mother came back. After a frantic search of her home, Chrysalis deduced her wayward children had been taken by Diamond Dogs, or worse.

        Until someling pointed out the note left with convenience on the refrigerator.

        The note read as follows:



Momma,

We are running away. We don’t think you love us anymore. Please don’t look for us. We’re sorry if we made you angry. We don’t want to be a burden anymore.
                                
                                                        										Sincerely,
                                                        										Your Unwanted Children



        Evil or not, no mother worth her salt takes such a note without feeling an enormous amount of guilt. Chrysalis realized they had not felt included in her plans, leading to a sense of being unloved and unwanted. Hence the ‘Your Unwanted Children’ signature at the end of the letter. Her heart lurched when she read that bit.

        So, the Evil Queen had herself a good, guilt-ridden Evil Cry over Evil Bowls of ice cream. Evil Triple Chocolate Eruption ice cream! Her evil little holed heart was broken and she had noling else to blame but herself. She sent her loyal children far and wide on quests to find her missing children, including one or two missions involving a grail and a magic lamp or two. And Bondo. Irregardless, she wanted answers and she wanted them yesterday!

        Where were her babies? Her nymphs? Her hatchlings? Her little love suckers? Her little morsels?

        You get the idea. And before we get back to the main part of the story, this is kind of important, so hold on to your hats, kiddies! Side stuff like this is expected, or else all sorts of questions pop up in the comment section. 

        “They are not unwanted!” Chrysalis cried into an empty tub of Triple Chocolate Eruption (it was like edible love in frozen form). “I love all of my children! They are my heart and soul! Without them, I would probably become a crazy cat lady! Or maybe a Mary Kay cosmetics sales changeling…” It was quite the edgy declaration. She pulled her head out and looked to one side, biting nervously at the edge of her hoof. “Or maybe a Mary Kay cosmetics sales changeling who has cats?”

        She shuddered at the thought.

        “No, I cannot fall to such depths of despair. I cannot!” Chrysalis kicked aside the empty container and noted she had at least stacked the used tubs of devoured ice cream neatly for easy pickup later. An ice cream stupor was a terrible thing to undergo. It was delicious goodness wrapped in a fog of forgetfulness.

        “I want my babies!” she cried for the upteenth time. "Quintili Vare, legiones redde!”

        A changeling poked her head into the throne room. “Mother, you’re talking in Latin again. And you’re scaring the readers.”

        Chrysalis calmed and composed herself. “It’s my chapter and I’ll break the Fourth Wall if I want to,” she said with a huff.

        “I wish someone would break the Fourth Wall so I can get into a story that makes sense,” complained the changeling as she withdrew. “I swear, the author goes on break from this story for a couple of months and I get stuck here. I feel so sorry for the readers.”

        “What was that, dear?” Chrysalis was there, in her daughter’s face, her bloodshot eyes round and overbearing. Her ears, normally hanging to the sides were perked up and focused on the target of her attentions. The queen’s mane billowed around her and a hoof was stuck in an empty tub of ice cream. Her wings buzzed in a combination of a sugar rush, anxiety, and lack of sleep.

        “Mother,” stammered the changeling as she was bowled over by her mother’s breath in the literal sense. “You are not well!”

        “I miss my babies!” Chrysalis blubbered as the tears began to fall. “I’m a terrible mother! I spent too much time planning and scheming the fall of Equestria that I neglected those who could not meet up to my expectations! I’m not just an evil queen, I’m a terrible mother! I don’t even put the pictures my children give me out of love up on the walls to admire anymore! I used to do that. Did I ever put any of your drawings on the wall, Pixie?”

        “No,” admitted the changeling, surprised her mother remembered her name.

        “I’m sorry.” The changeling found herself in a bone crushing embrace. Her mother was completely out of character. Queen Chrysalis was completely out of sorts. “We are going to find your brothers and sisters,” she promised. “We’ll bring them home and everything will be all right.”

        “Okay,” Pixie gasped as she hung like a rag doll in the Queen’s embrace. “I did bring news in regards to the disappearance of my brothers and sisters.” Of course, she meant to say those words, but it was profoundly difficult to formulate the proper wording when one’s lungs were being crushed. What came out was a wheezing sound with a gurgle here and a gasp there.

        Chrysalis put Pixie down, her tears and sorrow forgotten. The aura of a proper queen filled her as she stood tall and proud. A menacing growl befitting the villainess she was rolled from her throat. “Speak!”

        Pixie spoke as though the world speed speaking record was at stake. “Their trail was discovered. The scouting team who found it followed it. It led to a cave. Within the cave was some sort of guardian. The guardian was guarding a portal. The portal led to another world. They went through the portal after spending some time with the guardian.” 

        The Queen twitched an eyebrow. “What of this guardian?”

        “He calls himself an American.”

        Queen Chrysalis hissed. “An American? What is an American?”

        “An entitled creature who thinks he is better than others and fills the heads of the unwary with tall tales of impossible things,” Pixie spat, glaring in anger. “He spoke of a world where there was no magic and there was but one sapient species ruling a world. Science rules over all. Science and technology.”

        “I know this world,” Chrysalis whispered, her ears splaying back. She could not look her daughter in the eye. “They would rather live in such chaos than live in my hive.” Again, Chrysalis was heartbroken. “Send someling to clean this mess.” She gestured at the empty containers stacked around the throne.

        “I’ll send a crew right away, Your Majesty.”

        “Pixie?”

        The changeling hesitated, looking up at her mother and tilting her head to one side. “Yes?”

        “Call me Mommy.”

        “Yes, You— Mommy.” Pixie looked an odd mix of relief and confusion saying the word. “There’s more.”

        Chrysalis growled. “More?”

        “They told the American they intended to find a new queen.” Pixie was beginning to sweat. Queen Chrysalis was getting That Look. “He gave them one. Her name is Catherine. He sent them to one named Catherine.”

        “Bring everyling in,” the Queen seethed. “Immediately! I want to know where this portal is and who this American is! I want him brought before me! I have questions that he will answer! Go, my daughter!”

        Pixie was gone in a flash, leaving the Queen alone with her thoughts in a gloomy room. She used her magic to clear the room as the rubbish of her own making now irked her to no end.
        
        A disco ball fell down in the middle of the room. Once cleared off, the floor was quite smooth. From a small cubby rose a set of roller skates from a bygone era (it was debatable if it was memorable or not). Quickly Chrysalis slipped them on and was soon rolling in a lazy, contemplative circle in the center of the room.

        There was a time she had once taken a break from being a queen. She had disappeared. The years of raising changelings and ruling over them more or less forced Chrysalis to take a break from such enormous responsibilities. She had found a portal and, curious predator that she was, went through. The next ten years in the other world had been fascinating, harrowing, confusing, interesting, and just plain weird. 

I mean, polyester. Seriously? The horrors of that era (as well as bell bottoms) was best left forgotten, though the music was pretty decent. Do not get her started on leg warmers. Honestly!

When she returned, she brought back certain memories as well as a few keepsakes. The keepsakes were taken en masse, as she had returned to her hive, gathered up her children, and mounted what was fair to describe as a raid.

        She had been doing this off and on for the past thousand years. She knew the portal Pixie spoke of. It was supposed to have been a forgotten place, remembered only by her! Chrysalis had told no one of its existence.

        Yet…

        An American.

        Disco lights flared to life and music began to be pumped into the room from hidden speakers. Some things were just wonderful in their tackiness. 

Memories. The United States of America in the 1970s.

        And Chrysalis sang…


“You can’t see this empty hive, such a low point in my life


See this girl? How can I call myself the Changeling Queen?



My babies gone and I’m feelin’ low


I don’t know where I can go


Where they went, why they went, why they took wing


They left and I guess that’s a thing


Anyling could up and go fly


Night has come and I want to cry


With these here roller skates on, everything is fine


I feel better when I dance.


On these skates I prance...



I am the Changeling Queen, young and sweet, only… nevermind


Changeling Queen, I got beat by a magic beam


You can’t see this empty hive, such a low point in my life


See this girl? How can I call myself the Changeling Queen?



I’m a teaser, I turned him on


I was left burning and now they’re gone


Such terrible mother, anyone else would do


He was in no mood for a dance


On these skates I prance...



I am the Changeling Queen, young and sweet, only… not tellin’


Changeling Queen, I got beat by a magic beam


You can’t see this empty hive, such a low point in my life


See this girl? How can I call myself the Changeling Queen?”


        When the song died, Chrysalis realized she had drawn in an audience. Her children, the ones whom had been sent to fetch her ice cream were at the entrance leading into her throne room. They had with them a cart loaded with ice cream. Jaws swung like a porch swing in a May breeze, shared by an elderly couple. Guard Two was also hauling a wagon full of cardboard boxes. In each box were hundreds, nay thousands of crude drawings done by nymphs with crayons on paper over the years.

        Guard One and Guard Two had witnessed something they wished they hadn’t, though it was agreed Mother had a lovely voice.

        “Disco? Seriously?” they both chimed with indignation at her. “Is this a rave?”

        “I regret nothing!” she grumped, skating a figure eight. This Catherine would soon know usurping the throne of the one and only Changeling Queen would bring about dire consequences!

        Her face was still a glorious aftermath of an ice cream massacre even as the disco ball spun, glittering overhead. She knew keeping that old relic had been a good decision.





        “I did hope then she would go back to being evil,” quoted a changeling some years later in recollection. “That was a very silly time for all of us. Silly and confusing. Disco music is a terrifying thing. Would we really go to that world? That world from whence such things came from was surely nothing but madness!”

        

> 18. Savin' the Hive
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Edited by TuxOKC and Malozi. 



Levi Coffin had been a minister since retiring from the Civil Engineers. He had witnessed much in his years, volunteering his services in the Middle East after the first Gulf War before leaving his job to enter a different sort of Service. He was a Quaker, hailing from Quaker country in Pennsylvania. Yes, he had witnessed much in his fifty some odd years, settling down here in Springfield to be near his baby sister and her family. He joined a church he found both favorable and tolerant. In his heart, it matched how he felt his fellow men and women should view the world: live and let live. To forgive and forge unbreakable bonds of friendship. Levi believed in the fellowship and goodness of his fellow Man. His faith was built upon stone, guided by the Lord, in whom Levi believed fully.

His faith in God was about to be tested.

It started soon after services had let out. The last of the congregation had departed. It was a small group. The number of parishioners hovered around fifty souls, give or take. He had turned to go back into the church to gather his things. A curious sound in the bushes to his right gave Levi pause. Blinking in confusion, he surmised the buzzing in his ears was coming from a rather large insect. Dragonfly? No, bigger.

As he turned, his curiosity piqued, Levi Coffin saw something large and dark leap out from the bushes and straight at him.

The last thing he heard was, “Dude, I am like, totally sorry about this!”

Then Levi Coffin’s world went black in a sea of stars.





His head hurt. It throbbed. Levi winced and tried to move his hands. They were bound, he discovered. Blinking his eyes, he allowed himself a moment to focus before seeing exactly where he was. It appeared he was in some sort of shed. The smell of oil and cut grass assailed his nostrils. Light streamed in from a partially open door. Levi found he had been propped up against the wall on the opposite end of the shed facing the twin doors. Around him, tools were hung up on shelves and a riding mower served to help keep him in a sitting position.

“Where...?” he blearily wondered. Why was he tied up? “Who did this?” 

Something buzzed and groaned. It was at the front of the mower. Was that a dog? He blinked and stared at the shape, his eyes not exactly focused quite yet.

“My sister could not handle the sudden influx of information,” explained a dry, bored voice above him. “As a result, she lost her grip and fell. She will be fine. Happens all the time.”

Levi looked up. Above him, in the rafters of the shed, was… was…

“Oh, good Lord!” he mumbled, not believing his eyes. The… creature was the size of a large dog, with oversized solid blue eyes. It appeared to be black in the gloom of the shadows. The light from outside was on his face and made it harder to make out any features of the thing.

“We decided to take you to meet our queen, so she might learn to be like you,” the thing went on, either uncaring of the man’s shock or having not even noticed. “My head hurts. I had to cut off the hive mind. The mental wave coming from my brothers was unexpected. I think Newton might have seen it coming. He tried to warn. My sister,” —there was a wave of an appendage at the unmoving form at Levi’s feet— “did not react quickly enough. I fear my brothers and sisters met similar fates.”

“What are you?” Levi asked, his curiosity overcoming his initial fears. They were still there, but whatever the creature was, it had no interest at the moment of showing violence.

“I am a changeling,” replied the creature with a slow blink of its eyes. “My name is Alpha. It was given to me by my brothers and sisters. I do not want an identity. I want to be what I was before. I am afraid of being an individual. Beta is my sister. She is there on the floor in front of you. I think she shall be all right.”

“What do you want from me?” Levi was still digesting the part where Alpha mentioned the word queen and the sentence it was contained within.

“Mother was evil. She still is, I think. We left her because we don’t want to be evil. We want to be accepted. That was the new hive consensus. We were not perfect in the eyes of our mother, therefore we were relegated to menial duties and not considered essential to the functionality of the hive.” Alpha sighed and buzzed what sounded like wings. They were a familiar sound to Levi. “We had to take you as my sister and I deemed you a viable asset. We need you. What we sensed from you is charisma and a sense of wanting to do and be good.”

“Why am I tied up?”

“A precaution. Hoomans are unpredictable. There are few of us. We must take caution.” There was a pause and Alpha blinked her huge eyes again. “We also need to practice our knots. There are so many varieties. We used a hitch knot on you. Are you properly bound? I do hope the knot is not too tight. Circulation is important.”

Levi inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Now was not a good time to be angry. Counting backwards from ten, he opened his eyes at four and said to the changeling, “I’m fine, thank you. Do you think it would have been nicer if you had just, oh, I don’t know, asked for help?”

“You are assuming we changelings are logical creatures,” countered Alpha with a sniff. “It is hard, considering our mother commanded and we obeyed. The whole notion of having a free will is terrifying. Mistakes are being made. Taking you against your will might have been one of those mistakes. The hive mind is a mess and I cannot reach my brothers and sisters for clarification. We are waiting for clarification.” Her bored voice was offset by her head spinning slowly in place on her neck.

To Levi, it was unsettling. “Clarification?”

The changeling dropped from the ceiling, flipping in midair and buzzing her wings. She was held aloft by her wings, alighting on top of the riding mower and settling on the seat. Levi could make out the details of her form with much more clarity, noting how Alpha appeared to be armored, like a xenomorph from the movies. Her crest rose and fell, seeming to match her mood. Her ears were perked forward and had an equine look to them. A pair of small fangs could be seen protruding from her mouth. She appeared to be quadrupedal. Levi found himself staring at her legs, as they had an odd appearance of being filled with holes up and down the lengths of each of them.

She nodded at him as she settled on the seat of the mower. “Yes. We can do nothing until the hive recovers. We were flooded with information and went down like noobs.” There was a pause. “How do I know the word ‘noob’?” Alpha tilted her head to one side. pursing her lips as she digested her own query. “We were pwned.” Another pause. “How do I know ‘pwned’? I am confused! Where are the vowels? There is only one vowel in that word! I am not even sure that is a word! Your English is confusing as a language! Why could it not just be Equish?” 

Levi thought the creature was panicking. It was hard to tell, given she had such a dry and boring monotone voice. “Can you at least untie me?” 

The changeling stiffened and stared at him. “If I do that, there is a chance you will retaliate for being held against your will. I do not handle retaliations very well. Please forgive me and please be patient until we figure out how to deal with you. Newton will know. Maybe Speaker. He speaks for all of us. That is why we call him Speaker. It is a very important name.”

The man found the changeling’s mannerisms to be childlike in many ways. He found he could not be angry at her. Confused, of course. Angry? No. It was more like he was resigned to endure what came with the human fear of the unknown. An opportunity was presenting itself, one Levi Coffin was not at all prepared for, but one nonetheless. Life had not prepared him for meeting aliens. Or were they demons?

“You are connected to our new queen,” Alpha said in an abrupt tone. She blinked, tilted her head the other way and blinked again. “She gives us love. She does not hold back her love for us. She is not like mother. You are connected to our queen and she loves us. Are you related? I think you are. You humans have a strange aura over all of you. It does not cling to you, nor does it cling to our new queen. The aura we sensed is something we feel is familiar to us. It is not of your world. It must be from our world. There is magic. It is a magic, of sorts. I am no expert. Netwon would know. This is why we wait and hide.”

“What?” blurted Levi, confused. He shook his head. “You’re babbling.”

“I am scared. I am told I babble when I am scared,” replied the changeling with all the excitement of watching paint dry. She stretched out her neck to Levi. He recoiled out of instinct from her. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed at his neck and head. “You smell like Catherine, but you are not Catherine. You must be related to her.”

“Cathy? My niece? What have you done to my niece?” He was afraid for her.

“Nothing. We made her our Queen. We obey her. She will be great. It was an all or nothing choice. We voted. It was a landslide. We will make the hive great again.”

“Why is she your queen? Why did you choose her? What do you want from her?”

“Her mother and father asked the same questions. I will be honest with you. Your niece has magic on her. Powerful, dormant magic. It drew us to her. There is love in her magic. She is also six. We feel that is an upgrade from Mother.” Alpha withdrew and settled back on the seat of the riding mower. It was more of a sprawl than an actual sitting position. It seemed awkward from Levi’s point of view. “Mother has gone mad with power. We do not want a ruler immersing herself into such things. We want a queen that will love us and guide us. The alternative is far too colorful and awful to comprehend.” Alpha shuddered and blinked, making a sour face.

Levi inhaled. It was a slow, ragged breath he took. From what he understood, these… changelings did not intend Catherine harm. Worry creased his features and his nose itched. There was no means to scratch that itch. His baby sister, Beatrice was no doubt also in the middle of this, as well as Frank. “Lord, give me patience and give me strength,” he whispered an imploring prayer.

“This is family. My family,” he told Alpha. His tone suggested disappointment.

Alpha’s ears drooped and she hung her head. “We do not harm. We do not wish to harm. We wish to be loved. All we want is love. All we want is to belong. We need guidance. We need a queen. We need leadership. We are no longer on our world. The rules of this world are confusing and harsh. Will you help us? Will you help our queen?”

Levi squinted at the changeling. “Hold your horses a sec. Magic? You said magic. There’s no such thing as magic. Catherine does not have magic!”

“Really?” Alpha deadpanned. Her crooked horn lit up and tools began to lift from their places along the walls. A rake lifted up from behind her and whacked her in the back. The changeling was startled and yelped, her horn’s glow ceased. Everything fell and clattered to the floor. “Ow.”

The man almost swore. “Good heavens!” If he had been unbound, he would have shielded his face with his hands. He did try to meld into the wall behind him. “You’re a demon!”

A sad mask fell over Alpha’s equine-like features. “So we have been called before,” she sniffled. “We are not demons. We are magical creatures and we are not of this world. I have already said what we need, what we want. We would contribute to this world and do good if allowed. But we do not do bathrooms.” Her muzzle scrunched in distaste.

“Magic,” Levi breathed, still unable to bring himself to believe. Scripture had taught that those who dabbled in magic were charlatans who were not good. Then again, Scripture had also preached that men must learn to love and let live. As a minister, he found conflict as he looked upon this demonic creature pleading for help. She was asking for aid, asking to be shown how to be good and do good.

How would a rabbi handle this? Or a Catholic priest? Or an imam? 

More importantly, why him?

It was about that moment when the doors to the shed were flung open, letting the full glory of the late afternoon sun spill inside.

“I have chocolate!” proclaimed a loud and far too cheerful voice. “I have escaped the multitudes of hoomans who wanted to take what I had rightfully stolen!” Another changeling stood at the doorway, holding aloft boxes of candy bars and an assortment of chocolatey treats.

Alpha stared at the newcomer. “You should not have, Wesley,” she told him in a flat voice. “I am trying to build the bonds of trust with this hooman. The hive mind is not working. Everyling was knocked out, I think. Beta is out.” She pointed at her inert sister on the ground at Levi’s feet.

Another voice piped up from behind Wesley. A fourth changeling appeared. She chittered, put out and annoyed, shoving Wesley from behind. He scrambled to keep his treats in his grasp, buzzing his wings and crying out in alarm. She pointed at the treats in his grasp, wagging a holed hoof in exasperation, puffing out her cheeks. TK continued her silent tirade by exhaling and explosive breath before drooping in exhaustion. It had been a very trying day.

“Hey!” Wesley complained as he steadied his pile. “Oh, hey, what’s wrong with Beta?”

Alpha rolled her eyes. “That is TK421,” she said, pointing at the changeling not holding candy. “She is a mute. The thief is Wesley. Chocolate is a weakness for us changelings. Some are more susceptible to the smell than others. Beta was struck by the wave of knowledge. Someling miscast the spell.”

“Are you sure?” TK421 eyed the bound human. Wesley was filling in for her muteness with his own voice. “Why is he— oh, no, you didn’t. You did. Newton said no, but you went and did what you wanted.” She slowly ran a hoof over her face and heaved out a great sigh. “This is why we can’t have nice things.” Wesley scowled as he conveyed her words, glaring at her.

“We do this to save the hive!” said Alpha.

Levi thought he could hear music starting up. “What?” He didn’t know there was a radio in the shed. “Where is that music coming from?”

The changelings were bobbing their heads in rhythm. 

Levi was not a huge fan of disco. It wasn’t the music, no, but the horrible fashion design of the era. The three changelings stood at the door (Wesley set his candy aside with a sigh and reluctance), and were moving to the music. Alpha stood in between the other two and began to sing in her monotone voice.


Well, I can tell my siblings around can’t talk,
I’m a ‘ling genius: no time to trot.
Just look at my family, we’ve been kicked around
Since we were born.
Now it’s not all right, not OK.
We haven’t been allowed our say.
No changeling can comprehend
The World Wide Web’s effect on us.

It doesn’t matter what I know or think I might know,
I’m savin’ the Hive, savin’ the Hive.
Felt our world breakin’ and every changeling shakin’,
And we’re savin’ the hive, savin’ the hive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, savin’ the hive, savin’ the hive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, savin’ the hive.

Look now, we need you and we need her,
And if we can’t some love, we still try.
Got the hopes of dreamin’ on my hooves.
I’m a singin’ ‘ling and we just won’t lose.
We know it’s all right. We’re OK.
We’d love to sing another day.
Sometimes we don’t understand
We just want to know the world of Man.

It doesn’t matter what I know or think I might know,
I’m savin’ the Hive, savin’ the Hive.
Felt our world breakin’ and everychangeling shakin’,
And we’re savin’ the hive, savin’ the hive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, savin’ the hive, savin’ the hive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, savin’ the hive.

A hive life right here. Someling help us.
Someling help us, yeah.
A hive life right here. Someling help us, yeah.
Savin’ the hive.

Look now, we need you and we need her,
And if we can’t some love, we still try.
Got the hopes of dreamin’ on my hooves.
I’m a singin’ ‘ling and we just won’t lose.
We know it’s all right. We’re OK.
We’d love to sing another day.
Sometimes we don’t understand
We just want to know the world of Man.

It doesn’t matter what I know or think I might know,
I’m savin’ the Hive, savin’ the Hive.
Felt our world breakin’ and everychangeling shakin’,
And we’re savin’ the hive, savin’ the hive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, savin’ the hive, savin’ the hive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, savin’ the hive.

A hive life right here. Someling help us.
Someling help us, yeah.
A hive life right here. Someling help us, yeah.
Savin’ the hive.

A hive life right here. Someling help us.
Someling help us, yeah.
A hive life right here. Someling help us, yeah.
Savin’ the hive.

A hive life right here. Someling help us.
Someling help us, yeah.
A hive life right here. Someling help us, yeah.
Savin’ the hive.

A hive life right here. Someling help us.
Someling help us, yeah.
A hive life right here. Someling help us, yeah.
Savin’ the hive.


They finished, and Alpha preened in front of Levi, offering the first hint of a smile since introducing herself to the man. The music faded and was instead replaced by the sounds of songbirds outside chirping the same song with what appeared to be a great deal of confusion in their voices.

“What am I getting myself into?” Levi asked, bewildered.

Why is he bound? TK421 jabbed a hoof at the man's bonds, mouthing the question. 

Alpha shrugged and harrumphed.

“Chocolate?” offered Wesley with a shameless grin. He held out a Milky Way. It was the dark chocolate version.

Levi sighed. “This is going to be the start of an interesting relationship,” he mused.

	
	

	

	


> A Field Guide to the North American Changeling (326th edition)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Hoomans Humans!


Catherine Anastasia Thomas - Six years old.  New queen of the changelings! May God have mercy on our souls.
Franklin Benjamin Thomas - Thirty-five years old. Independant contractor. Carpenter.
Beatrice Ann Thomas - Thirty-one years old. Elementary school teacher.
Lindsey Crawford - Sixty-eight years old. The neighborhood gossip. Nosy. Really nosy. 
Levi Coffin - Fifty-two years old. A Quaker minister. Thinks changelings are adorable Xenomorphs.

And introducing...


Mr. Mephistopheles - The family cat. Gray and white mix. What if Angel Bunny was a cat? 


The Changelings!


1. Speaker - Speaks on behalf of the collective. Male.
2. Angela - She is a Virgo. We don’t know why she says she is one. Female.
3. Wesley - Likes to stare at Frank. Male
4. Jon - Loves the Beatles. Female.
5. Gordon - Once helped expand the sun. Credited with the first shapeshift on earth. Male.
6. Ni - A mysterious changeling who only says one word. Female.
7. Cabbage - He was dropped as an egg. Several times. Poor guy. He’s always happy. I envy him. Male.
8. Foghorn - This poor guy has a reputation for gas. Specializes in SBD. Male.
9. Rupert - He loves to run and run and run and run. Male.
10. Bob - One of Gordon's helpers. Feels unappreciated. Male.
11. Silky - The first of the females to start growing out a mane and tail. She's a bit needy. Then again. they all are. Female.
12. Pindrop - She's a curious one. Female.
13. Newton - He is ze smart vun, ja? The oldest of the changelings, Newt is a reluctant member of the 47. Male. (Special thanks to batran for the name!)
14. TK421 - She would have made an awesome infiltrator, if it wasn't for the fact she is a mute. Doesn't stop her from singing. Female.
15. Zilla - A changeling librarian. Chrysalis used her to anticipate Twilight's obsessive-compulsive mannerisms. Militaristic. Female. (Special thanks to Dimensional Librarian for the name!)
16. Alpha - Traditionalist changeling. Hatched from the same egg as Beta. They are identical sisters. She is terrified of developing an identity. Speaks in a monotone.
17. Beta - Traditionalist changeling. Hatched from the same egg as Alpha. They are identical sisters. She is terrified of developing an identity. Talks like a Valley girl. Absolutely hates her new personality.
18. X
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27. X
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31. X
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38. X
39. X
40. X
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42. X
43. X
44. X
45. X
46. X
47. X
48. Chrysalis - Queen of the changelings. Doesn’t put drawings on the fridge. Female, obviously.



Please remember changelings are considered an endangered species. Those that do harm to a changeling will be subject to up to 10 years in prison and $250,000 fine. Don't do it. You can't afford it.