Act 1, Part 1: Bats and Black Coffee

Bats and Black Coffee

The moon hung low over Equestria, almost dangerously so. The night in the countryside was still and silent, shrinking away from the cruel glare of The Mare in the Moon bearing down upon the world with a cold, steely hatred that, even one thousand years later, struck an instinctive and chilling fear into the hearts of ponies. The countryside had no defense from this chill, and so as they had for that same thousand years, the ponies had all long since retreated into their homes.

The towns fared better; their streetlamps warmed the ponies' hearts, staving off the chill of her glare, so instead she was forced to reach out with cold autumn winds. They swept through the streets, cutting through fur and flesh and straight to the bones of any pony who should be so unfortunate to be caught in them. The winds caught up dead leaves, litter, and dust, funneling them through the narrow streets of Canterlot City like a long, grasping hoof. Reaching, searching, yearning. Through the streets, the squares, finally finding a rest near ina young couple in a mighty park.

It was the largest park in all of the Upper Quarter – all of Canterlot, really, which given the caliber of the city's greenery was nothing to turn one's nose up at. In the daytime it was filled with high class families, idling their days away by the many ponds with parks, or playing games. At night, though, the true majesty of the park came alive. The open stretches illuminated as much by fireflies as by the streetlamps, suddenly seeming so small compared to the forests that surrounded them. Those mighty forests, stretching on for what seemed like forever. Nopony dared venture far into them for fear of becoming lost, or running astray of some wild animal – at least, insofar as any animal in Canterlot could truly be said to be wild.

The young couple trotted eagerly along the path, tucked close together to be warmed by each others bodies'. Their breath puffed out into the darkness, and as the clouds of mist danced above their heads it seemed, for a time, as though there were two sets of lovers in the park that night.

“Look!” the mare said, holding out a hoof for a firefly to land on. She stared at it happily, its light illuminating both their faces. “Isn't it pretty?”

“Mhmm!” He leaned in to get a closer look, but the firefly took off, buzzing away lazily and leaving two giggling ponies behind. “Well... I guess it isn't all that friendly.”

“Not all pretty things are,” the mare said, still watching it buzz away.

“Well... you're awfully friendly.”

“W-what?” The mare blushed, looking up at the stallion and then away quickly.

“I said... y-you're pretty,” the stallion stammered, flushing bright red, “and friendly. So...” The pair mulled around for a moment, laughing sheepishly and blushing at one another. “Sorry,” the stallion said, “I guess that was a bit too so - ”

“No,” the mare interrupted. “No, it's alright. I, um... thank you. That's... really sweet of you. Thanks.”

The pair fell silent, watching the fireflies buzz as their eyes settled on a nearby bug, imagining that it was the one who had landed upon the mare's hoof, and not merely some random insect. They tucked close to each other, watching it drift through the sky like some glowing early snowflake, swinging towards the treeline.

“It's beautiful,” the mare said.

“Hm?”

“Oh, I don't know... everything. I mean... the firefly... the night... the... the...” She blinked idly, squinting into the night.

“Something wrong?” The stallion looked between her and the bushes, concern creeping across his face. He shivered as a gust of wind cut through him.

“No, I... do you see that?” The mare took a step towards the bush, the stallion following her.

“See what?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. “It's probably just more fireflies.”

“I don't think so... it looks different.”

Another gust blew through the park, howling like a ghost and rustling the bushes. Suddenly, for just a moment, two pools of light shone out.

“Wh-what was that?” the stallion asked. The mare tucked close to him.

“I... think it was an animal?” she said. “I think those were its eyes...”

“Couldn't be.” The stallion swallowed, his voice trembling as though he were trying to convince himself more than the mare. “An animal's eyes wouldn't... glow like that. Do fireflies have colonies?”

“It was low to the ground,” the mare said. She inched closer to the bush, unaware of the chill in her bones, or the stallion glancing over his shoulder again. “Maybe it's a cat?”

“Out here?” For some strange reason, he gazed up at the moon, shivering again – and not because of the cold.

“Might have run away from home. Poor thing... it's probably lost and cold... I should take it home. At least for tonight, until I can find it's owner.”

“I don't... think that's a good idea,” the stallion said. “I think we should get out of here.”

“Don't be silly,” the mare chided over her shoulder. “It's just a kitty... see, it's even purring.” The stallion blinked, inching closer as well. Sure enough, he heard the low rumbling emanating from the bushes. The sound only make his skin crawl more.

“Hhhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...”

“I grew up with cats,” he said. “That's not what purring sounds like.”

“Oh, sush.” The mare giggled. “Don't be such a scardey-cat.” She turned back to the bush, creeping in closer. “Here, kitty kitty kitty...”

“Hhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, h-hrrrrrrrrrrrr...”

“There there... I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna.... wanna...”

The mare was inches away from the eyes now, and she could see them all too clearly. Behind that cold glow there were two fiery orange irises, each cut down the centre by a long, tight feline iris. Unblinking, unmoving... they did not belong to a cat. No cat had eyes this big, bigger than hers.

“Hrrrrrr-heh-hrrrrrrrrrrrr, heh-hrrrrrrrrr...”

“N-nice kitty,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Easy,” the stallion instructed. “Just... back out of there slowly. Don't say anything, don't make any noises.

“R-right,” the mare said, starting to scoot back. “I-I'll just...”

Another pair of eyes opened above her.

Beneath the cruel gaze of The Mare in the Moon, the autumn winds blew. They ran through the narrow streets all at once, as though racing to their destination. Racing to slice, to bite, to seize, they came in, grasping like some terrible claw. A scream rang out in the night, and for just an instant The Mare in the Moon seemed to smile. Then, silence.

***

The next morning a small, gaunt unicorn mare trotted hurriedly through the streets of the Upper Quarter. There were heavy bags beneath her eyes, turning her olive green coat a sickly hue around them, and her muddy brown mane was wild and askew. If it were not for the glint of determination in her eyes, gleaming out from the sunken orbs, she would have looked dreadfully ill. As it was she looked as though she had leapt straight from her bed onto the streets, only pausing just long enough to stuff the saddlebags that she wore. They had been stuffed so full that they nearly covered the large T-shape emblazoned on her flank, loose papers poking out and quivering in the wind – not unlike the ponies she passed, ducking out of the way of the pen she still clutched between her teeth like a sword.

She seemed to have very little regard for any of them, if she even noticed her presence. She was muttering to herself beneath her breath, foul oaths and strange phrases none who ventured close enough to hear could understand. She merely strode towards her destination heedlessly: the East Upper Quarter Guardhouse.

She threw the door open upon her arrival, slamming it loudly and causing the very disturbed looking guardpony standing in the lobby to jump. He whirled around, his face blanching further as he scrabbled at the state the main desk was in: papers strewn everywhere, dozens of books on various protocols, case histories and ancient laws laying open, serving as coasters to a cup of hot cocoa, and a pillow to his sleeping partner. As before, the mare did not seem to care about the state of the place. In fact, she did not seem to notice. She continued to stride onwards as the guard stepped into her path.

“Do you have business here, ma'am?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied curtly, hardly pausing.

“And that is?”

“None of your business.” She set her eyes upon the door at the back of the lobby, changing her trajectory for it. The guard faltered slightly, but puffed out his chest and stood in her way.

“Do you have permission to go back there, ma'am?”

“No.” The mare barely broke stride, stepping around him with such vitriol that one could almost hear the unspoken “you idiot”. The guard blinked silently, staring into the place where she no longer was, before turning around slowly.

“Ma'am - ”

“Look,” the mare turned sharply on her back hoof, “do you know who I am?”

“Um, no, but - ”

“Erinaceidae. And no, you haven’t heard of me, so don’t lie. You’d remember my name.” Her horn lit up, floating a large, thick book with her name emblazoned across the top out of her saddlebags and dumping it on the desk, waking the sleeping guard with a start. “I am the foremost zoological scholar in Canterlot, and I do not need your permission,” she jabbed the guard's chest, “to do my job. Quite frankly you should have come to me first. I shouldn't have had to hear about this from some stallion in the gutter, but I did, and now I'm going to see them before some idiot decides they're best dead!”

With that she turned sharply around again, storming through the door and slamming it shut behind her.

The room beyond the lobby was dark and dank, the sort of place for ponies to sit and contemplate the true end of a life of crime. Cynically, Erin considered how played-up it all was, like some stage-play set up to scare stupid vandals straight before they committed a real crime. The walls were pockmarked with tiny cells, mere slabs of wood protruding from the walls for beds. There was only a single toilet in the entire room, along the back wall where everypony would be able to see, and there were an ample supply of chains and shackles hanging from the shelves near the entrance – no doubt for escorting the ponies to said facilities.

Erin snorted, sweeping her hoof across a shackle. Dust. Inches of it. Nothing in this room had been used in years, most likely. Not that they were any real representation of the place anypony around here would wind up anyways. Erin had seen the inside of one of those prisons. All plush beds and lavish apartments. She snorted again, her attention being drawn away from the shackles by a deep echo of her grunt.

In the centre of the room were two cages, the kind that usually stored wild animals. Sturdy, tightly-woven bars, constructed to make well sure that what was inside them was not getting out, which Erin thanked their makers for. She had studied wild animals before, and what sat before her was far more than wild.

It was a pair of ponies – or at least, so it seemed from a distance. They were large, charcoal grey stallions – demonstrated by their square features and broad, convex snouts - with night-blue manes. Even from this distance it was clear how solidly they were built, their muscles bulging beneath their tightly-stretched coats, shifting and shuddering with every step they took as they paced back and forth in their cages. Their eyes, burning embers of bright orange set deep inside their skulls, were set dead on her, almost glowing despite the pale light and never once leaving her as she walked towards them. As she approached she noticed the strangest thing about them – their wings.

Tucked tightly against each pony's body was a pair of wings, but these were a far cry from the beautifully preened feathers most pegasi had. These were the dark, tight, leathery wings of a bat. One of the ponies stretched his wings open, displaying them as though he knew he were being watched. The skin stretched over the elegant bones ran along their entire body, from haunch to shoulder, blending seamlessly with their dark fur.

All in all, the ponies cut a deeply menacing figure, prowling in their cages with their heads held low like monstrous, predatory cats. Every so often one would beat his wings, a deep growl emanating from his throat. The other kept quiet, his eyes twitching faintly up and down, watching the mare cautiously.

“Ooh, aren't you two just gorgeous?” Erin cooed, clapping her hooves together. The growling stallion took a step back, snarling quietly.

“Oh no, no, I won't hurt you!” She stepped slowly towards the cages, one inch at a time. “Just wanna get a look at you two.” She crept closer, centimeter by centimeter, and the ponies stopped their prowling. They slunk to the edge of their cages, snuffling at the air. “That's right,” Erin said, “Good boys...”

The door to the room slammed open, the flustered guard barging in. The stallion that had been growling previously roared, his voice the horrid, bestial child of a howl and a hiss, screaming through the room. From this distance, Erin saw something else peculiar about the ponies: fangs. Long, needle-sharp and gleaming in the beam of light that the open door threw upon them. The stallion threw himself up against the cage, snarling and roaring, snapping his jaws like a monster and beating his wings threateningly, his eyes alight with mad fire.

“Ma'am!” the guard yelled, “Get away from them! They're dangerous!”

The mare's shoulders seized up, but she didn't back away from the cage. In fact, the snarling pony inside hardly seemed to concern her at all.

“Oh really?” she asked, an edge that could carve through the densest skulls to her voice, “Is that why they're in cages loaned to you from the Canterlot Zoo? The ones designed for transporting lions and tigers?”

“Y-yes,” the guard said. He shut the door behind him carefully, trotting up to the mare. He kept his distance, clearly intimidated by the pony in the cage. It had stopped its gnashing, but it still growled deeply. “They've already hurt somepony – a young mare in Peak's Park last night. Got a good bite on her.”

“That's...” Erin paused. “Is she alright? The mare?”

The guard nodded, rubbing his brow as he recounted the incident. “She's fine. The doctors say the bite's mostly nothing to worry about. Clean it up, put some stitches in it, she'll be right as rain in a few weeks. Might leave a scar, but...” He shrugged. “A stallion – must have been her coltfriend or something – shouted for help soon as it happened. I was in the area... those things were crazy. Flying and jumping around.” He shook his head, sighing.

“What happened?” Erin asked, her horn lighting up and levitating a notepad in front of her face. She tapped it impatiently with the pen in her mouth, gazing up at the guardstallion before her. “Did they fly? Any peculiar behaviors? Any sort of magic you've never seen before?”

“Uh, well,” the guard looked around the room awkwardly for a moment. “Well... not really. I mean, there was nothing really unusual about them aside from... well, you can probably see for yourself. The seemed to be able to fly – they were dive-bombing the couple when I arrived. They heard me coming from a ways away, too. Must be those funny ears of theirs...” he rubbed his neck. “Thought they were muggers from that far away, really... until they yelled at me. I guess you heard that, though...” He shuddered. “Sends shivers down your spine, doesn't it? Sounds like some kinda monster... Whatever they are, they aren't ponies...”

“We'll see,” Erin commented around her pen, which had been scribbling wildly across the page. Did you notice anything else? Think hard, it's important to know what they were doing. Did they stay where they were, just chasing the couple off? Were they following them? Did they attack you as soon as they saw you, or just yell at you?”

“Er... yes, no, and they kinda... just yelled. At least until I got closer.”

“Wait,” Erin said, “let me guess. You decided that the best way to get them away from the couple was to attack them?”

“Well, no,” the guard said. For a moment, he actually looked a bit offended. “I was just gonna shoo them off... but as soon as I got close they started attacking me too, so I had to do something about them.”

Erin gave a barely visible nod. “Colour me impressed,” she said, her tone as flat as ever. “And that was?”

“I put them out with sleeping magic,” the guard replied, “and brought them back here... Managed to get some cages from the Zoo to put them in. Seemed... well, appropriate I guess.”

“Fair enough,” Erin sighed, rubbing her eyes and tapping the notepad. “Is there anything else you can remember? This is very important. Anything you can think of, anything at all.”

“Well...” the guard's brow screwed up in concentration. “I don't think so... 'cept for the eyes. You can't really see it now, but they looked like they were glowing in the middle of the night.”

Erin blinked, looking over her shoulder at the pony. “Tapeum lucidum,” she commented. “They're nocturnal? Makes sense I suppose. Well, I get too much sleep these days anyways.” She shook her head, tucking the notepad away. “Thank you very much... what was it?”

“I'm sorry?”

“You name,” Erin said somewhat impatiently, “What was it?”

“Um, Flint,” the guard replied, “Corporal Flint.” Erin looked him up and down, as though trying to deem whether or not this was an appropriate name. In truth, it probably was. His coat was slate gray, accented by a yellowish, spark-coloured mane – no doubt the source of his name. Despite carrying the look of somepony who's not had nearly enough sleep, much like Erin herself, he held himself tall and proud, wiry muscles bulging beneath his glistening coat.

“Well Flint,” Erin continued, “you have provided a very valuable asset to science, today. Possibly the most valuable in many, many years.” She turned around, taking a few gentle steps towards the cages once more. “Now... who would I speak to about having them delivered to my home?”

It was Flint's turn to raise an eyebrow, now. “Excuse me?” he asked. “You want these... things in your home?”

“Yes,” she said. “Or, well. Home... I might be convinced to bring them to Canterlot University to study, but I don't tend to play well with others.” She flashed a smirking, toothy grin. “But they need to be studied. This is a completely new species, perhaps unlike anything we've seen before, I should think. We need to research them as thoroughly as we can. In fact...” she tapped her chin thoughtfully, “We should see about organizing a sweep of the forest where they were found. There may be a colony... if we can find mares we can observe mating, gestation, birthing, rearing...”

“Excuse me miss Erinacid... Erniac...”

“Erinaceidae,” the mare corrected. “Call me Erin.”

Flint paused for a moment, the oddity lingering in the air like a buzzing insect, before sighing and rubbing his tired eyes. “Look, miss Erin,” he continued, “I don't think you quite... understand, here. These things are dangerous. Their first interaction with ponies put one of them in the hospital. We're not just going to give them to some... civilian because she asks nicely. Even if you had asked nicely.”

“I am not a civilian,” Erin said pointedly, not turning away from the cages. “I am a scientist, and these creatures need to be studied. What exactly are you going to do with them? Give them to a zoo? They'll need somepony to research them, and they come right back to me. May as well give them to me directly. What else would you do? Give them to some rich collector? Set them free?”

“We - ” Flint sighed, tapping his hoof against the ground. “We haven't decided yet. It's not my decision. For all I know, we won't even be keeping them alive.”

Erin peered over her shoulder, the look in her eyes so furiously cold it was a wonder frost did not form. Flint quickly backpedaled.

“Of course, I don't know that we won't, either,” he said. “Like I said, I... it's out of my hooves. I don't have any real say in what happens to them, I'm just a corporal.”

“And who exactly would have a say in that?” The pen in Erin's mouth shifted this way and that, almost flicking in perfect tune with her tail.

“Uh, well... We've sent the reports into the central guardhouse up attached to the palace, along with some photographs. We'll probably hear back from them regarding the decision around noon, if you'd like to come back around the - ”

“No thank you,” Erin said. She trotted sharply around the guard, making her way for the door and only pausing when she opened it, peering over her shoulder. “I will be back in... oh, say an hour and a half, or so. Depends. Anyways, I can't say I'll have much muscle with me, so keep a carriage around. And turn some lights on in here, let those poor things get some sleep.” Somehow, a smile managed to break through her hard exterior, and the pen in her mouth seemed to wave at the caged ponies. “They've been through a lot tonight. Besides, it'll be easier to move them if they're resting.”

“Ma'am,” Flint began, but he was speaking to an empty doorway. Erin had gone, trotting briskly out of the guardhouse and into the morning air. The corporal sighed, sitting down to stare at the stallions. They, in turn, stared back: one stood stock still, his orange eye locked with Flint's; the other shuffled his wings, yawning broadly and settling down on the floor of his cage. Flint rubbed his eyes.

***

The sun had risen quickly, as was its way in the Upper Quarter. Sitting upon the peak of Equestria's westernmost mountain, it had to wait some time to get its sun, but when it did, it did in force, with nothing in the world to shield it from the brilliant rays. Indeed, the entire quarter seemed to have been built upon this fact, century by century. The gleaming marble and polished white stone buildings seemed to glow, rainbows cast by stained glass windows colouring the broad, wide-open squares.

It was a beautiful sight, to be sure, but Erin preferred to stick to the shadier streets. The bright light hurt her eyes, reclusive as she was, and having lived there her entire life their glamour had lost some of its... well, glamour for her. In the end, there was no less beauty or art to the world out of the sun, after all. Every square still had its great fountain, gorgeous sculptures of mighty heroes protected by flowing pools of water. Each pool still had its flowerbeds, tended to day after day by the city's most dedicated gardeners, and the streets were still completely clear of litter. Even in the places away from the sun, the Upper Quarter was very much the picture perfect image of Canterlot. The residents would not have it any other way, of course.

The residents. Erin sighed as she considered them; yet another reason she preferred to keep to the shady areas. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but... the ponies in the sun were certainly not hers. Not ponies who loved the sun because it gave them light to work by, but because it gave them light to lay in and bleach their coats. Not ponies who loved the buildings because they understood architecture, but because they merely loved living around them. She sighed, pausing in her walk. She had come to the end of the shade. Before her lay the Central Square, the largest and most open in all of Canterlot. Across it lay the palace, and the Central Guard House, and there was no way to it that didn't require a long, long time in several winding streets. She took a deep breath, staring into the blinding white light before her, and stepped through.

She blinked for a while, standing in the entrance to the square and peering about, trying to make out anything as her eyes adjusted. Slowly she began to be able to see again, though in a way she wished she couldn't.

The square was full, as it always was this time of day, with ponies. Some tall and slender, like the princess herself. Mares, usually, though there was the odd stallion who seemed intent to play up their mareishness for all it was worth. Other stallions stood shorter, as well built as they were dressed. Indeed, all of the ponies here seemed impeccably dressed. They were taking full advantage of the cooling temperatures to show off their new fall coats and scarves.

The Beautiful Ponies. Erin simply shook her head, fully aware just how deeply unpresentable she was next to them all. She peered into a nearby window, her eyes drifting over her unkempt mane, the bags under her eyes, the pen clutched desperately in her mouth like she was some sort of recovering addict.

She sighed. Coffee. She needed coffee. At least them she could appear to be some bedraggled student of Canterlot University, instead of a simply a grown mare who was bad at taking care of herself.

She fell into line at a nearby shop, watching the ponies pass by idly. Petty as it was, she couldn't help but scoff at them all some. The scientific discovery of the decade... probably the century had just been made, and none of them realized it. They all went about their lives, same as ever, completely oblivious. Even if they knew, would they care? Or would they just keep on thinking about their jobs, their lives, about going out on the weekends with their mare or coltfriends to plays and films, or just sitting in the parks. She wondered if they realized just what had been living in the woods by those parks. She shook her head as she came to the counter to place her order, sighing. At least they served coffee. Foul, weak coffee, far cry from her usual order of “make it buck sleep in the balls”, but coffee nevertheless. She was going to need it.”

The Central Guardhouse lay through the palace's high walls. The gates were left wide open during the day; the front gardens of Canterlot Palace were something of a tourist destination. Now that the summer was beginning to dwindle to a close, though, there were not so many ponies about. Save for a few particularly dedicated bargain-hunters and the odd cross-country saddlebagger, the only ponies who were on the lawns today had business to attend to. Some were bureaucrats, dashing across the open grounds with saddlebags full of papers, to each of whom Erin gave a nod of kinship. Others were gardeners, tending to the flowers, trees, and lawns. Finally there were the guards, standing stock-still at their stations along the walls and paths. Erin nodded politely to a pair of them outside the Guardhouse before trotting inside.

Much like the guardhouse where the strange bat-ponies were being held, the Central Guardhouse somehow managed to be nearly empty and a the picture of chaos at the same time. There was a single pony, a white unicorn mare, sitting at the reception desk. She wore a loose chain-mail shirt, her helmet and heavier plate armour having been cast aside long ago, to judge from the loose papers that had been strewn across them. They had gotten off lucky compared to the desk itself, which was positively buried in binders, stacks of paper, and thick tomes on criminal history. They had begun to spill over onto the floor, and Erin noticed a few stacks had found themselves upon the waiting room chairs that lined the walls.

For a moment Erin paused in the lobby, before shrugging idly and trotting past. She stepped carefully over a few papers nearby the desk, creeping on hoof toes behind the wall the stack formed on the desk, leaving the guardpony to her mad scribbling.

The hallway was much more peaceful, a long string of shut doors leading up to a grand slab of mahogany at the end, set with a large gold plate bearing the word “Captain” in large, imposing letters. Erin nudged the door open, stepping inside without bothering to knock or announce her presence.

A pony she assumed to be the captain of the guard glowered at her from across his desk: a tall, thick, steel-grey earth pony stallion. “May I help you?” he asked, with a tone that could curdle milk. “No, let me guess: You're here about the incident in the park last night?”

“That's right,” Erin replied. The captain sighed deeply, burying his face in his hooves.

“So what is it then?” he asked. “You're family of the victim, or something? A friend?”

“I'm here about the...” Erin paused, rolling her pen in her mouth, “the animals you picked up after the incident.” The captain peered up, cocking an eyebrow.

“You're here about what now?” he asked.

“The animals. Those... bat-ponies being held in the east Upper Quarter house. They told me that you were in charge of what happened to them.”

“Gods, if only,” the captain said, rubbing his eyes. “I just give the orders, the bureaucrats do the rest of it. Those fools kill a forest for the paperwork to save a tree, I tell you. Not looking forward to THAT mess. What of it?”

“Well, maybe I can save you some work,” Erin said, smirking. The captain folded his hooves across the table, leaning in. Clearly, he was interested in avoiding the ocean of red tape that presented itself as his afternoon.

“Alright, miss...”

“Erinaceidae,” she said. “Call me Erin.”

“Alright Erin,” the captain replied, shifting in his seat. “What, exactly, do you want with those... animals? And why exactly is this going to save ME any work?”

Erin grinned, lifting her notepad out of her saddlebag and laying it down before the stallion. He glanced at it, flicking through the pages idly as she began to talk.

“I'm a zoologist. One of the foremost in Equestria. Those creatures you picked up, you may be interested to learn, have never come up in my studies before. In fact, I'm reasonably certain they've never come up in anypony's studies before.” The captain flicked the notes away from himself, leaning back in his chair as he listened to Erin talk. She had begun flicking her tail as she paced back and forth, and she had even gone so far as to levitate the pen out of her mouth to speak more freely.

“Essentially, captain, I have strong reason to believe that the animals you picked up are a entirely new species of... well, whatever they are, I suppose. I'd have to do a lot of testing before I'm able to definitively say just what they are, and as you can probably imagine I don't want to be too hasty on classifying them just yet.”

The captain waved his hoof in a get-to-the-point fashion, grumbling. “Right, that's fantastic. Good for you. Why exactly does this matter to me?” Erin rolled her eyes. Clearly, she could not afford to discuss the poetry of the discovery with him.

“These animals could be the most scientifically valuable discovery in years.” She paused for a moment, staring the captain dead in the eye. “New species don't just come along every day, especially not ones living right under our noses. We need to be able to study these creatures. In order to do that, I need you to give them to me.”

“Right,” the captain said, leaning forward and holding up a hoof. He was quiet for a moment, breathing deeply for a long, protracted sigh. “Okay,” he said finally. “Ma'am, I just got finished talking to somepony who thought they should be turned into media darlings. Before that, somepony who thought they were a menace and should be killed. These things are animals. I can't arrest them for their crime, so I've been sitting here all morning trying to figure out what to do, and I do not need another Celestia-forsaken opinion on the matter. As far as I'm concerned my options are killing them or sending them off to be some other department's problem, but I sure as hell can't just hand them over to - ”

“You can't kill them!” Erin shouted, her voice breaking sharply as she threw her hooves up on the desk. Her eyes had gone wide, her mane falling even further askew as her breathing quickened. “They're still – do you have ANY idea how valuable these things could be!?”

The captain threw up his forelegs. “No, I don't!” he shouted back, slamming his hoof on the desk, “And gods' sake, I don't care! I don't care why all you ponies seem to want these things so damned bad. But if I give them over to you, and they get out, or you get hurt, then guess who gets the blame!?”

“Then sign ownership over to me!” Erin shouted. “Or whatever the hell you do! If they're my property, then they're my problem, right? I get the blame for whatever happens with them, none of it goes to you. You don't decide if they live or die anymore, I do! Come one, there has to be something!”

“Oh, great, so give me MORE blasted paperwork to do! Fantastic!”

“I'll do all the paperwork,” Erin insisted. She threw off her saddlebags, discarding the pen, and leaned over the desk until her nose was inches away from the captain's. “All of it! Every last paper! Look, I'll do anything! They're... you have no idea what we could lose if you kill them now! You cannot! Kill! These! Ponies!”

A mighty hoof swung down, crashing into the desk with such resounding force that the varnish of the wood flew up in chips. “FIFTEEN!” the captain roared, the force of his voice nearly toppling the tiny mare. She blinked, staring at him.

“W-what?”

“Fifteen,” the stallion repeated. He spoke through clenched teeth, slowly lifting up his quivering hoof to tap the desktop. “I have spent all damn morning dealing with this whole stupid incident, and you are not the first pony to come in here telling me what I should be doing with these things, and quite frankly? I do not give a damn what happens to them. So you have fifteen words. Fifteen words to convince me to give them to you, then you get the hell out of my office. Got it?”

For the briefest of moments a look of fear flashed across Erin's face before being replaced by one of distaste and frustration, and she glared at the stallion. She tapped her hoof rapidly against the floor as she looked back and forth for a moment, shifting her jaw as though she had forgotten that the pen was no longer there to waggle back and forth, and she groaned.

“You'll receive credit for the discovery,” she said.

“Don't care about that,” he grunted, leaning back in his chair. “You've got nine words left.”

“I'll do the paperwork!”

“Already offered that. Liabilities waived. Five words.”

Erin jumped back up on the desk, screaming in the captain's face. “For fucking science!”

“I don't give two shits for science!” he roared back. “Try harder! Two words!”

“BLANK CHECK!”

The two were silent. Erin fumed, her shoulders heaving as she breathed through clenched teeth. Her eyes were squeezed shut, awaiting the stallion's final word to shoo her out of the office. It never came. She slowly opened her eyes, peeking out at the captain, who was staring back with a cocked eyebrow.

“What?” he asked.

“I... I said blank check,” Erin repeated. She paused for a moment, breathing heavily, before her horn lit up. A checkbook came flying out of her saddlebags, plopping itself on the desk as she looked around the room for her discarded check.”I-I'll pay for them. Name your price.” She levitated the recovered pen over the checkbook, staring dead into the captain's eyes. “I pay, we do the paperwork, exchange legally. They aren't your problem, the department gets a boost in bits. Gimme a number.”

The captain peered at her, his eyes slowly drifting down to the open checkbook.

“... 2,000 bits,” he said. “Each.”

“Done,” Erin answered hurriedly, but the captain raised his hoof.

“3,000 each,” he said slowly. Erin growled, her shoulders shaking with frustration, but she nodded tightly.

“Final offer?” she asked.

“Final offer,” the captain agreed. Erin nodded sharply, scrawling the number hastily on the top check and tearing it off.

“3,000 bits apiece,” she said as she slid the check across the desk. “Made out to the royal guard.” She sighed happily, lowering herself onto her elbows and letting her mane drape over the desk, hiding her mad grin. “You made the right decision, captain. Science will thank you.”

“You still gonna credit me?” He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound.

“Fuck you,” Erin said, laughing weakly. “The guard that found 'em... whassisname... Flint. He gets it.” She looked up, grinning cheekily through her panting. The captain laughed, standing up from the desk.

“Fair 'nough. Come on, let's get you that paperwork. I've got other stuff to do today.”

***

To call the afternoon long would be an understatement akin to calling the ocean damp. Erin had been made to slog through veritable mountains of paperwork regarding the animals: liability waivers, checks on her license to keep large animals, transferral of ownership (somewhat complicated by the fact that it was first necessary to designate that the bat-ponies actually belonged to the guards in the first place), and many, many more strange process foreign to everypony but the bureaucrats hiding deep within the cockles of the palace. By the end of it, Erin had begun to develop a new understanding for those ponies she'd seen rushing around the garden that day. They had probably been like her, poor mares and stallions caught up in the deadly web of red tape. She imagined that If they had been bureaucrats, they probably would have caught fire in the sunlight.

Still, the worst of it was over. Erin slumped weakly into the large, cushy chair in her lab, sagging over the arms as though she were melting. She rubbed her eyes, stretching and sighing as she peered out the window, into the sunset. The hours had spent in the palace had seemed like years. It was almost hard to believe that it had only taken a single day. Still, as she turned to look upon her 'purchases', she had no regrets.

The bat-ponies had been delivered earlier that evening under the influence of a sleeping spell, and with the help of the guards that had delivered them, Erin had had them transferred into a much larger cage set into the wall of her lab. It gave them plenty of space to stretch their legs – and wings, if they so desired. In warmer weather it could open into a larger enclosure in the back of her home, but for now she decided to spare herself the heating bill and keep them inside. They seemed relatively fond of the thick cushions she had left out, settling down into them and surveying their new home as they awoke. One was still exploring, flying around the fake branches and snuffling at the walls and bars. The other was content to sit on the bed, alternating between staring at the explorer and at Erin.

His eyes somehow managed to be cool and warm at the same time, the faint glow from the reflective film inside them making them clear even from across the wide room. He watched Erin, unblinking, his eyes never wavering. She could see his ears and wings twitch whenever she moved, though she was far too tired to even consider what it meant. She yawned widely, stifling it with a hoof, and stared back at the cage.

The curious bat-pony had returned, settling onto the bed beside his 'brother', and had joined in the staring contest. Unlike his brother though, he eyed her with great interest. He too yawned, showing off his long fangs, and Erin laughed. She pushed herself out of her chair, plodding across the room. She was careful to move slowly so as not to spook the creatures, but they seemed to have become accustomed to her. The curious brother even stood up, trotting up to the bars to get a better look at her.

“You guys have probably had a long day too, huh?” she asked, taking a seat in front of the cage. The bat-pony tilted his head quizzically, mimicking her. She smiled. “'Course, I guess you could just be waking up now. Nocturnal, and all that. Mmm... you have no idea how much I'm looking forward to being able to get a good look at you...” She smiled, a strangely sweet and earnest smile melting away her blunt exterior. “You two are amazing...”

The bat pony at the bars flicked his ears, tilting his head in the other direction, and Erin sighed and giggled. “Yes, you,” she said. She yawned again, stretching far enough to crack her back. “Mmm... but tomorrow... tomorrow.” She smiled one last time before trotting away from the cage to the door, turning to look back over her shoulder. “Goodnight, you two,” she said, flicking off the light switch. With that she left, closing the door gently behind her and heading off for bed.

The bat-ponies stared at the closed door, their eyes still glowing in the darkness. The curious pony wiggled his ears, looking between the door and his brother.

“Gaow, oan,” he growled, settling down.

“Gurff,” the other bat pony grunted, laying his head over his hooves and looking away.

Act 1, Part 2: Music and Mirrors

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Act 1, Part 2: Music and Mirrors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She whipped her head around, and her blood froze.

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

“Geah!”

“Grrrrrraaaaaaaooooooooowowooooh!”

Erin clutched at her eyes, blinking painfully as they struggled to adapt to the room's bright lamps. Her vision was blurry at first, but it slowly began to clear. When it did she was finally able to look forward, and she could not help but laugh at what she saw.

Standing in his cage, the curious bat pony was shaking his head madly, pausing every so often to blink hard, snorting and flopping his ears back and forth in confusion. For a moment, Erin thought she saw him go cross-eyed.

“Princesses,” Erin sighed, putting a hoof to her chest to still her pounding heart. “You scared the piss outta me, you know that?” She giggled and sighed happily. The curious pony seemed to be adjusting to the light now, and he seemed to flop his ear in greeting to the unicorn.

“Goaw own!” he chimed. The other bat pony, who had previously been asleep on the bed, peeked an eye open and snorted.

“Goaw own to you too,” Erin said. She rubbed the last of the sleep out of her eyes as she trotted across the room, pulling the blanket from around her shoulders. She draped it over the back of her chair, sliding down into the soft, high-backed seat and staring across the room at the strange beasts. “And how are you two doing this evening?” The sleeping bat pony grunted again, and the curious one shook his head happily, hopping around the cage. The sleeping pony snapped at him whenever he hopped too close, and Erin chuckled.

The last time she had seen the ponies they had been asleep. It had only been earlier that afternoon, after all, slipping into their cage to leave out food and water for when they awoke. It was unlikely they would eat or drink it just yet, of course – they would take time to get adjusted to the cage, and to be honest it was greatly preferable that they keep their food-gathering instincts sharp so she could let them into the forest out back for observation – but it was still worth a shot for the time being. It would take time for Erin to prepare herself to observe them 'in the wild', and there was much data to gather in the meantime. The mare sighed, rubbing her neck and turning to her desk, leaning back in her chair.

The desk had been moved down into the laboratory from one of the many large studies in the mansion. It was large enough not only to adequately hold the madness of books and papers that her work wrought, but was attached to not one, not two, but three not-insignificant bookshelves. Her eyes scanned across the massive tomes kept therein, and her horn lit up. One by one a few select books came drifting off the shelves, Erin muttering their names aloud.

“We'll start with Order Chiroptera,” she muttered, brushing aside a loose bang. “May as well go with Laurasiatheria while I'm at it. Better to see how far up they go. They've got hooves, after all...” She paused, grunting and scratching her head. “Carnivora? Or Insectivora? Eph... too hard to tell.” She shook her head, and two large books drifted off the shelf, adding themselves to the stack on the desk. She rubbed her chin, apparently trying to decide if this would be enough, then paused. Her eyes lingered across a thick, ancient book bound in dusty leather. Embossed across the back, in golden letters, were the words equus spaiens-magicae. They rested there for what seemed like hours, and she did not know why. For almost no reason at all her horn came alight, pulling it off of the shelf. She held it above the stack for almost as long as she had spent staring at it.

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

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

First Erin checked her equipment, walking in between the rows created by the large, humming machines, ensuring that they were all working properly. Once she had completed these checks to her satisfaction, she proceeded to gather a crate full of supplies from a shelf, hovering it over to the cage. The curious pony trotted over, apparently to greet her, what appeared to be a grin plastered across his face.

Erin had learned a long time ago that on many animals, what looked like a smile was very much not. Very few animals had either the mental or physical capacity to smile out of happiness as ponies did, and more often than not it was in fact a warning. Given that the bat ponies' first interaction with any pony had been to bite them, that was likely the case here. Even still, Erin couldn't help but smile.

“Hello, you,” she said smirking. The curious bat pony tilted his head quizzically, imitating her smirk and yapping wordlessly. He flicked his ears, beaming as though he were awaiting approval. Erin giggled, setting the crate down and looking at the other pony. He was no longer sleeping, but he hadn't decided to get up just yet, it seemed. He simply lay on the thick cushion, staring out at Erin through one eye. His gaze was as cold and unblinking as always.

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

“You should probably go lay down too,” she told the curious pony. He merely tilted his head this way and that at her, leaning down to snuffle at the book through the bars. He pressed his nose into them as though he were trying to get through, pushing his nose back to reveal his teeth, and snorting.

“Suit yourself,” Erin said, shrugging. She turned her attention back to the book, concentrating. A slow, soft light began to form around her horn, gathering near the tip. For just a moment the light faded, almost going out, before exploding out from her horn in a wave of soft light.

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

The curious pony stared down at himself, spinning around in a panic as he snapped at the particles. His spinning slowed though, and the light began to fade. In mere moment he had stopped spinning entirely, and Erin could see his eyelids beginning to droop. The stallion on the cushion was already asleep as the curious pony shuffled down to his knees, slowly flopping onto his front. Erin waited for a long moment, staring blankly as she tried to determine if they were truly asleep or not, a question that was answered as a small snore escaped the curious pony. The scientist laughed, rubbing her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The curious bat pony's eyes opened slowly, blinking away the blurriness in his vision. His head was fuzzy, but while it was very confusing it was not necessarily unpleasant. It was the sort of waking up a pony does after sleeping in a warm bed on a full stomach. He blinked again, flicking his ears. He didn't recall eating lately, much less a full meal. Nor was he aware of exactly why he had woken during the day. Had he heard a noise? He looked around sharply, but his eyes could only do so much. His ear swiveled this way and that, filling in where his eyes could not see and he snuffled at the air.

There was a strange echo to the room, and the air smelt dull and stale. There were also several strange lingering scents that he could not identify: other large animals he had never even conceived of and what, if he had known of it, he would have recognized as cheese. He stood up slowly, snuffling more and more at the air. The sounds, strange as they were, were not concerning, but the smells were another story. The scent of animals worried him. He couldn’t see or hear them, but if he could smell them they had to be somewhere, didn't they? Perhaps they were merely hiding. Or perhaps they were in the air? He peered over at the other bat pony, who was also beginning to wake in his usual slow way, and shook his head.

“Hurf,” the curious pony said, shaking his head. The smell definitely wasn't the other bat pony. His was a smell and sound the curious pony remembered well. No, the smell had to be coming from something else. He looked up, peering into the thick poles protruding back and forth above his head.

The more he looked at them, the stranger they looked, and the more familiar in their strangeness. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the daylight, and while his vision was still faded and not nearly as good as it was by the light of the moon, even he could tell the branches weren't real. He looked down, staring at the ground and scratching his hoof against it. There was a hard scraping sound, as though he were standing on a large, perfectly flat boulder. He leaned down, sniffing. It smelt of stone as well – stone, and an amalgamation of strange animals – and what they had left behind.

He pulled back, snorting and shaking his head. His ears flopped wildly, and the sleepy bat pony stared up at him.

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

“Go-oh oh,” he said, shaking his head. He pawed at the ground, pulling a face and flaring his nose. His sleepy compatriot merely grunted, shrugging and rolling over, waving a wing idly in what appeared to be a less than polite gesture. The curious pony snorted at him, turning his attentions back to the room. His memory had mostly returned to him, but his head was still deeply fuzzy from whatever it was that had given him a full stomach, and he attempted to shake the fuzziness out of his mind, but to no avail.

Through his vague thoughts he knew that something must have been responsible for the strangeness, and he felt that it was likely nearby. He trotted around his cage, carefully sniffing at whatever he thought might not smell too foul. It was during this search, inspecting the metal bars obstructing his progress, that his vision finally adjusted enough to see out into the rest of the room. There, standing almost right before him, was a creature that looked almost like him.

The creature was tall and white, and had a long... thing coming out of its forehead, but nevertheless it still shared his general shape. The curious pony stepped up to the bars, sniffing rapidly and tilting his head this way and that. The creature was leaning against a large... rock-looking thing and was swaying strangely. It almost looked as though it was trying to attract prey somehow, some sort of strange dance to draw in unsuspecting animals. He narrowed his eyes at it, snorting loudly his confusion.

The creature stopped moving with a start, clearly having heard his snort. It seemed to shrink suddenly and turned around, and the curious pony suddenly remembered. He remembered that this creature had been there to greet him when he first woke up in this place, and that it had been to see him when he was trapped in the dark place some time before. His ears perked up and his beat his wings happily, prancing about in the cage. His memory suddenly flooded back to him, so quickly in fact that he was slightly embarrassed he'd ever forgotten. The creature trotted up to the bars, and began making strange noises.

“Hey there, you!” it said. “Finally decided to wake up, huh? How're you feeling?”

The curious pony tilted his head. He had only caught a little bit of that, and not really understood any of it. The creature seemed friendly enough at least. “Goo fing?” he grunted. The creature seemed to smile.

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

The curious pony furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate, but this creature made too many noises, and they all blurred together. He couldn't be sure where one noise ended and another began, which ones meant anything, if they ever meant anything at all. “Ser... nourm,” he said, snorting and planting his rump on the floor. The creature laughed.

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

“Woaph?” the curious pony asked, tilting his head. The creature giggled again, turning away.

“Well, woaph to you too,” she said. “We're listening to them anyways.”

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

The sound struck him then, something unlike he'd ever heard before. It was not an animal's cry, nor the whistling of the wind or the rustling of the bushes. It was not the babbling of a stream, or the tumbling of stones. It was something deeply alien, and yet somehow familiar.

It was slow at first, and soft. He had to listen carefully, twisting and craning his ears in the direction of the sound. The sounds were small, sharp, but there were so many of them, more and more joining in every moment. They repeated themselves over and over, like hooffalls, but they sounded sharp, and sweet. They sounded like a drink of cool water after chasing prey. They sounded like cold winds when the world began to die. They sounded like rain against his skin. He put his hooves against the bars, trying to hear better. More sounds joined in now, like being alone when the moon was gone. The sounds sounded like emptiness. They sounded like lonesomeness. He shook his head, waggling his ears. He wanted to bark, to bray, to howl, but he couldn't. He couldn’t do anything. He was captivated by the sounds he heard. Noises like the mare creature had made at him, but so much more powerful. Noises like being tired, like missing prey, like being sick or injured. They repeated themselves over and over, pounding into him. They sounded like something he had never realized he didn't know. In spite of the warmth of the air, he found himself shivering. Before long he was completely captivated by the sounds, leaning up against the cage, so intent that he completely forgot about the strange smells in the cage, or about watching the strange creature who had gone to sit at its desk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erin's head rose, slowly turning around to look over her shoulder. There, sitting on the floor of his cage, was the curious bat pony. Singing. Singing along to the record he had heard once, no more or less than an hour ago. Even more distressing, what truly sent a cold spike through the pit of Erin's stomach, was that the singing was very nearly perfect. The words were clumsy and off-kilter, but he clearly knew them, and with the exception of the odd stumble over a word the notes were all perfect. The rhythm as well, lining up perfectly with the record. The curious pony sang along if he had known the song his entire life.

Erin reached for the record slowly, her hoof shaking in the air, and switched it back on. “S... subjects,” she said slowly, “Subjects show remarkable talent for... vocal mimicry.” With that, she switched the recorder off again, staring blankly at the cage. The clock upon the wall ticked away, and the record continued to play, the soft hiss of vinyl undercutting the music.

The noise was deafening.

It needed to stop. Erin needed it to stop. She pushed herself away from the counter, dashing across the room and throwing the needle off of the record, switching the record player off as fast as she could. She listened to the spinning slowly wind down before walking away again, shaking her head dumbly. She felt a horrible tightness in her chest, and a paralyzing coldness. It was as though somepony had replaced her guts with ice while she wasn’t looking, stretching her form over the very essence of cold.

“Gods,” she muttered to herself. “Gods. No. I'm imagining it. Just because they look like...” She shook her head again. “Magpies can mimic tone too. Parrots can remember phrases. I should just... check to see if they have any bird DNA, and... balls.” She bit her hoof, scratching at her mane nervously and peering back to the bat ponies. The curious pony had stopped singing now, but he still looked quite pleased with himself. The feeling in Erin’s chest became somehow colder, and she cringed in guilt at some horrid, unheard accusation. She swallowed.

“The sun shines,” Erin said. The curious pony's ears perked up, but he didn't make a sound. Erin wandered closer to the cage, close enough that she knew he would be able to hear her clearly. “The sun shines,” she said again. This time the curious pony grinned.

“Pones for't!” he sang happily.

“...Wine pours.”

“Pones For't!”

“The snow packs?”

The curious pony paused, taking on a puzzled expression, and for a moment Erin's face lit up. “Snop acks!” the curious pony sang gleefully.

“FUCK!” Erin shouted, hammering against the cage. The curious pony jumped back, yelping loudly and flaring his wings.

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

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

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

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

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

The curious pony had taken a seat on the floor, staring out of the cage idly. His ears perked up when Erin walked in, but he snorted, turning his head away. The scientist didn't bother to recognize this, instead merely sliding the mirror through the bars and propping it up against the wall. She trotted away, grabbing her recorder like a beggar grasping at fallen change.

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

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

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

The curious pony snorted again, turning away. It was then that he saw the mirror, his ears snapping up on his head like a pair exclamation points. He stood stock still, staring silently. Erin leaned in.

The curious pony got to his hooves slowly, tilting his head left and right. He snuffled the air curiously, his ears twitching. Though his vision was faintly blurry, across the room from him he could make out another creature like himself and the other bat pony. He had never seen another one of them, though. Who was this strange thing-like-them he saw? It seemed every bit as curious as him, at least. It tilted its head quizzically back and forth, back and forth, and it wiggled its ears. It must have been just like him.

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

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

He looked over his shoulder. The sleepy pony was indeed still on the bed, the bulk of his movement being to roll onto his back and stare at the false branches weaving above their heads.

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

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

He stepped closer, snuffling at the air. He certainly didn't smell any other creature. Or hear one. No... this was not another creature. No creature just had parts of it disappear, or mimicked him perfectly. This thing was him, but not him. His face lit up as he realized – it was like the him in the water! The him that looked back at him when he drank, now floating in the air. How strange, but how fun! He laughed, dancing in place a bit, and sticking his wing out. The tip disappeared, causing him to snicker.

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

Erin quivered in her seat, watching the proceedings breathlessly. She began to swear under her breath as the curious pony dragged his companion over to the mirror, waving his limbs and turning around as if to demonstrate the qualities of it. The sleepy pony grunted sourly, and the curious pony snorted, gesturing sharply towards the mirror. They growled and barked back and forth for a while, before the sleepy pony finally flapped his wings once, staring at his companion. The curious pony barked, prancing in a circle around the sleepy pony.

“No, no, no!” Erin groaned. She clutched at her neck like it was broken, like she was desperately trying to keep her head on her shoulders. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Her whole body shook, and she needed to leave. Needed to be not there, but was glued to her seat. The bat ponies growled, barked, snorted and yapped back and forth at one another, before the sleepy pony trotted back to his bed, leaving the curious pony playing with his reflection in the mirror and investigating it.

Finally Erin was able to tear her eyes away from it, dropping her face onto her desk and covering her eyes.

“Gods...” she groaned. “Gods.. gods dammit.”

The night outside was dark. Here, in that strange time between the setting of the moon and the rising of the sun, the world was still and cold. Here the world sat in the desperate hope that the sun would indeed rise. How long off it was, nopony could say. In the stillness, the wind howled.

Act 1, Part 3: Brothers and Bunnies

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Act 1, Part 3: Brothers and Bunnies

Two nights had passed.

Rain had come and gone, but the clouds had not. They remained, hanging over the world like a sickness, casting the vibrant colours of autumn in dull grays and whites. A faint rumble could be heard in the distance: a murmur, a warning that it was not yet finished. For now it was gone, though, and the clouds provided cover from the piercing eyes of the Mare in the Moon as she rose over the horizon.

The dull light cast a strange scene of the Upper Quarter. It made the low-hanging branches of the trees seem as pale, sickly limbs, the knots in the tree trunks contorted in agonized faces. A slow breeze was their voice, moaning in the early evening and scaring away anypony who had thought to risk the rain – all save for one.

It was a stallion, wrapped in a thick coat and hood to stave away the cold and wet. He stood in the light of a streetlamp, his hood casting shadows over his face as he tucked the the thick fabric low, snorting faintly. He paused for a moment as though expecting something, but lowered his head, and began to walk.

He moved like a breeze, his long limbs moving him swiftly and gracefully through the middle of the road, where his path would not be barred by the grasping trees. He had no company save for his shadow, and no sound but for the soft clop clop clopping of his hooves on cobblestone.

He tugged his coat tighter around his shoulders, an impression of guile about him as he turned down the final lane in the quarter. The long, wide street took him past mansions, past parks and past ponds, finding him before the greatest and most ancient of them all. Great walls and a rusted gate stood around it on all sides, straight and tall as any guardspony, and every bit as imposing with their gate spikes for spears and heavy stones for armour. They rattled upon their hinges as the wind whipped, shaking themselves in spite at the stallion.

Ignoring the unspoken jeers of the gate, he pulled back his hood slightly to reveal a long, dark-blue horn. He tapped it against the front gate, a spark of magic briefly illuminating the night. A loud crack not unlike a gunshot was heard, then silence. The gate swung slowly open, creaking and groaning along its hinges, and the stallion stepped quickly inside.

Gravel crunched beneath his hooves as he made his way around the huge, ancient statue in front. He peered idly at it: some long dead stallion, glaring out at the world. The founder of this home. The shrouded stallion shook his head, and his hood lower as he mounted the steps leading up to the front door. He paused at the door, shivering faintly, before his horn lit up and the heavy brass knockers began to float.

BAM

The sound rang out in the silence of the night. A flock of birds flew from a nearby tree, their squawks and beating wings drowning out the echo of the knocker. The noise slowly faded, and the night became silent once more.

BAM

The stallion pounded the knocker against the door once more. It echoed through the yard, and for a moment the stallion was unsure whether the rumble that answered him was the echo, or distant thunder. He shook his head, and the knocker lifted again.

BAM

As the sound faded away, there was silence. The world seemed to stop, holding its breath. No crickets chirped. No birds called. Not even the wind blew. In the pale, sickly light, the world stood still, until the soft hiss of static could be heard. Faint at first, crackling. Then, a voice.

“Are you seriously using the knocker?”

The stallion paused, brushing his muzzle with a hoof. Whatever he had been expecting, it seemed, this was not it.

“Well... yes,” he said. His voice had a deep, rich coolness about it, like ice. “They're there for a reason.”

“So's the intercom. You were there when I had it installed, Stage. We talked about it.”

“I sort of contest your definition of 'talked about it',” the stallion known as Stage said. “I never actually said I was going to use it.”

“Of course not,” the intercom buzzed, a sour note in the voice of the mare on the other end. “You're just going to keep on being bloody dramatic. What are you even doing here?”

Stage flipped back his hood, raising a hoof indignantly. “Pretty sure this is my house too, Erin. Dad left it to both of us.”

“I'm pretty sure you lost the right to call this your house when you moved in with your trophy husband.”

The stallion snorted and shook his head again. “He isn't -” He stopped suddenly, pawing at the ground and snorting. “Look, I'm coming in. Are you in your lab?”

There was silence from the other end of the intercom, but the soft hiss of static told Stage that it was still on. He waited patiently, looking over his shoulder at the empty square.

“No,” Erin said finally. “I'm in the kitchen. The little one in the servant wing.”

Stage nodded. “I'll be right there,” he said. With that, he pushed open the front door, stepping quickly inside.

The interior of the mansion felt even more decrepit than the exterior, if it were possible. The already dull light filtered through the dusty windows, creating a hollow, haunted feeling that lingered over the foyer. Stage sighed, his horn coming alight. The candles along the sides of the room spluttered, coming alive. The orange light splashed through the room, filling up the corners with warmth and life. He nodded faintly as he surveyed his work, setting off into the halls.

Left and right as he walked the lights came on, leaping out in front of him like pirouetting dancers, bringing some tiny semblance of life to the dead home. Finally he came to the kitchen, opening the door gently. Erin sat at the kitchen table, back to the door, hunched over a steaming cup of cocoa.

“Singsong isn't a trophy husband,” Stage said. Erin didn't turn around, or even react, save to reply.

“Right. So it's a coincidence that you're filthy rich and he's absolutely gorgeous?”

“Pretty much,” Stage said, trotting around the table. He pulled off his coat, hanging it over the back of a nearby chair and sitting down across from the sour mare. “What's gotten into you, anyways? You're living up to the Smiles name more than usual, S -”

“Don't you even dare,” Erin snapped, cutting him off. They were silent for a while, Stage staring across the table at her.

“Erin, are you alright?” he asked. She sighed, leaning her head on her hooves.

“Sorry. I didn't sleep well today. Or the day before.”

“The day?” Stage asked. “Are you back to sleeping during the day now, or did you just stay up too late again?” He chuckled. “What, did you find a new favourite scientist whose career you want to absorb or something?”

Erin shook her head, sighing heavily. “You want cocoa?” she asked.

Stage was quiet for a while, his eyes flicking up and down the mare's form. Her eyes were even more sunken than usual, hiding behind her limp, stringy mane. Her shoulders were slack and her neck hung low, her whole body slumping forward onto the table like a marionette whose strings had been cut. She cradled her mug close, staring down into it. Stage tapped the table quietly.

“Not coffee?” he asked. Erin shrugged.

“Eh... out of beans. I need to run down to that little place in the East Quarter.”

“The one Grandpa took us out to when we were little, right? When he was showing us around the city? And you tried coffee for the first time because you wanted to be grown up, and ended up spitting it all out?”

Erin smirked – or at least tried. The corners of her mouth pulled up ever-so-slightly. A pony would hardly notice if they weren't looking. “You remember that?”

“C'mon, you think I would ever forget the face you made that day?” Stage laughed, brushing his mane out of his eyes. “Besides, you always go to that place.”

Erin smirked again, genuinely this time. “What can I say?” she asked, sweeping away her mane. “I've got a hunting path. You want cocoa or not?”

“Yeah,” Stage said, getting up from the table. “I'll grab it, though.”

“Pot's still on the stove,” Erin said. “You just have to heat it up. Think you can handle that?” Stage laughed, shrugging comically.

“Eh, I'll manage,” he said, trotting across the room. His horn lit up, switching on the stove and lifting a spoon from the counter as Erin slowly turned around in her chair.

“So... why did you come, anyhow?” she asked. Stage shrugged, not looking up from the stove.

“The university called. They said you hadn't shown up for your lectures for the past couple of days. I figured I'd come check you out, make sure you hadn't died or anything, you know?”

“So is disappearing for a couple of days unusual for me now?” Erin asked, snorting into her cup. “Pretty sure I've done it like, three times this year. Heck, I think I skip class more than some students.”

Stage laughed. “Yeah, but I don't think you've ever done it without any notice. Or,” he gestured meaningfully at Erin with the spoon, “right before finals papers were due.”

“Oh,” Erin said. Her brow furrowed faintly, but she sipped from her cocoa. “Eh, the TA'll cover it.”

Stage returned to the table, a mug of steaming cocoa floating along beside him and setting down as he eased back into the chair. “You're giving up on the chance to look at term papers? This must be pretty serious. Seriously, what's up? You usually at least have the decency to warn us before you disappear like this – and before you take out 6,000 bits on something, come to think of it.”

Erin went quiet again, staring down at her cocoa. She sighed deeply, and as she exhaled whatever life had returned to her seemed to fade away. Even the colour of her coat seemed to drain. She rubbed her eyes, trying to make them not feel as though they were on fire, but to no avail. “Did you check to see if the wards were working before you came in?” she asked. She shook her head suddenly, cutting the stallion off. “Actually, never mind. If you did and they still worked, you probably wouldn't be here. Let's... you wanna go check them with me?”

Stage looked down at his cocoa, still as full and hot as when he had poured it, then up at the mare. He smiled, rolling his eyes. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? Not like it's cold out there or anything.”

The pair set out of the mansion through a servant door near the kitchen, having delayed their journey only long enough for Erin to procure for herself a coat. Then they set out into the night, into the damp and the cold. There was a chill about the night air, the sort that clung to a pony's bones. Erin shivered gently as they trotted over wet leaves and grass, making their way towards the massive forest to the south of the house. They skirted the perimeter at first, Erin sticking close the the tall stallion's side as she tried to tuck herself tighter into her coat. Stage peered down at her every so often, but made hardly a sound.

As they rounded the enormous house, they found themselves staring the great forest in the face. The long wooden limbs stretched out before them, their fingers curling in a twisted invitation, beckoning them to come and play in the forest of the night, amongst the dark, the shadow, the ink, and all the other many shades of black. The wind whispered an inviting song, and Stage shivered.

“So what's up, anyways?” he asked, pawing at the ground. “If you're checking on the wards, then you've got an animal you're studying?”

Erin walked silently towards the forest, leaving Stage to shake his head and trot after her. She moved for a tree on the outskirts of the forest: a tired-looking oak with a deeply low-hanging branch. Wrapped around it was a silver thread, tied on the other end around a small piece of quartz. The mare stood underneath it, straining her neck upwards in a vain attempt to tap her horn against the gem. The lost weight of fallen leaves had left the bough to lift higher, and Erin began to mutter oaths beneath her breath at it.

“Stupid tree, with the stupid branch and the stupid – EEP!”

Stage had snuck up behind Erin, lifting her into the air with his magic and setting her down on his back beneath the gem. She swore at him, thumping her hooves against his sides.

“Don't DO that!” she yelled, kicking him again, though an astute observer might have noted that she made no attempt to get down. Stage grinned.

“You're tall enough now, aren't you?” he asked.

Erin grunted sourly, but she could not deny, annoying as he was, Stage had given her the boost she needed. She craned her neck, tapping her horn against the gem. The was a small tinkling sound, and she frowned. “Old,” she grunted, “but at least the array is still up.”

“About that,” Stage said, doing his best to peer upwards with the tiny mare leaning on his head, “are you actually planning on telling me about why we're out here sometime soon? Does this have anything to do with why you disappeared so suddenly?”

Erin grunted again. This time, a small squeak escaped her throat. Stage gazed up at her and she rubbed her eyes, trying to shy away from the pointed look. “Soon...” she said. “Soon. I promise. Just... let's get all this set up now, okay?”

Stage sighed, but nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But that means you're testing these things. I don't want you using me as a guinea pig and going back on that promise if I forget, alright?”

Erin laughed, kicking the slender stallion again. “What, don't you trust me?”

“I do remember eventually, Erin.”

“Oh.” her expression fell instantly, her eyes shifted left and right for a moment. “So... that means...”

“Oh yes,” Stage replied. The humour remained in his voice, though it dropped to a distinctly pointed tone. “I remember it quite clearly.”

Erin rubbed her foreleg. “And does Singsong...”

“Yup,” Stage answered. “He’s quite flattered, by the way. He thinks it's hilarious. But he's not going to say anything unless you do.”

“Right...” Erin rubbed her neck, looking away. “Well, that's fair enough I guess. Alright, I'll test them out. Just let me get them set up.”

Erin clambered higher on Stage's shoulders, until she could comfortably rest her horn against the hanging stone. The twinkling sound was heard again, this time punctuated by Erin pulling in a deep, smooth breath.

She pulled her head back slightly, and the stone pulled along with it, never breaking contact from her horn as both began to glow with a soft green light. The twinkling turned to a humming as the glow grew, and Erin's eyes slowly drifted shut. There was a moment of peace and silence before a great chime rang out from the quartz, the light shooting out in a bolt. In the distance there was a flash of green and another chime, then another further in the distance. The chimes and flashes continued, slowly making their way further and further away, leaving glowing, twinkling fireflies in their wake. The sound and light faded into the distance, wrapping itself around the enormous forest.

For a time, there was silence, save for the twinkling of the stone beside their heads. Erin's eyes were still closed, the gem clinging to her horn like a gleaming burr. After a time her ears flicked, and Stage turned to look in the direction they turned to. Slowly, softly, a pinging sound could be heard in the distance, becoming louder. Like a bolt of lightning the green light flashed out of the forest, slamming into the gemstone. Then, as one, the lights went out. Erin's eyes came open as the gem swung away from her horn, nodding decisively as the stone chimed loudly.

“That should last... A few months at least,” she said, nodding.

“Only a few months?” Stage asked, kneeling down. Erin clambered off his back, shaking her mane out of her face and rubbing her cheek. Stage brushed off his shoulder, continuing, “I'd have thought you'd push it. Keep you from having to do it again for a while and all.”

Erin shrugged. “I... don't really think I'll need them up for all that long,” she said. “Though I'd honestly be happy to have to do it again.”

Stage cocked an eyebrow at the tiny mare. “Uh-huh. About that...”

“Right, right,” Erin said, waving a hoof. “I know, I'm sorry. I'll.. I'm just gonna test these things out, okay? I've got the wards set to take about 15 minutes worth of memory away, so I should remember, but if I don't, let me know that I already checked out the cameras, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Stage said, nodding. Erin nodded back, before turning to the forest. She breathed deep, taking a few steps towards the trees. Then she stopped.

She paused for a time, looking up at the trees. She lifted a hoof, slowly pointing it at the forest as though she needed to remind herself it was there. Then she slowly turned around, peering over her shoulder every so often at the woods. Her eyes fell upon Stage, and she blinked.

“Right...” she said slowly. “Right. Okay. So you got here...”

“About a half hour ago,” Stage replied. Erin nodded, and continued.

“And then we talked, and then we came out to...” She looked over her shoulder and the hanging gem, nodding. “Set up the wards, right?”

“Right,” Stage said again.

“And... then we were going to go back inside and drink more cocoa?” The corners of Erin's mouth twitched up, and she found herself smirking around the limp mane that hung like a veil over her face. Whether it was a foolish hope or a paltry attempt at humour, even she couldn't say.

“And then you were going to tell me exactly why we're setting up the wards again,” Stage replied pointedly. Erin's heart sank, and she sat heavily on the wet grass.

“I was?”

“You were.”

“Well... we have to check the camer -”

“You told me that you already checked those.”

Erin sighed, the long and drawn-out breath becoming almost humorous, pulling her head forward so it sank between her shoulders, and ending in a weak, pitiful grumble. “Do I have to?” she asked. Stage nodded.

“Yes, you do. You've been dodging around telling me since I've gotten here, and it's pretty darn obvious that it's a problem. If it wasn't you'd at least have been able to keep up your half of the snark a little bit better.”

“Half?” Erin snorted. “I do more than half, thank you.”

“You see?” Stage said, giving her shoulder a prod. “That was weak, Erin! Come on, what's the matter? What's got you so down tonight?”

Erin sighed again. There was less humour in it this time, and much, much more fatigue. She rubbed her neck and got to her hooves, moving as though there were great weights around her shoulders. “Alright,” she said finally. “I... it's easier to show you, though. Come on... let's go to my lab.”

The pair set off, moving quickly for the nearest door as the clouds rumbled overhead again. Erin was silent, her head hanging low and swaying limply from side to side. Stage followed along behind, every bit as silent. Behind his eyes, however, shone a faint glimmer of concern for the tiny mare. More than once he looked as though he wanted to speak, but each time he thought better of it and did not. He merely trailed along, quietly lighting candles that they passed in the hallway.

This deep into the mansion, the candles were fewer and further between. The light strained valiantly to fill the vast tunnels of architecture, but there were far too many corners, far too much room to fill. A dim blue-blackness clung to the edges of the hallway, almost oppressive in its omnipresence, creeping around the edges of paintings and along the old cloth that covered furniture. Stage shook his head sadly, pausing only once to run his hoof gently across an antique picture frame before he carried on after the mare.

The walk was short, though quiet dullness stretched it to an agonizing length. Finally though they came to the great double-doors that marked Erin's laboratory, and the scientist's horn lit up. The door swung open wide, revealing a room in disarray.

Papers had been strewn about the floor and the counters: dozens – no, hundreds of sheets, tossed about as if in a mad fit. In the rear of the room a table lay on its side, apparently the source of most of the sheets. Fortunately, Erin thought to herself as she walked in slowly, there had not been any glass on the table when she had become... irate. She moved immediately to her desk, flopping down into the soft, high-backed chair. She pointed across the room from herself, not bothering to look where she was pointing. She knew what lay there, and she didn't want to see it. “Them,” she said simply.

Stage moved slowly. He blinked every so often, as if he was expecting what he saw to disappear, as though he would wake in his bed, husband by his side, the strangeness that he saw having been merely a dream. He moved as though afraid his very hoofsteps might somehow cause his reality to shatter. “What... are those?” he asked. Erin grunted.

The creatures in the cage looked up. One had been sleeping, somehow still managing to put a sour expression in spite having just woken up, and the other had had his nose buried in a bowl of food. The creature that had been eating beat his leathery wings happily, bounding across the cage to lean up against the bars. He stared at Stage, tilting his head this way and that, apparently trying to figure out this strange new stallion before him. Eventually he seemed to give up, and grinned. “Gud nit!” he exclaimed happily.

Stage gave a startled laugh. “They talk?” he asked.

Erin nodded curtly. “That one sings,” she said.

“Sings?” Stage balked.

Erin snorted sourly. “Shares crash!” she shouted.

“Haps're dash!” the curious pony replied happily, singing the words and bobbing his head along with an inaudible tune. Stage shook his head blinking.

“That's amazing!” he said. “He's... he's even pretty good, actually.” He shook his head. “Erin, what ARE they?”

“I don't know!” Erin said, throwing up her hooves. “Balls, I wish I did though.” She sighed again, rubbing her face. “I don't know what they are, Stage. I don't.”

The stallion looked back at the mare, concern clear on his face now. He seemed unsure of just what to say, though. “Do... they have names?” he asked.

“Names... names. Names? No, no.” Erin sniffed, looking up. “I hadn't... really had time, I guess. Was gonna think about it before I started the log more thoroughly, which... I guess is now...” He stared at the ceiling, rambling aimlessly. It was clear to anypony who cared to see that her mind was miles away. “Maybe... Vlad? Carny... Wing one and Wing two? Maybe...”

“Meadowlark.”

Erin paused in her rambling, looking down at the stallion. “What?”

“Meadowlark,” Stage said again. “You know, like the songbird? He seems to like singing well enough. I think it fits.”

Erin stared at him. “Meadowlark.” Her tone was flat, but Stage ignored this.

“What do you think?” he asked the bat pony. “Do you like the name Meadowlark?”

“Ma'ark?” the pony replied. Stage laughed.

“Meadowlark,” he said, slower this time.

“Maow'dark?”

“Meh-doh-lark.”

“Mmmmeadow... lark?” the bat pony said, tilting his head as though he were trying to wrap it around the word. His ears flopped back and forth, trying out the sounds, and he grinned. “Meadowlar'!” he said, beating his wings and hopping back and forth. Stage laughed, clapping his hooves.

“There, see?” he asked. “He likes it!” The stallion got to his hooves, trotting down the length of the cage to look at the pony sitting on the soft bed. “And how about you, hm?” he asked. “Do you want a name?”

“Hurph,” the stallion grunted, turning away. Stage smiled.

“Well, aren't we the dark and moody one, huh? How about... Nightingale?”

“Another bird?” Erin asked dourly. Stage looked over his shoulder, shrugging.

“Why not?” he asked. “They're nice enough names. If you don't like them, you should have picked them earlier. I'm honestly surprised you didn't. I mean, you named that liger cub they gave you to study inside of about five minutes, after all. I'd have thought you'd have named these guys even faster.”

“Well, maybe I didn't want to name them,” Erin snapped. “They're only animals, after all. Why do they even need names? Maybe I'll just call them subject one and subject two! Maybe I'll just call them gods-damned horsebats!”

All were silent, for a time. Even the newly-dubbed Meadowlark and Nightingale seemed to appreciate the gravity of the moment, with Meadowlark slowly stepping away from the bars and going to join his companion on the bed. Stage took a step away from the bars, moving at a slow, halting pace. Eventually he gained confidence, crossing the room and taking a seat in front of the mare. He opened his forelegs slowly.

“Need your big brother?”

Erin nodded silently, sliding out of her chair and immediately into her brother's arms, hugging him tight.

“What's the matter, Erin?” he asked.

“I don't... know,” she said. “I don't know what they are, Stage.”

“What do you mean?” the stallion asked. “I mean, I don't know what they are either, but... don't you want to find that out? To figure out what kind of animal they are?”

“That's not...” Erin sighed. “They talk, Stage. I don't know if it's even mimicry. He... Meadowlark remembers things. You heard him, he understood context, for goodness sake. He knew what the right response was for a phrase.”

“Well, if they hear it enough any smart animal could do that, couldn't they?”

“Yeah, but... he heard the record twice, Stage. Twice!”

“...And?”

Erin groaned loudly. “And? What animal can DO that, Stage? After just two listens? I mean, maybe a magpie, but do they LOOK like any sort of corvid to you?”

“They're a whole new kind of animal,” Stage replied. He sighed, hugging his sister closer and rubbing her back. “Nobody knows what they're like yet. I mean heck, as far as I'm concerned they look pretty much exactly the same. If they all look like that, then -”

“They're twins,” Erin said.

“What?”

“I've tested their DNA. I can't tell the details of it without sending it to a specialist, but their DNA is exactly the same, in every single test. They're genetic twins. Brothers.”

Stage was quiet for a while. “Well...” he said finally, “...so?”

“It... doesn't mean anything,” Erin admitted, peering over at the upturned table. “Not on its own. But still... they're the only two we've ever found, and they're twins? How do we know they aren't unique for their species? I mean, we could find evidence of... something. But we can't. We can't. I... can't.” She groaned, letting her face fall into the stallion's shoulder. “I don't know, Stage. I want them to be animals. But I just don't know.”

“Why did we set up the wards?” Stage asked quietly.

“So I can let them out into the forest.”

“And why do you want to let them out into the forest?”

“So I can watch them...”

“And why do you want to watch them?”

Erin sighed. “Because I need to know. All of us need to know. Even if... we need to know.”

Stage nodded. “That's right,” he said. “You need to know. Because you're a scientist, Erin. For better or worse, knowing is what you do. So are you going to be a scientist, or are you just going to sit and hide from the answers?”

Erin sighed, but this was not a sigh of dejection. It was not a sigh of depression. It was a sigh that expelled these things, a sigh that emptied the body and soul of weakness and of disparity. She rolled her shoulders, and leaned away from her brother.

“I'm gonna be a scientist,” she declared firmly. Stage beamed.

“Gonna do some science?” he asked.

“Gonna do some gods-damned science!” Erin shouted. She got up, cantering to the wall beside the cage and slamming her hoof against a button with an arrow pointing upwards on it. There was a loud, metallic clack, followed by a low rumbling. Mist poured through the bottom of the back wall of the cage, drifting into the lab. It became clear that the wall was rising, lifting like a garage door. Soon it was completely open, staring out into a thick, deep forest.

Meadowlark stared into the forest. He stared into the world behind the bars. He tilted his head, looking back and forth, back and forth, trying to understand how it could be night in one place, and day in the next. Or, for that matter, how one could be as warm as a summer's day and the other could feel cold and damp.

He inched towards the forest, snuffling at the air. It was no trick; he could smell moisture in it, a sort of heavy thickness that always preceded rainfall. He imagined that, if he paid close enough attention, he might eventually feel his fur prickle in warning of nearby thunder. Nightingale felt it too: for the first time in almost the entire while they had been beneath the strange, fake trees, he had risen from his bed, holding his nose high in the air.

For a time, the brothers were still and silent, each of them taking in the newly revealed forest in their own way. Meadowlark flicked his ears back and forth, listening for the birds. They were there, but they were far away. There were other animals, too. Small, scuttling things that hid beneath the fallen leaves. He ran his tongue along the inside of his jagged teeth, feeling them ache. They longed to feel fresh meat between them, to rend and tear. The food that the thing-like-him had offered them was filling, but not... fulfilling. There was always a part of him that missed something when the meal was over, and now it was clear. He needed meat. He needed flesh. He needed blood.

He flapped his wings loudly, calling his brother's attention. The two exchanged a meaningful glance, and Nightingale's ears fell flat against his head. He snorted loudly, nodding towards the forest, and began to trot slowly towards it. Meadowlark hesitated, pawing at the ground, but followed after him soon enough.

The transition into open air drew a loud snort from Meadowlark, and he flapped his wings in shock for a moment. Then he paused, beating his wings a few more times, feeling out the air. It was every bit as thick as it smelled. He leaped into the air, circling into the skies above his brother, until he breached the treetops. The sky was dark, and dull, and in the distance he thought he saw light flash. He returned to earth immediately.

“Bom!” he exclaimed as he landed. Nightingale was sniffing one of the nearby trees, and he looked up at his brother.

“Aur?” the somber stallion asked, nodding his head back and forth. Meadowlark shook his head, snapping his teeth and lowering his head. Nightingale shrugged back, nodding. He snapped his jaws as well. With that, the two took off, galloping into the depths of the woods and leaving the light of the mansion behind.

Even at a glance Meadowlark could tell very clearly that this forest was not his home. It was similar, yet somehow fresh. His home was ancient, timeless, a world lost and away. There was no sound there but the flapping of wings, the scurrying of animals, and the sound of his and his brother's calls. Here, he could hear strange new noises, noises he couldn't identify, like the sounds of some far-off, yet omnipresent animal. He could see a strange light, too, not merely the diffused dull gleam of his beloved moon, but a dimness that seemed to come from the earth. The light seemed to come from all sides, but it was barely enough to even hold the darkness at bay, much less chase it back.

The darkness. That, at least, was the same as in his home. Creeping, clinging, oozing over the landscape like a sapient tar, hiding the world of night from all who beheld it – all but the brothers. Meadowlark smiled, his eyes glinting in the low light. He saw the world of night, and all the secrets it held. The tracks, the insects, the flowers, all hints and clues pointing to the meal his teeth ached for. He lowered his head, sniffing against the ground. The musk of rabbit was clear, here, even over the steadily thickening air.

“Bom!” his brother cried out, stomping rapidly. Meadowlark looked up, nodding. The rain would come soon. If they wanted rabbit, they would need to find it quickly. He gestured to the ground where he had found the scent, and his brother came close. Together they sniffed at the earth, their ears twitching this way and that as they searched for a trail.

There was a rustling in the bushes.

The brothers paused. They were still for a minute, then two, then three. Nightingale's nostrils flared silently, and Meadowlark swiveled his ears in the direction of the noise. He strained to hear the sound of prey over the strange ever-present hum of this new forest, closing his eyes and stilling his breath. He could hear his heart beating in his chest. He could hear the wind whispering through the branches. He could hear a distant rumble. He heard a soft thumping.

There! His eyes snapped open, and his head dropped to the ground. He sniffed quickly, his nose traveling in the direction of the sound. Nightingale trotted in front of him, sniffing at the ground a few feet away, and nibbling at a nearby bush. He nickered softly, jerking his head in the direction of the sound. Meadowlark nodded, unfurling his wings. His brother did the same, both stallions remaining completely silent as they leapt up, half-flying, half-climbing into the branches of the trees.

They traversed the forest in glides and hops, moving quietly between the branches, their eyes and ears locked on the ground. Occasionally they would drop to the earth again, pausing to sniff the nearby foliage, only to take to the branches once more with a new bearing. Their hunt was swift, the fur on the back of Meadowlark’s neck bristling with anticipation and nervousness. The rumbles in the sky came more frequently now, and he feared that their prey would seek shelter before they could catch it. Thankfully, his brother flared his wings wide, signaling him to stop.

Nightingale gestured in the distance, and when Meadowlark stared hard he could see the bushes rustling. He closed his eyes, listening hard, and smiled as he heard the familiar thumping of their quarry. From the sounds of things, it wasn't going anywhere fast. Meadowlark lowered his head, growling faintly to his brother.

“Tuptuptup,” he murmured. Nightingale nodded silently, gesturing to his left. Meadowlark nodded, and Nightingale began to head in the indicated direction, moving to circle about the rustling in the bushes. Meadowlark began moving in the opposite direction, curling in around the other side. He glided silently to the ground, lowering himself down and skulking through the bushes. He relied on scent and sound to show him the way, his eyes focused on his brother in the trees.

He stopped. He could hear the rabbit without trying now, smell its musk easily. It was close. His brother flared his wings again, drawing Meadowlark’s attention. The stallion in the branches beckoned his brother to move to the left. He wrapped his wings into a wide circle, leaving a clear gap between the tips, and bared his teeth. Meadowlark nodded silently, beginning to creep once more.

Soon enough he came upon a small clearing, a thick tree root cutting a line in the undergrowth. He stopped just short of it, peering up at his brother in the trees. Nightingale nodded. All at once he leaped out of the tree, a snarling scream escaping his lips, breaking the silence of the night with the sound of pure, animal hunger. A squeal was heard from the ground, followed by a crashing.

Time seemed to slow down for Meadowlark. A blur of white stretched into view in the clearing, and Meadowlark lunged, teeth out. He could feel his heartbeat sync with the rabbit's, thumping ever faster, ever faster, ever faster, even as the world slowed more and more. The rabbit's musk washed through his nostril and over his tongue, filling his throat as he breathed in. He lost view of the rabbit, but it was meaningless. He felt its fur bristle between his teeth. He closed his jaw, piercing and crushing the rabbit's throat. Thunder crashed. All was screaming. All was blood, all writhing, all flesh.

All flesh.

Flesh.

His heartbeat slowed, and the world sped up once more. His brother appeared through the bushes. Nodding at the corpse clenched between Meadowlark's jaws. Nightingale pressed his nose briefly again Meadowlark's neck, and looked to the sky.

“Bom,” he said, murmuring the word as the first drop of rain landed on his nose. The two nodded to one another, and set to work, Nightingale pulling bushes from the earth and flying into the trees as Meadowlark set about tearing out the rabbit's limbs, ripping the flesh from the bone. He peered up as he worked, watching his brother fill the gaps between the branches, building a canopy above their heads. It would be nice to be out of the rain, he knew, but right now he could have handled a wet night. He had the flesh of prey between his jaws, resisting his tugs and he ripped it from bone. Blood dripped down his chin, hot and fresh, the scent filling his lungs. It was glorious. He sank his teeth into the meat, and the ache was gone.

“Gods...” Stage gaped at the screen, his mouth open. He had taken a seat on the floor long ago. “That... they're...”

“Carnivores,” Erin finished. “Well, omnivores. I got a look at their teeth. I'm sorry... I should have warned you.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“No,” Stage said, “no, I'm alright. I was just... surprised, to see something that looks so much like us... but, well... I guess they really aren't, in the end, are they? They're just another animal, right? They must be?”

“Must be...” Erin echoed. “Must be... must be...” She rubbed her eyes, falling quiet. He lips still moved, tracing the words over and over in the silence. He head fell back, leaving her staring at the ceiling.

“Right... Erin?” Stage asked. “Erin?”

She was silent.

“Summer,” Stage said sharply.

“Weren't you watching, Stage?” she asked quietly. “'Must just be animals'?” Erin sighed. Where before she had sighed to expel weakness, now she sighed to expel hope. She was left with nothing; an empty, deflated shell of a mare. She seemed to exhale even her colour. “They built a shelter. They used strategy. They communicated with... I swear, they must have been using some kind of words. They're nothing close to animals, Stage.” She looked back down, staring at her brother. The bags under her eyes had turned puffy, and her eyes were rimmed with tears. To say that she looked like a filly with her hoof in the cookie jar would be such an understatement as to be insulting. She did not look like a filly caught stealing cookies. She looked like a sinner before some almighty judge.

“They're ponies, Stage. Ponies. And I... I bought them, and I locked them in a cage, and turned them out into the rain, and fed them gods-damned dog food!”

She buried her face in her hooves, trying to muffle her screaming. “Worst of all!” she cried, “Worst of all, look at them, Stage! How old are they? 18? 20? 22? How long did we leave them out there alone? How long did we not realize? That we had ponies, living in Canterlot Forest, raising themselves like... like some urban-freaking-legend? Like some savages? Like... animals?

“I treated them like animals, Stage. I wanted them to be animals. I... still want them to be.” She took her hooves down. He heart clutched in her chest, and her throat felt as though somepony had shoved a brick down it, but she resisted the urge to cry, and to throw herself into her brother's arms. “I want to forget, Stage. I don't know what to do.”

Stage looked at his sister, then the floor. His shoulders sagged. “I don't know either, Sis,” he said. “But... well, if they really are ponies... can't just leave them locked up, can you?”

Erin shook her head silently, whimpering.

“And you can't just forget, can you?”

“No,” Erin said again. She sighed. “No, I know where you're going with this. I can't forget about them, as much as I want to.” She pushed herself out of her chair, trotting slowly to her desk. She moved like a corpse on strings, pulled along unwillingly, but she moved despite. She still felt empty inside... save for a something she could not identify. Perhaps fear. Perhaps guilt. Perhaps hope. Whatever it was, her hooves trembled as she picked up her tape recorder and switched it on.

“September 24th. With the assistance of my brother, Backstage Smiles, I have made an... astonishing discovery. The subjects... now named Meadowlark and Nightingale, have surpassed literally anything I'd dared to imagine. They're entirely sapient, capable of employing strategy in their hunts, building rudimentary structures, communicating based on contextual cues... I believe they may have even developed a basic language that they share.

“This is a... monumental discovery, to put it lightly. I'm honestly not certain what to do with this. There will be... a lot to do. A lot of discussion. The entire community... this is way over just my head, now. If there's a possibility of another pony subspecies... even if they're just a mutation, then, well... there'll be a lot to do. I need to bring this to the University of Canterlot's attention as soon as I can.”

She turned off the recorder, looking over at her brother. Silently, she removed the tape, slipping another one in, and turning it back on.

“This will be an additional log to my studies regarding Meadowlark and Nightingale... which, hopefully, I will be keeping along with my brother.” Stage nodded silently from across the room, and Erin nodded back.

“Educating the Bat Ponies.... Day Zero.”

Our Eminence(OLD BEGINNING)

by Kegisak

Act 1, Part 1: Bats and Black Coffee

Act 1, Part 2: Music and Mirrors

Act 1, Part 3: Brothers and Bunnies