"Twiggy, what do you mean there's no way out of this?"
Any displeasure towards the nickname is quickly covered up by her terrified blubbering.
"Anon, Pri - Princess … I, uh … couldn't fin-"
"Think carefully on thy next w'rds."
Luna's hoof creates spiderwebs in the horribly gaudy crystal flooring. It isn't even tiled or anything, just a massive slab of the stuff. Pretty impressive, actually, but doesn't change the fact that the castle is a massive eyesore.
A midmorning sun streaks through the windows. Legal encyclopedias are piled up high around a massive oak desk, the surface drowning in crumpled papers and half-read journals. A collection of snapped quills lies on the floor, as does Spike, who had been knocked unconscious by a flying copy of Equestrian Jurisprudence. Twilight presses her head against the blotter, hooves crossed around her head and eyes shut tight.
"I - I'm sorry Princess, but t - the law is … rock solid. No loopholes, no caveats, no anything. It, um, even has a … geass attached."
Pretty impressive too. Equestrians don't fuck around when making awful things.
Luna begins to pace back and forth. The stars in her mane are supernovas, her furious hoofsteps gunshots.
"WE HAVEN'T INTENTIONS TO WED THE APE, SPARKLE."
"I mean it … can't be, uh, that bad."
A glare.
"P - p - please … calm down Princess, you're, well, um, reverting to Old Equestrian."
Anon snorts, chin resting in his hands. He barely fits in the faux-leather armchair, being a six-foot tall monkey thing in a land of magical, waist-high, talking horses.
"Nice save, Tiddlywinks."
Luna stops and glares at him, brow furrowed and teeth clenched.
"KNAVE, WE … oh, sorry about that. You planned this, didn't you?"
"Fuck off moonhorse. It's not my fault, you were wearing a disguise!"
"It was literally just me without wings! I said my name was Moon, for Faust's sake! How could you have fallen for it!"
"Kind of new here, remember? I can barely tell you ponies apart!"
"Poppycock! You probably drugged me or something, slipped a love potion into my drink. I certainly wouldn't bed you willingly, inebriated or not."
"Did … did you just say 'poppycock?' I mean, you're old and all, but that seems - you know what, I don't care. I didn't drug you, Spergle checked."
Twilight rolls herself into a ball, wanting absolutely no part in any of this.
"THEN WHAT DID YOU DO?"
Anon rubs his ears.
"Nothing! Can you stop yelling?"
"HOW ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS?"
"I don't think it's really registered yet. I may be in shock, but it's hard to tell."
Anon leans back in his seat and stares at the ceiling. It's roughly shorn, sunlight refracting across innumerable points and ridges. The Elements of Tasteful Design must have been out of town or something.
"So whoever takes a Princess's virginity has to marry her?"
Twilight sticks her head out. Not by much, mind you, but enough to be heard.
"yes … the law is, um, very clear about that."
"Why is that even a law, like, at all?"
Luna rubs her forehead with a hoof.
"The nobility didn't want Sister and I to create harems. That never stopped her, but I have, or had, restraint. Rather silly statute, now that I think about it—almost asks for situations like this."
The two met at a bar and hit it off fairly quickly. After a few hours of drinking, they decided to go out into the world and make complete asses of themselves. Once they finished tying Scootaloo to a flagpole, they made out in an alleyway and, somehow, carried themselves back to Anon's house. The act itself was barely remembered, but the state they woke up in didn't leave much to the imagination.
What a shitshow.
The one night Anon gets tired of sitting around, the one night Luna needs to let off some steam, the one night they both decide to be creeps at some seedy bar—it's like the planets aligned to make their lives as painful as possible.
"What if he kills himself?"
"Hey!"
Twilight puffs up, deciding to finally end this discussion before it results in a body. Or two.
"I - I'm sorry Princess, but … the geass has already taken effect. If he dies, well, so do you."
"I don't like the implications of that, Tintype."
"Anon, for the last time, my name is Twi - whatever. It's really complex, so neither of you have to worry about disease or immortality or anything—each will die at their preordained time without affecting the other."
"Even worse implications, if I'm being totally honest."
Luna stomps towards the desk.
"Divorce, then."
"Shouldn't you have asked that first?"
"The law explicitly forbids divorce, along with bigamy, non-cohabitation, swinging, and about 200 other 'alternative lifestyle choices.' Their words, not mine. Whoever wrote this knew their stuff, because it accounts for every single possible workaround. I'd love to properly study this if it weren't so weird and, um, anatomically detailed."
Anon deflates, and Luna begins to tremble.
Just as Twilight resumes her spiel, arms of golden light reach out from a pinprick. A hot wind curls around the study, sweeping up papers and ruffling hair. A blinding flash, and in the center of the room stands a demigod. Her appearance creates a shockwave, knocking over book piles and rattling windows. The light shifts to focus on her presence, an ethereal mane slowly dancing through sunbeams.
Celestia comes forth, surveying the scene that lies before her. The room is silent, none daring to intrude upon the Herald of the Sun. On her muzzle rests a serene smile, and from her eyes radiates a detached mirth. Giggling like a manic schoolgirl, Celestia runs up and crushes her sister in a six-limbed hug, levitating the pair around the room like a retarded crane operator.
Luna absolutely reeks of sex, but Celestia decides to ignore it.
"After so long, you've finally found true love! Mother and Father would be so proud."
The elder pulls the younger closer, somehow.
"So, who's the lucky stallion?"
Luna whimpers.
Neither Anon nor Twilight want to say anything, the former for fear of being banished to the Sun, the latter not wanting to break her former teacher's heart. It's like watching a paralyzed kid talk about how much they love sports, just depressing really.
After about a minute of this, the sisters return to Earth, the still unconscious Spike graciously cushioning their landing. Celestia releases Luna, who collapses onto the ground and desperately struggles for air.
"Ah, Twilight, so good to see you on this joyous occasion!"
She trots over and nuzzles the nearly-catatonic mare.
"And you must be the alien I heard so much about. It's nice to meet you, my little monkey."
She gives a little curtsey.
Celestia, oblivious to their horror, then hugs her sister again. There are a few audible pops.
"I can't wait to meet my new brother-in-law elect!"
What a terrible way to put it.
Celestia then looks around the room. She notes to herself that Anon is the only male, as she had not yet noticed Spike, and begins to vibrate. It's quite disturbing, actually.
Before Twilight can ask if she's alright, a piercing squeal emanates from deep within Celestia's belly. This, too, is quite disturbing.
Celestia tightens her grip on Luna, eyes shining and smile beaming.
"IT'S SO ROMANTIC, A LOST BEING FROM AMONG YOUR STARS FINDING LOVE WITHIN THE NIGHT HERSELF! I HAVE TO TELL CADIE!"
The light suddenly dims, and Celestia's presence graces Ponyville no more.
None of them have a reaction, and so just sit there until Pinkie comes and throws a party. The cake is shaped like a moon, if anyone's wondering.
The Royal Regiment of Horse Guards was raised shortly after the Nightmare Rebellion. Losing a head of state traumatized the populace and emboldened foreign rivals, leading Princess Celestia to visibly project strength and security. Modeled after Commander Hurricane’s Speculatores, its ranks draw mainly from the nobility, many fine officers having started their careers with a freshly-purchased cornet's commission in the Guard. The unit serves as a glittering symbol of Celestia's nigh-omnipotent power, a fatherly shield around a motherly ruler.
"Shmoopy doo, little silly pony! Yes you are, yes you are!"
Captain Sir Penetrating Spear ES possesses not only an unfortunate name, but a stunning pedigree, his family serving in the Guard since its founding. During the Battle of Canterlot, the then-sergeant led twelve soldiers in the desperate defense of Porke's Drift Elementary School, winning him the Equestrian Star. A month later, the newly gazetted Lieutenant rescued Prince Vladimir Blueblood from a band of Griffon sky-pirates, and thus earned the eye of the Princess herself. Once Prince Shining Armor left for the Crystal Empire, Spear was an obvious choice for his replacement, and so, at the age of 24, he became the youngest Captain of the Guard in recorded history.
Celestia blows a raspberry on his tummy.
He has a thousand years of history in his veins, armor in his soul, and an indomitable will to protect his nation and Princess. His life is lived only for others, readily sacrificed for the good of ponykind. The stallion is a paragon of equininity, a model of the gallantry and strength that all warriors strive to achieve.
"You have the best widdle little hoovsies! You're a good boy! Good boy!"
Minister of Finance Coin Goldstein sighs.
"Princess, you really must focus. The diamond dogs have threatened to kill all embassy staff unless we - "
"Mommy Celly's proud of you, yes I am! Big boy, strong boy!"
She wiggles Spear around with her magic.
Spear, for his part, doesn't say anything. There's no real response to a situation like this, in all honesty.
Foreign Minister Foalchim von Ribbentrot speaks up.
"Your Highness, please, put the Captain down and pay attention. Lives are at stake."
Minister of Culture Casting Couch coughs, casting uneasy glances at her fellows.
"I, um, agree. While I wouldn't put it so bluntly, you really should work with us to resolve this ... unfortunate situation."
Celestia flaps her wings, scattering alabaster feathers across the meeting hall. She takes off, giggling as she circles above the Privy Council. Spear floats behind her, suspended in a flaxen aura.
"Lulu's getting married! I'm gonna be an auntie, for real this time!"
Minister of Education Mr. Ed. U. Cation, PhD, turns to Minister of Transportation Pun Name.
“Wait, who’s getting married?”
“Princess Luna, I think.”
“Huh. Any idea who it is?”
“None. Princess Celestia’s been rambling about it all day though.”
They gaze at the immortal five-year old, who hangs on a chandelier and nuzzles the Captain.
Ribbentrot stands up.
"I don't have the time for this. Everypony in favor of storming the embassy say aye."
Thirteen ayes, one neigh, two abstained.
Lord High Chancellor Tipped Scales clears his throat and puffs his chest.
“With that, I conclude this meeting of Her Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council.”
The ministers begin to file out, the low hum of discussion floating between them—few want to acknowledge Celestia’s behavior, but all are fascinated by its cause. None had heard anything about Princess Luna seeing anypony, yet one day, out of the blue, she’s suddenly engaged. This, of course, is fitting with her prior behavior, but the fact that she even has a lover is cause enough for surprise—if Celestia is the nation’s mother, then Luna is its bitter aunt who hangs around renn faires and World War II reenactments.
In other words, Luna's fiance is probably some antisocial degenerate or militaristic psycho.
It's this thought that both terrifies and captivates the ministers. Luna, for her faults, is tremendously experienced, and so her return, though destabilizing, had little lasting impact on the Equestrian political landscape. Indeed, the Princess quickly recognized the necessity of acclimating to the modern era, deciding to set aside any ideological ambitions until she truly understands her new world.
This new Prince, however, is a wild card, one with both Luna's ear and significant powers of his own. The Privy Council may vote on important decisions, but at the end of the day, control rests firmly in the hooves of the alicorn tetrarchy.
The doors to the conference room shut, a boom resounding through busy marble corridors.
Spear looks on in horror as he's abandoned by his colleagues.
"PLEASE NO, DON'T LEAVE ME HERE, PLEA - "
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Neither say anything as the chariot silently arcs towards the Canterhorn. The moon shines down on farmland and brooks, shimmering stars painting the sky. A slight breeze comes in from the east, and the faint smell of ozone clings to the nippy winter air. They slowly approach the castle, marble and gold towers piercing the sky. Streetlights stand vigil in empty streets, pointing out hoofprints in the freshly fallen snow. Canterlot is asleep, at peace under the protective veil of the night.
A dull thud, and the chariot lands. It's a short walk to Luna's room, Night Watch soldiers forming a loose ring around the couple.
"So, what's with the guards?"
Luna turns her head, eyebrow raised.
"Hmm?"
"Why do all the guards look like bats?"
"Ah. It's an enchantment on their armor, supposed to bring fear to the enemy."
"Don't look that scary to me."
"Curious, most find their appearance quite disturbing. How would you describe them, then?"
Anon chuckles.
"They're absolutely adorable. I think the unshaved ear hair really sells it."
Luna grins.
"I am inclined to agree. Sister rejected my other designs, as a focus group found them too threatening."
"Isn't being threatening the exact point of a guard?"
"I said the same, but she was adamant. You see, these stallions are technically part of Sister's guard, so she's ultimately the one who makes decisions on things like uniform. I would like to raise my own guard, but haven't found the time to do so."
"You should probably get on that, then. I don't wanna spend the rest of my life surrounded by Dracula cosplay."
"I don't understand that reference, but appreciate the sentiment."
They reach a pair of ebony doors, an ivory moon inlet in their junction. A guard opens it for them, revealing Luna's bedchambers. Bookshelves line the walls, surrounding a weird moon-shaped bed that lies underneath a mural of stars.
"You shall take the rollaway."
Her horn flashes, and a couch rises up from the obsidian floor. Another flash, and out springs a cheap looking mattress. It's wrapped in star-studded sheets, moons dotting the pillow. Luna really likes the whole space motif.
As they get into bed and stare at the ceiling, the weight of the situation finally hits them. In the moments before sleep, they've both a final thought.
She sits across from Anon, silently judging as he picks at a dry bowl of Celesti-O's. An odd branding decision, naming a cereal after an immortal demigod, but one that's worked surprisingly well. He sips a glass of water, rubbing his eyes and suppressing a yawn.
"You are quite the philistine."
Anon gives Luna a blank stare.
"How so?"
"Dry cereal and water. For breakfast. You've objectively horrible taste."
"Says the one who just swallowed three unpeeled oranges whole."
"My breakfast is healthy and invigorating, yours is literal prison food."
The clacking of utensils accentuates a pause.
“You know what, sure. I can accept that.”
Blueblood turns to him.
"Uncle Anonymous, why don't you go and get something else?"
"Because breakfast food is just grease and fat, it goes straight through me."
Luna agrees, but doesn't dare to let him know.
"Pish posh, you really must branch out a bit. Ask Chef Flake to make you a Sunnyside, her eggs are absolutely delectable!"
"Don't say it like that."
Chuckling, Blueblood returns to his pancakes.
Odd fellow, really. His personality rests somewhere between Ernest Shackleton and Beau Brummell, an explorer with the heart of an utter ponce. For as much as he despises high society, he can't help but revel in it, diving deep into all the bullshit drama and decorum. He has half a mind to just drop it all and go on a lifelong safari, but cares far too much about his mane to even risk it. As head of the Royal Geographic Society, he stays content, just barely fulfilling the contradictory halves of his being.
"You're pretty calm about this, calling me 'uncle' and stuff."
"The Royal Family isn't known for its normalcy. Besides, I'm thrilled that Aunt Luna has finally found somepony."
Anon raises an eyebrow and Luna scoffs. Blueblood, for his part, sports a smug grin, looking between the two with narrowed eyes.
What an insufferable little faggot.
"Nephew, if you know what's good for you, the circumstances of our courtship will remain private."
"Of course, Auntie. It's always fun to have an inside joke between family members, especially one this milkable. I'd make a pun about one night stands, but that seems too easy."
Anon tightens the grip on his spoon.
"Blueblood…"
"Calm down Uncle, I'm only joking. That being said, I do have to ask: how was she?"
He begins cackling, hooves slapping against the table. His laugh is this horrible, high-pitched screech that pierces through the air and reverberates within the brain. It's something you'd expect to hear from a mortally wounded six-year old.
"Well, this has been horrible."
Anon slinks off, not really knowing, or caring, where he ends up.
Blueblood slowly returns to normal, wiping tears from his eyes and straightening his bow tie. He steadies his breathing as he takes a sip of orange juice.
"You two are a good fit."
"Please, shut up Nephew."
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Converting King Sombra's Sex Locomotive into the Crystal Express was a simple matter of paint, magic, and bleach. The new administration, in order to distance itself from the dread tyrant, and for fear of accidentally summoning some gross rape poltergeist, avoids all relations whilst in the Royal Sleeper Car, which had been cleaned very, very thoroughly during the refit.
The train stops at Canterlot Central with a low hiss, thin trails of smoke joining the vapory breath of passing pedestrians. Though it's morning, there's an undeniable darkness about the place, thick cloud cover blanketing the city in comfortable shadows. Candles and streetlights take on a soft glow, and lazy snowflakes shimmer in the sky. The Prince and Princess depart, followed by secretaries and baggage carriers, taking in the nippy mountain air and vague scent of perfume.
Raven Inkwell trots up to greet them.
"Cadence! It's so good to see you again!"
"It's nice to see you too, Ms. Raven."
They do that weird horse neck-hug thing.
"Just Raven, dear, you're making me sound old."
Cadence giggles.
"Sorry, old habits and all that."
She motions for the attendants to follow.
"How's little Flurry doing?"
"Good, good. She's growing faster than we can parent—just discovered teleportation the other day."
Flurry announced this development by warping into the Yak ambassador's stomach and clambering out through his mouth, a display that sufficiently terrified him into signing a new trade agreement.
"Smart filly, isn't she? If I recall, she's pretty good at those transformation spells too."
The last Grand Galloping Gala ended early when Flurry decided to turn herself inside-out.
"... yes, she … certainly is."
There's a reason Flurry was left with Sunburst.
"So, anyways, down to business."
"Please."
"I'm sure you had … trouble reading Princess Celestia's letter."
"A little, yes."
It was incomprehensible.
"I had just as hard a time transcribing it. Her Majesty has been, well, very happy since yesterday morning. I couldn't gleam any specifics, but it seems that Princess Luna's getting married."
Cadence stops.
"What?"
"I think that Princess Luna's getting married."
"That's quite a bombshell to just drop on somepony. She's never even been on a date with anypony, how in Tartarus did this happen?"
"I have my theories, but I believe it's the result of an … unfortunate legal technicality."
"The Law for the Purity and Virtue of Equestrian Royalty?"
"Most likely, yes."
"Shit."
Onlookers murmur, rumors confirmed and denied by the exchange. The usual parasites, nobles and journalists, begin their advance, hunting for some gossip to absorb and spread. Canterlot is taken by a cloud of speculation, a miasma of half-truths and speculation that grows more potent as it enters more minds.
"Are you absolutely sure this isn't a prank or something?"
"It certainly doesn't look like one to me. I've never seen Princess Celestia this happy, and Princess Luna spent last night with an 'honored guest.' I have no solid grasp on what's actually going on, but I know that you're the best person to figure it out."
Cadence fiddles with a recording crystal before setting it on the coffee table, a sapphire light thrumming off polished mahogany.
"Anonymous, right?"
"Yeah."
She looks up from her notes.
"So you're the alien that's been living with Twiley?"
"More or less."
"Huh."
She begins to write.
"When did you first meet Aunt Luna?"
"Three days ago."
"Where?"
"Sweaty Dan's Drinking Shack."
Real classy place.
"Was she disguised or anything?"
"In hindsight, barely."
"I'll take that as a yes. What did you both do together?"
"Drinking Shack."
"Beyond the obvious."
"We talked and had sex."
"What did you talk about?"
"A lot, politics and culture mainly. I'm surprised at how many parallels there are between human and pony history. You know Bone Apart the Necromancer? Well, his life story is pretty much just Nap - "
Cadence raises a hoof.
"Sorry, but this is getting off-track. Focus on your conversation with Luna. What was it like?"
"Well, we generally agreed on a lot of things, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't enjoyable. Heh, it was like Statler and Waldorf, both of us asshole curmudgeons."
She leans forward.
"Did you feel any special connection to her?"
"What does that even mean?"
"Love, lust, attraction … "
He shrugs.
"I dunno, not really? It was like talking to a good friend, I guess."
"How did you get from there to sex?"
"Alcohol, I'd assume. It's a bit of a leap, thinking back, but it seemed natural at the time."
"Right. How do you feel about the engagement?"
"Numb. It's just … I don't know. Half of me wants to try and make things work, half of me wants to line her up against a wall, and I end up in this neutral middle. To be totally honest, I don't know how to feel anymore, haven't since I've arrived in Equestria. Everything just becomes so confused and melds into this … meaningless grey sludge."
She looks him in the eyes.
"Are you alright? This sounds like something you should see a therapist about."
"It's fine, I'll get over it eventually."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Cadence purses her lips.
"Look, if you need help … "
"I appreciate the concern, but I can do it alone. Is there anything else?"
She places her notes on an accent table.
"I guess that's it for now. Can you get Aunt Luna?"
"Sure."
Anon stands up and leaves, the pony-sized couch audibly relieved to get rid of him. It's a horribly gaudy little thing, some Second Empire monstrosity that had been rightfully relegated to one of the tertiary drawing rooms. The room itself is a hodgepodge of leftover gifts from social climbers and diplomats, and lies tucked away in some overlooked corner. It is thus the perfect place for more sensitive discussions—few even know that it's there, and none of its furnishings will be missed if things turn violent.
A muffled argument flows in from the hallway.
"Your turn, Moonhorse."
"I still don't know why you were so keen on going first, Rape Ape. Are you trying to lie to my niece, make yourself look good?"
"Do you ever shut up?"
"For you? Never."
"Not very regal of you, Princess."
Luna huffs before sauntering in, stately posture betrayed by a grimace.
"As if a beast like you would know a thing about regality."
She slams the door.
"Niece Cadence."
"Aunt Luna."
Cadence wonders if she should hug her, but decides to stay put. No sense in prodding a hornets' nest, after all.
"So, this is certainly an … interesting situation."
"If one wishes to put it diplomatically, yes. I myself would prefer to use stronger language."
Luna sits down on the couch.
"Can you refrain, for my sake?"
"I'll try."
"Better than nothing, I suppose. What do you think of Anonymous?"
"Had I not been put in this situation, I reason we could have been close friends. As things stand, I would like to throw him off a very tall building."
"Why?"
"Emotions are unreasonable. I know that I put myself in this situation, but that doesn't stop me from being angry at him."
"Well, how do you feel about the engagement itself?"
"Furious."
"Care to elaborate?"
"I am being forced to marry somepony I met three days ago, what more needs to be said?"
"Just humor me."
"Fine. I am still recovering from my exile, striving to understand this new era and meaningfully connect with those that live in it. I haven't the time, nor the energy, for love."
"That sounds pretty rehearsed."
"I know how I feel, Niece."
"Aunt Luna … "
"No offense to you, but I have never needed romance. It is little more than a parasite that weakens your spirit and distracts you from what is important. I need only myself to be happy, and to be forced into a relationship is an indignity beyond compare."
"Look, what you just said is something I'd expect to hear from some cheesy comic book villain. How do you actually feel about love?"
Luna stands up.
"I have no interest in something so … fleeting."
Airy chimes signal her departure, the door encased in a cerulean aura.
"Good day, Niece."
Hoofsteps grow softer as Luna buggers off to do moon stuff or something.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Celestia rests on a copse of tyrian pillows, bolts of afternoon sunlight piercing through layers of cloud and casting her study in a rich orange glow. She lazily sips on some tea as she drinks in the warmth of a sandstone fireplace, where fronds of magical fire dance on enchanted logs. This is a daily ritual for her, an inviolable hour away from governance that keeps her from throwing the planet into the Sun.
Three thumps, followed by a yelp.
"Come in, Cadie."
It's a special knock between the two. Much like that embarrassing sunshine dance, the ritual is a habit of affection, performed without any consideration for appearances. There is an undeniable innocence about it, and from that innocence one can gleam the familial love that flows between them.
"I want to talk about Luna's engagement, Auntie."
Celestia turns to her, beaming smile illuminated by rippling flames.
"Isn't it wonderful?"
Cadence gulps.
"Actually, from what I've heard, it's, um, more complicated than that."
"How so?"
"You know that weird virginity law?"
"Unfortunately."
"Aunt Luna and Anonymous … well, I don't really know how to put this."
Celestia laughs.
"Cadie, I'm well aware of the circumstances—Twilight sent a very, very thorough report."
"Then how are you so happy about this? It's an absolute dumpster fire."
Celestia rises from her pillows and beckons Cadence with a wing.
"My sister has lived for 3,000 years, and in that time she has proven herself to be the single biggest prude I've ever met. That Luna even had relations with Anonymous is a miracle, and tells me that, for all her posturing, she desperately wants to love somepony, whether she knows it or not."
They walk towards the window.
"That's all well and good Auntie, but I just think you're being too optimistic. Both are going through a lot right now, we can't just hoist a marriage upon them and expect a happily ever after."
Celestia surveys her doman, resting a foreleg on Cadence's withers.
"It is because they have problems that this marriage is a good thing. They are alienated from the world around them, and let their troubles fester by refusing the help of others. As the saying goes, no mare is an island, and they will thus learn to lean on each other. Besides, it's not as if we can stop it: the law is the law, after all."
"So you think this will help them."
"I know it will. They will be happier together than they are alone."
The tailor tut-tuts as he inspects the fit, chalk and tape measures whirling around him.
"I don't exactly know what that means, milord, but I can assure you that this outfit is entirely befitting a proper Prince-Elect."
In all fairness, the jackboot-breeches-tunic combo would, in most other circumstances, work quite well. As if out of spite, however, it was decided to color the thing like a day-old bruise and stud it with diamonds, the back dominated by a bedazzled moon. It's wrapped in silver braid and ivory piping, ridiculous epaulettes clinging to the shoulders.
Anon wonders how ponies even know what jackboots are, but chalks it up to some magic nonsense—that seems to their explanation for everything, after all.
"I don't care how befitting it is, this looks terrible. Why can't I wear a suit or something?"
The tailor shakes his head and begins to ramble on about appearances and couture and such. Anon remains convinced that high fashion is an elaborate money laundering scheme.
Someone raps on the door, prompting the tailor to retire his instruments.
"And there it is. You look fantastic, milord. Please, if anypony asks, tell them that your wonderful outfit was made by Glamorous Stitch."
Fucking prick.
"I don't know why you'd want to take credit for this, but sure."
More knocks.
"I'm coming, I'm coming, hold your horses."
Anon chuckles as a crimson aura wrenches the door open.
"Heh. Horses, get it?"
A bespeckled, and decidedly unamused, unicorn occupies the threshold. She's got the look of an insufferable shrew, hair fixed in a tight bun and lips pursed even tighter. It's a face that would well suit some anarchist philosopher or middle school math teacher, and signals to the world that this mare has a very large, very painful, stick lodged deep in her ass.
"You're almost late. Get a move on."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Clear Schedule, your new assistant. As I said, get a move on."
Anon narrows his eyes and follows her into the arched marble corridor. Servants and bureaucrats flit about under mauve banners, and gilded columns shine in the light of magical torches. Despite the crowd it's remarkably quiet, the castle's ranks operating with an undeniable professionalism.
"So, who shat in your coffee this morning?"
"I hope you will refrain from using such language in Court, sir. The last thing Equestria needs is a vulgar royal—Goddess knows, Prince Blueblood's bad enough."
"Ok there, Nurse Ratched. Seriously, what's your problem?"
She bears her steely eyes on his own.
"My responsibility is to make sure that you're on time and on track. I am not here to be your friend, nor am I here to be your enemy: I am here to do my job. I may come across as rude, but I'm just being direct, which I've found gets a lot more done than sugarcoating things."
They turn their gazes forward.
"Fair enough. To be entirely honest, I'm not sure why I even need an assistant, it's not like I have any actual power."
She stops.
Anon wears a neutral mask, worry creeping out through the seams.
"Please don't tell me I have actual power."
Schedule looks equal parts confused and horrified, her ears splayed back and mouth hanging open.
"You will have the same authority, rights, and privileges as any other member of royalty. Did … did you not know that?"
Anon's mask slips, and he lets out a shuddering breath.
"Jesus fucking Christ, why the hell wasn't I told about this earlier?"
She tries to compose herself.
"I mean, it's not that bad, it's, um, certainly manageable. I doubt you'll have too many responsibilities, and I'll be there to make sure you don't mess up."
She gives a strained smile, her panic held back by sheer force of will.
"Look, I can handle the work, and I'm not gonna go around building statues of my penis or something. Trust me, I'm the last person you need to worry about."
Now she's just confused.
"Then what's the problem?"
"That some guy can become a world leader by having drunk sex! Honestly, how the hell does your government even work, there's like 15 princesses! Do they all have equal say and just … slosh around in absolute power until something needs to get done? What's your system even called?"
"Hexrarchy, but with you in the mix, it will be a Septrarchy, I suppose."
"Septrarchy."
"Yes."
He begins to pace back and forth.
"That's … awful. Honestly, there's no other way to describe it."
Anon motions down at his chest.
"So why am I dressed up like Generalissimo de la Luna?"
"All members of royalty share supreme command over the military."
Anon nearly vomits.
"What kind of loopy doopy banana republic bullshit is that?"
"It's a holdover from the Celestial Monarchy."
In other words, they forgot to update the law when Cadence ascended.
"Bloody hell. Multiple sovereigns, each with different ideologies and personalities, sharing near-complete control over the lives of millions. It's something out a fucking YA dystopian novel."
"Calm down, it looks like you're about to have an aneurysm."
Anon stops and holds a hand over his eyes.
"Sorry if I'm completely horrified by this, it's not every day you learn that you're becoming part of the worst government yet created. I'll just, fucking, I dunno, talk to Luna about it or something."
Though shaken, they resume their march.
"Anyways, where are we going?"
"You and Princess Luna are overseeing Court today. Princess Celestia decided that it would be a good way to publicly announce your engagement."
He slowly inhales.
"You all really need to start telling me things."
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Luna slowly nods, mouth curled in a serene smile and back held straight.
"... the toll that we instituted in 973 was associated with a five percent decrease in hoof traffic and three … "
Glazed eyes betray a profound disinterest, yet the distance between her throne and any petitioners more than hides it.
"... in carriage traffic. Such a discrepancy was likely the result of commercial carriage use, and … "
This is an act that's been mastered over the course of millennia, a state of mental hibernation that she can enter on a whim.
"... though the economic impact was, all things considered, relatively minor, the increase in city revenue proved itself to be … "
The trick is to grunt and nod every 30 seconds or so, and thus give the illusion that you're actually listening.
"... essential services such as fire and police received a substantial budget increase, and an overall surplus allowed for … "
On the other hand, Anon doesn't even bother to conceal his boredom.
"I'm sorry, but can you get to the point?"
The petitioner sputters before rummaging through his notes.
"Right, right … sorry your highness, I'm … just looking for the part in my speech where I … "
"Ignore the speech. You obviously know more about this than anyone else, just tell me why you're here."
"Well, um, the Manehatten City Council is wondering whether or not it should increase the toll on the Hooflyn Bridge."
Anon barely restrains a sigh.
"What is the point of a city council?"
"To govern, your highness."
"Does the Manehatten City Council know what it's doing?"
"I'd say so."
Luna looks between the two with growing amusement.
"Then why did you come here?"
"I don't follow, your highness."
Anon shuts his eyes.
"The point of the Manehatten City Council is govern Manehattan, correct?"
"Yes, your highness."
"They know what's best for Manehatten, correct?"
"Yes, your highness."
"Then they should be the ones to decide on the toll, correct?"
The petitioner begins to sweat.
"I suppose so, your highness."
"Ok, good. I hereby decree … "
Anon turns to Luna.
"Can I decree things?"
"Probably not, but nopony's going to call you out on it."
He turns back to the petitioner.
"I hereby decree that the Manehatten City Council shall put on its big boy pants and make this decision by itself. Is there anything else?"
The petitioner looks like someone ran over his cat.
"... no, your highness."
"Good. You can leave now."
He scurries out of the throne room.
"Are they all like this?"
"Unfortunately."
Anon leans back and stares at the ceiling.
"It's like ruling over a nation of five year-olds."
"I suppose that they've gotten used to Sister's coddling during my absence."
Anon looks her in the eyes.
"I suppose we've got our work cut for us, then."
She raises an eyebrow.
"How so?"
"The way I see it, Equestria is a horrible mess held together by duct tape and quasi-theocracy. If I'm gonna have power, then I'm gonna use it to fix things. You in?"
He reaches out with a hand, and Luna smiles.
"Anonymous, I think that this is the start of an excellent partnership."
“In walks some old grandma, cat lady glasses and everything. She takes one look at me, and immediately begs that I not eat her. Before we can even get a word in, she bolts back towards the door and right into a guard."
There’s a weak clatter as Anon throws his fork onto the table.
“The crash was a lot louder than that, but you get the point.”
Luna's struggles to contain her laughter, airy giggles leaking through clenched teeth.
“Indeed! It reminded me of a rather large bell.”
Celestia and Cadence share a look, like parents whose son came home with a swastika tattooed on his forehead.
“She just sits there for like a minute, apparently thinking that we operate on T-Rex rules or something.”
Shining Armor makes himself useful.
“T-Rex rules?”
“Basically, we can’t see her if she doesn’t move. The guard asks if she’s alright, and, I swear to God, she tries to jump out a window. Of course, she doesn’t make it that far, what with levitation and all, and so just floats there in a Superman pose. Luna brings this mare right up to her eyes, and in the coldest voice I’ve ever heard … actually, you do it.”
Luna steels herself, her countenance grim and gaze piercing.
“You seem frightened. Should I call a doctor?”
Dams break, and their laughter fills the dining room. It takes a minute or so before they can breathe, the others watching on in loaded silence.
“Certainly an … interesting series of events. What happened afterwards?”
Celestia is genuinely worried that he ate her.
“She wanted permission to build an orphanage on public land. We allowed it, she thanked us a couple hundred times, and nobody died. Nice lady, if a little jumpy.”
Luna chuckles.
“What did she call you again? ‘The Great and Imperious One’?”
“Something like that. It’s nice to know the public already adores me.”
“I would argue that such a title brings to mind child sacrifice and dark rituals, not benevolence and charity. Perhaps you should work on your image, Rape Ape.”
“I can be Moloch if I want to be, Moonhorse.”
There’s no malice in either of their voices, the whole interaction a noticeable departure from their passive-aggressive shit flinging. And while Celestia fusses about how Anon and Luna treated her little ponies, Cadence is genuinely surprised that their relationship improved so quickly.
“You two seem to be getting along.”
They stop and look at each other.
“So we are. Truth be told, I’ve grown to tolerate him.”
“She’s certainly better company than most other ponies.”
This is a change that they’ve, on a subconscious level, certainly noticed, but haven’t yet bothered to explicitly acknowledge. It’s sobering, almost liberating, to have out in the open, an unexpectedly welcome departure from teenage girl drama bullshit.
“What’s with the third person? You’re sitting right next … never mind. Any plans for tomorrow?”
A minute of silence.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. You should take the day off, learn each other’s hobbies and stuff.”
Anon shrugs.
“Sure.”
Luna grunts in the affirmative.
They finish their meals in relative silence.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Anon twines his fingers and taps his thumbs, inspecting the bookshelves that line the walls.
“Safe to say you like reading?”
Luna sports something that’s halfway between a smirk and a grimace.
“Very astute.”
“What kind of books do you read?”
“Assorted nonfiction, mainly history. It is rather interesting when you have experienced the events firsthoof.”
“I’d imagine so. At least we’ve similar taste.”
A clock ticks, and their discomfort grows. It’s not like Anon and Luna have an awkward crush on each other, or that there’s any real hatred between them, they’re just not the sort to really talk about themselves. They aren’t introverts, per se, but they’re undeniably reserved, and find it unpleasant to discuss their personal lives. This is, perhaps, inspired by a fear of criticism, or maybe even some sort of self-loathing.
Either way, they’d rather be doing most anything else.
“Any other interests?”
“None that Sister would find acceptable.”
This certainly grabs his attention.
“Care to elaborate?”
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
“Mr. Hopper, you really must be more careful.”
Fluttershy tugs on the splint to make sure it’s in place. She rubs the rabbit’s head with a hoof before placing him on the couch, the critter bundled in a nest of pillows and blankets. It’s a minor injury, all things considered, but Fluttershy has always indulged in motherly excess when helping her animal friends.
She retires to a wicker rocking chair and takes a sip of tea, vapor painted yellow in the light of a midday sun. A cool breeze carries birdsong through an open window, and a fireplace merrily pops underneath photos of family and friends. Fluttershy leans back and takes a deep breath, absorbing the …
Terrible screeches fill the air and clods of dirt fly through the window. As the scent of blood and swamp water invades her nostrils, Fluttershy slowly puts her tea on a side table. Her shuddering hoofsteps smear the mess all over the carpet, and her wings are pressed tight around her barrel. Hooves clinging to the windowsill, she forces herself to look outside.
A hydra writhes about in an impact crater. Two of its heads are missing, and blood pours from the wounds that pepper its body, staining the snow and steaming against the cool winter air. It bellows as it shambles out of the crater, facing down the beings that have just burst out of the Everfree.
“Goddamn! Did you really have to throw it?”
“No, but I certainly enjoyed doing so!”
Luna sports a suit of ancient mithril plate, the surface littered with engravings and defensive runes. It practically glows with magic, untarnished despite its copious use. Anon, meanwhile, boasts a copper cooking pot and very, very thick jacket, for everything in the armory had been made for talking horses.
She makes for the beast with a flourish of wings, war hammer held in a cerulean glow. One of the hydra’s remaining heads snaps at her, and she dodges to the left before bringing the hammer down on its neck. There’s a crunch, then a bang as Anon fires his gun. It’s a primitive thing, a Griffon matchlock brought over in a technology exchange, but it certainly does the job, and is sturdy enough to survive when Anon charges the hydra with a bayonet.
It’s dead before long, and the two admire their kill, gasping for breath and covered in blood. They turn to each other and, without a word, move in for a kiss. Tongues and spit meld, and they run back into the forest, whooping like wild apes.
“Wow Luna, I can’t believe that you just mooned everyone. It’s truly shameful that someone of your stature would resort to such juvenile behavior.”
“Very mature, Anonymous.”
“Think of all the poor, impressionable children who watched on in horror as this great, ponderous mass lumbered over the horizon, blotting out the sun and bringing darkness to the land.”
“My moon isn’t that big.”
“It’s big enough.”
She snorts.
“Truly, a gentlestallion.”
The picnic was Cadence’s idea, an attempt to give their relationship a patina of respectability. Beneath the twilight stars, on top a plush blanket, and surrounded by like 12 space heaters, Anon and Luna pick at sandwiches and look up at the sky, taking the time to enjoy each other’s company.
“Actually, how the hell does that even work? Unless this is some weird flat Earth realm of bullshit, I don’t think it’s too good of an idea to just move celestial bodies like that.”
“Discord threw the Sun and Moon from their rightful places, and we haven’t yet the power to return them. All we can do is guide their movements as to simulate natural day and night.”
“That's … terrifying. Doesn’t Discord live with that mare we traumatized?”
“Kindness? I believe so.”
“Is he gonna do anything about that?”
“Probably. Knowing him, it will be incredibly annoying and come at the worst possible time.”
“... Great.”
Luna turns to him.
“What did you do before coming here?”
“I was a blood-sucking parasite.”
“Hmm?”
“A lawyer. Corporate, mind you—never actually went to trial—but a lawyer nonetheless.”
“You have my condolences.”
“Heh. It was the most soulless fucking existence imaginable, and I’m glad that it’s over."
He looks up at the stars.
"I mean, sure, it was a shitty transition from Earth to Equestria, what with being the weird alien and all, but I can honestly say that it was worth it. There isn't this overwhelming sense of … I dunno, spiritual rot, I guess. I don’t mean that in the religious sense, mind you, but in the emotional sense. My old society was … is blanketed by this horrible, nihilistic materialism, and people are so lonely and unfulfilled that their only option is escapism. Hell, I’m lucky that I ended up here—I honestly don’t believe that my homeland will even exist in 50 years time.
“That's a rather depressing way to look at things. Surely, it isn’t that bad.”
“You’d be surprised. We’re rich, but most of the wealth is just sitting in the hands of these financial parasites with no higher ideals and tiny moleman eyes. We have incredible knowledge and technology, but we use it to masturbate and justify our complete lack of ambition. We tolerate our differences, even when said differences lead to a complete loss of culture, social cohesion, and political stability. It’s the most boring dystopia ever—we’re forced to live under this decaying pretense of normalcy.”
Anon lays on the ground and runs a hand through his hair.
“Whatever, it’s in the past. I’ve no idea what I want to do here, but I want to do something, and all I see is opportunity. What are your plans for the future? I doubt you want to stay a politician.”
She lays down next to him, head on his shoulder.
“Sister and I plan to retire, believe it or not. She’s sick of ruling, and I am rather uncomfortable with modern Equestria. Things were … simpler before my banishment, much less bureaucracy and public relations nonsense.”
“What will you do then, sit around in a wicker rocking chair and play bingo all day?”
“No, but Sister will, and she wants me to follow her. Truth be told, I would quite like to buy one of those new airships, use it to explore the world and such.”
“Then why don’t you? Personally, suicide sounds preferable to the old folk’s home.”
“I just might.”
They sit there for a moment, taking in the stars and the dim glow of the moon. There’s no noise, no movement, just the two of them and the endless sky.
“Anonymous, your whining has got me thinking. I am not optimistic about Equestria’s future.”
“And why’s that?”
“Twilight Sparkle is far too neurotic and idealistic to be a good leader. She has the soul of an academic, and I fear that her reign will be one of inane change and half-baked platitudes. I suppose we are lucky that she is mortal.”
“Hmm. She strikes me as the type who’d try to create the metric year and make us all speak Esperanto. All the more reason to buy that airship.”
He turns to her.
“I think I might love you, Luna.”
“One would certainly hope so, we are getting married.”
“Sod off. Despite everything, this just feels right, you know?”
She looks into his eyes.
“In that case, I love you too.”
They spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
“The wedding date has been moved up to a week from now.”
Anon barely avoids spewing his oatmeal across the table, coughing as he tries to choke it down.
“Jesus Christ Celestia, you don’t just drop a bomb like that. A bit sudden, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps, but you know how the public enjoys this sort of thing. Besides, you two are made for each other. Bloody psychos.”
Luna raises an eyebrow.
“Is it going to be a spectacle?”
“If you mean a very public, very flashy ceremony and reception, then yes.”
“Why?”
“The last royal wedding ended with thousands of deaths and billions in property damage. We need to show the world that love conquers all.”
In other words, Celestia and Cadence are hopeless romantics, and know that Anon and Luna would probably elope without some half-assed political justification.
Anon sighs and closes his eyes, arms crossed and head tilted upward.
“My dad was late to his own wedding, you know. He stopped for ice cream on the drive over, and the country club didn’t let him in because he refused to wear a tuxedo. I can always … ”
“No, you won’t.”
Luna snickers.
“And neither will you. I dread tempting fate like this, but nothing will go wrong."
The griffon shakes his hand, wide eyes betraying a hint of mischief.
"Hello. You are … ?"
"Gilda Sturmkralle, Chancellor of the Griffonstone Confederacy. I heard a lot about you from RD."
"Who?"
"Rainbow Dash, she said you lived in Ponyville for a while."
"Oh, Blue Lesbian. Only good things, I hope."
"Hah! I remember her calling you a 'radical alien monkey thing.' High praise, coming from her."
"Didn't think I left that much of an impression."
"In all fairness, she also called you a 'total ass,' but that's neither here nor there."
Anon chuckles.
"You're certainly more casual than I'd expect a Chancellor to be."
"I'm kind of new to the whole ruling thing, if you can't tell. I won't bore you with the history lesson, but I was the only one who actually gave a shit about fixing things, so they put me in charge. Not my first choice, but better than nothing."
“It's remarkable just how poorly everyone here chooses their leaders. Anyways, I'm glad you could make it."
"Like I'd miss this—it isn't every day that an alien and alicorn get married."
Gilda turns toward the sound of hoofsteps.
"Yo, Thorax! Say hi to the Prince!"
The changeling looks around in confusion before spotting them.
“Oh, um, hey. Anonymous, right?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Thorax. Well, King Thorax, but, you know … ”
The sapient gummy worm looks as if he's trying to dematerialize through sheer tyranny of will, wince barely concealed and ears pressed flat against his head.
“So, um, nice party? Congrats on ... getting married and stuff. Well, getting married tomorrow, but, heh, same difference, right?”
“Right.”
The two just sort of stand there for a bit, Thorax not knowing what to say, and Anon hoping that he’ll take the hint and leave.
"Nice … weather we're having?"
Silence.
“Ok, it was, um, nice to meet you. I guess I’ll see you around.”
Thorax slinks off, leaving Anon and Gilda to resume their conversation.
“Is he always like that?”
“Yeah. He’s the red-feathered stepchild of the world leaders club, and no one has the heart to ask what’s wrong with him. My money’s on Asperger's. In all honesty, I’m not sure why Celestia chose him to be king, or under what authority she even did so, but Thorax hasn’t yet tried to kill everyone, so he’s pretty good by changeling standards.”
“Are they that bad?”
“Yes, or at least they used to be. Them acting like actual people is a pretty recent development.”
“Huh. Well, have a good evening, Your Excellency.”
“Likewise, Your Highness.”
The Chancellor shoots a little grin over her shoulder as she walks away. Anon, for his part, spots Luna talking to some ruffled shirt over by the refreshments table, a plate levitating beside her. He slowly makes his way in her direction, taking the time to appraise the festivities.
Anon’s been to events like this before, and most all of them have this undeniable superficiality, feigned community for the sake of appearances. These dignitaries and socialites don’t really care about each other, and instead exist, atomized, in this materialistic haze of apathy and ambition. There isn't much underlying malice or hatred, mind you, just a lack of any genuine connection. It's a harmless soullessness, the kind that’s only noticeable through its comparative emptiness. And so Anon just grins and bears, knowing that, at the very least, things aren’t bad—they just aren’t good.
“ … can understand the practical benefits of these new machines, but I just don’t think that we should dive into them like this. Progress serves ponies, not the other way around, and I’d rather be cautious than destroy our society in the name of GDP. I’m not asking for cavepony luddism, but for … ”
“Luna.”
“Anonymous. Thank you for interrupting our conversation.”
“Don’t mention it. What the hell are you eating?”
The plate is piled high with various odds and ends, all of it mixing together into some vaguely multicolored slush.
“Food.”
“In the barest sense of the word, yes. Why are you eating … that?”
“I felt like it. Not entirely sure why, but I am enjoying it nonetheless.”
“Right.”
Anon turns to the stallion whose argument he just beat over the head with a 2x4.
“Sorry about that, Mr. … ”
“Aural Flash. I’m the provost of CSGU.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Trying to entertain myself, you see—I don’t really enjoy these sort of things.”
“Perfectly understandable. Have a good night.”
They part ways, and Anon starts walking, not particularly caring where he ends up. That’s the worst thing about these events: the directionlessness, the utter lack of purpose beyond eating and talking. He’s drawn from his thoughts by the clearing of a throat.
"Prince Anonymous, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Idube, Negus of Zebrika."
He's a racist caricature given equine form, his neck enclosed by golden rings and nose run through with a chicken bone. Anon barely manages to keep a straight face as he reaches out to do an awkward hoof bump.
“Charmed."
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Anon wonders how exactly these ponies know the Bridal Chorus. Is there a horse Wagner out there, happily writing operas about fat women and Jews? Is this planet some weird universal sinkhole of puns and pop culture references? Is it merely a bizarre coincidence? Whatever the case, it really weirds him out, and it took quite a bit of willpower to suppress his utter bafflement when the song started playing.
The hall is resplendent in the light of a midday sun, winter clouds cleared and sun perfectly positioned by Celestia herself. Blue and white banners hang from marble columns, the attendees clad in all manner of finery. If Anon and Luna actually cared about this sort of thing, they would declare it the perfect wedding.
As she walks down the aisle, Luna eyes the smiles of the crowd, the teary-eyed joy of her sister, the unrestrained joy of her niece. Even she herself has to admit a certain contentment, a deep happiness at the thought of what is to come.
Luna reaches the altar and positions herself across from Anon. Cadence steps forward, taking a breath as she prepares to read the vows.
“Friends, we are gathered here today to witness the union of our dearly beloved.”
The two become lost in each other and feel at peace, feel hopeful, feel that their lives have finally found meaning.
“Their love bridges worlds, and shines brighter than any star.”
While they wouldn’t use such poetic language, Anon and Luna well see the truth in it.
“May that love guide their actions, bring them peace and solace, raise them up when brought down.”
She turns to Luna.
“Do you accept this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to hold and support him, to live as one in harmony?”
“Yes.”
Luna’s always been direct like that.
“And do you accept this mare to be your lawfully wedded wife, to guide and protect her, to live as one in harmony?”
“I do.”
She steps back with a giggle, wings fluttering in excitement.
“Well, go on then, kiss!”
They lean into each other, each inch closer another excited heartbeat. They feel the warmth of each other’s breath, the parting of each other’s lips, the …
Luna vomits.
“Jesus Christ, it’s in my mouth!”
Anon steps back as he coughs and sputters, desperately wiping the mess away from his face. Luna gently rocks as she flutters her eyes and catches her breath, assaulted by a sudden migraine.
“Auntie, are you alright?”
“Oh dear. That was … sudden.”
“You ... all good?”
Luna gives a weak nod to Anon’s query.
“Must have been that shit from last night. Fucking hell, do we kiss, or … ”
“It isn’t actually the kiss that makes it official, it’s the response to the vows. You’re married … congrats. We should get a doctor for Auntie, make sure it’s nothing too serious.”
“I’m … I’m fine. Just nausea. Been happening … often, but under control.”
“Luna, seriously, you need to tell me about these things. Is there anything else?”
“Beyond ... cravings, no.”
Anon stares at her with growing dread.
“Cravings.”
“ … yes.”
He turns to Cadence.
“Is there a spell that … you know … ”
She gives a slight nod, as if any sudden movements would cause the room to explode. Her horn lights up, and she develops an unfortunate grimace.
“Um … Auntie.”
Luna barely finds the strength to turn to her.
“What.”
“Well, um, congrats, I guess. You’re … expecting.”
The crowd would gasp if they weren’t so uncomfortable.
Luna’s eyes turn to pinpricks as she slowly turns to her husband.
“Niece, can you repeat that?”
“You’re expecting.”
She slowly inhales.
“WHAT DID YOU DO, ANONYMOUS?”
“What did I do?”
“YES. HOW COULD YOUR FESTERING SEED HAVE TAKEN ROOT IN MY BELLY?”
“Don’t say it like that. How the fuck would I know, you’re the magical horse goddess!”
“Must have been some dark ape magic, foul sorceries to produce an unholy heir. WE AREN’T EVEN THE SAME SPECIES.”
“I’m as surprised as you are. Look, just calm down … ”
Luna launches herself at him with a scream.
And while Celestia and Cadence try to break it up, Discord laughs. He wouldn't stop for about a week.
“You wanted to know how your mother and I met, and I told you. The truth is hard sometimes, but it’s better to know than a comforting lie.”
“Yeah, but … I dunno. It makes me feel like a mistake.”
Anon leans down to pat his son on whatever horses call their shoulders.
“You may be a mistake, but you’re our mistake.”
“ … ”
“Kidding, kidding. Look, I never intended to get married and stuff, but I’m happy that I did. You and your mother are the best things that ever happened to me.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome, Incognito. Now, come on, get to bed. It’s late.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. You have to get up early tomorrow, we’re meeting those Griffons, remember?”
“Fine. G’night Dad.”
“Goodnight, Incognito.”
Anon shuts off the lights and closes the door, walking from his son’s room down to his own. Luna’s in bed, reading a book, as he slips under the covers and joins her.
“Are you sure we can trust Blueblood at the helm?”
“Despite his foppery, he is a tremendously skilled pilot. Trust me, we’ll be fine.”
“If you say so. Goodnight, Luna.”
“Goodnight, Anonymous.”
Luna puts her book away and dims her lamp, grabbing her husband close to her chest. The two snuggle into each other, contented grins on their faces.
