> Planescape: Equestria
>  by Applechaser
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Ponies do Sigil
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moment you enter the inn, the hairs on the back of your neck prick up. Something’s off. You don’t get to be two thousand, three hundred and seventeen years old  (but who’s counting?) without developing some good instincts. You cast an eye over the crowded bar, but nothing seems out of place. High class whores, scheming Fiends, Faction politicians, information brokers, assassins – standard clientele for the Fortune’s Wheel on any given day a few hours before anti-peak. 

In one corner four squat, winged, hateful little Imps perch on stools around a tall table. They’re playing dice for small change and drinking hard from a bottle of amber firewine that stands mostly empty between them.  One of them recognises you and gives you a surly nod. You return it – Tra’sheek is a useful guy to be on the right side of, just don’t ever trust him with anything shiny or sharp - and return to scanning the crowd for threats.

At a table in the centre of the room the jackal-headed Arcanoloth Shemeska holds court, selling secrets and influence, spinning webs, pulling strings. The self-proclaimed King of the Crosstrade. She wears a tight, sheer evening dress that shows off her hairy, plump figure to hideous effect. Her coarse mane is primped and permed, festooned with brightly coloured silk ribbons, and her talons flash with the gold and jewels of their many rings as she lifts a glass of wine to her muzzle. Sitting across from her is a harassed-looking man, her client or victim or would-be co-conspirator. He fidgets awkwardly, unsure where to look as he stammers out his business. Half a dozen leather-clad Tiefling pretty boys flank the Arcanoloth, ignoring her hapless client, their hard eyes scanning the crowd for any threat or perceived slight on their mistress, for any excuse to get their knives out and have some fun.

Not exactly a pleasant bunch, but no particular danger to you, and nothing out of the ordinary.

Leaning indolently against the bar, a redheaded whore – or she might be a tout, or she might be both – catches your eye with a sultry smile and a flirtatious flutter of the diaphanous wings that sprout from her back. You rather think you know her from somewhere. Another time, it might be nice to pursue that acquaintance – but not right now. Right now, you just want to know what it is that has you looking over your shoulder, antsier than an Aasimar in Avernus.

In another corner there are six – no, make that seven –  creatures you don’t recognise. Six small vari-coloured equine figures, two of them winged, two of them horned, and a purple reptile of some description, something like a very young dragon, but much too… well, adorable. Actually, they’re all adorable. Adorable is not a trait that tends to have a long shelf life in Sigil.

Except for one of the horse creatures who seems to be trying to hide behind her own pink mane, all the others are looking around them with greater or lesser degrees of wide eyed fascination and wonder. The kind of fascination and wonder that acts much as a sign around your neck reading ‘clueless’. You briefly wonder how long they’ve been in Sigil so far without being robbed, raped and/or murdered, and how long they’ll stay that way. 

Oh well, not your problem. 

Normally you might be inclined to go and make conversation for curiosity’s sake. You’ve been around the Great Ring once or twice, and it’s not every day now that you come across a race of sentient beings that you’ve never met or even heard of. Today, though, you have other things on your mind, and that bunch can’t possibly be responsible for the prickly feeling at the back of your neck, that feeling that says that trouble is bearing down on you like the Lady’s shadow. 

Probably better not to think about the Lady’s shadow, or any other part of her either. You’ve had your history, the two of you, and it’s only pretty recently that you’ve dared to show your face in her city again. Considering what you have in your pocket right now, you might not be welcome here much longer, and it’d be good to skip town before she chucks you out. When the Lady of Pain chucks you out, you stay chucked. 

Anyway, there’s no sign of trouble, your paranoia notwithstanding. Best to stay cautious, but you may as well get a drink while you wait for your contact to show up. Here’s hoping that Corder doesn’t take too long. The quicker you can hand this stuff off and get on your way, the happier you’ll be. You get a mug of Ysgardian ale and find a free table to nurse it. You’re not far from the colourful horse creatures, and from here you can keep half an eye on them while you drink. The pink one seems to be trying to make friends with her closest neighbour.

“Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie, what’s your name?”

She certainly is enthusiastic. Unfortunately for her, her closest neighbour is a Bladeling, and he exhibits all the social graces his kind are usually noted for.

“Pike off,” he growls in a voice that sounds like it’s foreplay to a brutal stabbing. 

“That’s a funny name! I’m going to call you Pikey. That’s okay, right? You can call me Pinkie, all my friends do, and I know we’re going to be gooooood friends. Or you can call me Pie if you want, nobody calls me that but I wouldn’t mind if they did, I mean, it might be kind of a nice name, but it could be confusing, because I’m a baker, so what if they wanted me to bake them a pie and they were all like HELLO PIE COULD YOU BAKE ME A PIE and I’d be like NO SILLY I’M NOT GOING TO BAKE MYSELF and I mean actually hey that would be funny, can you call me Pie, would you mind?”

The bladeling just stares.

After a moment Pinkie resumes her torrent of friendliness, seeming pretty much undeterred by the Stygian levels of cold shoulder she’s getting for her efforts.

“Okay great! So hey listen Pikey, I hope you don’t mind me asking, I’m sure you won’t since we’re such GOOD friends, but what in the hay are you? I’ve never seen anything like you! You look like you’re made out of metal and you’ve got all those crazy spikes sticking out of you, do they hurt or what? Are you actually made out of metal? Don’t get me wrong or anything, it’s totally amazing! I bet if somepony hit you in the head it would just be all like GONNGGGG and you wouldn’t even feel it, am I right?”

Pinkie has already hopped up onto the bladeling’s table and is now raising a hoof above his head as if to test her theory, but somewhat to your relief she is swiftly grabbed away by one of her companions.

“Sir, I’m so VERY sorry for my friend’s behaviour,” the white unicorn says in an accent that, somewhere, must be awfully cultured, but in Sigil sounds kind of quaintly old-fashioned. “I simply don’t know WHAT she was thinking.” She directs a glare at Pinkie, who looks completely unchastened. “I’ll leave you alone to drink in peace now, after all, we’re just here to have a QUIET DRINK” – this with another glare at Pinkie – “and NOT cause any COMMOTION.”

Pinkie Pie looks sulky for a moment, her muzzle scrunching up adorably. 

“But Rarity, that’s so boooooring,” she pouts. “Just LOOK at this place. There are so many exciting things to see, so many new friends to make! I didn’t even know any place like this existed!  I’m sure the Princess didn’t send us off to an amazing place like this and expect us to just deliver this message or whatever and come straight back. She won’t mind if we have some fun while we’re here, right Twilight?”

This question is directed at her purple unicorn friend, who rolls her eyes.

“Pinkie, that’s EXACTLY what the Princess expects. Like I told you before, she was VERY clear, we’re just supposed to find this person, then he and Princess Celestia will send some messages back and forth through Spike, and then we come straight back. She said this place could be dangerous for ponies like us, and that we have to be SUPER careful not to cause any trouble.”

Her tones softens a little as she sees how downhearted the pink pony looks. 

“I’m sorry, Pinkie. I know this is hard, I mean, I wish we could look around too. I’ve never even read about most of the species in this room, and it would be SO incredible to speak with some of them and find out about their people’s cultures and history, and don’t even get me STARTED on the implications of this place for planar geography. If I’m not mistaken, I’ve detected portals leading off from this place to more than two dozen separate planes of existence. Do you understand what that means? Our whole world might just be one of fifty, or a hundred, or a THOUSAND parallel universes where everything is different. Each one a whole separate… a whole separate INFINITY, with its own cosmology and philosophy and maybe even the laws of science and magic could be different, I mean, my magic already seems to act differently here in this place, so who knows what sort of magic might exist on another plane? And there are people from all these different worlds right in this very room, and if I could just talk to them then-“

Pinkie interrupts with a giant yawn.

“Okay, you’re right Twilight, it sounds really boring after all. I guess we should just get it over with and get home,” Pinkie says happily.

Twilight looks nonplussed.

“That’s raght, sugarcube,” puts in the orange pony in a broad accent, upending her mug. “We got a job ta do, an’ ah reck’n we’re gonna do it raght. In the meantahm, though, since there’s no sahn of this Anonymous fella, ah might just have another o’ these… what was it now… Bah-topian ciders. Jus’ about the best darn apple cider ah ever tasted, ‘sides from Sweet Apple Acres’ very own, o’ course.”

Anonymous? Did you hear that right? These… ponies… are looking for you? 

“Ooooh Applejack, would you mind terribly getting me another glass of this maaarvelous Elysian honeywine while you’re going?” the white unicorn – Rarity, was it? – calls after her. 

“Oh, and, um, if it’s okay, could I have one of those too, I mean, if you wouldn’t mind?” the yellow winged pony speaks out in hushed tones, peeking out from behind her veil of pink mane. 

“And another of these Ysgardian ales for me!” the other pegasus calls, cyan blue with a multicoloured mane. “This stuff is AWESOME.”

“Legion… what now? Is guard… huh? I ain’t ever gonna remember that, y’all had better just come up ta the bar with me.”

“Got you covered, AJ.”

The blue pegasus gives a hop over the table, aided by a quick flap of her wings, and lands adroitly next to her friend.

“I’ll come too,” Twilight puts in. “I’d like another look at all these exotic vintages, I want to try to remember some of these place names and look them up…”

The three ponies brush past your chair on their way to the bar, the orange one, Applejack, proffering a friendly ‘scuse me, mister,’ as she leads the way. You’re too busy thinking about what she just said to even notice. They’re looking for you? 
You can’t even imagine what they could possibly want with you, but for now you decide to keep your cards close to your chest. Anyway, whatever it is, you want to get this business with Corder out of the way first. Speaking of which, that berk should be here by now. You don’t like the thought that something might be keeping him.

This wait is doing nothing for your frayed nerves. 

The ponies seem to take an awfully long time to get served at the bar, but when they finally come back, drinks clasped in their hooves (how do they do that? Who knows, but the planes hold many mysteries), you’re still at the table next to them, waiting for your tardy contact Corder to show his face.The purple lizard-thing is riding on the back of the purple unicorn pony, Twilight, and complaining volubly.

“But Twiiiiliiiight, why can’t I have the same cider Applejack’s having?”

“It’s hard cider, Spike. You’re a BABY dragon. Princess Celestia would never let me hear the end of it.”

Your eyebrows rise just a little at the description of him as a dragon. You’ve never seen a dragon as cute and chubby as that one before. Then again, you’ve never seen such colourful, huggable ponies, either. 

“But we don’t have to tell her! Just a sip…”

“I said no, Spike. The discussion is over.”

“But Twiiiliiiight, you’re gonna make me look bad in front of Rarity…”

Drinks are set down on the table and there are several “thank you”s and one loud, whining “but Twiiiiliiiiight…”

“Still no sign of this Anonymous gentleman, girls?” Rarity asks. “No news of him at the bar?” 

“Nope,” Applejack replies. “That barman was downraght unhelpful about it, too. Said that if’n Anonymous wanted ta be found, he reckoned he would be.” 

You give a smile. You’ll have to remember to tip extra for your next drink. Discretion is an admirable quality in a barman.

“So what’s our next move?” the blue pegasus pony asks impatiently. “We can’t just sit around here drinking all night.”

“Well…” says Twilight, “Princess Celestia said that this would be the most likely place to find him. But she also said that if we were having trouble, the Elements of Harmony would lead us to him. The thing is, I don’t know if it’s such a great idea to put them on here. I mean, they’re kind of… shiny.”

“So?” Pinkie Pie interrupts. “Shiny is good! Just look at ol’ Dog-Head McJewelFingers over there! It must be the fashion around here or something.”

She’s pointing a hoof at Shemeska. The Arcanoloth’s ear twitches, nearly imperceptibly.

“Oh, please,” Rarity puts in. “Do NOT mention ‘fashion’ and that… person over there in the same breath. I can assure you that whatever she is doing with that attire, it is NOT fashion.”

You stifle a laugh, wincing at the same time in the knowledge that there’s no possible way that Shemeska didn’t overhear that. It’d take a lot more than just the ambient noise of this crowded bar to stop Shemeska from catching a slight on her dress sense. These ponies might just have unwittingly called down the worst possible kind of attention on themselves.

“Anyway,” Twilight says, attempting to wrestle the discussion back on track, “my point was, there are a lot of strange people around here, and some of them could be dangerous. There could even be… thieves.”

She says the word in a low hiss, like she’s dropping a real bomb. Judging by the grave silence that falls over the ponies – even Pinkie Pie – they are appropriately shocked. 

“So,” Twilight goes on, “it could be risky to go around with the Elements of Harmony on display. If anything happened to them… can you imagine? We’d have failed all of Equestria. Princess Celestia would banish us.”

“You mean throw us in a dungeon,” Spike puts in.

“Banish us, and throw us in a dungeon in the place that we’re banished to,” all the other ponies add at once, breaking out in giggles.

So adorable...

Meanwhile, where the fuck is Corder?

Across the room you see the hairy bulk of Shemeska rising from her chair, her tight silk gown bulging in all the wrong places. She turns in your direction, a predatory grin coming to her jaws. You have a sinking feeling. She's coming over, swaying her misshapen hips seductively. Her entourage of tiefling rentboys follows behind like her vicious, gay, knife-wielding shadow. She stops in front of the ponies’ table.

“Good evening, my little horses.” Her voice is soft and dulcet, genuinely sexy. It only makes the overall impression of her presence more unsettling. 

“Silly! We’re ponies, not horses.” 

Pinkie Pie doesn’t sound very unsettled. 

“Ponies, then,” Shemeska corrects herself, unruffled. “I’d like to join you for a drink, I think I’m going to find you amusing.”

“Um… actually…” Twilight begins to make excuses, but Shemeska doesn’t even seem to hear as she motions for one of her bodyguards to pull up a chair for her.

With an inward groan, you rise to your feet.

“Actually, Marauder, these ponies have business with me.”

The Arcanoloth turns slowly to regard you, her canine eyes slitted and burning with barely-contained rage.

“Anonymous? Do you really wish to make a nuisance of yourself?”

You’re suddenly conscious of six eager sets of pony eyes looking at you in surprise. 

“My deepest regrets, Shemeska. I mean no offense-"

“THE FUCK YOU DON’T!” the fiend screams. In a blink of an eye she closes the gap between you, close enough for you to smell raw meat on her breath as she sprays spittle in your face. You look past her, keeping focused on the six tiefling boys who are moving around your flanks with their knives out.

“You worm,” she spits. “You know better than to cross me. I always knew you were a short-sighted, trivial, pointless little insect, but I thought at least you had some fucking basic sort of self-preservation instinct. Have you lost your wits?”

You clear your throat and compose your dignity for a moment before answering. It’s not that easy to compose your dignity while an ancient Fiend with enough arcane power to blow up most of a good-sized country is growling in your face and her six pet assassins are circling around you like vultures waiting for a kill - but you do a serviceable job.

“Not trying to cross you, Shemmie-" her scowl intensifies, and you blithely carry on – “but like I said, I’ve got business with these ponies. You’ve got a message for me, right ladies?”

There are mute nods from the ponies’ table. 

“…and then they’re engaged to carry my reply, personally, back to their goddess. They’re Proxies, Shemeska.”

The Arcanoloth takes a step back from you and looks at the ponies, then back at you, then back at the ponies. Pinkie Pie is wearing a different and more ridiculous hat each time Shemeska looks round. The fiend spits on the floor and spins on her heel. Her voice is back to a soft purr when she speaks again, and her entourage is already filing after her, knives back up their sleeves. 

“Oh very well, I’ll leave you to it.” She turns back around and gives you a disturbing wink. “Charming to talk to you again though, Anonymous. We’ll have to catch up soon.”

You shudder, and she carries on out of the door. Best not to think about what just happened. 

“Anonymous!” Pinkie Pie is bouncing happily in a circle around you. “Anonymous, Anonymous, I found Anonymous!”

“Um… thanks, I think,” Twilight says, approaching more cautiously. “But what was that stuff about us being proxies?”

“Well, aren’t you?” you ask with a shrug.

“I guess? We’re here on Princess Celestia’s instructions, so I suppose that makes us her proxies. But it seemed like you meant something more than that.”

>You focus on not rolling your eyes. Damn clueless. 

“A Proxy is the agent of a Power on the planes.”  

Twilight looks blank.

“A god – a Proxy is the chosen servant of a god.”

“Oh.” Twilight blushes. “But, that’s not quite right. Princess Celestia isn’t a god.”

You shrug. 

“I won’t tell Shemeska if you don’t.”

The other ponies crowd around, and soon you’ve taken a seat at their table and they’ve all introduced themselves – although you’d picked up their names already, all except for the two pegasus ponies who it turns out are Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. Even their names are adorable. Just what kind of plane are they from?

Of course, you’re hardly one to talk about funny-sounding names. Sure enough, they’ve obviously been wondering.

“If it’s not too awfully presumptuous of me to ask-" it’s Rarity who comes out with the question – “is that your real name? Anonymous? I mean, it can’t possibly be, can it?”

You shake your head. 

“Nope. Real names are tricky things. I got rid of mine a long time ago.”

“Got rid of it?”

“Right. A name’s like a handle somebody can use to get a hold of you, a way to pin you down. Figured I’d be better off without one.”

“Hmm.” The unicorn seems to be thinking that over.

“Anyway, sorry to be all business, but I’m waiting for an associate of mine and when he shows up I might have to dash, so maybe you’d better give me this message of yours.”

“Right!” Twilight says. “Just one moment please. Spike, take a note.”

“Fine...”

>The miniature dragon still seems a bit sulky over the cider debacle, but he produces a sheet of paper and a quill pen from somewhere and begins scribing busily as Twilight dictates.

”Dear Princess Celestia,

We are all safe and well. Sigil is amazing! We have found Anonymous, and he is sitting here with us. You can send your message now and we will deliver it straight to his hooves hands.

Your faithful student, Twilight Sparkle”.

You watch as the note is rolled up, sealed, and then incinerated by the baby dragon’s breath. Apparently this is what is supposed to happen, since nobody looks surprised. Everybody watches Spike expectantly while he fidgets nervously under all the attention.

“Gee, you guys, I’m sure Princess Celestia will take a few minutes to write her rep-” 

He stops mid-sentence, holding his stomach.

“…I guess it was just indigestion. Like I said, I’m sure it will be a few HURP-"

Spike gives a fiery belch and another letter materialises from the smoke and flame. 

“Here, it’s for you.”

You take the letter. All the ponies are looking at you expectantly as you open it up, and you have to admit you’re pretty curious.

Dear Anonymous,

You have my deepest thanks for the assistance you provided to my little ponies in their run-in with Shemeska the Marauder. I regret to inform you that your friend Corder has had a run-in of his own with a much more dangerous Lady than even Shemeska. If you will pardon the familiarity, I heartily advise you to leave Sigil as soon as possible. If you would care to accompany my faithful student and her friends back to Equestria, I will be delighted to thank you in person and perhaps shed some light on those curious marbles in your pocket and the whereabouts of your unfortunate friend. 
Yours, with sincere affection,

Princess Celestia of Equestria.

Well shit.

You’re still working on processing Princess Celestia’s message when Twilight’s bright, enquiring voice cuts through your reverie. 

“So… do you want to reply?” 

Judging by the look of suppressed eagerness on her face and the way her ears are twitching, she’s working really hard at not asking any nosy questions about what was in the message. Her effort at politeness is somewhat compromised by the way that Pinkie Pie is bouncing up and down, trying to get a look at the letter in your hand. 

“So what was in the letter Anony? Was it exciting? Was it a love letter? Can I see it? Huh? Huh?”  

You hold the letter out and she takes it between her teeth in mid bounce with a muffled squeak of excitement.

“No need to reply,” you tell Twilight, who looks a bit shocked that you just gave the letter to Pinkie. “It’s an invitation to accompany you back to Equestria.”

“Oh!” Twilight blinks. “And… will you accept?”

“I wonder.” 

You lean back in your chair and gaze up at the ceiling for a moment, then back down to meet the gaze of the six brightly coloured ponies, and one pet dragon, who are all looking expectantly at you. You exhale slowly. After all, what choice do you have? You’re out of options, out of rope, out of friends. And after all, this Equestria place is probably a pleasant enough plane to keep a low profile for a while. Just look at these cute fucking ponies, it’s obviously impossible that their homeland isn’t a nice place. 

“Yeah, I reckon I will.”

“Oh, gosh!” Pinkie Pie squeals, resuming her bouncing at redoubled velocity. "You’re coming to Equestria? That’s so absolutely super amazing! We’ve never had anyp0ny, I mean, anyONE like you in Equestria before! We’ll have to have a super-duper-looper HUGE ‘welcome to Equestria’ party! And we’ll have to show you all the sights, and you’ll have to try all our local food like CAKES-"

“An’ apples!” Applejack puts in. “Apple pie, apple fritters, apple tarts, apple muffins, stewed apples, baked apples, apple turnovers, apple jelly, apple dumplings, an’ my brand new special apple surprise!”

“And we simply must compare notes on fashion,” Rarity takes up as soon as Applejack finishes. “Your people have such fascinating ideas, I simply adore the fine stitching on your jacket sleeves there. And the shoes! So many different kinds of shoes, I’d never imagined! I mean we have shoes in Equestria, of course we do, but only as accessories - and I suppose that when you need to wear shoes just to walk around outside without hurting your hooves, I mean your feet, you have a lot more incentive to think about different ways of making them fabulous…” 

“Not just fashion!” Twilight says with a dismissive tone that earns her a dirty look from Rarity. “It will be an amazing chance to learn all kinds of things about human culture and history and magic and, and everything! This is incredible, I’m going to need to clear my schedule and focus on this for as long as we have you – um, I mean, for as long as you decide to stay,” she finishes with a meek blush.

“Pfffyeah right,” Rainbow Dash says. “'Cuz Anonymous is really gonna want to sit around in some musty library all day every day talking ancient history while you use up Equestria’s ink supply taking notes. Come on! Anon, if she lets you out in the sunshine once in a while then come find me and I guess we can hang out. If you’re lucky, the Wonderbolts will do a show while you’re in Equestria. Now THAT’S something worth seeing.”

Everybody seems to have said their piece. Wait, weren’t there six ponies?

Everypony’s looking at Fluttershy, who is nervously scratching at her chair with the tip of one hoof and not meeting anyone’s eye. She looks up for a moment and then swiftly back down, blushing.

”Um… I guess… if Anonymous likes animals, maybe I could introduce him to some of Equestria’s fauna? Maybe. I mean, if he wants…”

You grin.

“Okay, but you’re all going to need to wait until your princess is finished with me. So where’s the portal to Equestria?”

“It’s between the hooves of that giant pony statue in the Clerk’s Ward.”

“Giant… pony statue? Oh. Oh, right, THAT giant pony statue. It’s not really a pony, it’s a Nic’Epona. More like a horse than a pony. An intelligent, magical horse.”

The ponies all regard you a bit strangely.

“That… sounds like a pony,” Twilight says in a flat tone. 

“… now that you mention it. My apologies. Well, that’s a ways from here, but I know a portal that can get us there pretty sharpish. Shall we be off? If you ladies have finished your drinks.”

You settle your tab, and soon you’re all on your way through the streets of the Lady’s Ward. As distracted as you are by the sudden turn that events have taken, you still take note of the bladeling who was sitting by – the one that Pinkie christened Pikey – as he slips from his seat and makes for the doorway not far behind you. Could mean trouble. But, hells, you’re planning on getting straight out of the city anyway. Chances are that whatever that basher has planned, you’ll be gone before it happens. 

It’s late, but there are still plenty of people out and about. Sigil doesn’t sleep. The Lady’s Ward is the fanciest and most expensive district of Sigil, so most of the passers-by are the upper crust, fashionable and well-to-do. Rarity can hardly contain her glee at all the extravagant and exotic fashions parading by, and all the other ponies seem almost as excited by the strange surroundings. All except Fluttershy, who looks terrified – but you’re working on the assumption that’s probably normal. Spike is slumped forward on Twilight’s neck, snoozing peacefully.

You point out various points of interest along the way, sometimes dropping in a funny anecdote or a story from the city’s history. It’s nice to have somebody – or somepony – to show around. Their sense of wonder is kind of infectious, even for a jaded asshole like yourself. You bring them to a halt in front of the archway of iron fretwork that leads into a small park. A great bushy green shrub is growing up and through the railings, erupting with fragrant blue flowers the size of your palm. For the first time, Fluttershy seems to be drawn out of herself. 

“Oh my goodness, look at these flowers! They’re just beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like this plant in Equestria. Do you think it would be all right if I took some seeds for my garden? Would anyone mind?”

You shake your head with an indulgent smile. 

“I’m sure it’d be fine. Also, you’re going to need one of these.”

You produce a knife from one of your boots (you can never have too many knives) and cut one of the blooms from its stem. You kneel down and, with an exaggerated romantic gesture, brush the mane back from one of Fluttershy’s ears and slip the flower’s stem behind her ear, ensuring that it’s secure before pulling back to admire your handiwork. Fluttershy looks adorable, particularly because she’s blushing madly. 

“Oh hey, don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not being gallant or anything,” you say with a big grin. “Everybody needs one to get through the portal to where we’re going.”

You cut more flowers, handing one to each of the remaining ponies and keeping one for yourself. Most of the ponies are content to just take the flower and hold it in their teeth but Rarity makes a point of inclining her head to you with a coy smile, obviously demanding the same treatment as Fluttershy. You oblige like a gentleman. The pale blue of the flower matches her eyes and the mark on her flank – it looks very pretty, a fact which clearly isn't lost on her as she smiles her thanks at you and bats her eyelashes.

Spike is still asleep, snoring softly, so you prop his flower up in his open mouth. It lolls about a bit but stays upright and doesn’t seem in danger of slipping down his throat, so you call it a job well done. Twilight is watching you over her shoulder with an expression somewhere between amusement and bafflement. 

“All set?” You do a check and see that everypony has their flower. “Lovely. Follow me then.” 

You stride through the archway that leads into the park, and as you approach it your flower starts to glow with a soft luminescence that is answered by a shimmering in the air of the archway. As you step through the archway the shimmering briefly flares into a swirling vortex of light. When you can see again, you’re in a whole different street on the other side of the city, and your flower is gone. The ponies all appear after you, one after another. Spike is still on Twilight’s back, now flowerless. He slept through the whole thing. Fluttershy looks a bit disappointed by the loss of her flower, but she cheers up when you hand her some seed pods that you took while you were gathering the blossoms. 

“So, there’s where we’re headed,” you say, pointing to where the head of a giant horse – or pony – rears high over the surrounding buildings, visible from where you stand although you’re still a few blocks away. 

“Yep,” Twilight says happily, “that looks like where we came in all right. So just how many of these portals are there? I hadn’t imagined that there could even be portals that just act like shortcuts from one part of the city to another.”

“Oh, sure,” you say. “There are all kinds of portals, from ones that just go down the street to ones that go all the way across the Great Ring.”

She looks blank.

“The Outer Planes?”

Still nothing.
“…the rim of the multiverse. That is, everything. Infinity.”

“Oh, okay,” she nods, but she seems hesitant, as if she’s having trouble processing something. “So wait… the ‘multiverse’ – is a ring?”

“… sort of. It’s complicated. It can be convenient to think of it that way, but if it really is a ring, you’re always at the centre of it.”

“I am?”

“Everyone is.”

“…what.”

You half-sigh, half-chuckle. Explaining things to Twilight’s satisfaction might take some time.

“Booooo-ring,” comes the judgement from Rainbow Dash. “Who’re those guys in the cool spiky armour down the street there?”

“Mercykillers, they’re called. Bounty hunters, jailors, executioners. Lovely chaps.”

“For real?”

“Nope.”

Wait a minute.

Mercykillers.

Mercykillers are the other reason why you haven’t shown your face in Sigil for a while, and these ones seem to be taking an interest in you as you approach. 

A pointed interest. As in, they’re drawing their weapons. And pointing them at you. You groan inwardly as you realise that somebody must have tipped them off – and then you hear the heavy footsteps behind you, and look around to see the bladeling from the Fortune’s Wheel sprinting down the street to catch you up, sword drawn in his hand. 

“Sir! Reporting for duty,” he calls out over your head to the captain of the Mercykillers.

Well, that figures. He must have sent warning ahead as soon as you said where you were going, and then followed you here. 

“Anonymous! Give yourself up and face justice for your crimes,” comes the booming voice of the Mercykiller captain.

“Girls? You might want to get out of here,” you murmur to the ponies. “If I’m not mistaken, these gents don’t have any quarrel with you. You’d better get on home.”

Rainbow Dash and Applejack yell over each other in their haste to refuse.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Horseapples! We ain’t goin’ no place.”

“Right!” Twilight declares. “The Princess would never have invited you if you had really committed any crimes, so these people have no right to arrest you.  She’s counting on us to bring you, and you can’t get through the portal without us.”

“Plus! We’re friends now,” says Pinkie. “And it’s not very nice to run away when your friends are in trouble.”

“Quite so,” Rarity says. “And what sort of pony would just turn tail and run in the face of such uncouth ruffians?”

>Fluttershy just gives a muted “eep” noise, but she stands at your side with the rest of them.

Spike is still asleep. 

You give a sigh of exasperation. This is going to be hairy enough without having to worry about the safety of a bunch of helpless ponies. They seem determined to ‘help’, though. Better just resign yourself to it.

“Criminal, you have until the count of three to surrender any weapons you are carrying and give yourself over into our custody. One. Two. -”

You palm a knife, and spring into action.

Even as you start forward you hear the snaps of several crossbows being fired.Two of the crossbowmen are in front of you and you were fully expecting those shots, but from the sound of it there are at least four snipers firing from concealed positions as well. You drop to a low crouch and abandon your head-on charge in favour of weaving, serpentine approach. Heightened senses tell you that all but one of the shots are flying wide after your change of course, and you twist easily aside from the one that is on target. You can only hope that no ponies were in the firing line.

You pause just long enough to fling a pair of knives and send one of the crossbowmen down to the cobbles clutching at his throat, and then you continue to close the distance between you and the captain. The Mercykillers were prepared for your speed, though, and a good half dozen of them have formed up around their captain in defensive stances. It won’t be easy to pick a vulnerable target from that closely packed squad, but you intend to give it your best shot. If you can get into melee with them and sow some confusion, at least the crossbowmen will have a harder time drawing a bead on you. And hopefully won’t just decide to shoot the ponies for sport while they wait for their buddies to club you to death.

You’re not even halfway to the enemy, though, when you’re forced to revise your tactical considerations as a rainbow blur shoots past you and barrels straight into the one remaining visible crossbowman. The hapless Mercykiller is lifted several feet from the ground and propelled straight backwards until he crashes into a wall with a heavy crunch. Rainbow Dash swoops away from the point of impact, apparently completely unharmed, and seems to be preparing to come around for another pass. Either that was a very lucky shot, or these ponies might not be quite as helpless as you thought. You rather hope it’s the latter, because there look to be a good number of Mercykiller reinforcements already rushing into the fight. Pikey must have had backup right behind him. 

Better stay focused on the main target; you continue your advance towards the Mercykiller captain and his men, a little more patiently now since in your peripheral vision you can see Rainbow Dash lining up for a pincer attack behind them. Two of the men have halberds, and they know how to use them to keep you at bay. It’d be an easy enough thing to slip inside their reach if they were alone, but when they have a couple of buddies with short swords standing next to them, that’s a bit of a riskier proposition.

You're happy enough to be kept at bay for now - you focus on distracting them and buying time, dodging around their probing thrusts and slashes. Meanwhile, behind you, you hear a cacophonous GONGGGG sound and then a fit of gleeful laughter. You glance around for long enough to see Pinkie Pie standing over the slumped figure of Pikey, brandishing an enormous mallet. You’re sure bladelings’ heads aren’t really supposed to make that sound when you hit them. And where the shit did that mallet come from? You’re past even wondering how she’s holding it in her hooves. Questions for another time. For now, your attention is drawn back to more immediate concerns as your delaying tactics pay off. 

Rainbow Dash crashes into the whole group in front of you from their unguarded rear, sending half of them sprawling.That’s your cue. In a split second you're among them, darting from man to man, sliding your knives into the weak points of their armour and taking care that each one is incapacitated before you move on. Their attempts to counterattack aren’t up to much, disoriented as they are and with their formation shattered. Plenty more Mercykillers are joining the fight, but you’re in your element now, too fast and nimble for these clumsy oafs to hit. And Dash… Dash is even faster than you, totally untouchable as she darts here and there, her movements too quick for the eye to follow except by what she leaves behind – her prismatic wake and the groaning, crumpled bodies of her enemies.

Whenever you can spare a moment’s attention you try to check on how the other ponies are doing, and are mostly reassured by the glimpses you catch. Twilight’s horn is glowing fiercely as she fires off bolts of searing purple energy at any enemies who get too close. Here and there you notice purple force fields throughout the fight, too, creating strategic chokepoints or shielding an ally from the approach of an unseen enemy. Applejack has fashioned a lasso out of razorvine and is holding it in her teeth, expertly whirling it about her head. Razorvine. In her teeth. As you watch, the lasso drops over three guards and trusses them together into a helpless pile.

Rarity, eschewing the subtler tactics of her friends, is elegantly punching Mercykillers in the face. She doesn’t seem to be too refined for the odd low-blow, either. Spike is scampering around, evading capture at the hands of several Mercykillers who are blundering into each other regularly in their efforts to lay hands on the small dragon. One of them finally manages to seize him, and then hurriedly drops him again after getting a face full of dragonfire for his trouble. And Pinkie is pelting everybody indiscriminately with water balloons, pausing only to fire off some sort of small explosives at any Mercykillers who get too close with a shower of confetti and streamers each time. Shreds of coloured tissue paper are everywhere, raining down on the brawl like snow. This fight is not only going rather well, but must rank among the funniest things you’ve seen in years. 

Wait.

Where’s Fluttershy? You scan the battlefield and eventually spot her, backing into an alley with four armoured men advancing on her. You feel a surge of protectiveness and make a beeline for the yellow pegasus pony, but you don’t get far before you’re forced to step back to avoid the sudden onrush of an oversized mace-head like a titan’s great metal bollock. The cumbersome weapon comes crashing down just inches in front of you, shattering the cobbles and nearly knocking you off your feet with the impact. The weapon is now imbedded deeply in the street, but its wielder wrenches it free with disturbing ease and draws back for another blow.

The figure before you stands easily twice your height and is entirely covered in heavy metal plating etched with Mercykiller insignia. And spikes, spikes everywhere. Mercykillers love spikes. You have the chance to study the wind up for this next swing, so the weapon’s arc doesn’t take you by surprise. It’s still an enormous lump of steel hurtling towards you at meteoric speeds, though. You manage to get out of its reach, only to stumble against the back of another Mercykiller. At least this one is human-sized, and seems as surprised as you by the collision. You get over it more quickly than he does and quickly dodge around him before backing hurriedly away as another awesome swing of the enormous mace knocks him aside like a rag doll. Apparently the big basher doesn’t worry too much about a few friendly casualties in the line of duty. He’s still advancing on you, lashing out with great scything sweeps of his mace.

You’re running out of room to back up; you can sense a wall a couple of feet behind you. Must be time to get clever. You feint sideways to draw out another swing from the giant, and use the last of your breathing space to dodge backwards out of it. Wasting no time, you spring upwards with a burst of power and scrabble for a hold on the wall behind you; your situational awareness has always been a strong point, and if you remember rightly there should be a first floor window shutter right about… there. You catch hold of it and hang suspended for a moment, ten feet off the ground, while your monstrous foe takes your new bearings and lines up to swat you off the wall – or, more likely, through it -  with his next swing. You tense and coil, bracing yourself against the wall, waiting for just the right moment. And there it is. The enormous mace comes hurtling towards you once more and you launch yourself with another burst of speed, getting inside the swing’s arc before it can hit you.

You land deftly perched on the Mercykiller’s shoulders and waste no time in taking advantage of the position before he can shake you off. Your dagger finds the eye slit in his helmet and there's a ring of steel sliding on steel as it plunges through to the soft, yielding flesh beneath - wait. That doesn’t feel very soft and yielding. With a bellow, the giant reaches a hand back and tears you from his shoulders, dashing you to the ground. His helmet comes with you, and as your vision stops swimming you can see that the hateful countenance scowling down at you looks like a misshapen and tumescent mass of bone, leather and scales. It’s missing an eye now, but that doesn’t seem to slow the guy down much.

Some kind of Fiendish half breed with an ogre or a hill giant? Well, but now might not be the best time to speculate on his ancestry. One armoured foot is planted on your chest to crush all the wind out of you while he raises his mace high above his head to make an end of the job.

And then a water balloon hits him squarely in his hideous face.

“Hee!” Pinkie’s triumphant giggle carries across the battlefield. “Gotcha! You’re out, no tag-backs.”

The abomination is just puzzled enough by this to relax the weight on your chest for one moment, and that’s all you need. You can’t squirm out from under his boot without him noticing, but you manage to get an arm free and draw a knife. Better make this one count. Dismissing the pink pony as a matter best left for later, the giant looks back down, leering as he savours the imminent prospect of crushing the life out of you. 

Your knife embeds itself in his one remaining eye with a satisfying thunk, and he lets out a horrible scream. Blinded, he staggers backwards, letting you up and incidentally trampling over a couple of his regular-sized Faction-mates who were trying to struggle to their feet behind him. He hefts his oversized mace again and lashes out with it, but it’s a hopeless blind swing, just a desperate attempt to take out some of his pain and confusion on anything near. Warily you back away, and quickly ascertain that there aren’t many other threats still moving. The street is littered with the wounded or subdued bodies of dozens of Mercykillers. And confetti. Lots of confetti.

Rainbow Dash is zipping from window to window of the houses down the street, checking for any of the crossbow snipers still remaining. The giant is lumbering off, groaning in pain. You figure it’s best to just let him go.

“Wheeee! That was fun!” Pinkie sing-songs, letting off a final blast of confetti and streamers for good measure.

“You okay, sugarcube?” comes Applejack’s voice from your side.

You turn with a start to see the orange pony looking up at you with concern. Rainbow Dash lands next to her, and she’s looking you over for injury as well. This is so absurd.

“I’m fine,” you say. Well, that’s a lie, you probably have a couple of broken ribs, but… all things considered, it could be a lot worse. “Thanks to you ponies. That was… quite a show. From all of you. What about you? You all okay?”

You look around and see that everyp0ny seems mercifully unhurt. But Fluttershy is missing. Last time you saw her, she was backing into a blind alleyway with four Mercykillers closing in on her. You dash over to the alley to find the Mercykillers still there, sitting cross-legged in a semi-circle around her.

“…and that’s why you should try to be nicer, not just to me, but to each other,” the pony is finishing in her usual hushed tones. “Oh, hello Anonymous, is the fighting all over?”

You notice more than one of the Mercykillers seem to have a tear or two glistening in their eyes.

“...yup, we’re all done… and you?”

“Oh, nearly,” she smiles. “But I think each of these people needs to write me a letter of apology and explain what they’ve learned about using violence to get their way.”

You are speechless. Soon Spike, at Fluttershy’s request, has distributed paper and quill pens to each of the four Mercykillers. You wonder if you should be writing a letter too, on the importance of never underestimating ponies. Three of the Mercykillers are studiously writing away, tongues occasionally protruding with the intellectual effort. The fourth and final one is just staring sadly at his sheet of paper. Finally he breaks down in tears.

“Oh no, no, come on, it’s all right, there’s no harm done,” Fluttershy soothes him. “I’m sure you’re a good person, you’ve just done something silly and you need to make it right.”

“But… but… it’s not that,” the Mercykiller chokes out between sobs.

“Then what is it?”

“I… I can’t read or write…”

Fluttershy looks horrified.

“You can’t… oh, my goodness, but this is just awful. Didn’t you go to school?”

“No…”

“Well that’s not right. That’s not right at all.”

Fluttershy is getting a determined look on her face.

“I think you’d better come with us. In Equestria, every little filly or colt gets an education before we give them responsibility. That’s only fair. You deserve the same chances that they have.”

“Umm… Fluttershy?” Twilight speaks up. She sounds dubious, which is somewhat relieving.

“Yes, Twilight?”

“I’d be the last pony to dismiss the value of a good education, but do you really think Ms Cheerilee is going to be able to handle this full-grown human with proven violent tendencies on top of all the fillies and colts she already has to deal with?”

“Oh, but it’s not fair to say that he has proven violent tendencies, Twilight. He deserves a second chance! If we write him off just because he’s made bad choices, how will he ever know any better?”

Twilight frowns, seeming unable to answer that. You see which way the wind is blowing, why even fight it?

“Bring him with us, then, but we need to get going soon,” you say. “The Harmonium will be along any minute now to start arresting people for breach of the peace.”

Happily the three literate Mercykillers have now finished their letters to Fluttershy’s satisfaction. The fourth and final one seems more than willing to meekly follow her around; he tries to tell her his name, but she can’t pronounce it, so the ponies all agree to just call him Mercy.

You’re soon at the edge of the great square where the Trioptic Nic’Epona rears its majestic head. The statue stands on a pedestal in the centre of the square. There are shallow steps leading up to it on all sides, but a ring of vigilant Doomguard soldiers stand guard, barring public access to the monument.

“So, about this portal,” you say. “First things first, did you have any trouble with the Doomguard on your way here?”

“Doomguard?” says Rarity. “Is that what those gentlemen call themselves? How perfectly dismal. But, no, no trouble at all, they were most civil. They did seem a little surprised to see us at first, but once we showed them Princess Celestia’s seal they let us right on through with no bother.”

Well, that’s interesting.

“Okay, super. And what about the portal key? What is it?”

“It’s Twilight!” Pinkie says happily.

You raise your eyebrows. This would be the first case you’d ever heard of a portal key being a specific sentient being. “Really?”

“Umm… kinda,” Twilight says with a trace of discomfort. “See, the thing is, we’re the bearers of the Elements of Harmony. We’re going to need them to get through the portal anyway, so we may as well show you.”

Twilight’s horn glows and she telekinetically opens up her saddlebags and removes a case which, in turn, contains six glittering pieces of golden jewelery set with magnificent gems. They immediately start to attract covetous attention from passers-by; you’re glad that the ponies had the sense not to put these on display earlier. Although now that you’ve seen the ponies in action, you’re not so sure that any would-be thief would have come off very well in the exchange.

Five of the gems are set into golden torcs or neck clasps of some sort, and Twilight levitates each of these in turn to one of her friends. She reels off the respective Element as Fluttershy, Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie each get their adornment – Kindness, Honesty, Generosity, Loyalty, Laughter.

“And Magic,” Twilight finishes as the remaining gem, set in a golden tiara, settles on her head. “But… Magic is a little different. Magic, combined with true friendship, is the spark that activates all the Elements and gives them power.”

“…of course it is.”

You’re definitely coming back round to your original theory that these ponies are Proxies. Proxies of the most eccentric goddess ever, apparently.

“Well, that’s the portal key. The spark that activates the Elements of Harmony.”

“Right,” you nod, processing that. “But, then, how do Mercy and I get through? Wouldn’t we need to be Bearers of one of these Elements as well?”

“I’m not sure, but Princess Celestia didn’t seem to be worried about your ability to follow us, so I think it should be okay. My working theory is, as long as we’re friends, you’ll be able to get through as well.”

“Well, okay, I’m game to give it a try. Do we need to do some sort of friendship ritual, or…?”

"No-" Twilight begins, but is cut off by Pinkie’s squeal of delight.

“Yes! A friendship ritual sounds super fun, we have to have one!”

“…we’re in kind of a hurry,” you remind her.

“Aww, but-“

“We could do it once we’re safe and sound in Equestria?”

Pinkie thinks about that for a moment.

“Pinkie promise we’ll do one?”

“…okay?”

“Repeat after me: cross my heart…”

She looks pretty serious.

“…cross my heart…”

“Hope to fly,”

“…hope to fly…”

“Stick a cupcake in my eye.”

“…”

She’s staring at you with eyes that could pierce the soul of a lesser man.

“…stick a… cupcake… really?”

“STICK A CUPCAKE IN MY EYE.”

“…stick a cupcake in my eye.”

“Yay!”

She gives a couple of bounces, seeming entirely satisfied.

“So, what about Mercy?” you ask, moving swiftly on. “It doesn’t seem like you and him have really had time to bond yet, Twilight.”

“It’s okay,” Fluttershy puts in quietly. “He’s my friend, so he still counts.”

The huge man’s look of adoring servility as he follows the little yellow pony about could be interpreted as friendship, at a stretch, you suppose.

“Well, okay. So… I guess we’re all set?”

“Right,” Twilight smiles. “Let’s go!”

She trots up to the Doomguard, and you are more than content to let her lead the way in talking to those surly bastards. Sure enough, once they see Princess Celestia’s seal, they let the whole bunch of you right through with not a word of complaint. So here you are at the base of the Tripona. It’s commonly known that there are portals here – several of them – but it’s also known that nobody gets to use them except for a few of the city’s Golden Lords and Faction high-ups. And now you and these ponies. You smile to think of the rumours that will be circulating about you while you’re out of town.

As the ponies approach the huge archway made by the Epona’s rearing hind legs, the air within starts to shimmer and churn with the colours of the Elements of Harmony. Twilight smiles encouragement at you.

“You’d better go first,” she suggests. “In case you can’t get through.”

You nod.

“Here I go then.”
> Welcome to Equestria!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping through the portal is like waking from a dream. Even at anti-peak, the closest thing Sigil has to the middle of the night, the atmosphere there was hot and thick with the stink and din of so many people living on top of each other. You hadn’t even noticed just how stifling it was until the moment you leave it behind. Your foot comes down on thick, soft grass and a mild breeze caresses your face in a tender greeting as you take your bearings. The darkness enfolds everything about you, a thick shroud, jasmine-scented. Leaves rustle all around and branches shift overhead, allowing brief glimpses of the luminous tapestry of stars beyond. You fill your lungs with the sweet night air and let the serenity of the moment wash over you as, behind you, your companions arrive one by one.

Twilight is the first to step over and join you, her horn flaring for a moment and then settling to a steady glow that illuminates the area around. You are standing before a stone arch in a thickly overgrown garden amidst the ruins of what must once have been a grand palace, much of it now crumbled with centuries of neglect although other parts seem remarkably well preserved.  

“All in one piece?” Twilight says, looking you over. “Great! I wasn’t completely sure if-"

“WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA!” Pinkie interrupts. “Oh, I just know you’re going to love it here! It’s still a work in progress, but I have just the perfect song for this very occasion. Just give me a moment… now… what does ‘fingers’ rhyme with?”

She trails off into inaudible muttering as Twilight rolls her eyes. There is a heavy clanking of armour signalling Mercy’s arrival, and with that everybody is accounted for.

“So where exactly are we?” you ask.

You aren’t entirely sure what you expected from the ponies’ home plane, but this isn’t quite it. The tranquillity of this place has an almost sanctified quality, and the ruins all around seem too grand and forbidding to possibly have been built by such creatures as these ponies. Then again… you think back to the fearsome showing that they gave in the tussle with the Mercykillers, and remind yourself not to take them too lightly.

“This is the ancient castle of Princess Celestia and Princess Luna,” Twilight says. “They used to rule Equestria together from here, but it’s been empty for a long time. Well over a thousand years.”

“That explains the lack of a royal welcome,” you say.

Twilight starts to lead the way out of the courtyard as she replies.

“Yes. These days the princesses rule from Canterlot.  It’s an easy train journey from Ponyville, where we all live, so the best plan is probably if you come back there and stay with one of us. Then you can get some rest and clean up, and we can present you to the Princess tomorrow."

“Plenty o’ room out at Sweet Apple Acres,” Applejack suggests. “That way we won’t have to alarm anypony by bringin’ him an’ Mercy into town.”

“Umm… my cottage is outside town, too,” Fluttershy murmurs quietly.

Nopony seems to hear or pay any attention.

“I do hope you’re not suggesting that Anonymous’s appearance is alarming,” Rarity says in playful reproach to Applejack, then turns to you. “Don’t let her hurt your feelings, darling. I think you look simply dashing – although now that we mention it, perhaps your mane could use a little work…”

“That’s not what ah meant,” Applejack says with some irritation in her voice, obviously missing Rarity’s teasing tone. “Nopony’s seen anythin’ like him before, so he’s bound to cause a stir, that’s all.”

“My cottage is right outside the Everfree Forest, so, um, it would be right on our way, it’s very convenient, I have room for Anonymous and Mercy as well…” Fluttershy seems to be making an effort to speak louder than usual.

She goes unnoticed again.

“Oh yes!” Rarity replies to Applejack, sweeping back her mane dramatically. “It will be a sensation! Everypony will want to know who this mysterious stranger is, and where he got his magnificent outfit… which reminds me, actually, never mind, we should wait for your first public appearance until I’ve had time to design you something. No sense wasting good publicity.”

Applejack just rolls her eyes.

“So we’re all agreed, Anon’ll stay out on the farm with me?”

“Woah there, hang on, my place is outside Ponyville as well,” Rainbow Dash says.

Applejack gives a chuckle. “Ah think the whole clouds thing might be a dealbreaker there, Dash.”

“Oh… right.” Dash turns a little red, and you give an inquisitive look. “All the awesomest people, like pegasi and griffons, live in the clouds,” she explains. “So if you crashed at my place you’d… err… actually crash. Like, through the clouds and into the dirt.”

“My cottage is on the ground, though,” Fluttershy puts in earnestly.

Rainbow Dash perks up as something occurs to her. “Unless you’re awesome enough to walk on clouds too! It’s not like we’ve ever tested a human.”

“I doubt it,” Twilight says thoughtfully. “Humans seem to be adapted for life on the ground. They don’t even have any natural way to get up to the clouds, so I don’t think they’d have the ability to walk on them.”

“Pfft, you never know ‘til you try…”

Fluttershy rallies for one last attempt.

“Um… my cottage…”

You have to give her credit for her persistence.

“Anyway, your farm probably is the best place for tonight, Applejack,” Twilight says with an air of authority that seems to wrap up the discussion. “Oh! Unless… Fluttershy, your cottage is outside town too, and it’s closer than Sweet Apple Acres. “
“…yes, it is,” Fluttershy agrees.

“Do you have room for Anonymous tonight? Would you mind him staying with you? I wouldn’t mind staying with you as well, if you’d feel safer-"

“Um, no, I mean, yes, I mean… it will be fine,” Fluttershy says with a blush. “Good thinking, Twilight.”

She actually sounds sincere.

“Great,” Twilight beams. “It’s settled, then.”

In the meantime you have been walking through the stone hallways of the ancient castle, Twilight leading the way with the light from her horn as the ponies’ hoofsteps and the clanking of Mercy’s armour echo off into the darkness. Pinkie Pie has been uncharacteristically quiet as she hums softly to herself and tries out various tunes and bits of rhyming verse under her breath. You pass through a great domed chamber, largely untouched by the centuries except for the vines that wind through the metal lattices where glass is missing from the windows. Twilight leads you on through a grand arched doorway and you find yourself at the top of a broad flight of stone steps, looking out over the canopy of a great forest.

From here, above the trees, you have a clear view of the starry sky, all studded with strange constellations. A full moon shines down, bathing the trees in milky light. The forest seems as wild and primal as any you have ever seen, from the realms of the Elven powers in Arborea to the Crimson Jungle of Carceri.

“Got it!” Pinkie Pie exclaims.

You look at her with a certain amount of trepidation, which only increases as you notice the resigned expressions of the other ponies. Sure enough, she draws herself up and bursts into song, with a full accompanying dance routine that involves the other ponies far more than they look happy with.

“Welcome to Equestria! We know you’re going to like it,
We’ve got a lot of cake and punch, I promise we won’t spike it!
Welcome to Equestria! We hope you’re going to linger,
We don’t mind at all that we’ve got hooves and you’ve got fingers,
Welcome to Equestria! …wait, who are these strange ponies?”

The musical number is aborted prematurely as Pinkie finds herself trying to dance with a very uncooperative armoured stallion, one of two dark-coated ponies who have just stepped into view at the foot of the steps. The new arrivals both sport identical heavy barding in shades of purple, matching plumed helmets, and stony expressions. They’re both pegasi, but their wings look more like those of a bat or a dragon than the feathery wings of Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. 

Another figure looms out of the darkness, equine, but larger than any of the ponies you have so far encountered. You tense, your hand finding the grip of a knife as you prepare for what may come. As the large figure steps into the light you see that it is a midnight blue mare with both the horn of a unicorn and the feathery wings of a pegasus, her flowing mane scintillating with specks of light like the night sky above.  

“Princess Luna!” Twilight exclaims, bowing to the floor.

The other ponies follow suit; even Pinkie Pie seems to have grudgingly accepted the curtailment of her song and is showing her respect by desisting in her attempts to get one of Luna’s royal guards to dance along with her. You bow as well, after a moment’s consideration deciding that bending from the waist will be quite sufficient. You’ve done your share of dealing with high-ups, and your policy is that it’s better to show too little deference and make up for it with charm than to show too much and then have to claw your way back to a more even footing.

“HELLO, MY LITTLE PONIES. HELLO, HUMAN,” booms the princess.

Fluttershy seems to be trying to hide behind your leg.

“Um… Princess Luna? Remember what we talked about, regarding the traditional royal Canterlot voice?” Twilight asks meekly.

Luna cocks her head. “WE HAD THOUGHT… ahem… I had thought this might count as a state occasion, and therefore it may be appropriate,” she says with some consternation. “Dost thou think a more informal approach would be better?”

“I do,” Twilight nods with an attempt at a reassuring smile that ends up a bit more of an awkward grin.  

“Very well,” the princess says, stepping closer. “I appreciate thy continued aid in my efforts to update my image, Twilight Sparkle.”

“You’re welcome, Princess. Allow me to introduce Anonymous. Anonymous – Luna, Princess of the Night.”

“It’s an honour, your highness,” you say with another bow.

“…just Princess will suffice,” Luna interjects.

You’re pretty sure she’s blushing. You’ve met princesses before, but never one this socially awkward.

“A thousand apologies,” you smile. “Princess.”

“It falls to me to extend to thee an official greeting,” Luna says, falling back on her official tone.

“…but I was JUST in the middle of doing that,” Pinkie grumps to herself.

“My sister Celestia and I bid thee welcome to our realm,” Luna continues. “Thou art the first of thy kind to set foot in this land. We hope that thou find it to thy liking, and that we may enjoy cordial relations with thee, now and henceforth in perpetuity.”

“Likewise, Princess. I’m very much obliged.”

“…coulda done a better job than that if she’d just have let me finish…” Pinkie grumbles under her breath.

Luna’s gaze falls on Mercy for the first time, where he sits contentedly on one of the steps near Fluttershy. “What is this?” she asks. “Princess Celestia told me to expect one human visitor, not two.”

Fluttershy goes back to hiding behind your leg.

“We sorta had to adopt this’n here too, Princess,” Applejack steps in after a moment. “He was in a real sorry state, and we couldn’t just leave him. His name’s Mercy. Fluttershy’s gonna take real good care of him, an’ we’ll all help out, an’ he won’t be no trouble, so… can we keep him?”

Luna seems a little discomfited, but nods after a moment. “It seems there is little choice. I will consult with Princess Celestia, but I imagine that as long as you ponies take responsibility for his welfare and good behaviour, there will be no problem.”

Mercy beams gormlessly as he realises he’s being talked about. 

“Anonymous, in addition to greetings, I bring word from Princess Celestia,” Luna says. “She bids thee attend her in Canterlot tomorrow before sunset.”

You nod.

“Then… it is a long walk to Ponyville,” she says, “and it is already late. I will take my leave, that you might get underway… Anonymous, to my previous royal greetings, allow me to add that I am personally pleased to meet thee. I hope that we will have some chance to converse in the nights to come. There are things I would like to discuss.”

“That would be my pleasure, Princess.”

“Excellent. Then farewell, until we meet again.”

The royal guards pull up some description of winged chariot, and the princess climbs aboard and is borne away into the night sky.

“Well, well, it seems you warrant a royal welcome after all, Anonymous – even in the middle of the Everfree Forest,” says Rarity.

“It seems so.”

“Well,” Pinkie chimes in happily, “now that that interruption is out of the way, let me start over from the top!”

“Welcome to Equestria! We know you’re going to like it…”

It’s going to be a long walk to Ponyville.

You set off through the darkened woods as Pinkie does her thing. Twilight leads the way again, following a wide trail which – if those ruins really used to be the royal palace – must once have been a grand avenue approaching it. Cracked paving stones jut up here and there amidst the roots and undergrowth.

By the time Pinkie Pie has finished singing you can’t help but feel comprehensively welcomed to Equestria.

“Thanks Pinkie,” you smile. “It’s too bad that you ponies didn’t get such a lavish welcome in Sigil. If you ever visit again, I’ll try to have Shemmie do a musical number.”

It’s bad form to laugh at your own jokes, but you can’t help a wide grin at the thought of Shemeska the Marauder capering with a top hat and cane as she sings to an audience of pastel-coloured ponies. Pinkie Pie’s grin matches your own, whilst the other ponies’ reactions range from amused to horrified. 

Rarity in particular blanches visibly. “That dreadful lady of the canine visage and the negligee that appeared to have been stitched together from scavenged table doilies in order to just barely preserve the last vestige of modesty, for a woman half her size?”

Your grin breaks into full-throated laughter. “That’s the one.”

“Then it’s thoughtful of you, darling, but I’ll have to decline. I fear that if I were to witness the quakings and… jigglings… that her dancing would entail, I would be unable to ever look at a blancmange again without reliving the psychic trauma.”

“Hahahaha… but, if you think that outfit was horrifying, you should see what revelations come to light when she wears tight fitting pants.”

Rarity chokes back a giggling fit. “I think I would prefer not to speculate…”

“That might be best.”

Spike and Fluttershy look confused and embarrassed respectively and Twilight just looks distracted, whilst everypony else joins in the laughter.  

“What exactly was she, Anonymous?” Twilight asks after a moment. “I’ve never read of any jackal-headed humanoid people.”

“An Arcanaloth,” you reply. “It’s an order of Yugoloth...”

Nope, she clearly doesn’t know what that is. “…which is a type of fiend…”

… or that, somehow. You look around and realise that none of these ponies have ever heard of a fiend. They really must be sheltered. “…which is to say, a being of incarnate Evil, native to the Outer Planes.”

“…okay,” Twilight nods as she finally gets a handle on something. “But if she’s pure evil, how come she’s just allowed to come and go in Sigil? I wasn’t able to find any reference material for Sigil, but from what Princess Celestia told me, it’s supposed to be like a neutral ground, isn’t it? A safe place for everyone?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say safe. Neutral, yep… but that is to say, anybody, from the highest-and-mightiest Archon to the cruellest and most bloodthirsty Tanar’ri, is free to come and go in Sigil. Everybody except the Powers – that is, the gods. They’re barred.”

“Hmm.” Twilight mulls that over.

It really is odd that this pony, who seems to be educated and intelligent, is so totally and utterly Clueless. “Has nobody – that is to say, nopony – ever travelled the planes and returned to tell about it?” you ask. “Are there no books about the planes?”

Twilight shakes her head. “Hardly anything like that,” she says sadly. “A few scholars have always speculated that there are other planes of existence, but nopony has ever successfully travelled to any of them before. Until us!”

“But if that portal has always been there in that castle, and the portal key was known…?”

“…yes, I wondered about that too,” she says quietly. “Princess Celestia was able to tell us a bit about Sigil, and what we should expect there, as well, so… perhaps she travelled there, when she was the sole bearer of the Elements of Harmony? Or when she and Luna bore them together... but either way, they didn’t publish any of their findings.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Perhaps they just wanted to protect you.”

She looks pretty annoyed by that idea, but seems to accept it as a possibility, even if it’s not one she likes. “But then why send us now?”

“Yup, that’s the question. Hopefully we’ll learn the dark of that tomorrow.”

“So wait,” Rainbow Dash cuts in. “This evil jackal lady, who everyone knows is evil, just, like, walks around Sigil doing evil stuff the whole time, and nobody has kicked her tail for it yet?”

“Sort of,” you say with a smile at Dash’s summary. “She’s powerful, and has a lot of jink to throw around – that is to say, she’s massively rich – and she has some formidable allies too. That’s a combination that lets you get away with an awful lot in Sigil. Or most other places.”

Dash frowns. “That’s all horseapples,” she declares. “Somepony needs to teach her a lesson.”

“If there were ponies in Sigil, maybe somepony would. But not a lot of folk on the planes see things that way, and the ones that do oftentimes don’t live long enough to get strong enough to teach a blood like Shemeska anything much. She’s been around for  – well, nobody can say, but she’s been active, spinning her schemes and getting her fingers in everybody’s pies, for at least a couple of millennia.”

“That’s a lot of pies,” Pinkie says, impressed.

“Scheming for what?” Twilight asks. “Just to hurt people, and garner more power and more money?”

“That’s about the size of it – spinning schemes for their own sake is pretty much the nature of Arcanaloths, I guess. They dabble in everything going, and eventually maybe they find the one peel that’s deep enough to get them to the top of the Yugoloth ladder - to become an Ultroloth.”

“Oh! They sound just like our sisters, plotting to get their cutie marks,” Rarity says to Applejack with a wry smile.

“Right,” Applejack laughs. “Except maybe fer the ‘pure evil’ part. Maybe.”

It’s your turn to look blank.

“You’ve noticed the marks on our flanks, I’m sure,” Rarity says by way of explanation to you. “…not that I’m implying you’d be crude enough to go around staring at mares’ flanks, or anything.”

She looks at you, blinking ingenuously, just the slightest hint of mischief playing in her smile.

“Oh, why yes,” you say with an exaggerated air of innocence, leaning in to peer inquisitively at Rarity’s hindquarters. “Now that you mention it I suppose you do have some kind of marks visible there, if one were to look.”

She flicks her tail playfully at your head, swatting you away.

“Quite, well, there’s no need to launch a detailed study now. In any case, those are our cutie marks. Everypony gets one as they grow up – it’s a rite of passage, you could say. A pony’s cutie mark represents their special talent or calling in life. Well, my little sister, Sweetie Belle - and Applejack’s, Apple Bloom, and their friend Scootaloo – don’t have their cutie marks yet, so they’ve taken to racing around Ponyville causing all sorts of havoc in their attempts to earn them.”

“Ah.” You smile. “I see the comparison. But unless they start trying to earn cutie marks for negotiating mercenary contracts or seeking ancient and horrifying occult secrets, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Don’t you go givin’ ‘em any ideas,” Applejack says hurriedly.

Soon you leave the remains of the ancient avenue behind and find yourself following smaller and more winding paths and trails that lead you on through the thick forest. Conversation mostly dies out as the going gets harder and you are all forced to focus on your surroundings so as not to twist an ankle or blunder into a cobweb. Some of the cobwebs around here are distressingly large. Twilight still lights the way with her horn, but she looks frequently to Fluttershy for direction. The yellow pegasus seems quietly self-assured in these matters of navigation, and you guess she must know the forest pretty well. Pinkie Pie hums happily to herself as your band treks on into the night.

You walk for several hours, passing many points of interest along the way including a river where an enormous serpent slumbers peacefully coiled in the shallows, its carefully groomed moustache rising and falling with the rhythm of its snores. You’ve seen some shit in your time, but this would be the first moustachioed serpent. If a berk ever thinks that the planes have nothing left to surprise him with, he’s addle-coved, and that’s that.

Some time after that, you come to a small clearing in the forest where a large slab or lump of worked stone seems to be lying in the thick grass over to one side. Curiosity kicks in and you drift over that way for a closer look. It looks like a humanoid statue, newly made and undamaged but half buried in the grass. The grass around hasn’t had time to grow up over it yet, and there’s no moss or lichen on its surface. It’s just lying there.

You call the ponies over, and soon all of you are standing around regarding the statue. They seem just as confused as you are about where this thing could have come from.

“There are no humanoids native to this plane, right?” you ask.

“No, none,” Twilight says in a tone of puzzlement. “We have myths and legends about humanoid creatures, but as far as I know nopony has seen one in Equestria until you and Mercy came through the portal today.”

“Someone could have made a statue based on the myths and legends, though?”

“I suppose so, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.”

“The proportions seem a bit odd, especially the legs. I don’t think it’s meant to be a human, or if it is then it’s not very accurate. Here, help me roll it over and get a better look.”

Applejack and Rainbow Dash help you heave at one side, while Pinkie Pie bounces helpfully around occasionally nudging the statue with a hoof or her nose. Soon the statue rolls over, flattening more of the tall grass and revealing a strange face with a broad forehead, upturned nose and four horns – two straight ones sticking straight up from the top of its brow, and two curved ones like a goat’s towards the sides of its head. Its stone hair flares straight upwards and out and then tapers like a candle flame atop its head.

“…dabus,” Twilight says.

You look to her with surprise.

“Princess Celestia warned us about them,” she explains a bit sheepishly. “She said that they’re the right hooves… er, hands… of the Lady of Pain, who runs Sigil, and that whatever we do we shouldn’t interfere with them or give them any trouble.”

“So I tried to help one with the hammering he was doing on our way to meet you,” Pinkie chips in, “but then Rainbow and Applejack jumped on me and dragged me down the street because they said I was going to interfere, but I wasn’t go to interfere, I was going to help, which is the opposite of interfering.”

“Except when it isn’t. But the question is, what is a statue of a dabus, of all things, doing out here in the forest?”

“Umm… I don’t think that’s a statue,” Fluttershy says with her usual timidity.

You give her an inquisitive look.

“I think that’s a real dabus that got turned to stone.”

“Oh… yes yes yes,” Twilight jumps on the idea. “That makes a lot more sense. If it was a statue, who would have made it, and how did it get here? It doesn’t add up. But if a real dabus was here, and ran into a cockatrice…”

“But… what was the dabus doing here, then?” you interrupt. “I mean… dabus don’t leave Sigil. It simply doesn’t happen. I’m not even sure if they’re capable of it.”

“But aren’t they the Lady of Pain’s servants?” Twilight asks. “What if she wanted to send… a spy? Or an ambassador?”

“She doesn’t,” you say simply, with a shrug. “I mean, she’s never been known to do that. In all the untold millennia that Sigil has existed and she’s been its keeper, there’s not one single instance of her sending a dabus, or anybody else, outside the Cage on her behalf.”

“Hmm…” Twilight doesn’t look all that convinced.

You think for a moment. “If, hypothetically, this is a petrified dabus… do we have access to spells that could set him right?” you ask.

“I don’t know of any magic that could do that,” Twilight says sadly. “The only way to undo a cockatrice’s petrifying gaze is to get the cockatrice to take it back.”

You’re pretty sure that isn’t true, but without a sufficiently powerful spellslinger around to show Twilight a Stone to Flesh spell, it’s kind of irrelevant. More to the point… “They can do that?”

“Yep! I fell foul of a cockatrice myself once, but Fluttershy persuaded him to fix me.”

“…persuaded?”

“Oh, yes,” Fluttershy says humbly. “He was just a little bit rambunctious, and didn’t really understand that ponies have feelings too and don’t like to be made into rocks. He needed some boundaries, that’s all.”

You blink. “Right. So… if a cockatrice did this, and we can find it, do you think you could… err… set it some boundaries, Fluttershy?”

“Oh, yes. But there are a lot of cockatrices in the forest.”

“Okay, well, we can look into that another time I guess. For now… this sod is too heavy to carry, and I don’t s’pose he’s going anywhere.  Shall we carry on?”

The ponies nod, and you get back on your way. About a half hour after that, as the horizon is beginning to blush pink with the coming dawn, you finally come to the edge of the forest. In the middle distance you can see the darkened silhouettes of the sleeping town that must be Ponyville. It looks surprisingly similar to a humanoid settlement, reminding you in particular of the kind of rural idyll that appeals to Halflings and the like.

You’re soon at Fluttershy’s cottage, a homely little building with a thatched roof and carefully tended gardens surrounding it. One by one the other ponies take their leave to go and snatch a few hours of sleep, agreeing to meet at midday to make arrangements for the trip to Canterlot.

Fluttershy first leads Mercy to a sizeable wooden construction, something like a stable, not far from her house.

“I think this will be the best place for you, Mercy,” she says sweetly. “Applejack helped me build it a while ago when I found a hurt manticore in the forest and had to nurse his poor little leg until he was healthy again.”

You maintain a poker face.

“But don’t worry, there are no manticores here now! There’s plenty of room, and you can get all nice and comfy in the hay over here. There are some blankets, and here is your water if you get thirsty. Are you hungry?”

The enormous armoured man shakes his head happily, already snuggling up in his blankets and hay, looking perfectly content.

“All right, wonderful. Are you warm enough?”

Mercy nods, his eyes already closing.

"Then it looks like we’re all set. Come along Anonymous, let’s get you settled in as well.”

She leads you to the cottage and you carefully wipe your feet before stepping inside. It looks exactly like a human’s cottage would. How weird. Everything is very neat and tidy, and there is a pleasant smell of dried flowers. Several small critters are sleeping peacefully curled up here and there on her furniture. Fluttershy is trotting and, true to her name, fluttering about, fetching blankets and quilts, forming them into a comfy-looking nest on her living room floor.

“I hope this will be okay, Anonymous,” she says, whispering even more quietly than normal. “Angel bunny is sleeping on the sofa and he gets so cranky if I wake him.”

You smile and nod.

“Can I get you anything? You look chilly, would you like some hot cocoa?”

… hot cocoa? A pony is going to make you hot cocoa? This you have to see. “That sounds great,” you say.

She bustles around in the kitchen for a few minutes warming up milk and shaking powdered cocoa into a big clay mug. Even though you’re watching her do it, you don’t really understand how she’s manipulating this stuff with her hooves. Probably best not to think about it. The cocoa is sweet and hot and delicious.

“Thanks a lot, this is perfect.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure. Are you all set?”

“Looks like it.”

“Goodnight then, try to get some sleep now, we need to be up again in a few hours.”

“Goodnight, Fluttershy.”

You snuggle up in the blankets provided and get comfy with your hot cocoa. Tomorrow you meet a pony Princess. That is to say, another pony Princess. This has been a fucking weird day. Not bad, though.

* * *

You awake to the sound of birdsong and the smell of hot buttered toast. A summery breeze twitches the thick curtains. Bright sunlight filters dimly through, suffusing the room with a warm glow that is thankfully not strong enough to offend your bleary eyes. It feels like late morning. You can hear Fluttershy singing softly to herself in the kitchen.  

There is a slight weight on your chest that doesn’t seem like it should be there. You raise your head and meet the gaze of a cute little bunny.

“Awww. You must be… Angel? Fluttershy mentioned you.”

You reach a hand up to pet it, but something in its look stops you. It looks distinctly unimpressed, beady little eyes staring an obvious challenge into your own. After a brief and inconclusive staring contest it hops rapidly up to your face and commences to slap you until you scramble up, pushing it off you in the process. You stand glaring at the bunny, which is pointing impatiently at the blankets and quilts on the floor, tapping one foot.

“…you want me to tidy up?”

It nods vigorously, still pointing. You shrug and start folding up the quilts and blankets. The bunny leads you to a wicker work hamper and points emphatically to the top of it. You stack the bedding there and it seems satisfied.

It starts to hop over towards the front door, motioning you to follow. It’s pointing to the door knob; maybe it wants to go outside. You turn the door knob and open it up wide enough for the bunny. It motions you to open it wider. Okay…

It sure is a gorgeous day out there. The sun is streaming down from a clear blue sky, birds and butterflies are flitting about Fluttershy’s lovely gardens, everything looks verdant and fresh and beautiful. As you stand admiring it the bunny is trying to literally kick you out of the open door, hammering away with one fluffy foot against your ankle.

“…knock that off.”

Fluttershy comes through from the kitchen, smiling nervously. “Oh, good morning Anonymous, I’m glad you’re up. I see you’ve met Angel. I hope the two of you are getting along.” She beams at the little bunny, who gives her an angry glare in response.

“Sure,” you say. “Cute little guy.”

“Oh, isn’t he? So… we have a little while before we need to leave to meet the girls. Would you like some breakfast? I have hay, or fresh fruit and vegetables, or… seeds…  oh, or bread. I don’t really know what humans eat.” She blushes faintly.

“Did I smell buttered toast? I could go for some of that.”

“Oh, yes, I can manage that. And some tea, maybe?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You follow her through to the kitchen and soon you have a steaming mug of tea and some crunchy thick-sliced toast dripping with butter. While you eat, Fluttershy consults you on human dietary requirements so she will be able to provide Mercy with suitable meals. She is pleased to learn that porridge will work, since she already has a big batch cooked up. She begins to heat some up for Mercy, slicing in fresh fruit and drizzling honey over the top. You sit peacefully finishing your tea while Fluttershy takes Mercy his breakfast.

Out of the window you can see the yellow pegasus pony trotting down the garden path between the flowerbeds to the stable where Mercy is lodged. Your head is fuzzy from lack of sleep and there’s a persistent sharp ache in your chest that’s been there ever since yesterday’s fight. Still, this is a nice, relaxing moment.

Angel sits on the table glaring fiercely at you, as he has been doing ever since you sat down. His hate only seems to have intensified as he watches you watching Fluttershy out of the window.

“…I don’t know if anyone has told you this before, little guy, but you come on kinda strong.”

The bunny just keeps glaring, and with a smile you go back to looking out of the window. Upon Fluttershy’s return you get up to take your mug and plate over to the sink, wincing a little with the pain in your chest as you stand.

“Anonymous, you’re hurt!” Fluttershy cries immediately.

“It’s nothing worth fussing about. Maybe a broken rib or two.”

“Oh, but that could be serious,” she says in tones of real distress. “A broken rib can sometimes pierce your lungs. Um, humans have lungs, don’t they?”

You think about telling her no, but nod before you can stop yourself.

“And aside from that, it can lead to chest infections. Does it hurt when you breathe?”

“Only if I breathe deeply.”

“But that’s just it! If you breathe shallowly to avoid the pain, you’re at risk of getting an infection.”

“I’m pretty hardy,” you say with a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

Fluttershy looks you levelly in the eye, and you start to understand how she got three Mercykillers to write her letters of apology and a fourth to follow her around like a lost puppy.

“Take your shirt and jacket off,” she says simply.

“But…”

“Take. Them. Off.”

Angel is hopping around the table in visible distress, and as you strip to the waist you take comfort in the fact that at least he is hating this.

“Good,” Fluttershy says approvingly. “Now follow me.”

She leads you into the living room and directs you to lie down on the couch while she pulls out a box of medical supplies from underneath it. She rests a hoof lightly on your chest and applies gentle pressure until she finds the right spot, making you inhale sharply with pain.   She gently feels about the affected area with her hoof, presumably testing the extent of the damage. You wouldn’t expect her to be able to feel anything much through her hoof, but then again, you wouldn’t expect her to be able to apply such gentle pressure with it either. Or to be able to manipulate objects. Something is clearly going on with these ponies’ hooves, come to think of it, so why be surprised by this in particular?

There’s a pleasant tickling sensation as the velvety yellow coat of her foreleg brushes your chest during her examination.

“Now I want you to take a deep breath,” she says. “As deep as you can. I know it’s going to hurt a bit, but I need you to be brave for me, okay?”

You grin, holding back a chuckle since you know that will only make your chest hurt worse. “You got it.”

You fill your lungs, expanding your chest against Fluttershy’s hoof and causing the expected sharp pain in your rib.

“That’s good. Once more please.” She shifts her hoof a little.

You do as instructed, and she nods. “You have three cracked ribs,” she says gravely. “But there’s no danger of internal injury, and they should heal by themselves in about a month as long as you are careful. No heavy lifting and DEFINITELY no fighting, mister. Take normal, deep breaths, even if it hurts a bit. Here, I have some ointment that will help with the bruising and should soothe some of the pain.”

She roots in her box of medical supplies for a moment and comes up with a tube in her teeth. She somehow squeezes a large dab of white ointment onto one of her hooves, and begins to rub it into your chest. The stuff is cool and slightly tingly on your skin. At first the pressure she’s putting on your bruised and battered chest is painful, but soon the ointment starts to do its work and what she’s doing begins to feel more like a nice massage. You relax and lie back, closing your eyes, enjoying the feeling.

Fluttershy goes on rubbing your chest, making sure that all the ointment is thoroughly worked in.

“Angel, if you can’t stop kicking my leg, I’m going to need to put you outside,” you hear.

Is it your imagination, or is Fluttershy sounding a little husky? Again you feel the slight tickling sensation as the soft fuzz on her leg brushes lightly across your skin, and a smile comes to your face.

“…you’re very tense, Anonymous. It’s no wonder you got injured easily, with your muscles all tight like this.”

Her other hoof comes to rest on your chest and goes to work in tandem with the other, kneading firmly but gently, easing all the tension from your muscles. You don’t remember the last time you felt so totally relaxed. It’s heavenly. Then two things happen at once.

Fluttershy’s door opens, and a hearty greeting of “howdy y’all!” reaches your ears…

As you emit a throaty growl of pure pleasure.

You open your eyes to see Fluttershy blushing furiously, frozen in position. At some point she had obviously decided to get a better angle for her ministrations by climbing up onto the couch with you, straddling you with a hind leg on either side of your body. You look sidelong to where Applejack stands frozen in place, an answering blush on her features. Behind her are all the other ponies, similarly frozen.

Except Pinkie Pie, who prances happily past the rest of them. “Hi Anon! Hi Fluttershy!”

She pauses for a moment to take in Fluttershy’s mortified expression and your own poker face. “Ehehehe, you look silly! Isn’t it a beautiful day today? And we’re going for a royal audience! It’s so exciting. Are you excited? I’m really excited! You’re going to loooove Canterlot, it’s such an amazing city, there’s so many things to see and so many ponies to meet!”

While she talks you gently but firmly lift Fluttershy and place her on the floor so that you can stand up.

“Looking forward to it!” you say. “Say, could you pass me my shirt from the floor there? Thanks again for the ointment, Fluttershy, I think the swelling has gone down a bit already.”

“A bit,” Rarity says, smiling wickedly at you as you pull on your shirt.

Applejack seems to choke on something, and Pinkie goes into a peal of girlish laughter, rolling on her back. Rainbow Dash looks awkward and embarrassed and pretty pissed off, blushing almost as fiercely as Fluttershy and glaring off into space without meeting anyone’s eye.

Fluttershy is taking her time over putting her medical box back where it came from, since that gives her the opportunity to keep her head under the couch for an extended period of time.

“So what’s the plan, how do we get to Canterlot?” you ask in as breezy a tone as you can muster.

“We take the train,” Twilight says.

“...train?”

“…you know, the train. Big metal carriages on wheels, runs on tracks, steam powered?”

Sounds like no contraption you’ve ever seen in your life, but whatever, go with the flow.

“Right, the train. Okay. How long will it take to get there?”

“About two hours. I’ve booked our tickets on the three ‘o’ clock train out of Ponyville, so we’ll be in Canterlot just after five. That way we’ll be in plenty of time to get to Princess Celestia’s audience chamber well before dusk, and we still have some time to get you ready before we set off.”

“What sort of preparations did you have in mind?”

“Your clothes, darling,” Rarity says. “No offense, but you look like you’ve been in a street fight and then spent all night hiking through a forest… or something. Leave your outfit with me and I’ll see that it’s washed and mended in time… and I might just be able to make an alteration or two to make it more suitable for a royal court, as well. In the meantime, you can take a nice long bath, or just spend some quality clothes-less time with the rest of the girls here so that they don’t get too jealous of Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy, who had begun to creep out from under the couch, promptly turns crimson again and returns to her hiding place. Rainbow Dash shoots Rarity a dirty look, which is met with a wide-eyed smile of perfect innocence.

Fluttershy is still too flustered to be of any use, so Rarity takes over hostess duties. After a short hunt she has found you a clean towel - big and fluffy, scented faintly with violets - and pointed you at the bathroom. You pass your clothes out to her and then see about getting clean. Indoor plumbing isn’t a completely new idea to you, but it’s definitely a luxury you’re not used to. Most planes lack either the technology (whether mundane or magical) or the stable economic conditions to allow for such conveniences to be widespread.

As well as the bath, with running hot and cold water, there is some sort of glass cubicle in the corner of the bathroom, tall enough for a man to stand in and wide enough for him to lie down. There’s a drain in the white enamel floor of the cubicle, and some sort of contraption affixed to the tiled wall. There are two dials, and a tube leading to some sort of blunt instrument with little holes in it. This thing on the end of the tubing is currently fixed up on the wall, but looks like it could be removed and moved about. Since it’s in the bathroom, and has a drain, you guess that when it’s operated this thing must spray water or something like that.

Your curiosity won’t permit you not to confirm your theory, so you hang up your towel nearby and venture into the glass cubicle. You turn the first dial as far as it will go, but nothing happens. 

How disappointing.

You do the same with the second dial and immediately get drenched in a thundering torrent of icy water. Gasping with shock, you frantically put the dial back where it was and the freezing cascade stops, leaving you shuddering. A lesser man might give up now, but not you. You’re not going to let some infernal pony contraption get the best of you. You angle the water cannon away from you and try the second dial again, sending a stream of cold water jetting out at the wall.

Progress.

You soon find that adjusting the dial will change the pressure of the water, and then move on to experiment with the first dial and soon manage to get the water to a temperature that is nice and hot without being scalding. Tentatively angling the stream back at yourself, you take in the novel sensation of warm water cascading down over you like a rain storm. It’s actually rather nice. The steady stream of the water on your body is relaxing, and you soon decide that this is really a very civilized way to get clean. Another point to the ingenuity of these ponies. Fluttershy doesn’t even seem wealthy; does everypony have this sort of luxury as a matter of course?

You look around for some soap, and your eye lights on a bottle on a shelf inside the cubicle. It looks like the shelf was designed to hold more than just this one bottle, but maybe Fluttershy just uses some sort of all-purpose liquid soap and doesn’t have anything else around. The bottle seems to be made of some flexible but resilient substance that you’re unfamiliar with, and it’s printed with a picture of a sky blue pony partially covered in soap lather, smiling happily. You guess that seems about right.

You drizzle some of the viscous fluid out into your palm. It smells floral and faintly spicy, nice enough, if a bit feminine. Rubbing your hands together soon works it into a rich lather, and you soap yourself up. You’re about halfway through applying the soap when you realise that something is wrong. Actually, a couple of things are wrong. The first is difficult to pin down, just a vague sensation of unease that immediately sets you on edge. You feel a little light-headed, and your vision is slightly hazy, whilst the sound of the water cascading over your body and down to the floor seems to have changed subtly. The other thing is that someone – or, presumably, somepony – else is in the room with you. At least one.

You hear a giggle, and see a pink nose pressed up to the glass wall.

“He used it Dash, he used it! We got him! Hehehe, I wonder what’s going to happen.”

“Yeah, I wonder.”

The door to the cubicle opens, and you can see the two ponies, one pink, one cyan, sitting on their haunches, watching you inquisitively.

They don’t seem put off by your nudity, which you suppose is only natural since they walk around naked the whole time anyway – presumably, it was only the particular circumstances around the Fluttershy incident earlier that made your shirtlessness into a whole thing. Pinkie Pie is watching you with a big grin on her face, like she’s waiting for the punchline of a joke which she’s sure is going to be funny.

Rainbow Dash’s smile isn’t so light-hearted; there’s something dangerous in that determined look. You have time to notice all this, but you’re slow formulating a proper response to the situation, because in the meantime, something else is happening. Your vision is fading. It’s gradual, but even as you regard the two ponies you can see their outlines getting fuzzier and fuzzier, the world slowly becoming nothing to you but light sources and patches of colour. You fight down the rising panic in your chest, and try to keep your voice level.

“…what have you done?”

Pinkie Pie’s inimitable giggle is your first answer. “You’ll see!” she says merrily.

There’s no malice in her voice, which somehow only adds to the horror you feel as your vision continues to deteriorate second by second until you can’t even see the outlines of the ponies six feet away.

“I’m blind,” you say, your voice flat and dead. “…I’m fucking blind.”

“Huh?” Pinkie Pie sounds nonplussed. “Nono, that can’t be right,” she says, a little uncertainly. “Poison joke just plays tricks on people. Funny tricks. Being blind isn’t funny.”

“…poison… joke?”

“Yep! You just rubbed it all over yourself, silly! We put it in your shampoo for a prank.”

You have no words.

“Are you really blind?” comes Rainbow Dash’s voice, a hard edge to her tone.

“I’m really blind,” you reply, still fighting against the churning sensation in your gut that is impelling you to howl in fury and lunge forward to murder whichever of these fucking unbelievable ponies you can lay your hands on.

“…okay. That wasn’t supposed to happen, but whatever, it’s good enough.”

“Wait, what?” Pinkie Pie says sharply. To your surprise, she actually sounds outraged. “You said we were going to play a harmless prank on Anon, not BLIND him!”

“We were! We are! Just – gah, Pinkie, I didn’t know this was going to happen either. But this is what we’ve got to work with, so just roll with it! I need to have a private chat with Anon, so just give me five, okay Pinks?”

“But Rainbow, this is MEAN.”

“…you have an antidote, right?” you cut in, an edge of desperation to your voice.

“Yep, don’t worry!” Pinkie Pie says quickly.

You can almost hear the glare Rainbow Dash gives her. You breathe a ragged sigh of relief.

“So give it to me already. This is NOT funny.”

“He’s right, Dash.”

“Nope,” Rainbow Dash says firmly.

“But-"

“No. Me and Anon are going to have a talk, and then we can think about stuff like antidotes, all right?”

“Dash…”

“Trust me.”

Something seems to pass between the two ponies. Without eyes, it’s a bit hard to tell.

“Okie dokie lokie!” Pinkie says after a moment, all her previous cheerfulness returned. “I’ll just leave you two alone for a bit then, have fun!”

Hoofsteps leave the bathroom, and you are, presumably, alone with Rainbow Dash. You sense the disturbance in the air as she darts into sudden movement, but disoriented as you are from your loss of vision there’s no time to react. The next thing you know, you’re slumped against the wall, her forehooves pinning your arms back against the tiles as the water continues to drench you both.

“Now, you’re going to tell me what happened with Fluttershy,” she says.

“I don’t exactly see that it’s any of your business.”

“I’ve made it my business, so you’d better just deal with it. What happened?”

“You saw what bloody happened. She rubbed some ointment on my chest, for my bruises from yesterday. Which you’ve probably just made worse, by the way. Aside from blinding me.”

“Yeah, yeah, no need for the sob story, stick to what happened with Fluttershy, because if you hurt her, I’m gonna do a lot worse than this.”

“I told you. You saw what happened. That was as close as we got,” you say, biting back your exasperation.

“You sure seemed to enjoy it.”

“Seven bleeding hells... Yes. Yes, I did. I reckon she was getting quite into it as well. Why do we need your permission?”

“I look out for my friends,” Dash says sharply. “And I don’t know you. I’m happy to welcome you to Equestria, same as the others, but if you start causing trouble-"

“That’s your bloody idea of trouble? Getting a massage?”

“Fluttershy doesn’t have a lot of experience with stallions, all right? Ignoring the fact that you’re not even a stallion, and I don’t even know what your deal is that you’d look at her that way…”

“I’m open-minded. Years on the planes’ll do that to a body.”

“Yeah, well, close it up again. Forget about it. Go ahead and flirt with Rarity all you like, she can take care of herself, but I don’t wanna see you putting your moves on Fluttershy again.”

“Right. Okay, I get it. Fluttershy is a bit naïve, you’re worried about her. D’you think maybe we could have discussed this without blinding me?”

“…I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t fixed it yet, either.”

“I’ll fix it as soon as I know that you’re taking me seriously about Fluttershy.”

“Nope.”

“…seriously?”

“Seriously. This is barmy. I’m about done talking to you, and if you want to have to explain to your friends why I can’t go anywhere on account of being blind, I guess that’s up to you.”

Dash seems to deflate, the pressure of her hooves that had your arms pinned to the wall slackening off a bit. After a moment she backs away from you entirely and turns the shower off.

“…you’re kind of a jerk.”

“You’re the one who blinded me. Jerk.”

“All right, all right… Pinkie!” she calls out. “Let’s get the antidote in here.”

A moment later there’s the unmistakeable sound of Pinkie bouncing in. “Hi guys! Did you have a nice talk? Let’s get this antidote going, shall we?”

You can hear water begin to run in the bath, and the sound of something else being poured into it.

“Anon, I’m really sorry for playing such a mean prank on you,” Pinkie says. “We had no idea it would turn out like that. Dash is sorry too, right Dash?”

“Whatever.”

Again something seems to pass between the ponies, and Dash gives a heavy sigh. "Sorry, Anon,” she says. It’s obvious that the words don’t come easily to her. “This got kinda outta control. But I still mean what I said. If you do anything to hurt her, things are gonna get ugly.”

You just nod. Soon Pinkie leads you over to the bathtub, and you sink in to the warm water. Your vision starts to clear within seconds, and you’re greeted with Pinkie’s beaming face.

“All better?”

“Yup.”

“Great! So I guess we’ll just leave you alone to finish up and get dry and stuff.”

They do just that, and you’re left with some peace and quiet to reflect on what just happened. Sodding barmy ponies.
> Twixt the Lady and the Princess of the Sun
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes a while before you begin to relax again after that ordeal, and even then you’re pretty on edge compared to how serene you were feeling up until everypony arrived and spoiled your morning with Fluttershy. Of course, that might not be a bad thing. Relaxation is nice and all, but it’s a luxury you can’t afford if it makes you careless enough to fall foul of any more ‘pranks’. 

The more you think about it, the more you wonder if these ponies are some sort of Fey. It would fit with the inherent magic that they all seem to have to some extent, as well as their whimsical appearance, their expressiveness and their apparent simplicity belying deeper subtleties. And it would definitely fit with what you’ve observed and experienced of their particular brand of playfulness and capricious sense of fun. Could this place be a backwater region of Arborea? It seems believable.

Either way, dealing with these ponies like you would deal with the Fey seems like a good way to proceed. In other words: enjoy their company, respect their power, expect them to throw the best parties, and don’t ever fucking trust them. 

Your gaze strays to your rucksack leaning up against the wall near the bathtub. It doesn’t look disturbed, but considering that Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash were definitely poking around in here with mischievous intent earlier, you feel like you want to be sure. As well as its usual contents, you emptied your pockets into the bag before you gave your clothes to Rarity, so it contains pretty everything you own right now.

Of course, what you own right now is not a whole lot. You were playing for high stakes in this last ride, and if Corder has really hit the blinds then you’ve lost pretty much everything. Wherever he is, there’s a portable hole there too with about a century’s worth of your accumulated wealth and magical power in it. If your guess is right, nobody’s ever going to see any of that again, unless Corder wants to rifle through it to pass the time while he waits for the Lady’s reprieve.

That’s kind of a prod, obviously, but it’s not the worst thing that could have happened. You’re still alive, and you’ve got your freedom. You can always find more stuff; it won’t be the first time you’ve started over. You’ve learned to stay philosophical about these things.

You lean out of the bath and grab the backpack to run an inventory, lining your possessions up on the floor by the bath as you take them out. A dozen knives, clean and sharp. Check. Jink pouch, contents scanty. Check. Flask, empty. Check. Pencils and notebook, half filled with sketches and notes from your travels, doggerel verse, etc. Check; you’re not worried by the prospect of the ponies having found it, you don’t write anything important down anyway. Flute, battered and tarnished. Check. Pipe, tobacco. Looks and smells same as it did last time you used it. Check. Torches, rope, tindertwigs, empty waterskin. Check. 

And last but not least, the whole reason you’re in this bind. A small leather pouch filled with a good sized handful of smooth glass pebbles, each one cut with a rune in a forgotten language and glowing faintly with a shifting inner light. You count them, and thankfully find them all present and accounted for. These are your most precious possessions, the prize that you gambled everything for, and you still don’t know what they are.

Their magical power is obvious, but their nature and purpose is a total enigma. For all obvious intents and purposes, they’re just pretty shiny things. Pretty shiny things that an awful lot of serious high-ups were gaming for, though. That makes them a prize worth having, but also a prize worth getting rid of as quickly as possible.

Princess Celestia mentioned in her letter that she might be able to give you some of the dark on these things, but you’re not sure if you really want to know. It’d be better for your health to stay ignorant, you’re certain – but you can’t deny that you’re curious… In any case, you guess there’s between no chance and Buckley’s of the princess letting you leave this plane with these things still in your possession, so maybe it doesn’t matter too much either way. Even if she bobs you for all you're worth and chucks you in a dungeon, it’ll probably be better than what would have happened to you if you’d stayed in Sigil. You drop the precious baubles back into their pouch, and begin repacking your bag. It seems like nothing has been interfered with, so that’s a small mercy to be thankful for. 

You’ve been soaking a good while now, and the water is starting to go cold, so you figure it must be time to rejoin the ponies. You rub yourself dry with the towel and then, lacking any other clothing for the timebeing, wrap it around your waist before picking up your bag and leaving the bathroom behind you. Everypony except Rarity is still here, sitting around Fluttershy’s table drinking tea. Fluttershy blushes scarlet as soon as she sees you, and you have to immediately remind yourself not to trust any of these piking ponies, no matter how adorable.

“Hi Anon!” Pinkie says happily. “Feeling better?”

“Yup. Thanks.”

Rainbow Dash is looking abashed, not meeting your eye.

“Anonymous, Pinkie and Rainbow told me about what happened,” Twilight says, sounding worried. “I know that they’ve already apologised for acting so stupidly-"

“Oh sure, just beat us over the head with it, why not,” Rainbow Dash mutters.

“-but I just want to say sorry as well. You’re Princess Celestia’s guest, and I’m mortified that anypony would be so disrespectful as to pull silly pranks on you, especially such an irresponsible one that could backfire like that.”

She’s glaring at Rainbow and Pinkie as she speaks, the two of them looking appropriately hangdog. Hangpony? Whatever.

“Thanks Twilight,” you say, keeping your voice polite and measured. “There’s no harm done, so apology accepted.”

“Great! And… err… this wouldn’t necessarily be an appropriate topic for discussion at a royal audience, you understand that, right?”

You grin. “Right. As long as Rainbow Dash buys me a drink sometime to help with the emotional trauma, and doesn’t get offended when I keep a careful eye on it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dash says, keeping her petulance mostly under control.

“What about me?” Pinkie says, sounding rather offended at being missed out of the sanctions.

“Errr… bake me a cake or something?”

Not that you’ll eat it; once bitten, twice shy.

“Ooh, good choice! I make the best cakes. Do you like chocolate? What am I saying, of course you like chocolate, who doesn’t like chocolate? And do you like vanilla, and cream, and lots and lots and lots of frosting, and bananas, and balloons, and cupcakes, and dancing, and marzipan?”

“…all on a cake?”

Pinkie’s eyes widen. “Oh no, I was just listing things that I like. Do you want all of that on a cake?”

“N-"

She gets a determined look.

“I’ll do it! Pinkie Pie has never turned down a baking challenge!”

“...right then. Looking forward to it.”

At least the results should be interesting.

“So listen, Anonymous,” Twilight says. “We need to make sure you’re properly prepared for your audience with Princess Celestia. I’ve made a checklist so as to be absolutely sure we cover everything you need to know.”

With a checklist magically suspended in front of her, Twilight seems to be in her element. She’s positively radiating contentment and wellbeing.

“Item one: terms of address. I think you already got this from your meeting with Princess Luna last night, but both princesses should be addressed at all times by their full name and title, or simply as ‘princess’. No other honorific term is necessary or appropriate.”

“I meant to ask you about that, actually. Has Equestria always been ruled by princesses?”

“Nearly always. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna are the only rulers we’ve ever had, unless you count the time when Discord was at large – but he was hardly a ruler, he just presided over anarchy really.”

“So how long have the princesses ruled together?”

“Well… Princess Celestia ruled by herself for a time, while Princess Luna was gone.”

“Gone?”

“In exile, sort of. It seems a bit awkward to explain to an outsider.”

You just wait, figuring she’ll explain in her own time or else she won’t.

“There was a split between the two sisters, just over a thousand years ago. Princess Luna was… not herself. She only returned about a year ago.”

“Ah. So that explains what she said to you about ‘updating her image’.”

“Right. Anyway, before Princess Luna’s exile, the princesses ruled together for a long, long time. We don’t have written records for all of it, but I’d have to guess that it was at least another two thousand years.”

“And before that, this… Discord was in charge?”

“Yes. Discord is a being of chaos and madness. He’s the opposite of everything that the Elements of Harmony stand for, or else he corrupts them to his own twisted ends. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna defeated him with the Elements of Harmony and freed all of ponykind from his evil.”

“So he’s gone?”

“Imprisoned. I don’t know if it’s even possible to get rid of him permanently. He made a return within the last year, and as the bearers of the Elements of Harmony, it fell to us to defeat him and return him to his imprisonment in stone.”

“It sounds like you’ve had a busy year.”

“Yes, you could say that… anyway, item two. The proper depth of bow. Now, if you were a pony I would say that you should touch your nose to the floor, but…”

“Hang on. What about religion?”

Twilight stops, seeming caught between irritation at being interrupted in her checklist and interest in the topic.

“Religion isn’t really something I’m familiar with,” she says after a moment. “I’ve come across a few references in my reading to gods, and worship, but I don’t think I quite understand the concept.”

“Well… among pretty much any other people I can think of, if there was a primal being of chaos who was defeated by two sisters who are conveniently named after heavenly bodies…”

“Well, that’s not just a coincidence. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna have power over the sun and the moon, respectively. Every morning Princess Luna lowers the moon and Princess Celestia raises the sun, and in the evening their roles are reversed.”

“…really? You actually believe that your princesses control the sun and the moon, but you still don’t worship them?”

“It’s not a belief,” Twilight says. “It’s a fact. We’ve seen the proof. And no, we don’t worship them. Like I said, I don’t think I even really understand what worship is.”

“Veneration. Service. Reverence.”

“Yes, but royalty gets that treatment too, don’t they? Even among humans? Worship seems like something more.”

“It is. It’s… surprisingly hard to explain, to someone who has no concept of it. Nopony has ever even tried to worship the princesses? Or Discord?”

“Not that I know of. And certainly not Discord – why would anypony even think of giving reverence to Discord?”

“Fear, I suppose? Or perversion, or lust for power. Among humans, and most other folk, there seems to be no lack of bodies willing to worship some pretty unpleasant Powers.”

Twilight looks genuinely shocked.In fact everypony does, even though they’d generally been tuned out of the discussion going on between you and Twilight, chatting amongst themselves. It seems like the idea of people worshipping an evil Power is a totally new and incomprehensible one to them.

“But aren’t humans… good?” Fluttershy asks tentatively.

“Not as a rule,” you say bluntly. “Some really are, some really aren’t. Most are somewhere in the middle.”

The general level of shock deepens. You have to fight the urge to laugh; the naïveté of these ponies really is disarming. Again you remind yourself to think of them as Fey. It helps.

“Anyway… checklist?”

“Right,” Twilight says, a little hesitantly at first but soon warming to her theme. “Checklist! Item two. The proper depth of bow…”

The checklisting goes on for a good ten minutes or so, and still seems to be in no danger of wrapping up when Rarity mercifully arrives with your clothing and whisks you away to Fluttershy’s bedroom to try it on. She seems to have no compunction about watching you dress – again, you guess that’s normal since these ponies walk around naked all day anyway. You figure if she doesn’t have a problem with it, there’s no reason why you should. She watches with obvious approval as you pull the clothes on, though it seems safe to assume that’s mostly to do with seeing her work modelled.

“Darling, it was simply marvellous to work with something so different – and, I might add, with some rather finely made garments, if a little well worn. But don’t worry, I took care of all that, they’re like new again.”

“They are indeed. They’re also shinier than I remember.”

There are gemstones studding your jacket’s cuffs and embedded in the buttons now, dark blue to match your eyes. You reckon there are families in the Hive who could eat for a couple of years on the proceeds from pawning this jacket now.

“Yes, well, I didn’t want to go overboard, it didn’t seem quite right for your personal style… but I simply couldn’t resist adding a little glamour. You don’t hate it, do you darling?”

“Nope, I sure don’t. Pretty swish – thanks a lot. What do I owe you?”

“Oh, goodness, no, put your money away. I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to return the favour one of these days,” she says with a subtle bat of her eyelashes.

You can only smile as you meet her eyes. And remind yourself again, because it’s only been about an hour but you’re already in danger of forgetting: don’t trust any piking ponies.

A few minutes later Twilight pokes her head around the door as you and Rarity are in front of the mirror deliberating over hairstyles. She’s pushing for a swept back, coiffured look, but you can’t help but feel that’s mostly because she’s still thinking of it as a mane. Still, you can’t deny it has a certain elegance to it, and it’s probably more trouble than it’s worth to resist.

“Are you two just about done?” Twilight says. “We should set off soon to be sure to catch the train.”

“Just about!” Rarity sing-songs back before turning back to you, putting on her best pout. “Now, I know it might be a little more formal than you are accustomed to, but after all you ARE attending an audience with royalty, a little formality is called for, don’t you agree? I think with the new details on your jacket, and your boots polished up like that, that hair style gives you a certain military sort of dignity - like a dashing young officer. Don’t you think, Twilight?”

“Yep!” the purple pony says. “Looks just right to me. So… shall we? This IS the last express train of the day, so if we don’t catch it then we’ll be stuck on the slow train overnight, and it would-”

“Yes,” Rarity cuts in hurriedly, “quite. Let’s go.”

The three of you rejoin the others in the living room and make ready to set off. It still takes several minutes before everypony is ready to leave, much to Twilight’s chagrin. Fluttershy has to leave extra food and water for Mercy in case she’s not back tonight, Pinkie Pie gets distracted by something shiny in the kitchen, Rarity suddenly has a flash of inspiration and wants to try putting magical blonde highlights in your hair. Twilight climbs the walls the whole time, harping on that you’re going to miss the train and be a whole day late to Canterlot and make a bad impression on Princess Celestia and how she’ll be so disappointed in all of you. Finally everypony is ready and you set off in a group down the road into town.

Along the way the ponies point out local landmarks to you including the town’s clock tower and the sweeping orchards of Applejack’s farm.

“Now don’t worry none if folks give ya some funny looks,” Applejack says as you approach the town itself. “Yer gonna be a new one on ponies round here, so expect some attention. But don’t sweat it, they’re all friendly folk and they’ll warm t’ya soon enough. Fer today though, we ain’t got time to introduce ya round, so just keep yer head down and we’ll make sure there’s no trouble.”

Sure enough, you feel like some kind of sideshow attraction on the way through town. Everywhere you go, ponies stare at you in wide-eyed wonderment.  With nothing better to do than watch them back, since the atmosphere makes conversation a little hard and all, you’re struck by how distinctive each pony looks. You don’t think you’ve seen any two with the same coat and mane coloration. By comparison, humans must really look all the same to these ponies. Although since the vast majority are seeing their very first human today, and won’t have a chance to compare you with anything, you guess that might be a moot point. Pinkie happily continues to point out landmarks as you go through the centre of town, either completely oblivious to the hushed, tense atmosphere that follows you down the street or else choosing to ignore it.

“…and that’s Sugarcube Corner, where I live! It’s run by Mr. and Mrs. Cake, they’re super lovely ponies, they don’t even mind me missing work today and yesterday even though I haven’t told them about it! Probably! Ooooh, there they are! Hi Mr. and Mrs. Cake! This is Anon, he’s a human, isn’t that exciting? We’re taking him to see Princess Celestia! Oh, and, Anon, there’s the Carousel Boutique, that’s where Rarity lives and has her shop and all, and there’s Roseluck’s flower stand, she’s the pony over there hiding behind all the flowers, hi Roseluck! No wait, now she’s the pony running away around the corner…”

You just let it wash over you, giving a friendly nod to the few ponies who meet your eye on your way. Nobody stops or challenges you – you guess that as bearers of the Elements of Harmony, or whatever, the ponies you’re with must be pretty serious high-ups in Equestria, or else presumably you’d have a dicier time of just strolling through here.

You come to the train station with time to spare, despite all Twilight’s fretting, and she visibly relaxes as you collect your tickets and step out onto the platform to wait. You still don’t really have any idea what to expect from this ‘train’ you’re about to catch. The fact that it runs on rails makes you think of a story you heard a couple of years ago from some old bubber who claimed to have come from a Prime world where they had carriages that ran on rails powered by bound elementals, but it had sounded like yark to you back then. Either way, he didn’t mention anything about ponies, so that rules out the possibility that he was actually talking about the same place. It’d be hard to tell a story about Equestria without mentioning ponies. And you’re far from sure that this is a Prime world, although it could be.

You chat with Twilight on the platform and she explains a bit about how the trains work, but it doesn’t serve to really prepare you for the massive machine that shortly pulls up in front of you with a great clanking of iron and huffing of steam. You’ve learned not to be surprised by the accomplishments of these ponies, but this thing still takes you aback.

“Is this… really safe?” you ask as the ponies lead the way on board.

“Of course it is!” Twilight says. “Have you really never seen a train before?”

“I really haven’t.”

Well, the ponies are all getting on, so if it’s a deathtrap then at least they’ll be racing to their deaths alongside you. 

That’s not actually very comforting.

It takes a while after the train starts moving for you to relax and stop expecting it to crash or jerk in an unexpected direction at any moment, and to resume replying to the ponies’ conversation with more than monosyllabic grunts. Actually, though, once you get used to it, you quickly start to enjoy the ride. Hurtling across the land like this certainly does show off Equestria’s idyllic countryside to good effect, and you’re reminded of your theory that this could be a realm of Arborea - although the mechanical monstrosity that you’re currently riding aboard seems like something transplanted from Mechanus.

The approach to Canterlot itself is particularly impressive, with its golden spires leaning out from the side of the towering peak beside it and the sunlight making rainbows in the great waterfall that cascades down the mountain and spreads out in innumerable rivulets all around the city.

“Ah, Canterlot,” Rarity sighs. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“It sure is,” you agree.

“I mean, I know that a cosmopolite such as yourself must have seen an awful lot of grand capitals and all… but our little Canterlot doesn’t measure up too miserably, now does it?”

“Not too miserably at all,” you smile, admiring the view out of the carriage window.

A lot of planar travellers make a point of affecting a blasé air, like nothing can impress them, but you don’t see the point in that. If nothing impresses you any more, why even keep travelling? It’s sights like this that keep you wandering the planes.

You have plenty of time to soak in the ambience as the ponies escort you through the streets to the palace. Once again you get astonished stares from pretty much everypony you pass - which is an awful lot of ponies - but you don’t let it bother you or stop you from admiring all the marble and gold-leaf architecture or the fancy goods on display in shop windows. 

Meanwhile Twilight is going back over her checklist with you, and you make the occasional affirmative noise to give her the impression that you’re listening. Pinkie Pie seems to be getting kind of antsy that Twilight’s checklisting is stopping her from playing tour guide again, but happily the palace comes into view before she boils over. As expected, it’s the tallest and most majestic building in the city, all sweeping arches and ivory spires and gold flashing in the sun. The guards on the gate match the colour scheme, white coats, gleaming gold armour.  

They’re just about the first ponies you’ve seen today, last night’s acquaintances excepted, who haven’t stared at you like you’re the first human they’ve ever seen. Which is surprising actually, because you’re pretty sure that you are, in fact, the first human they’ve ever seen. Nonetheless, discipline wins out and they gaze straight ahead as you approach. Pinkie Pie blows off some steam by pulling ridiculous faces at them and you grin, a little tempted to follow her lead.  You’re pretty sure there was a checklist point about following Pinkie’s lead in anything. Better not risk it.

“Hello, Miss Sparkle,” one of the gate guards says, breaking his blank gaze to give Twilight a brief smile. “It’s been a while. The princess is expecting you and your friends, and your guest as well.”

He gives you a wary but polite nod.

“Allow me to escort you to the Princess.”

It might be couched in terms of a request, but it sure doesn’t sound like one. You accompany the guard pony through the golden gates and follow him up towards the front entrance of the palace as he and Twilight exchange some small talk about somepony called Shining Armor, who you gather is the guard’s superior officer. You have a chance to admire the palace’s décor along the way, including various statues and portraits of what must be pony nobility. You idly wonder how there can be a nobility when the royal family seems to be made up of just two sisters; there doesn’t seem to be much scope in that for branches in the bloodline.

You’re brought directly into the princess’s presence, which makes a pleasant change from any of your previous brushes with royalty; in your experience, if there’s one thing royals love, it’s making people wait. Princess Celestia’s audience chamber is awe-inspiring. Tall windows and the high, vaulted marble ceiling with its glass dome give an almost overwhelming sensation of space and light as the late afternoon sunlight floods in and pierces the hall through with a thousand lancing rays. It feels more like a temple than a seat of secular power; in which case, the altar would be the raised dais at the far end of chamber, where the Princess sits in state.

You can’t deny that the splendid setting seems justified in her case. As you expected based on your meeting with her sister, she has both the horn of a unicorn and the wings of a pegasus. Her coat is magnolia, and her mane and tail are like flowing waves of soft prismatic light – not like Rainbow Dash’s bold, bright colouring but a soothing spectrum of pastel greens and blues, gently rippling and shimmering as you look on. A golden crown rests atop her head, matched by a golden clasp around her neck. Even her hooves are delicately shod in gold – and her cutie mark is gold as well, a blazing sun.

In short, she is radiant – as expected from a pony princess who supposedly magically controls the sun, you suppose. It might not be easy to maintain your cynicism in the face of this beauty and grace offensive, but you intend to try your best. Fey, you remind yourself. Treat them like fey. She watches you with inscrutable lilac eyes as you approach to a respectful distance and make a deep bow, while the ponies each touch their noses to the floor in obeisance. The princess breaks into a smile like the dawning sun, and you feel your heart lift instinctively before you put a lid on the upsurge of elation.

“Hello, my little ponies,” she says, her voice warm and maternal. “It’s so good to see you all. Thank you all for your efforts in bringing Anonymous here safely. We must speak of some important private matters, he and I, so I hope that you all won’t be too offended if I ask you to adjourn to my antechamber for ten or fifteen minutes. I’ve had some refreshments laid out, so, please, make yourselves at home there. I’ll send for you when we’re ready.”

Most of the ponies seem to take this in stride, but Twilight looks crestfallen. She seems about to open her mouth with a ‘but…’, but Princess Celestia’s bearing – kind though it is – doesn’t really brook any argument.

Twilight hangs her head in defeat and follows her friends back out of the audience chamber. You’re alone with the princess, but for half a dozen of the stony-faced royal guards in their burnished armour.

“Hello, Anonymous,” Celestia says at last, her tone neutral.

“Hello, Princess.”

“Forgive my bluntness, but… I think you have something of mine.”

Well, that’s a refreshingly straightforward approach. Doesn’t seem to be much to gain by holding out, so you reach into your pocket and bring out the bag of crystals, holding it up for her to see.

“Unless you left this jacket I’m wearing on a coat rack at the opera in the Lady’s Ward a few months ago, I guess you must be talking about these,” you say with your most disarming grin.

Celestia doesn’t grace your quip with a smile – you don’t know if she even heard it. There’s a fierce intensity in her face as she regards the bag in your hand.

“…may I?” she asks, as her horn glows faintly and you feel a light disembodied touch on the bag.

You hadn’t really expected her to ask. It’s nice of her to give you the chance to be gracious about it.

“Be my guest, Princess.”

You let the bag go as it lifts from your hand and floats over to where the princess is seated. There’s a faint rattling of solid glass on marble as she tips the contents out in front of her, and sits staring at them for some time.

“They’re beautiful,” she says softly. “I’d never seen them before, although they are ours – my sister’s and mine.”

You wait for some time to see if she’s going to expand on that, but she seems lost in a reverie as she gazes down at the glittering glass crystals on the floor in front of her. A couple of minutes slip slowly by, and you give a quiet cough to remind her of your presence.

“Princess Celestia? Not that I doubt your ability to take them from me, or anything, if you want to – but, in what sense are they yours? Just, you know, for my information.”

She gives a faint smile at that, though the sadness around her eyes is deep and abiding.

“They are mine as my mane is mine, or as the words that I speak are mine. Another may come to hold them for a time, but they could never be other than mine, and my sister’s.”

“So you created them?”

“They emanated from us.”

“…I’m not sure if I properly understand that distinction.”

“I mean to say that it was not a conscious act of creation, but only something that occurred. These things came from us.”

Your brain chews on that for a moment, and then insight strikes – and you wish it hadn’t, because now you can’t stop thinking of them as her droppings. She can’t possibly have actually meant that, right? Obviously you’re not going to mention it.

“Princess… are they… your poop?”

NONONO that’s NOT not mentioning it-

She gives a chuckle, despite the filthy looks you are getting from a couple of her guards. “Wrong end of the royal person, Anonymous. They are our tears.”

“Oh. Oh, right. That makes a lot more sense. It’s also kind of a relief.”

Her smile fades away – sun slipping behind the clouds. "So you understand what I mean, when I say that they can never be other than mine,” she says. “Yet, I do acknowledge your right of possession, as well. I would prefer not to rob you, Anonymous, if it can be avoided – but robbery is something I am capable of, to secure my claim to these, if you will not yield them any other way.”

“I’m pretty sure we can work something out,” you say hurriedly.

“Good,” she nods, a faint smile returning. “I had hoped you would be a reasonable person. My little ponies seem to have taken quite a shine to you.”

“Yeah, we’ve been getting along fine. Mostly.”

“I am pleased to hear it. It is, perhaps, not a bad thing to broaden their horizons - although I would not have exposed them to quite such a broadening as Sigil must have provided, if it could have been avoided.”

“They handled themselves more than capably there, Princess. Perhaps you don’t give them enough credit.”

“Perhaps. But it’s not their capabilities that I doubt – only their innocence that I wish to preserve. There is nothing more precious.”

“Hmm. Well, I can see your qualms then. I don’t guess there’s anywhere else on the planes quite like Sigil for despoiling innocence. But for what it’s worth, I think your ponies came out mostly unscathed on that count too. Although… they have questions.”

“And have you given them answers?”

“Err… a few. Twilight seems particularly keen to learn about the planes and all; I’ve sated her curiosity where I could.”

“Yes, Twilight Sparkle’s thirst for knowledge is a formidable force,” Celestia says with an indulgent smile. “I cannot blame you for answering her questions, and perhaps it was inevitable that she would eventually find such answers somewhere. Only one other pony has ever matched her capacity for learning, and only one pony has ever travelled the planes – that is, if we overlook yesterday’s brief excursion. It is hardly a coincidence. This world is too small for the likes of her.”

“I have some questions of my own…” you say tentatively.

“Yes, I suppose you do,” Celestia smiles. “I owe you some answers, but please understand: there are some things I simply cannot tell you. I am a terrible liar, so I will not insult you by dissembling – but neither will I tell you anything I do not wish to. You understand.”

“Yeah. Sure. So… let’s start with what plane I’m in.”

“You are in a sealed demiplane. Access in and out is controlled by myself, Princess Luna, the bearers of the Elements of Harmony, and two other beings whom I will not name.”

“Okay. Fair enough.”

Cogs tick over in your head as you weigh the implications of that. "Who created this demiplane?”

“One of those who control its portals.”

“Why is there a stone dabus in the woods near Ponyville?”

“I honestly do not know. A statue?”

“Maybe. What else might it be?”

“One might suppose it to have been a living dabus that ran into a cockatrice.”

“And what would it have been doing there?”

“Making its way through the woods I suppose.”

“Are you aware of there having been a dabus in Equestria recently?”

“Why yes, you just told me of a stone one in the woods near Ponyville.”

She smiles ingenuously. "…oh, fine. Next. Why don’t the ponies worship you?”

“Because it has never occurred to them to do so, and that is how I prefer it.”

“But you’re a Power. A goddess. You know that, right?”

“I know that that is how one such as you would classify me.”

“All the sages I’ve ever spoken with say that that kind of power comes from belief. So if not the ponies, who believes in you?”

She just shakes her head with a rueful smile. “I don’t have to justify myself in your terms, Anonymous. I am what I am.”

“Then nobody worships you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t… okay. What happened to Corder?”

“He was imprisoned in a maze by the one called the Lady of Pain.”

“As I thought. And why didn’t I share his fate, even though I’m the one with the prize from our little ride?”

“Because I exercised my influence on your behalf.”

“… you protected me from the Lady of Pain? Within the bounds of Sigil?”

“That is broadly accurate, yes.”

“How?”

“The magic of friendship,” Celestia replies glibly.

You search her face for some clue as to what that can possibly mean, but her gentle smile is sphinx-like. You give a sigh, defeated.

“You might not be a good liar, but you’re pretty amazing at not telling the truth,” you say wrily.

“Thank you,” Celestia says with the air of graciously accepting a sincere and well-deserved compliment. “Is your curiosity satisfied for the timebeing?”

“Not even close. But, probably as close as it’s going to get. I suppose I should thank you for your intercession.”

“You’re very welcome. Shall we discuss the terms on which you’ll be content to let my Tears remain here with me?”

“All right. So, it’s like this: I traded everything for those baubles. I didn’t mean to, but that’s what I staked on the dice, and that’s how they came up, so here I am. That’s my own bad luck or bad judgement, and I don’t expect to be recompensed in full for everything I lost – but it’d be nice to make a trade that’s in some way commensurate to the risk that I took and the price that I ended up paying.”

“I can’t agree that you lost everything,” the princess says with a comforting tone. “You still have what’s most important to you, don’t you?”

“I guess I do, at that. Sure did lose a lot of nice shiny things, though.”

“Shiny things, I can help you with. Equestria is awfully rich in mineral wealth, as you may already have noticed. Gemstones that would buy kingdoms on the Prime adorn ball-gowns by the dozen here.”

“Then we shouldn’t have a problem, shower me with jewels and I’ll be happy enough. Of course, some of what I lost was irreplaceable… pieces of history, and whatnot. But I never was really one for clinging on to the past. Digging it up, that’s the interesting part. Once that’s done, I can pass on hanging on to the relics, I suppose. Talking of digging up the past, though, I sure would be interested in hearing how those tears came to be shed, and how they achieved the sort of significance that they obviously have now.”

Celestia just shakes her head once more with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. You deserve to know, but the secret is not mine alone, and even if it were then I would be very loath to part with it.”

“I figured as much. Never mind. Fabulous wealth will do.”

“And where will you go with your wealth?”

“…yeah. I’m not too sure about that. There are about twenty of the highest of high-ups on the planes who I would have preferred never to have been noticed by at all who will all be shuffling me right to the very top of their shit lists about now. Not too many places I can hide from attention like that.”

“There are indeed not many,” Celestia agrees. “But a few places are tailor made for just such a contingency. You happen to be standing in one right now.”

“You have that much faith in this plane’s ability to stay hidden?”

“I do. It is a sanctuary – that is its nature.”

“And you’d be happy for me stay here?”

“I would,” Celestia says with a warm smile. “I invite you most cordially to spend as much time here as you wish. It’s the least I can do in return for your reasonableness over the matter of these Tears. And anyway, I think some of my ponies would be quite disappointed to see you rush off again too soon.”

You can only smile at how Celestia has managed this. She doesn’t even need to throw you in a dungeon – it’s you who needs the sanctuary she offers. And word of the Tears’ location doesn’t leave the plane.

“Are we agreed, then?” she asks. “You will stay for a time? Shall I call the ponies back and announce the result of our discussion?”

Why fight it? Maybe you’re a prisoner, but at least the jail is pretty nice. “…yeah. That’ll be fine.”

She nods to a guard, who goes to send word.

“I’m so glad we could resolve this all amicably, Anonymous.”

“Yeah… me too.”

You feel a little bit like you just got fucked, but at least she was pretty gentle. You’ve had worse.

Celestia’s face lights up with warmth again as the ponies re-enter the audience chamber. It’s difficult to say, but it doesn’t seem put on to you. These six friends seem to kindle a real joy in the princess.

“Hello again,” she says. “I hope you were well taken care of?”

“Oh yes, thank you Princess,” Rarity says. “The petits fours were absolutely to die for, especially those diviiiine chocolate tartlets with the sugared violets on top. The royal baker is simply an artist!”

“Oh, those were actually from Donut Joe’s,” Celestia says with a laugh.

“Ha! Told you,” Twilight gloats as Rarity’s cheeks colour.

“I hope you will all be pleased to learn that Anonymous  and I have concluded our business, and he will be staying on in Equestria as an honoured guest,” Celestia announces. “He has returned a very precious possession to me, at great risk to himself, and he has my gratitude. I know you will all continue to make him feel welcome.”

“Of course!” Pinkie Pie says. “I have so much planned! There’s going to be a welcoming party, and a surprise extra welcoming party that he’ll never expect – except now he’s heard about it, so I’ll have to have an EXTRA one to make sure he’s really surprised! And we have to have a magic friendship ritual because he pinkie-promised, and there’s still so much to show him and so many lovely ponies for him to meet!”

Celestia just smiles indulgently.

“I’m glad to hear that you have it well in hoof,” she says. “Anonymous, I know you may wish to return to P0nyville, but I can also have a suite in the palace prepared for your use, if you like. And, of course, you are all most welcome to stay as well and show him around Canterlot.”

“Oh, yes!” Pinkie Pie squeals. “We could have a super AMAZING welcome to Equestria party in Canterlot!”

“Yes, it’s only proper that you should see what the high life in Equestria has to offer,” Rarity says with a smile at you. “I rather think you might go some way towards livening up the dreariness of the usual round of charity auctions and gallery openings, too, so really, we owe it to Canterlot society to give them that relief. It would be positively cruel not to. And I’ve just recently finished a big order for Hoity Toity, so I do believe that I deserve some time off as well.”

“Oh yes,” Celestia says. “I’m very much looking forward to seeing your designs at the show next month.”

Rarity positively glows with pride.

“I’d love to spend a few days in Canterlot,” Twilight says. “It would give me a chance to see Shining Armor as well, and… well… if you have time, Princess, there are things I’d really like to talk to you about…”

The purple pony blushes scarlet, cringing in anticipation of a brush-off from the princess, but Celestia just smiles. “Of course. What kind of teacher would I be if I couldn’t find a moment to speak with my most faithful student?”

“Aww, shucks,” Applejack says, looking glum. “Ah wish ah could join y’all fer a stay in Canterlot, but ah simply cain’t be away from the farm fer that long. It’s been two days already, and Big Mac’ll be plum tuckered out from coverin’ for me.”

“As ever, you are commendably steadfast in your duties,” Celestia remarks, bringing a beaming smile to Applejack’s downcast face.

“I’m afraid I need to get back as well,” Fluttershy says. “My animal friends will need feeding… and Mercy, too, of course. I’ll need to speak with Ms. Cheerilee as soon as possible and see about getting him enrolled in her class.”

“Ah, yes,” Celestia says, looking down benevolently on Fluttershy. “I had heard from Princess Luna that you have taken it upon yourself to give shelter to a human from Sigil. Your compassion does you credit, Fluttershy. And I am pleased to see you taking your responsibilities so seriously.”

Fluttershy blushes deeply at the princess’s praise, shuffling her hooves awkwardly. You look to Rainbow Dash, conscious that she’s the only pony who hasn’t stated her intentions yet and curious to know what she’ll say given the tension between the two of you.

“I’ll head back to Ponyville as well then,” Rainbow says. “All that high society stuff you guys have planned sounds pretty lame to me, and who knows what’ll happen to Ponyville’s weather if I’m not around to keep on top of it. But hey, if you guys are having a big party or whatever – like, a proper party, not some boring fancy-shmancy thing – then let me know, I can get to Canterlot in no time flat.”

So it’s agreed, and Rainbow Dash, Applejack and Fluttershy say their goodbyes and head off to the train station whilst you, Rarity, Pinkie Pie and Twilight get settled for a few days’ stay in Canterlot. A steward is sent off to prepare your rooms, and in the meantime Pinkie Pie and Rarity decide to take you for a stroll down the boulevard while Twilight goes to surprise her brother Shining Armor when he gets off duty. The sun is just beginning to set over Canterlot’s soaring spires as you wander with the two ponies at your side.

Just as before, the unfamiliar figure of a human in Canterlot attracts plenty of attention. Maybe word has started to spread that you spent time in the palace, too, because if anything you’re getting even more wondering gazes than before.

“So what did you and Princess Celestia talk about, Anon?” Pinkie asks brightly.

“Now, Pinkie, one shouldn’t pry…” Rarity admonishes mildly, looking sidelong at you with a bat of her lashes which is as good as a second to Pinkie’s question.

“I had something that she wanted,” you say. “We made a deal, that’s over and done with now. From this point on you can just consider me to be on holiday here for a while, I guess.”

“And are you all right with that?” Rarity asks with some concern.

“Of course he is!” Pinkie interjects. “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s going to have so much fun here! Equestria’s a great place to take a holiday. I knew all along that Anon would want to stay.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid I couldn’t quite share your confidence,” Rarity says. “After all, I’m sure that he has his own business, in Sigil, or elsewhere. His own friends, his own life. Maybe some special person in particular who’ll be missing him while he’s here with us…”

She’s still looking sidelong at you, the hint of a smile playing in her eyes as she watches for your response to that.

“Nah,” you say casually. “If someone’s going to be missing me, that’s between them and their bad aim. I don’t put down a lot of roots; I’m a travelling man, that’s how it’s always been. So… yeah, I’m all right with it. Glad to be here.”

“Well, I’m very happy to hear it,” Rarity says.

“Pfft, of course you’re glad to be here! Who wouldn’t be glad to be here?” Pinkie says. “Oh hey! This is absolutely the best, most amazing, most totally awesomely delicious ice cream place in Canterlot! Let’s stop here.”

Pinkie is already making for the entrance, so there’s nothing to do but exchange a look with Rarity and follow after her. Soon you’re sitting out on the terrace in the last sunlight of the day, sipping black coffee, watching the ponies pass by on the boulevard. Rarity has some kind of frothy, milky coffee drink, whilst Pinkie is digging voraciously into an ice cream sundae bigger than her head strewn with nuts and fruit and marshmallows and a few different kinds of syrup.

“Now, Pinkie, dearest,” Rarity says as she watches the other pony with some dismay, “don’t you think perhaps you could use the spoon to eat with, rather than your entire face?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Pinkie asks, several flavours of melted ice cream dripping slowly down her pink muzzle as she grins at Rarity.

“It’s not so much a question of fun, as decorum…”

“I like fun better than decorum!”

She buries her head back in the bowl with happy muffled NAM NAM NAM sounds, and Rarity gives up with an apologetic smile at you and an awkward chuckle. You shrug sympathetically. Honestly, Pinkie’s table manners don’t even come close to bothering you. You’ve attended formal Xaositect dinners; Pinkie can’t hope to compare.

“So you don’t have any occupation that demands your attention, either?” Rarity asks you between sips of her coffee. “I mean, your discussions with Twilight sounded so very erudite, I had half taken you for a scholar like her – although of course rather more worldly…”

“Well, you weren’t so far off,” you say, grinning despite your best efforts as Rarity magically whisks a foam moustache away from her upper lip with a faint blush. “You could definitely call me a scholar of sorts. But no, it’s not a steady job – more like a very demanding hobby. Or a girl who I just can’t leave alone, even though I know she’s bad news.”

She liked that, you can tell. She gives a wry smile and sits quietly looking into your eyes for a long moment as some delicate static charge builds between you. The atmosphere is spoiled only slightly by the noises of Pinkie Pie’s enthusiastic scarfing at your side.

“But you know how it is to have a love affair with your work, I guess,” you say after a minute. “Although with you it seems more like a romantic grand passion.”

“Oh… yes, that’s rather apt,” she nods. “Certainly my work can be demanding, but the rewards are more than worth it. Fashion is my way of trying to bring a little more beauty into the world, a little more elegance, a little more grace. Maybe that sounds pretentious of me…”

“Not really,” you shrug. “In Sigil there’s a whole Faction dedicated to the belief that they’re all gods in the making, that the whole multiverse is more or less a series of personal tests for them to overcome on their way to apotheosis. THAT’S pretentious. What you’re talking about is just… doing your best.”

Rarity smiles at that, and seems about to reply when she’s interrupted by a hoof laid lightly on her shoulder.

“Rarity! Rarity, dear, how marvellous to run into you.”

“Oh, Fleur. Fancy meeting you here.”

A slender, graceful unicorn pony, magnolia with a pale pink mane and violet eyes; her colouring makes you think irresistibly of a fairy cake. Rarity seems a little put out by the intrusion, but she hides it politely.

“Where have you been hiding yourself, Rarity? It was too, too cruel of you to abandon us; this season has been simply torture. If I have to sit next to Upper Crust at a dinner party one more time and hear her drone on about Ponet’s blue period, I shall die – I shall simply, absolutely die.”

Rarity just gives a vague smile, looking rather embarrassed, as Fleur drapes herself artfully over the back of the table’s spare chair to continue holding forth. “And Octavia has been abducted and brainwashed by that horrid charity case of hers, I swear, it’s the only explanation for this ‘experimental’ swill that they have inflicted upon us – meanwhile, not a proper recital for weeks. Vance simply WON’T stop holding charity auctions, I’m sure everypony in Canterlot must have bought a yacht from him by now and then donated it for the next auction when they realised they didn’t know how to sail it. And Fancypants has turned practically into a recluse, I’ve hardly seen him in months, but Swan Dive said that Royal Ribbon said that Symphony saw him at a club last week with Strawberry Lime! Strawberry Lime! Can you imagine?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry darling…” Rarity says, doing her best to conjure a tone of genuine sympathy.

“Sorry? Why should you be sorry? Nonono, Fancypants is nothing to me, I don’t mind at all for MYSELF if he wants to go embarrassing himself by chasing after giggling little fillies. It’s no skin at all off my nose, dear. I’m just sorry for the state of Canterlot society, when a stallion who was once considered to have some class is so… so… beastly…”

Her voice breaks up into squeaky little sniffles as she assumes a dramatic self-pitying pose, her head arched back on her long, slender neck and one hoof thrown in dismay to her brow. Rarity pats her gingerly on the shoulder while rolling her eyes at you.

“There, there, darling.”

Fleur’s composure comes back instantly as she rearranges herself into another languid pose, leaning on the back of Rarity’s chair now as she regards you with big purple eyes blinking slowly. “Anyway, Rarity, that’s quite enough of MY woes. Who is this charmingly novel creature I find you with?”

“Oh, yes, where are my manners. Fleur, Anonymous. Anonymous, Fleur de Lis.”

Rarity doesn’t meet your eye, but just looks absently down into her coffee cup as she speaks, waving a hoof vaguely at you and Fleur in turn.

“Well, it’s my pleasure,” Fleur says, regarding you with hooded eyes. “Would it be frightfully rude of me to ask what manner of… person… I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m a dragon.”

“...what?” she blinks.

“Yeah, haven’t you ever seen an adolescent dragon before? We all go through this phase, we lose our baby scales and wings and have to grow them back. You know, like how a caterpillar turns into a cocoon before it becomes a butterfly.”

Rarity has her face angled away from Fleur and is biting her lip fiercely, a hint of colour rising in her face from the effort not to laugh. Pinkie Pie, happily, still seems too engaged with her ice cream to pay any attention to the conversation, and anyway Fleur is ignoring her studiously.

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course I knew that,” Fleur says dismissively. “I just hadn’t ever happened to see it in progress before. I’m sorry, you must have thought me perfectly dim.”

“Oh no, not at all,” you smile. “The more you know…”

“Yes, well, quite!” she smiles briefly, and then seems to lose interest in you. “Anyway, Rarity, darling, you absolutely must come to Swan Dive’s little soiree this evening and save me from the tedium, I simply shan’t ever forgive you if you don’t. Of course you can bring your dragon friend.”

Rarity’s eyes are shining with laughter as she turns back to Fleur, but to her credit she keeps her voice level.

“Oh, well, yes, perhaps we’ll see you there.”

“Fabulous! It’s a binding promise, don’t forget, be there or I shall die and my blood will be on your hooves, dear. Now I must go and get myself ready. Ta-ta!”

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Rarity dissolves into tears of laughter. "Oh my goodness,” she gasps once she can speak again, laying a hoof on your arm. “Oh… oh my. You are wicked.”

You just grin.

“We’re going to that thing, right?” you say.

“Oh, but darling, it will be such a bore, you don’t really want to go do you?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you want to see what happens when Fleur tells them all how she knows your dragon friend?”

Rarity bursts into giggles again. “Well, when you put it like that…”
> The Alternative Canterlot Garden Party
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well,” Rarity says, “if we’re going to make Swan Dive’s dinner party then we’d better head back to the palace soon and see if our rooms are ready so that you can drop off your things and we can get ready for the evening.”

Pinkie Pie is just licking the last of the ice cream from the bottom of her bowl. You’re not entirely sure how it’s possible that the mountain of ice cream that was there a scant few minutes ago is now entirely inside the small pink pony, but it seems undeniable. She looks completely at peace with the world, and as energetic as ever.

“I’m sorry, I had something really important to do that demanded my FULL attention,” she says seriously. “Was that a friend of yours who was just here, Rarity? She seemed nice! Do you two have some kind of plans for tonight now?”

“Err, well, yes,” Rarity says. “That is, if we won’t be ditching you…”

“Nopey dopey! That’s perfect, I’ve got lots of work to do planning for tomorrow night, or maybe the night after, depending how quickly I can get everything organised. First and most importantly, I need to see a pony about some wubs. I think Vinyl is on the decks at the Salt Lick tonight, so I’ll drop by there and talk to her.”

You have no idea what any of that means, but it sounds convenient.

“Perfect,” Rarity smiles.

The three of you head back to the palace through the fragrant dusk, Canterlot’s skyline silhouetted charcoal against the dying light of the day. You are met in the grounds by a pageboy (pagecolt?) in livery. He shyly greets Rarity by name, seeming to recognise her from a previous visit.

“Oh! Hello,” she says with a gracious smile. “I’m sure you’re glad to see me without much luggage this time.”

He gives a nervous laugh, looking smitten, and nearly trips over his own hooves as he turns to lead the way to your rooms. The princess has found a convenient tower suite of four double en suite rooms conjoining a shared lounge area.

“Oh, goodness gracious!” Rarity gushes with wide-eyed admiration as you are conducted into the lounge.

She trots over to the bay window with its magnificent view over the city.

“This is just fabulous, the princess has outdone herself with her hospitality once again.”

Pinkie clearly agrees; having made a running dive into the pile of fancy cushions that adorned the sofa, she is now giggling happily as she rolls around and scatters them all over the room.

“Thanks, kid,” you say, giving the pagecolt a silver coin.

He looks curiously at it, but thanks you politely anyway and backs out of the room with a last longing gaze at Rarity. It -is- rather enticing the way she idly sways her tail to and fro as she stands looking out of the window, her back arched subtly to elevate her hindquarters...

You already know her better than to think it could possibly have been thoughtless on her part.

“Poor boy,” you say with a chuckle.

“Hmm?” Rarity asks, looking round at you and meeting your mock-accusing look.

“Temptress.”

“Whaaat? What did I do?” she flutters her eyelashes innocently, tail still swishing, and you just give a snort of laughter.

“I’m going to go stand under a cold shower. See you in half an hour or something and we’ll head out?”

“Certainly,” Rarity smiles.

Pinkie Pie has already disappeared on her evening’s planning expedition by the time you return to the lounge, and you can still hear the water running in Rarity’s bathroom accompanied by faint melodic strains of her singing. More or less as you had expected, Rarity keeps you waiting easily another half hour before making her appearance. It’s not so bad: thankfully these ponies seem to understand alcohol, and the suite has a rather well-stocked bar. You settle in with a whiskey on ice and admire the view from the balcony while you wait, the many lights of Canterlot like so many stars spread out beneath you.

You end up so thoroughly absorbed by the view that the first you notice of Rarity’s approach is a subtle hint of vanilla and sandalwood in the air and then, a moment later, the warmth of her presence as she leans on the railing next to you with one hoof lightly resting on your arm. You enjoy the view together for a minute or two, neither of you speaking. When eventually you turn to her you see that she’s slipped into an elegant evening dress in a pale fuchsia pink with red detailing and a ruby necklace.

“You look ravishing, m’lady,” you say with an extravagantly affected air of gallantry.

“Oh, just a little outfit I threw together…” she says with a wave of her hoof and a pleased smile. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

Soon the two of you are promenading down the palace boulevard once more, and this time you’re not sure how many of the stares are for you and how many are for Rarity. Of course, some might be especially for the combination.

“It wouldn’t do to be too punctual, of course,” Rarity says musingly as you pass by a fancy-looking cocktail bar. “Might I suggest a pre-dinner drink?”

“That sounds like an eminently sensible suggestion.”

You’re soon seated in a snug booth overlooking the street, and Rarity is helping you make sense of the menu. You don’t recognise any of these drinks, although plenty of them seem to be made of stuff you’re familiar with. 

"So, wait, you’ve never had a martini?” Rarity says in shock.

“Nope.”

“But darling, darling, that’s a genuine full-fledged emergency. We need to correct it immediately.”

“Hmm. Well, if you say so…” you shrug with a smile, happy enough to have the decision taken out of your hands.

Rarity orders two martinis and you make small talk until they arrive, teasing her about her singing in the shower.

“Oh, well, singing’s in the family, you know,” she says with faint embarrassment. “But my little sister Sweetie Belle got the musical talent in my generation. Only the silly thing doesn’t realise it yet.”

“Well, she probably feels overshadowed by her genius opera diva of a sister.”

“Oh, hush, you beast…”

The martinis arrive in tall-stemmed glasses, a green olive swimming in each and a twist of lemon on the side of the glass.

“Well, cheers. Here’s to Equestria.”

You clink glasses, take a sip, and smack your lips.

“Hmm. So basically this is a large glass of shockingly cold gin with just enough trimmings to keep it classy.”

“Precisely! Isn’t it absolutely marvellous?”

“It might be the best thing I’ve ever drunk. Thank you, Rarity…” you make a show of choking up with emotion, clasping her hoof with your free hand. “Thank you…”

She gives a laugh and squeezes your hand playfully.

“Consider it my ‘welcome to Equestria’ gift,” she says.

“Ha! And I thought nothing could top Pinkie’s song.”

She gives another laugh, her blue eyes flashing in the candlelight, and you momentarily consider suggesting blowing off this dinner party altogether. It’s somewhat tempting – but, after all, poking fun at Fleur together will probably be as good a date as anything else you could dream up. Still, you end up staying for another drink before finally leaving for Swan Dive’s dinner party. 

You have a pleasant buzz as you step out into the evening. Rarity is giggly and a bit unsteady, canting occasionally into your leg as she walks close by your side. If lateness is fashionable, you and Rarity are the bleeding-edge cultural vanguard as you climb the steps to Swan Dive’s townhouse – both in fits of laughter over something Rarity said about a passerby’s hat – and ring the doorbell.

A stallion in a butler’s uniform opens the door and looks you both up and down with a stern eye.

“Ah yes,” he says slowly. “Miss Rarity, and guest. Miss de Lis led us to expect your arrival, but we had almost given up on you. Please… come in. The guests have just sat down to dinner.”

“Thank you,” Rarity says, walking past with her nose in the air – presumably, showing what she thinks of help who presume to look disapprovingly at invited guests.

“Yes, thank you Woodhouse,” you say, following her.

“…sir, my name is-"

“That will be all, Woodhouse.”

You barely have time to take in the overall impression of oak panelling and plush carpets before Rarity has opened the dining room door and made her entrance to the party.

“Good evening!” she sing-songs as the assembled ponies look up from their appetisers at the interruption.

“Rarity!” cries a dusky yellow pony with a pink mane – almost the same colouring as Fluttershy, but with her mane done up in an elaborate beehive arrangement there would be no danger of them ever being mixed up. “I’m so terribly glad you could make it. We had almost decided that Fleur was wickedly pulling all our legs when she said that she’d run into you today. Oh, it’s so good to see you! Ah, and you brought a guest…”

The yellow pony looks you up and down, clearly unsure what to make of you, but gives a polite smile anyway.

“Welcome, welcome.”

“Swan Dive, dearest, please do forgive us both for being so unconscionably late,” Rarity says. “This is Anonymous. Oh, but we’ve interrupted you all so horribly, this is dreadful.”

“No, no, not at all. Won’t you sit down? I’ll have some appetisers brought out for you immediately. Now you simply must tell me what you’ve been up to, I heard a little rumour that you’ve been working with Hoity Toity again…”

There are only two empty places at the table, so Rarity takes the one closest to Swan Dive whilst you end up between her and a grey stallion with a brown mane and a telescope for a cutie mark.

The stallion looks at you with some curiosity as you take your seat, but soon turns back to his other neighbour, presumably having failed to come up with any dinner-party-appropriate smalltalk for a towering bipedal monster the like of which he’s never seen in his life.  

You have time to take your bearings while Rarity chats away with Swan Dive. Including you and Rarity there are now sixteen guests seated around the long table with its pristine white linen tablecloth. Candles burn in silver candelabra at regular intervals, and there is a rather impressive ice sculpture of a swan as the table’s centrepiece. Most of the ponies are returning to the conversations they were having before your arrival, although a number of curious gazes are directed your way.

You can see Fleur’s graceful figure towards the far end of the table, talking enthusiastically to her neighbour. Judging by her gestures and looks in your direction, she’s talking about you, and you can’t help but grin at the thought of what she must be telling her. When she notices you watching her Fleur gives a little start and waves a tentative hoof. You smile and give a nod, meeting her eyes confidently, and she looks down at her plate with a little blush. Now that you can’t hear her gossiping, it occurs to you with renewed force that she’s really rather a lovely looking pony, with that gazelle-like neck and those eyes like almonds set in the confectionary icing of her coat and sugar-pink mane.

You feel a dig in your ribs and turn to see Rarity looking at you with a knowing smile, eyes narrowed.

“Admiring Fleur? You’re not feeling remorseful about the dirty little trick you played on her, now are you Anon?” she asks archly.

You grin.

“Rarity, you don’t know me very well at all if you think that just because I’m admiring her means I don’t want to play dirty tricks.”

“Ha… I’ll remember that. Well, just so long as you have something to keep you entertained. I did warn you that this would be boring.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” you say casually. “We’re going to get some booze, right?”

As if in perfectly timed reassurance, a unicorn pony in livery approaches with a magically suspended bottle of wine.

“Oh good. So yeah, I’m going to be fine.”

You find solace in drink while Rarity turns back to Swan Dive and her other neighbours on that side. Some of the food that turns up you can’t eat – there’s hay tempura, marigold and primrose salad and a savoury sorbet with a flavouring that you just don’t even want to ask about – but other courses are fine, and even very tasty.

At some point your right-hand neighbour introduces himself as Star Gazer and to relieve his awkwardness you feel bound to explain a little bit about your situation in Equestria. Upon hearing that you’ve had a royal welcome from both princesses and have a suite in the palace, he suddenly becomes an awful lot more effusive. The lilac-coated mare on the other side of him is soon drawn in as well, asking you endless questions about what the princesses are really like. You indulge their curiosity as best you can while frequently catching the waiter’s eye to have your wine glass topped up.

You’re aware that information about you is slowly circulating around one side of the table via Star Gazer and the purple mare, whilst other – presumably completely different – information about you is circulating around the other side of the table from Fleur. You keep drinking, and wait with pleasant expectancy for the moment when conflicting information hits the same pony.

Coffee and petits-fours are coming round. You notice some chocolate tartlets with sugared violets on top and point them out to Rarity with a nudge and a smirk.

"That royal baker must be moonlighting.”

She gives a stifled laugh and hits you none too softly in the shoulder.

You’re taking a sip of coffee when you hear the exclamation you’ve been waiting for.

“A dragon? But my dear, that’s preposterous.”

The speaker is a light grey unicorn stallion with spectacles and a slate grey mane, sitting three places along from Fleur. Her news has obviously just reached him.

“Excuse me, Jet Set, but it is not preposterous at all,” Fleur says with a haughty toss of her mane. “Just because you happen to be quite ignorant of the dragon development cycle…”

“Fleur, darling, listen to yourself. A dragon? He has no scales. He has no wings.”

Fleur’s colour starts to rise as she gets drawn into the debate, convinced of her own superior knowledge. She might be a bit the worse for drink, which isn’t helping.

“It JUST SO HAPPENS that dragons SHED their baby scales and baby wings in adolersh… adalosh… adolescence. I thought everypony knew that.”

Jet Set gives a laugh, a note of insecurity creeping in his voice as he looks around to see everypony listening to the two of them, and perhaps momentarily wonders if what Fleur is saying is so crazy that it must be true.

His eyes light on you.

“Anonymous, isn’t it? Anonymous, my dear chap, please elucidate the situation for Fleur and her friend here. They seem to be labouring under the delusion that you are, of all things, a dragon.”

You can’t help but feel kind of bad as you meet Fleur’s eyes and see the premature triumph there, her certainty that you’re going to vindicate her. It’s also really, really funny, though. You bite your lip and turn back to Jet Set.

“…of course not,” you say. “I’m a human. But I should apologise for sowing confusion, I made a joke earlier and I think Fleur may have taken me rather too seriously…”

Fleur blinks once, staring at you, completely aghast. She blinks again. The silence stretches out. And then Jet Set starts braying with laughter, quickly followed by several other ponies. Soon almost everypony round the table is laughing hilariously.

“A joke!” he cries out through his mirth. “Oh, that’s capital! A joke, and you really believed that he was a dragon, Fleur! Oh my…”

Fleur’s face is buried in her hooves, her cheeks burning with shame. She gets up with a graceless jerking movement that knocks her chair over, and flees through the open French windows that lead out into the gardens. Now you kind of feel like a dick.

“…fuck,” you murmur to Rarity. “Should I…?”

She just smiles reassuringly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll go.”

She gets up before you can say anything else, and after a word in Swan Dive’s ear she follows Fleur out into the gardens.

“Oh dear… oh dear oh dear…” Jet Set is dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief, still being shaken by occasional chuckles. “Oh, Swan Dive, I’m so sorry for the disturbance. But it was simply too funny…”

Swan Dive gives a conciliatory smile.

“Don’t worry, these things happen. It was just a harmless joke that got out of hand. I’m sure Rarity will have Fleur feeling better in no time. Now, Anonymous, why don’t you set the record straight for everypony? I’m not sure we all know what a human is. Rarity was telling me that you met Princess Celestia today…”

With an inward groan you settle in to go over the same old ground again, giving the potted version of who and what you are and telling the ponies what they want to hear about the princesses. At least a bottle of brandy looks to be coming round. That’s something. It feels like an age before Rarity appears on the terrace and signals you over.

“Oh dear, it looks like Rarity needs your help in patching things over,” Swan Dive says.

“Yes. Excuse me, then…” you say, getting up with palpable relief and, on second thoughts, taking your glass of brandy with you.  

The night air is still balmy and mild as you step out onto the terrace, and there’s a heady smell of honeysuckle from the thick curtains of the stuff that hang from the house.

“At last… my saviour…” you greet Rarity melodramatically, getting rewarded with an indulgent smile for your trouble.

“Now darling,” she says softly, “Fleur is something of a wreck, but I told her how awful you feel, so come along and pretend to feel awful, all right?”

“No problem.”

“Good. Just follow my lead.”

Following her lead promises to be very pleasant as she sets off across the lawn, her haunches swaying provocatively in the moonlight. The gardens are very extensive – you suppose they must be shared between Swan Dive’s and the other extravagant townhouses that back onto them. The two of you walk across the wide lawn, down stone steps and past a fountain, then turn off into a narrow path through thick shrubbery, dappled light cast here and there by tiki torches planted in the ground.

You come to a secluded glade of lime trees with a wooden bench that has been set into a living tree, so that its branches overhang the seat in a protective embrace. There, amidst cushions and blankets, Fleur sits sniffling. She looks up with watery eyes as you and Rarity come into view, and immediately looks away with a fierce blush.

“I… I don’t know why you brought him…” she cries.

“Now, Fleur, darling, don’t be that way,” Rarity coos, climbing up onto the bench next to her and putting a foreleg around her soothingly. “It was just a silly joke that went too far, and Anonymous is terribly sorry, aren’t you Anonymous?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Fleur. I felt like a real ass when I saw how upset you were.”

You take a seat on Fleur’s other side. The bench is designed for three ponies, but you take up a bit more room than a pony, so it’s quite cosy. You can feel Fleur’s flank shaking gently as she cries next to you.

“I was humiliated,” she sobs. “Just absolutely humiliated, I don’t know how I’m going to show my face.”

“Now Fleur, it wasn’t that bad…” Rarity says.

“Oh but it was, it was! Oh, to think of that braying jackass Jet Set, practically calling me an idiot to my face…”

“Oh darling, he’s just bitter because that crusty wife of his really is an idiot, and even before she lost her looks she wasn’t a PATCH on you.”

“Eh… ehehe…” Fleur giggles through her tears. “Crusty Upper Crust. Upper Crusty?”

Rarity laughs, laying her head lightly on Fleur’s shoulder. “Upper Crusty… oh yes, too perfect, that’s her name from now on.”

Fleur smiles, but her good humour quickly fades as she turns to you, lilac eyes blazing.

“But you… you absolute utter stinking ASSHOLE. What possessed you to tell me such rot?”

“Err… I thought it would be funny…”

She just glares for a moment, and then slaps you in the face with a hoof. Her slender, milky legs don’t have a whole lot of power behind them, but it still stings more than a bit.

“I deserved that…”

She hits you again, her eyes tearing up once more as she lets out her pent-up aggression. Again and again she hits you, not really slapping you now but buffeting both sides of your head with her forehooves and letting out big choking sobs. Your head is ringing when the assault eventually stops; the blows were nothing serious, but still, those hooves of hers are pretty hard. 

Rarity has both forelegs thrown around Fleur in a tight embrace, pinning her.

“That’s enough,” she’s saying softly in Fleur’s ear. “That’s enough, darling, that’s enough. Shhh…”

Fleur meets your gaze for a long moment, her own eyes swimming with tears, and although your vision is blurred a little you keep her fixed with a frank, steady look. With an impulsive movement she buries her head in your chest, and as Rarity releases her forelegs she throws them tightly about you, sobbing muffled apologies. Her soft pink mane smells sweet and a little sharp, like lemon cakes. You stroke it softly with one hand, while the other folds around her back to return her embrace, holding her close.

“Shh…” you whisper in her ear. “Shh... it’s okay.”

Over her head you meet Rarity’s eyes and she gives you a meaningful smile. You sure hope you’re reading this right. Bending your head low over Fleur’s, you softly plant a kiss on her pale forehead, looking at Rarity the whole time. Rarity’s smile just deepens as Fleur tenses in your arms. You continue, softly kissing the top of Fleur’s head in a dozen places, her coat like peach fuzz against your lips as the elegant mare slowly relaxes and lets herself slip down until she’s draped languidly over your lap.

Her head is out of reach of your kisses now, but you compensate by gently playing with her ears with one hand as the other continues to stroke her mane. Rarity shuffles over and leans against you, pressed up close against Fleur’s haunches where she has curled up on the bench. She brings her face close to yours and for a long moment you look into those sapphire eyes as your hands idly work their magic on Fleur. You go to kiss Rarity and she pulls back just slightly, leaving you hanging with a wicked smile on her face, prolonging the anticipation.

You can sense her sweet breath on your skin, smell her fragrance, feel a soft strand of her mane as it blows in the breeze and tickles your cheek; but you can’t reach those lips, not quite, not without dislodging Fleur. You stare into her eyes, silently demanding that she lean closer, focusing all your mastery and will on her. She just gives a soft breath of laughter and extends her tongue, licking your nose.

You give a frustrated answering chuckle – and then her lips finally meet yours all at once, kissing you with hungry passion, her tongue dancing artfully and inviting yours into her mouth. Your hands go still in Fleur’s mane, and you can feel her twist to watch you, but it hardly registers. You’re lost in the moment; lost in a world of Rarity’s hot mouth and cool, silky mane, her rich vanilla scent, the soft little mewing noise she makes as you bite gently on her lip.

“Mm...” Rarity breaks the kiss at last, sighs contentedly and nuzzles into your shoulder, one hoof resting lightly on Fleur’s flank.



* * * tasteful fade to black because only some sort of sick deviant freak would write an explicit sex scene between a human and two ponies, obviously. I'm shocked at the very idea: it's disgusting, I tell you, disgusting. * * *
> A Superior Display of Generosity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so you find yourself finishing up the night’s entertainments by splashing around in the clear, cold waters of a fountain in the lovely gardens of Canterlot. You stand beneath the icy cascade, letting it sluice over you and cleanse the sweat and grime and sticky fluids from your skin whilst you examine the marble statue that forms the fountain’s centrepiece. 

It depicts a flight of pegasi, sculpted with impressive skill to give an impression of grace and dynamism as they swoop about in battle with a giant winged monster - apparently some description of dragon. The dragon is swatting and snatching at the pegasi tormenting it, but its claws have found only empty air and its head is thrown back in a bellow of fiery rage. From that upturned head comes the spout of water which is raining down on you, making you shiver in the cool night air. You step back out of the torrent so that you are only wading in the surrounding pool, rubbing yourself vigorously all over both to finish the cleaning process and in an effort to warm yourself up a bit.

You’ve only just succeeded in the latter when you hear a tremendous splash close by and find yourself gasping in momentary shock as you are suddenly drenched anew in freezing water. You look up to see Rarity giggling at you, looking so adorable with her mane hanging drenched and dripping around her face that you almost can’t be mad at her. 

Almost. You launch yourself with a battle cry and duck her under the water, holding her there for several seconds in sweet vengeance. You’re just letting her up, giving a shit-eating grin as she coughs and splutters, when a sudden impact from behind sends you and Rarity both back under water with Fleur’s spindly form perched triumphantly atop you. 

Some time later the three of you finally climb from the fountain, none of you – this time – taking the opportunity to shove anybody else back into the water at the risk of having a leg grabbed and being taken tumbling along with them. You’re all panting and giggling happily, shivering with the cold a little at first as you make your way back across the lawns to reclaim your discarded clothing.

It must be well past midnight when you eventually approach Swan Dive’s back door again, clean and re-clothed. A spell from Rarity has dried off your hair too and put it back in a respectable style, and with a little cooperation the two mares have been able to make each other’s manes and tails look presentable. Rarity signals to you and Fleur to wait behind a bush as she gingerly approaches the French windows to Swan Dive’s dining room, peering inside.

She gives you the all clear and the three of you make your way swiftly through the still lit but now deserted house, only running into Woodhouse – or whatever the butler’s name actually is – who gives you a thoroughly contemptuous ‘hmph’ but otherwise stays out of your way. Swan Dive must be the bearer of the Element of Discretion, you decide; not as glamorous as the Elements of Harmony, maybe, but a quality much to be respected nonetheless.

You part ways with Fleur a ways down the street as she reaches the turnoff for her home. The pink-and-white unicorn scrapes awkwardly at the floor with a hoof, her embarrassment obviously returning in full force as you say your goodbyes. You kneel down and give her a big hug, leaning back in as you disengage to kiss her swiftly on the lips and make her blush fiercely.

Rarity follows suit exactly, and Fleur gives a pleased sigh that turns quickly into an awkward cough.

“It was simply lovely to catch up, darling,” Rarity says with perfect social grace. “We must do this again sometime. Oh, and I’m so glad that you and Anonymous were able to work through your differences.”

She pauses for a moment to give Fleur a chance to reply, but she still seems off-balance so Rarity continues. “Well then – goodbye for now, darling. Goodnight, and sweet dreams.”

“…yeah. Goodnight Rarity. And Anonymous. Um, nice to meet you.”

She subtly changes her stance to a more studiedly elegant pose; you take that to mean she’s more or less herself again. Rarity gives Fleur another brief hug and then walks away as you fall into step.

“She’s going to be okay to get home, right?” you ask with a trace of worry once you and Rarity are some distance away.

“Oh, such a gentleman,” Rarity says, looking over with a smile.  “But don’t worry a bit. This isn’t Sigil – the streets of Canterlot are awfully safe. She’ll be absolutely fine.”

“Good.”

There are several questions you could be asking Rarity now – questions addressing issues like what the fuck just happened, whether you should expect it to happen again, how you are supposed to act around the other ponies, and so on and so forth.

Walking back towards the palace alongside her, though, your head still buzzing and your body aching pleasantly, none of those questions seem very germane or urgent. It is what it is, you guess.

Her hoofsteps echo down the tree-lined midnight streets as you make your way back to the palace, the two of you drawing curious glances from the odd couple or group of pony revellers who go by. You pass by a late-opening café where ponies sit out on the terrace sipping drinks and strains of jazz music drift out into the streets from the open windows. She seems content to walk close by your side in companionable silence, presumably wrapped up in her own thoughts.

Arriving back in your suite at the palace you find Twilight asleep on the sofa, a blanket draped over her. On the coffee table in front of her is an empty bottle of wine, two glasses – one of them half full – and a chess board with the game still in progress. 

You pause a moment to take in the state of the pieces. They’re not the designs that you’re most familiar with, but once you realise that what look like knights are actually pawns, you realise it must be the same rules after all. The knights, in turn, seem to be stylised pegasi with lances, whilst the bishops are robed unicorns and the king and queen look to have been replaced, predictably, by two princesses.

You conclude that they’re in a complex deadlock: still anybody’s game. As for her opponent, you guess he must have taken his leave after tucking her in. You and Rarity share a smile at the adorable picture. She motions you down to one knee with a gentle hoof on your waist, and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Thank you for a delightful evening, darling. Goodnight.”

“And thank you. Goodnight, Rarity.”

She kisses you lightly on the lips and then makes for her room, hips swaying alluringly as always. She turns to give you a smile from the doorway before entering and closing the door behind her, leaving you to find your own bed and sink into a deep, contented slumber. You are woken briefly a few hours later by a crash of something in the living room and a fit of giggling which you take to mean that Pinkie has just got in, but you soon drop back to sleep and don’t wake again until mid-morning.

There is a faint tinkling of breakfast china and quiet female voices in conversation from the living room. You lie dozing, listening to the hum of their voices contentedly for some time without picking up any actual words, but soon the smell of fried eggs and mushrooms is making your stomach rumble so you quit the luxurious comfort of your bed to jump under the shower and make yourself presentable enough to join the ponies for breakfast.  

You find Twilight Sparkle and Rarity on the balcony seated around a table laid with a linen cloth, silver cutlery and tea-things sparkling in the morning sun.

“Good morning, Anonymous!” Twilight calls out as you make your appearance.

“Morning,” you return cheerfully as Rarity turns around to give you a friendly smile.

“Good morning, Anonymous,” she says in cordially polite tones.

You take one of the two empty seats and Rarity magically lifts the teapot to pour you a cup.

“Rarity has been telling me about last night,” Twilight says, her tone bright but neutral.

“Oh, really?” you ask, your face a polite blank.

“Yes! She said you made quite an impression on some of Canterlot’s social elite.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you say with a smile. “Maybe one or two of them.”

“At any rate, it sounds as if you two had a pleasant evening.”

“Yeah – well, I enjoyed myself.”

“Great! I don’t really have much of a head for that sort of thing myself, but I’m glad Rarity was able to show you a good time.”

You keep your voice breezy and resist the urge to give Rarity a look or charge your tone with innuendo: that would be distinctly un-classy. You can’t resist a puerile inner snicker, though.

“Yeah, she certainly did. How was your evening?”

“Oh, it was just lovely, thank you. We caught up over dinner and then came back here for a few games of chess. I finally won a game against Shining Armor! But he won the next one, and then I… might have drifted off a little bit before we finished the decider.”

“Oh well,” you smile. “Should be time to settle the grudge match before we leave Canterlot, right?”

“I hope so! He’s captain of the royal guard, so his duties do keep him busy. But he said something about inviting us all round for dinner with him and Cadence – er, Princess Cadence, that is – tomorrow, if we can manage it. I’d really like to go.”

“Of course we’ll go, darling,” Rarity puts in. “We could hardly turn down such a flattering invitation. Your brother is royalty, now, you know.  By the way, Anonymous, help yourself to the toast and some mushrooms and scrambled eggs, if you like – there’s plenty to go around and these dishes do a marvellous job of keeping them hot.”

“Oh, thanks.” You start loading your plate. “But, hang on a moment. Your brother is married to a princess, Twilight?”

“Yes! Cadence, proper title Princess Cadenza mi’Amore. Foal-sitter extraordinaire.”

“Hmm. So if she’s a princess... she’s Celestia and Luna’s sister, too?”

“No, no. She’s… some sort of cousin, I think, lots of times removed. She calls them auntie, but her mother isn’t their sister either. The royal family tree is pretty convoluted, and there are big gaps where we don’t have the history for one reason or another.”

“…seriously? Why wouldn’t somepony have written that stuff down?”

“I know! Tell me about it,” Twilight says heatedly. “Ponies have been SO BAD in the past at keeping all kinds of history. Only a few scholars even bothered to try, and then their books ended up dusty and unread in the corner of a library somewhere while most ponies pass down myths and legends instead. You wouldn’t believe how hard it can be to work out what actually happened.”

“So how do you even keep track of who’s royalty? I mean, wouldn’t it be easy for anypony to fabricate a claim?”

“Not really,” Rarity puts in. “Real breeding always shines through, you know – and anyway, the Princesses would never allow an impostor. In Princess Cadence’s case it would be somewhat hard to dispute, since she’s a pure bred alicorn – there aren’t any of those outside of royalty, you know.”

“Ah. But there are some royals who aren’t alicorns?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Like Prince Blueblood,” Twilight chips in.

“Yes,” Rarity says in a suddenly very cold tone as Twilight blushes, apparently just realising that she put her hoof in her mouth. “Like… him.”

“So Princess Celestia and Princess Luna are the only ones of their generation?”

“That’s right,” Twilight nods.

“What about their direct descendants? Any of their children about?”

“I don’t know of any,” Twilight says pensively.

“Nor I,” Rarity adds.

“Any records of any?”

“…no.”

“Hmm.”

You rub a hand on your stubbly chin, considering that. Something to ask one of the Princesses about if you get the chance, maybe – although you wonder if enquiring into mysteries like that is really a smart manoeuvre in your position. Of course you’re going to do it anyway, asking you not to enquire into mysteries is like asking a dog not to lick its own balls. Always nice to be aware of when you’re doing something stupid, though. Any idiot can do stupid stuff without realising it.

A few minutes later and you’re replete, sipping your second cup of tea in the sunshine while the conversation has turned to plans for the day – some sightseeing seems to be in order, and Twilight and Rarity are brainstorming about the various locales they need to take you on your tour of Canterlot. 

Pinkie Pie appears in a flash of bouncy pink poofiness, rapidly collecting all the remaining food onto her plate in a big pile even as she is greeting you all. “Good morning!” she sings out. “Did everypony have a good night? I had the BEST night! Vinyl’s set was -amazing-, and there were so many cool ponies there, I made like a MILLION new friends, and everypony kept handing me jell-o shots, and you KNOW how I feel about jell-o, and Vinyl had some candy that made everything go, like, WHOOOOOOSH and hehehehe it was so much fun!”

The thought of Pinkie on stimulants causes a momentary shiver of terror to run down your spine.

“Sorry about waking you up Twi,” she goes on. “I thought you’d be in bed so the couch would be free for jumping on, but it turns out it wasn’t so I jumped on you instead. My bad!”

“That’s okay,” Twilight says, smiling weakly. “At least you woke me up so I could get to bed instead of sleeping on the couch all night, I'd probably be all stiff this morning if that had happened. Of course, I'm kind of stiff anyway from when you jumped on me...”

“So anyway!” Pinkie says through a mouth full of toast and mushrooms, “Vinyl can DJ for a party at the palace tonight, isn’t that great? And she’s going to bring Octavia, too, they’ve been working on some kind of collaboration and it sounds suuuper amazing. I’ve already asked a royal guard to ask Princess Celestia to send a note to Spike so he can let Rainbow know. Oh, and like a hundred ponies or something said they’d come and bring everyone they know. You’re going to make so many new pony friends, Anon!”

“Sounds like it’s going to be quite something,” you say cheerfully, casting glances at Twilight and Rarity in the hopes of getting some clue on what to expect.

“Well, that sounds excellent,” Twilight says. “I’ve been studying so hard recently, and then this special mission from the Princess - it’ll be great to unwind and let my mane down, although it’s really too bad that Fluttershy and Applejack won’t be there.”

“Yes, it sounds lovely, Pinkie darling,” Rarity smiles. “I’m sure Anonymous will appreciate the chance to see the livelier side of Canterlot’s nightlife, too.”

From what you’ve see of her so far the idea of a Pinkie-planned event had filled you with a certain amount of trepidation, giving you unpleasant flashbacks to Xaositect raves (concerning which: NEVER AGAIN), but the other ponies’ responses help to put you at ease. Maybe she really is capable of forethought and impulse control, if only when it comes to planning parties. The evening’s prospects are looking up.

As you are all finishing your final cups of tea and making to get ready to go out, Rarity’s eyes suddenly go wide with a terrible realisation. “Wait, wait, wait,” she exclaims in mounting horror. “We’re having a big party TONIGHT? But we none of us packed properly for this impromptu stay in Canterlot. I don’t know about you girls, but I only had my one emergency party dress with me. I have nothing – simply NOTHING – to wear! And Anonymous has only the one outfit which he wore last night. Ugh. What about you two? Be honest with me now, don’t hold back, let me know the full gravity of the situation.”

“Oh! Well I’ll be fine,” Twilight says meekly. “I brought that lovely dress you made me for my birthday, Rarity.”

“Oh nononono, Twilight, darling, that won’t do at all, not at all I say. That design was all the rage in Canterlot for a season, but by now a tacky purveyor of shoddy knock-offs is hawking those dresses to the unwashed masses on every street corner. You’re my friend, Twilight, and that makes you a shining champion in the very utmost vanguard of fashion’s progress – MERELY by association. I’ll be cold in my grave before I let you turn up to a major Canterlot social event in last season’s fashions.”

Rarity has been leaning steadily over the table throughout this speech, a steely and purposeful gaze fixed on Twilight, halting her advance only when their muzzles are nearly touching as she finishes her speech in a fierce stage whisper. 

Twilight blinks and gives a sheepish smile. “Err… okay.”

Rarity relaxes, satisfied, and sits back down. “And you, Pinkie? What are you planning to wear?”

“...I thought I might put a ribbon in my hair. Ribbons are nice!”

Rarity presses her hoof to her forehead with a low groan of something close to despair, her voice sounding slightly unhinged when she speaks again. “Okay. Okay. Good. Marvellous. I’ve taken stock of the situation and evaluated the dimensions of the problem. Wonderful. That’s always the first step in reaching a solution!”

“…Rarity,” Twilight says gently. “You can’t possibly expect to design and make three new dresses AND an outfit for Anonymous – which won’t even be CLOSE to anything you’ve designed before, and will probably entail a whole new set of radical challenges – between now and this evening.”

“What are you saying?” Rarity asks, fixing Twilight with a desperate look.

The purple unicorn nearly withers beneath the intensity of that stare, but she rallies and manages to answer. “Maybe we should consider… going shopping?”

“Hmph,” Rarity exhales with a haughty toss of her mane, her air of tragic gravitas only deepening. “And model somepony else’s fashions in front of all of Canterlot? I should certainly think not.”

It’s interesting that she can go into such dramatic accesses of emotion about this whilst having remained cool as a particularly chilly cucumber all morning about what happened between the two of you last night. You honestly aren’t sure if she’s an incredible actor, or a crazy bitch, or both, or something in between; the only thing you’re sure of is that she’s pretty mesmerising even when she’s being a ridiculous drama queen.

Twilight squirms uncomfortably for a moment before suddenly perking up. “Wait! I know. We can just send another message to Spike through Princess Celestia – I mean, if she doesn’t mind too much – and have him ask Rainbow to bring some dresses from your boutique.”

Rarity brightens immediately. “Oh yes! Darling, what an absolute stroke of genius. Of course I’ll still need to make some tweaks, and of course I’ll still need to work from scratch on Anonymous’s garb – but it’ll give me such a leg up, so to speak, on the whole endeavour.”

“So you’re just gonna work all day while we’re showing Anon around Canterlot and having all kinds of fun?” Pinkie asks sadly.

“Well, I’m afraid it looks that way,” Rarity says with a dignified expression. “Sacrifices must be made to one’s art, you know, if one aspires to be an artiste…”

Pinkie pouts. "But… but… FUN.”

Rarity just gives an indulgent smile. “Well, darling, it’s not all bad you know. I do love my work, after all. I shall be having some fun of my own, finding my hooves in a whole new fashion paradigm.”

She looks you up and down. “It should be fascinating to see what I can do with your body shape, Anonymous darling. You won’t object to me taking a few measurements before you leave?”

“Well of course not. And I certainly am grateful to you for doing this.”

She waves a dismissive hoof. “Oh, but it’s absolutely my pleasure. The publicity alone will be more than compensation enough.”

The plan to get a message to Rainbow Dash is quickly put in motion through a footman (footcolt? hoofcolt? whatever). Meanwhile, Rarity bustles you off to her room to take measurements.

It’s a little odd being alone with her now; or perhaps it was odd being with her with other ponies around, and it’s only now that the oddness has fallen away that you notice it. Her room smells faintly of her – her perfume, her shampoo, her own scent. And then there’s her nearness as she magically manipulates her tape measure around your frame and leans in to take readings from it, having donned a pair of rather fetching red-framed spectacles. Images and impressions from last night keep flitting unbidden through your mind, and you have to concentrate a little to keep your breathing normal and stay relaxed.  

If she’s having any of the same difficulty, she’s doing at least as good a job as you are at hiding it. She’s all business, keeping up a stream of professional patter about her ideas for your outfit which you only half listen to, throwing in the occasional response where it seems appropriate or necessary.

Having greedily drunk in all the fashions on display in her brief trip to Sigil, Rarity already seems to have a decent handle on the basics of designing clothing for humanoids and some of the current styles; you’re happy to let her do her thing without too much input from you. Instead your thoughts wander, speculating on her state of mind. It’s difficult to get a read on her – is she feeling regretful or ashamed of herself, or is she just scrupulously cautious about keeping her friends in the dark?

You can’t see it as entirely coincidental that she just happens to have found some urgent work to throw herself into that will keep her from spending the day with you as planned. Things did, after all, proceed extremely fast last night from a pleasantly flirty first not-quite-date to a filthy sweat-soaked threesome. Within a couple of hours. Was Rarity the type to do something like that and then freak out about it after the fact? 

…Well, maybe. Piking women. That is to say – mares. Females. Whatever.

You wonder about saying something to force the issue, but it doesn’t seem worthwhile. Better to let her have some distance for now if that’s what she wants, rather than be seen as demanding or needy. You can be just as cool as she can. Juuuuust as co-

Your breath catches momentarily as she presses her tape measure against your inner thigh and runs it down your inseam.

Meanwhile she’s breezily chatting about her observations of the different cuts of human trousers and which one she feels is most appropriate for an event like Pinkie’s party tonight, casual but also high-profile and glamorous. It’s something of a relief when she’s finished with you and sent you packing.

“Go on now,” she says lightly, “don’t keep Twilight and Pinkie waiting! Have a nice time, just be sure to be back in good time to try your new clothes on before the party so I can make any adjustments. Toodle-oo!”

You head out into the busy streets of Canterlot, with Twilight and Pinkie doing an interesting double duty as tour guides.

“There’s a statue of a pony in a silly hat!” Pinkie begins.

“…that’s Star Swirl the Bearded,” Twilight interjects, “and his hat was widely considered to look very distinguished, at the time.”

“Ehehehe… yeah, so, that’s Swirly the Breaded, he was a famous ice-cream pony who pioneered soft-scoop to the delight of all the ponies in Equestria.”

“…that’s not right at all-"

“Ponies would come from miles around to taste his frozen treats, and he’d put all kinds of tasty goodies on top like mini-marshmallows and fudge sauce and banana slices and chopped nuts and caramel and little candy balls.”

“Pinkie…”

“BUT! One day his bold experimentation in ice cream toppings went TOO FAR. Of all things, he piled… -breadcrumbs- on all the ice creams he served that day.”

She looks down at her hooves for a moment, shaking her head mournfully. Twilight is either too horrified to interrupt, or else she wants to see where this goes.

“The ponies of Equestria were furious. They’d all come to expect the very tastiest of tasty ice cream treats from Swirly, so when he offered them this total DISASTER of an ice cream invention they rose up as one to take their horrible revenge. It was poetic justice. They covered poor Swirly from breadcrumbs in head to toe, and from that day on he was known to everypony as Swirly the Breaded.”

You burst into guffaws, Twilight giggling along with you after a moment. Pinkie just shakes her head disapprovingly at you both. “Guys, this is serious. I can’t believe you would be so disrespectful of a great figure from Equestria’s history.”

Twilight tells you the actual history of Star Swirl the Bearded, and at some point Pinkie takes her leave saying that she has to go see somepony about lights for this evening, but she’ll catch you up soon. 

To hear Twilight tell it, Star Swirl was one of the few true scholars of ponykind, a great arcanist, sage and natural philosopher who advanced ponies’ understandings of their world more than whole generations had done before or since. He’d also had his theories about what lay beyond the world that the ponies inhabited, hypothesising a cosmology that bore some striking similarities to the true extent of the planes.

“If only he hadn’t disappeared so suddenly before finishing his life’s work, who knows what knowledge he could have passed on to future generations of ponies…” Twilight finishes mournfully.

You think about the implications of that for a moment, but decide against pursuing it further with Twilight, at least right now.

“Fair to say he’s a personal hero of yours, then?” you ask conversationally instead.

“Oh, yes! He’s like a second mentor to me, really, even if he’s been dead for centuries. I just hope I can prove myself worthy to take up his legacy after all this time. But of course, my studies under the princess come first,” she finishes with a slight blush as if embarrassed to have gotten carried away and forgotten, even for a moment, her primary duty and calling.

“Well, it sounds like an ambition worthy of the Bearer of the Element of Magic,” you say with a casual smile that widens as Twilight’s blush deepens.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to brag or anything…”

You keep your face blank as you scent weakness and hone in. “Not at all. You might be the humblest pony I’ve met. Oh, and pleasant and well-spoken and pretty on top of all that. The whole package.”

She starts to squirm and stutter a little, her face deep crimson. You let her hang for a few moments before finally bursting into laughter.

“Heh… sorry...”

She glares at you as her blush slowly fades; you just grin back.

Finally she ‘hmphs’ and looks away with an exhalation that sounds suspiciously like a laugh in spite of herself.

“Tell me about that building with the big spire over there,” you say after a moment, still smiling.

“Oh! That’s the Springsong Tower, built around twelve hundred years ago in honour of the pegasi of the Springsong flight, formed in response to a crisis on Equestria’s eastern border when…”

Twilight’s embarrassment forgotten, the tour recommences as she recounts all the history, lore and mythology she knows in connection with the many sights you pass by.By a meandering path through the streets you come eventually to a grand building with constant pony traffic up and down the steps that lead up to the majestic portico framing the entranceway. Rarity and Twilight had agreed on Canterlot’s biggest art gallery as your first destination (Rarity stressing the cultural and aesthetic value, Twilight focusing more on the historical subjects of many of the paintings).

You guess this must be it, and Twilight soon confirms your guess as you mount the steps together. Pinkie rejoins you shortly after you enter and is soon spicing up the experience by explaining the paintings to you in her inimitable fashion.

“…and THIS one shows a classic example of the great unicorn ritual contest of eyebrow wrestling, where two powerful unicorns attempt to project all their magical power and force of will at each other through their fearsomely big and bushy eyebrows without the use of their horns. Some particularly closely-fought battles have been known to go on for days at a time…”

Sadly she has to dash off again before long to run off on another errand for the evening’s plans, something about refreshments this time. The rest of the day proceeds in a similar vein with a grand tour of Canterlot’s highlights, discussing pony culture and history with Twilight whilst Pinkie drops in and out, running all over town on her planning missions but still managing to hold up her end of the tourguide duties.

The three of you break for a pleasant lunch at a bistro on the boulevard in the mid afternoon. It’s mostly salad-based, but you have to admit that these ponies know how to make a pretty impressive salad. Yours comes with a bunch of different colourful leaves – almost all of which seem thankfully edible – as well as alfalfa, chopped walnuts, toasted croutons, some kind of pale, mild, slightly tangy cheese and a deliciously sharp and sweet dressing.

There are also some daisies that you have to pick out, but overall it’s a very tolerable meal, and the company is good too. Twilight and Pinkie are utterly different enough that you can’t quite understand how they ever got to be such good friends – you can’t help thinking of them in terms of Factions, pegging Twilight as a natural Guvner and Pinkie as a Chaosman – but they’re a fun duo to be around, each one providing a good antidote when the other’s foibles get too much. The interplay between them is entertaining as well, with Pinkie winding Twilight up constantly but never (well, at least not today) crossing the line into being an actual annoyance.

With lunch over you resume your leisurely sightseeing tour as Pinkie dashes off to procure, in her own words, ‘more balloons than anypony has ever seen in one place before EVER.’

The rest of the afternoon passes in much the same enjoyable fashion, and you complete your tour much better-informed about pony society and history than before – although Twilight wasn’t kidding, there really are a whole lot of tremendous gaps in her knowledge of Equestria’s past, and you doubt anypony except the two ruling princesses knows more about it than she does.

You’ve also promised that you’ll return the favour with interest by giving her information on your own people and the planes at large once you’re settled back in Ponyville. That promises to be a much larger undertaking than today’s crash course on ponydom, but you’re okay with the idea. It should be quite enjoyable to discuss cosmic truths with Twilight, and maybe she’ll have an interesting perspective on some things.

You eventually wend your way back towards the palace with Twilight and Pinkie in the late afternoon, ready to catch up with Rarity and see how her day’s work has gone. You’d succeeded in putting her out of your mind for most of the day, but now with your return at hand you feel a twist in your guts.

…just what was that? Are you some hapless cuntstruck kid, or what, to have that kind of physical response to the mere prospect of seeing her? You push it down, steeling yourself. You’re tougher than that; your skin is thicker than that.

The fluttering in your stomach is going nowhere, and you give an inward sigh. This might not be so easy.

You make your way through the palace grounds back to your rooms with Twilight trotting close behind as Pinkie quizzes you extensively on human parties, nodding along and chiming in enthusiastically as she finds points of resemblance, of which there are plenty.

As you reach the hallway to your suite she’s stunned into momentary silence by the revelation that you don’t know what a ‘speaker’ is, let alone a ‘turntable’, ‘DJ’, ‘bass drop’, ‘wub’, or any of the other dozen increasingly outlandish terms she fires off. A huge grin begins to spread across her face. “…just wait… you’ll see…”

You shoot a worried glance at her; the gleeful, scheming expression she’s wearing does less than nothing to reassure you.
You’d quite like to at least make the attempt to glean some details on what delights or horrors await you, but you find yourself already at the door to your suite with the sound of voices coming from within.

“I’m -just- saying,” you catch through the closed door, “we need to keep an eye out. Everypony’s so trusting. What do we even know about him?”

There’s a noncommittal murmur in reply. You’d sure like to park your ears for more of this, but Pinkie and Twilight are soon going to be wondering why you’re just standing around in the hallway. You open the door to a vision of organised chaos: Rarity has turned the living room into her workshop, spreading out over every available surface with fabric, thread, and dressmaker’s tools.  

The lady of the domain stands bespectacled in the midst of it all, several different pieces of fabric levitating around her along with scissors, needle and thread as she works in total absorption. Rainbow Dash hovers upside-down several feet above the floor nearby, her blue wings keeping her aloft with lazy flaps.

“Oh, hey you guys,” she greets the three of you, slowly rolling in mid-air until she’s right way up again. “Sure is good to see you, Rarity’s not exactly the most fun to hang out with when she’s working.”

“…yes, I DO apologise again for my less than effervescent conversation, Rainbow,” Rarity says with a hint of reproach. “But I have been RATHER busy.”

She turns briefly to look over her glasses at you, Pinkie and Twilight, offering a smile and a bright “hell-o~!” before turning back to continue her work as she goes on. “I trust you three had a lovely day? I’m just putting the finishing touches to our dresses. Rainbow was kind enough to bring me some very serviceable models to work with, but, as I expected, they were in need of some small adjustments. Anonymous, your ensemble is laid out for you in your room, would you be a darling and try it on for me?”

“That would be my pleasure,” you say with a courteous bow of your head which probably goes unnoticed as Rarity focuses intently on some detail work.

“Oh, and leave your boots please,” she calls over her shoulder. “They’ll need an embellishment or two to go properly with the new outfit.”

You pull your boots off. Rarity doesn’t look round, but as soon as they’re free of your feet a blue magical field envelopes them and they begin floating off towards her even as she continues to focus closely on the fine embroidery of a hem. You stand gazing for a moment, a little in awe, struck by her perfect poise and natural elegance in the midst of this frantic multitasking. Rarity at work is a force of nature that you could just stand and watch for hours quite happily.  

Wait, no. No, no, you don’t need to be thinking like that. Especially not around Rainbow Dash. She already thinks you’re a rustler; you really don’t need her tumbling to what happened with Rarity.

You make for your bedroom to try on your outfit, giving your head a brisk shake in hopes of clearing it as you go. Regardless of how much success you might have, it’s a temporary palliative at best – you’re soon filled with stunned admiration for Rarity all over again when you see the lavish outfit she has laid out on your bed.

The jacket is very fine wool, a deep midnight blue slashed with bold detailing in gold thread forming bars and stripes that accentuate the garment’s clean, elegant lines. Dozens of small rubies are stitched into the sleeves and slightly padded shoulders and there they gleam, sanguine, their arrangement artfully designed to make them look carelessly scattered. The shirt is a lacy cream affair embellished by a deep scarlet cravat and a waistcoat that matches the jacket. The trousers are slim-fitting, simple but beautifully cut in the same material as the jacket and waistcoat, the belt a rich tan colour studded with more rubies and finished with a stylish golden clasp in the shape of a serpent devouring its own tail. 

The overall effect – even when the outfit is lying inert there on your bed, not even being modelled and viewed as intended – is nothing short of breath-taking. It’s difficult to conceive of the fact that she made this elaborate costume from scratch in the hours since you last saw her. It’s nothing like what you normally wear, but the artistry of it is undeniable and compelling. What’s more, although it’s far more dandyish than anything you would ever have picked out for yourself, as you look at it you realise that in fact, in some way, this is -you-. Not a side of yourself that you normally express – certainly not through fashion – but undeniably you, as if Rarity has presented you with a mirror that shows you not your mere physical form but something deeper and subtler than that.

You undress and begin to try it on, immediately noticing the quality of the fabric as you touch it. It’s impressive, but unsurprising at this point, that everything fits near-perfectly despite Rarity’s inexperience with tailoring for humanoid dimensions. The finished effect in the mirror is just as good as you expected, although… it lacks something. 

Oh right, your boots – Rarity’s done something to them. Your return to the lounge is greeted with an excited squeal from Pinkie and a gasp from Twilight. Even Dash looks pretty impressed.

“Geez, Rarity, he looks just like the twerps we saw flouncing around the Lady’s Ward in Sigil. How’d you figure out how to make fancy human clothes so quick?”

“Hmph. Excuse me, Rainbow, he looks not at all like a 'twerp'… although I do need to let the jacket out just a smidgen at the shoulders and in at the waist, the cravat is NOT tied just so, and of course the whole effect is positively ruined without the boots. Here, Anonymous, darling, give me your jacket and try these on.”

She floats your boots back over to you and you make the swap. The boots have somehow been dyed from their previous dark brown to the same tan colour as your new belt, softened and gained turn down collars studded with rubies to match the rest of the outfit. You already sort of miss your sturdy old boots – you’ve been through a lot with them. But you can’t deny that these will match tonight’s outfit better, and if Rarity can really make such major alterations in mere minutes then you suppose it should be a simple matter to get her to put them back to normal at some point. Well, assuming you can come up with a sufficiently convincing aesthetic rationale for it.

Although now that you think about it, she looks considerably more frazzled now than she did ten minutes ago; it occurs to you that the quick turnaround on the boots might have cost her a non-negligible amount of magical power. 

Soon you have the boots on and Rarity has returned the jacket to you after a couple of minutes of painstaking but incredibly rapid work redoing various bits of stitching.

“There, try that.”

You’d thought the jacket fit fine before, but you feel the difference immediately. It might have been ‘fine’ before, but now it’s right. Rarity gives a satisfied nod.

“That will do. Once you’re properly brushed up I do believe you’ll look -quite- acceptable. So that’s the major task out of the way, now I can focus on the final touches in getting these dresses up to scratch…”

You get your chance, now, to sit and watch Rarity at work as she consults with the other ponies, making the final tweaks to their outfits and sending them off one by one to try them on and model them for her. Each dress is unique, perfectly suited to its wearer and touched with what you’re coming to recognise as Rarity’s trademark flair and panache. You see what she meant, now, about making the world a lovelier place; her creations are not only beautiful in themselves, but they bring out the beauty of their wearers.

Rarity sends each pony back multiple times to take their dress off again and return it to her for further adjustments, much to the chagrin of Rainbow Dash in particular. The whole process is also complicated somewhat by Pinkie Pie dashing constantly in and out, splitting her time between overseeing the preparations in the grand ball room and cooperating with Rarity’s process. Still, the dresses – including her own – are finished to her satisfaction within an hour.

“Well then, I call that a good day’s work,” she says proudly as she surveys the finished products, sagging a little as fatigue catches up with her.

A few strands of her mane are even out of place – you take that as a sign of dire exertion on her part.

“I don’t know about everypony else, but what I need now is some me time. I have hopes that a good long soak in a hot bath with some scented candles may yet restore me to an appropriate level of fabulousness in time for the party. And ifsome kind fellow was to hunt me up a glass of something bubbly… and maybe a few canapés, such as perhaps some blinis and caviar… and bring them to my suite – for instance, as a token of his gratitude for the handsome finery he’s wearing – then that might not be entirely inappropriate or unwelcome.”

She bats her eyelashes at you, and you put all your focus into maintaining a blasé expression as you smile back. “I’m sure somebody can manage that.”

Everypony disperses to get cleaned up and ready for the party, and you quickly find a pagecolt to send down to the kitchens with Rarity’s request and another to send out to the gardens for a bouquet of roses. You send them on their ways with large tips and a grave sense of urgency, and once you’re satisfied that they’ve taken off about their tasks at an appropriately nippy speed you go to take a quick shower of your own.

By the time you emerge clean and damp-haired in your new outfit, having taken a few minutes to just admire it in the mirror, you find a huge bundle of freshly-cut red and white roses waiting on the table in the living room along with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and a silver tray on which stand two glasses and a selection of fancy-looking canapés including the requested blinis and caviar.

You pick up the tray and the bucket with the bottle in it, hanging the bucket over your arm so as to leave one hand free as you give a knock on Rarity’s bedroom door. There’s no answer – which makes sense, you suppose, if she’s in the bath. After a moment you try the door and find it unlocked. There’s a soft splashing sound coming from the en-suite bathroom, accompanied by an alluring aroma of cinnamon and orange.

The door is ajar. You make your way across the soft carpet and knock.

“Yeeeees?” Rarity’s voice croons from within. “Could that possibly be room service?”

“Something like that,” you reply wryly. “Can I come in?”

“You can, but you had better be bringing suitable offerings.”

You push the door open and enter the steamy, orange-scented bathroom, where Rarity reclines luxuriously in the bathtub amidst mounds of frothy bubbles, the far rim lined with a thick row of lit candles.

“The lady’s champagne and canapés…”

“Ahhh, darling, how did you know”, Rarity purrs. “Would you be so marvellously kind as to pour me a glass?”

You set the tray down first on the (thankfully quite large) shelf at the foot of the bathtub, and then open the champagne with a muted pop and a wisp of vapour that is quickly swallowed up by the room’s steam.

You pour Rarity a glass, and she leans forward to take it from you with a smile. You don’t quite know how to read that smile.

“A blini, m’lady?” you ask as you offer the tray.

“Why yes, I don’t mind if I do.”

She takes one daintily and pops it into her mouth, rolling her eyes up in bliss.

“Absolute heaven. Thank you, darling.”

“It’s the least I could do. There’s one more thing, hang on, I’ll be right back.”

You make your way back to the lounge and grab the bouquet of roses from the table, turn round and are returning to Rarity’s room when the door next to it – the door to Pinkie’s room – opens and out steps Rainbow Dash, her mane up in a towel.

“Hey,” you greet her cursorily, not slowing down.

“He- wait a minute.”

Like a flash she’s in front of Rarity’s door, looking pointedly at the flowers in your hand. “What in the hay is all this?”

“A gesture of thanks, of course,” you say without missing a beat.

She’s silent for a moment, peering suspiciously between you and the flowers. "...thanks.”

“Yeah. For my new outfit.”

“You’re bringing her flowers… in the bath… to say thanks.”

“Yup. She did ask me to bring her some other things, y’know, so this is just by way of an additional thank you from me.”

“Yeeeaaah…”

She’s not moving.

“Anyway, didn’t you say it was fine if I tried it on with Rarity? Something about her being able to look after herself?”

…that might not have been the most politick tack to take, but you’re getting rather tired of the cyan pegasus’s cockblocking.

“Well I THOUGHT she could.”

She peers over her shoulder for a moment to where Rarity’s bathroom door stands ajar before looking back at you, her eyes weighing you up.

“Give me a brea-”

Your plea is interrupted by a plaintive voice from Rarity’s bathroom. “Dashie! Oh Daaaaashie! Is that you I hear? Are you harassing my waiter? Do stop making such a dreadful nuisance of yourself, darling.”

“Oh, whatever.”

Rainbow steps aside, but her suspicious gaze never leaves you for a moment as you go past her and on to the bathroom again, pointedly closing the door behind you.

“Waiter, indeed,” you say with a wry smile, holding the flowers behind your back.

Rarity just blinks innocently at you. She shifts minutely under the water with a liquid sound that makes you imagine her supple, shapely curves rearranging themselves languidly beneath the foamy surface.

“…here.”

You proffer the bouquet.

“For your hard work today on my outfit. Thanks again. I love it.”

Rarity beams.

“Oh, how lovely,” she gushes. “Thank you, darling. Just set them down over there for me? I’ll put them in a vase once I’m out of the bath.”

You do as requested, and turn back to Rarity, your gaze straying to the second, empty, glass beside the champagne bottle. You see her gaze follow yours. Her smile doesn’t change.

“Really, thank you,” she repeats after a moment. “For the refreshments, as well, it was sweet of you.”

You nod. Another moment passes.

Fuck.

“…no problem. I’ll see you later then.”

You leave and stalk back to your room, ignoring the smug look Rainbow gives you from the couch and keeping your jacket arranged so as to shield the more visible signs of your frustration from her view.
> 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your impulse is to throw yourself down on the bed or stalk around the room in a brooding sulk. Possibly alternate the two for variety. That’s an impulse that seems worth resisting, though. There’ll be blizzards in Baator before you give Rainbow Dash that much satisfaction.

Instead you step in front of the mirror and start running a comb through your hair, getting ready to go out – a breath of fresh air in the palace grounds will hopefully clear your head a bit. You find yourself forcibly reminded of yesterday’s resolution not to trust any piking ponies, wondering what the fuck happened to that. Somehow you got drawn in again and dropped your guard, so this is what you get. It’s no good being bitter or sulking about it; you just need to stop acting like such a gully sod. Thinking of the ponies as fey might not have been going far enough. As far as Rarity goes, at least, it seems like a succubus would have been a better comparison – and you sure as Sigil don’t intend to join the ranks of the lovelorn.

Your resolution starts to falter almost immediately as your gaze in the mirror strays to your clothes and again you’re struck by how much passion, art, and insight have been poured into the outfit you’re wearing. Is it possible that she only gave you the cold shoulder to put up the most convincing possible front to Rainbow Dash? After all, it seemed to work, as far as that went – Dash now seems smugly convinced that you don’t have a Tanar’ri’s chance in Nessus of getting anywhere with Rarity. If that were the case, though, couldn’t she at least have given you some kind of sign?

Why are you even still thinking about this? This is why you shouldn’t be sulking in your room.

Your hair looks good enough, time to get out of here. You breeze through the living room without looking at Rainbow Dash and stride off through the palace corridors, looking for a way out into the gardens. Your winding path through the echoing halls of the palace takes you eventually to the exit you’d been hoping for, but you’d been imagining something more along the lines of an unobtrusive side door where you could slip out to the gardens in solitude. You find yourself, instead, approaching a large set of glass-paned double doors that open out onto a broad, shallow flight of steps that sweep down to a driveway that approaches the palace from the rear through its grounds.

The grand ballroom is nearby, and there is a constant stream of ponies coming and going with all manner of different provisions, materials and equipment. There are huge barrels and cases upon cases of bottles, pallets of fresh produce, baked goods and snack foods, paper and fabrics of every conceivable colour, construction materials and supplies, and a diverse array of things that you don’t recognise and can’t even speculate about. Chief among these is a huge black cuboid, a little taller than you are and thicker than you could get your arms around, made of some slightly glossy material with what looks like closely-knit webbing covering one side of it.

The strange object is perched precariously at the top of the steps down to the driveway as you approach, rocking ever so slightly backward and forward and threatening at any moment to overbalance and go crashing down. Everypony seems too caught up with their own tasks to pay it any mind, despite the plaintive cries that reach your ears from the other side of it as you get close.

“…Vinyl! Oh, gosh, Vinyl, you confounded pest, where in Equestria are you? I… I can’t… hold it much longer…”

The plea ends in a tremulous squeak as the big black block tilts further and begins ever so gradually to slide. You make a lunge and grab hold of the thing, struggling to get a purchase on it until you find a handle that seems to have been built into its surface for just such a purpose. Its movement is arrested, and with a heave – assisted by a push from the pony on the far side – you get the thing up on firm ground.

“Oh, thank goodness,” comes the sigh of relief from your still-unseen ally in disaster prevention.

Her voice is soft and velvety, her cultured accent reminding you a little of last night’s time in the company of Canterlot’s upper classes but without the unpleasant sneer that some of them affected.

It reminds you of somepony else, too, but you’d rather not think about that right now.

“Really, Vinyl, what were you thinking?” she continues, sounding rather out of breath. “How could you run off to sign autographs at a time like that? It’s not as though I even have any experience with dragging all this heavy equipment around. It’s  you who dragged me into this madness, you could at least have the decency to do your share of the work.”

“Um, ma’am?” you cut in, poking your head around the corner of the box. “I don’t think you’re talking to who you think you’re talking to.”

Your eyes light on a pale grey pony with a sleek charcoal mane who is slumped, recovering her breath, against the side of the black box. A blush of embarrassment rises to her cheeks as she looks up at you with thick-lashed lilac eyes. She wears a pink bow tie on a white choker around her neck, and her cutie mark is a treble clef in the same light purple as her eyes.

“Oh dear, I do apologise,” she says softly.

“That’s okay. I’ll précis the rant if your friend comes back so you don’t have to do the whole thing twice.”

The hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth although she still looks more embarrassed than anything. “Thoughtful of you, but I don’t think that will be necessary,” she says, casting her eyes downwards. “Oh, but where are my manners? My name is Octavia. Thank you for your assistance, good sir. Impeccable timing.”

“People do say that about me…” you say with a cocky grin. “I’m Anonymous. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Yes – likewise. Your reputation precedes you. I had the good fortune to run into miss Fleur de Lis earlier on today and she had an awful lot to say about you, although I confess that I didn’t follow it all. Something about how you’re not really a dragon, although I’m sure I don’t know why I would have thought that you were. In any case, it seems you made quite a hit with her.”

“Funnily enough she mentioned you to me as well. I got the impression that she thought awfully highly of your musical talents.”

“But not so highly of my choice of collaborators, hmm?” she smiles.

“Err, perhaps not. I’m certainly looking forward to hearing you this evening though. Pinkie’s been trying to explain pony music to me but so far I haven’t understood a word she’s said. Is this your instrument case?” you ask, patting the black box beside you.

“Oh dear me, no,” Octavia chuckles. “This is an amplifier.”

“Oh. What does it amplify?”

“Sound. In this case, the sound of my cello.”

“Ahhh, you’re a cellist? At least that’s one thing I’m familiar with.”

“Yeees… although it may not be quite as you would recognise it. Vinyl and I have been experimenting with a lot of electro-magical effects on my sound.”

“…electro-magical?”

“As in, a combination of electronics and magic.”

“Okay. I have no idea what 'electronics' is.”

“Oh!” her eyes widen. “Of course…umm… Vinyl might be better qualified than myself to explain. If she ever comes back.”

You nod. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve always more or less believed that the best way to understand something is to experience it, and I guess I’m going to be experiencing your electronics later on, right?”

“I suppose that you are.”

“In the meantime, it seems like you’re short somebody to move your equipment. Want a hand?”

“A… hand? Oh! A hoof. Yes, I see what you mean. That’s an awfully kind offer, but I couldn’t possibly accept…”

“Come on, really, it would be my pleasure.”

“I… are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. I’ll consider it a service to the arts.”

“Welllll…then, thank you, yes, some help would be very much appreciated. I had hoped to get unloaded and set up in time to do a soundcheck before the guests start arriving, but there’s no way I can manage by myself.”

“Then let’s hop to it.”

She nods, and together the two of you hoist the amplifier aloft (Octavia balancing her end skilfully on her back) and carry it through to the ball room’s raised stage where it joins an already formidable array of similar devices.

There are several more weighty items waiting in a wagon at the bottom of the steps. You and Octavia are just hefting the last of them in when a pale lemon-coloured unicorn pony makes her appearance, sporting a pair of purple-tinted sunglasses and a strikingly styled blue mane streaked through with iridescent highlights.

“’Sup ‘Tavi? You look kinda beat, want me to take that for ya?”

“Vinyl! Vinyl Scratch, you lazy, unreliable, flaky, reprehensible…”

She’s slipping out from under her end of the speaker as she rants, Vinyl taking the weight onto her own shoulders.

“…irresponsible, shirking, insufferable…”

You and Vinyl crest the top of the stairs and start manoeuvring through the double doors towards the ball room.

“…indolent, shiftless, fickle, frivolous, thoughtless...”

You traverse the ballroom, making your way through and around the ponies rushing everywhere making their preparations.
>In all the noise and hubbub you miss some of what Octavia is saying, but you pick up the thread again as you and Vinyl set the speaker down on the stage next to the others.

“…inconstant, immature, regardless -reprobate-!”

“Relax, ‘Tavi. That one filly was all like ‘OHMYGOSHIT’SVINYLCANIHAVEYOURAUTOGRAPH’, and I mean, c’mon, I can’t just leave a fan hanging. And then, like, she had friends, and they all wanted autographs too, and she wanted to show me this drawing she did of me and stuff, it was pretty chill.”

“’Chill?’ Ugh. Not to be a -downer- or anything, but what was not particularly chill was how you left me to be crushed beneath that ridiculously oversized amplifier of yours as it tumbled down a whole flight of stairs to its inevitable destruction.”

“Oh, right. But that didn’t happen, huh?”

“Thanks only to the assistance of Anonymous here.”

“Oh yeah. Hey dude.”

“Hi.”

“Sooo…” she turns back to Octavia. “Are we gonna get set up and do a soundcheck, or what?”

“Hmph. Anonymous and I did all the heavy lifting, the least you can do is take care of the rest of the set up while I relax with a cold beverage… if it’s possible to get one anywhere amidst all this chaos.”

“I bet I can dig us up a couple,” you put in. “If you wouldn’t mind some company, of course.”

“Oh, well… of course not. After all, you earned some relaxation too.”

Whatever look Vinyl might be giving Octavia right now is lost behind the purple sheen of her glasses.

“Pfft, whatever,” she mutters after a moment. “You kids have fun and stuff. Just be back in time to soundcheck, ‘Tavi.”

“Of course,” Octavia says primly. “Lead on, then, Anonymous.”
> 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re on your way out of the grand ball room when Pinkie Pie goes comes bouncing past and does an exaggerated double take, her midair progress somehow arresting itself to send her crashing facefirst to the floor at your feet. She’s back on her hooves in a moment, entirely unhurt, fixing you with a stern glare.

“Anon! What are you doing here! You’re the guest of honour, you are NOT supposed to be hanging around while everypony’s getting things ready.”

“Hey Pinkie. Don’t fret, I was just leaving. I was giving miss Octavia here a little help with her unloading, but we’re all done. We’re on our way up to the suite to relax for a bit until things kick off.”

“Oh! Hi ‘Tavi. That’s great! I -told- you you’d make a bunch of new pony friends in no time, Anon. Dashie seemed super bored up there just hanging around while Rarity was getting ready, so you guys can keep her company. But you better not have peeked at the decorations, mister.”

“No way.”

“Okie dokie lokie! See you later!”

Off she bounces, and you proceed up to your suite with Octavia. You enter to find Rainbow Dash sprawled on the big couch, her hind hooves and tail draped over the back of it as she lies on her head. She doesn’t move as you come in, but her eyes track sideways to follow you and Octavia.

“Hey Anon… woah, that was fast.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, Rarity shoots you down and ten minutes later you’ve already found a new mare to creep on?”

“Oh, right.” You turn to Octavia, who seems torn between embarrassment and indignation. “Octavia, do you know Rainbow Dash? Don’t mind that ugly edge of spinster-ish envy to her tone there; we should try to be tolerant of those whose own experiences of life have warped them into loveless, embittered husks.”

You grin at Rainbow, who just stares blankly at you for a moment before erupting with a snort of laughter, collapsing into a heap on the couch. "Pffft, you’re such a sleazeball.”

You give a heedless shrug and smile at Octavia. “So… a drink? What would you like?”

“Oh… umm…” she still seems pretty flustered. “Sparkling water would be lovely.”

“You sure? I can make you something more interesting than that, y’know.”

“Nothing alcoholic,” she says firmly. “I need a clear head for my performance.”

“Sure. I have just the thing; trust me, you’ll love it.”

“Oh, very well…”

You root around in the bar’s well-stocked fridge and cupboard and come up with ice cubes, tomato juice, carrot juice, lime, cucumber, celery, hotsauce and a black pepper mill.

“Erm… Miss Dash…” Octavia awkwardly begins, “I hope you understand, Anonymous only offered me a drink in his suite as a friendly gesture, since downstairs is all in chaos with the preparations for the party. There is no impropriety…”

“Oh, suuuuure,” Dash responds with a devilish grin. “That’s what he -wants- you to think. Maybe it looks innocent to you now, but just wait. He’ll be all over you like a fly on fresh dung, just give him the chance.”

“I’m afraid she’s correct,” you remark. Octavia whips her head to face you, eyes wide and cheeks burning. “My appetites are legendarily insatiable,” you continue in an offhand tone. “Why, just last night I turned a polite Canterlot dinner party into a debauched orgy.”

“You wish,” Dash scoffs.

You grin, putting the final trimmings on three glasses of piquant, refreshing juice. You add a generous dash of vodka to one of them, setting it aside from the others.

“Anyway, if you are quite finished discussing the towering extent of my virility, Dash, do you want a kick in yours or what?” You shake one of the glasses at her, rattling the ice cubes, to make it obvious what you’re talking about.

“Oh, err… yeah.”

She peers at you, nonplussed, having obviously not expected the offer of a drink. You add vodka to her glass as well and then hand one to each of the ponies, giving Octavia the unadulterated glass.

“Thank you,” Octavia says politely as she takes it.

She’s still rather discomfited, but it seems like she’s starting to relax a bit; you take that as a sign that your efforts at parrying Dash’s sallies weren’t entirely wasted.

“…yeah, thanks,” Dash says, eyeing you with open suspicion as she accepts her drink.  She gives it a wary sniff before tasting it.

Octavia tastes hers with better grace and gives you a smile. “That is rather pleasant.”

“It is, isn’t it?” you agree as you take a sip of your own drink.

“I guess I’ve had worse,” Dash concedes after slurping from her own glass.

You remain on your guard, but it seems like you have won at least a temporary reprieve from the cyan pegasus’s hostilities, and the three of you enjoy your drinks in something almost approaching civilized companionship. Although Rainbow’s small talk still leaves something to be desired.

“So Octavia, you’re, like, some kind of bigshot fiddle player or something right?” she asks casually.

“…that might be said to be roughly accurate,” Octavia replies in a pained tone. “Although the term ‘fiddle’ more commonly refers to a violin than my own instrument, the cello. And it implies a certain… rustic… character to the music which my own performances lack.”

“Yeah, whatever. Pinkie said something about you playing with Vinyl?”

“Yes, we have been collaborating recently; it has been an interesting challenge to incorporate her very modern style with my own more traditional musical background.” She takes a dainty sip of her drink.

“…uh huh.”

“Prior to this project with Vinyl Scratch, you may have heard me in concert with the Royal Canterlot Philharmonic Orchestra.”

“Err, nah. Not exactly my scene. No offense, but if I can’t dance to it, I’m not interested.”

“Well, I have been known to play for dances and the like as well. And I believe my performance this evening will satisfy.”

“It’d better. I’m in the mood to cut loose. That dancefloor isn’t gonna know what hit it.”

“Woah there,” you put in. “Nobody doubts that if you wanted to hit the dancefloor, Dash, you could hit it hard. Shattered masonry, roofs caving in, groaning, twitching bodies everywhere. Carnage. But, you know, we’re all going to be trying to enjoy ourselves, so can’t you spare us the demonstration?”

Dash glares at you. “Is that you trying to be funny, or what? I’m an awesome dancer.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course! Why shouldn’t I be?”

“…err, I don’t know. I kind of just can’t stop picturing you racing around the dancefloor like an overbuffed faerie dragon on pixie dust, leaving total destruction in your wake.”  

“I don’t know what the buck that is, but I don’t like your tone, buddy. I’m tellin’ ya. I’m an awesome dancer.”

“If you say so…”

“What, you think you can do better? How do humans even dance, do you flail those skinny arms around the place or what?”

“Well, you’ll see soon enough. I’m a little rusty, but I’m pretty sure I can still out-dance anybody with four legs.”

“Oh yeah?” Dash leans forward to fix you with a challenging stare. “That’s big talk. How about a little competition?”

“What, a dance-off? Any time.”

“Right!” There’s a rattle of ice cubes as she slams her glass down on a side table, and almost faster than you can follow she’s in your face. She spits on her hoof and holds it out. “Dance-off, tonight, punk. You’re going down.”

“It’s on.”

You bump your fist against her spit-moistened hoof, not breaking eye contact. She gives a slow nod and backs away with slow beats of her wings, eyes still locked on yours until she’s comfortably seated again and looks away with unconcern.

“…so you’d better bring your A-game tonight, Octy,” she says.

Octavia gives a sniff, obviously disapproving of the excessive familiarity.

“It’s the only one I would ever consider bringing to a performance, Miss Dash.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Anything less is just letting yourself down, right?”

Octavia’s answer, if any, is cut off as Rarity’s door opens and the white unicorn pokes her head out, her mane done up in curlers. "Rainbow Dash, I simply can’t believe – oh!”

She sees Octavia and stops mid-nag, glancing briefly between her and you.

“Octavia!” she recovers swiftly from the surprise. “Darling, I didn’t know you were here, I would have put in an appearance sooner.”

“Hello, Rarity,” Octavia says, smiling warmly, fidgeting with her hooves. “That’s, umm, quite all right. You have to get ready for the party and all, don’t you?”

“Well yes, but that’s hardly an excuse for neglecting a friend. I trust at least you are being looked after?”

Again she looks quickly between the two of you; you give her an easy smile.

“Oh, yes,” Octavia says. “Anonymous was an enormous help to me in setting up for the show, and he’s fixed me a rather delicious drink…”

“Well! Good. Good.” Rarity smiles – late, maybe, by just the blink of an eye. “I fear I really must return to my preparations if I am to be at the party in any reasonable time frame. Oh, but that reminds me. As I was saying - Rainbow Dash! I simply cannot believe that you are lounging around here, making no preparations. The party begins in scarcely an hour! We’ll have to make an appearance by two hours’ time at the latest! And you’re not dressed, not washed, haven’t done a thing with your mane – darling, I simply -demand- that you get this situation under control, I will not have you modelling one of my creations without proper care taken over the rest of your appearance.”

Rainbow Dash just looks at Rarity, unimpressed.

“Yeah, whatever. Chill out. After I’ve finished this drink. I’ll handle it.”

Rarity glares at her for a long moment as the pegasus blinks impassively.

“Oh, fine,” Rarity sighs. “I can’t very well force you, now can I? Just remember, darling, I’m counting on you. And Anonymous, you as well. Fix your mane – your hair, I mean. A more dramatic look to match the outfit, yes? I trust you. Octavia, we must, must catch up – after your performance, or tomorrow: at any rate, before I leave for Ponyville.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Octavia smiles.

“Well. Ta ta for now, then.”

With a wave of a hoof, Rarity disappears again to resume her toilette. Octavia takes her leave not long after, wanting to be back at the ballroom in plenty of time to run the soundcheck as promised – and possibly also wanting to avoid any more of Rainbow Dash’s company, you would speculate.

You walk part of the way back with her, intending to follow through on your earlier intention of a walk in the gardens.

“I hope you weren’t too bothered by all that screed when we came in,” you venture once you’re away from the suite. “Seems like Rainbow just has a chip on her shoulder; I didn’t mean to put you in the firing line.”

“Yes, well…” the faintest of blushes comes to Octavia’s cheeks and you smile to yourself. “You’re not responsible for her behaviour. Although you did make some rather inappropriate comments yourself, you know.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. Er, well. Not that I would want anypony to think me too stuck up to engage in the occasional bit of banter or repartee, mind you. But, there are limits…”

You just smile.

You turn a corner into a dim corridor, one side opened up to the gardens by tall windows that run its length. The summer evening sunlight, patterned by the trees outside the windows, dapples the scrubbed wooden floor with patches of golden light amidst deep, twining shadows. 

Up ahead, you catch a flicker of movement in a darkened doorway. You tense immediately, one hand finding the handle of a blade as your other shoots out to arrest Octavia’s forward progress. She turns to you, a question forming, but you silence her with a finger pressed gently to her lips. She seems a little put out, but if she’s going to be indignant, at least she has the sense to be quietly indignant; she must sense something of the gravity of your concern.

Swiftly you beckon her and turn on your heel, leading the way back towards the suite. You don’t get further than the corner of this corridor when a door opens and another figure steps out, sealing your path of retreat. The form is equine, of course – slim and lithe, moving with a fluid grace and… flicking her… sugar-pink mane?
“…Fleur?”

She steps from the shadows and your guess is confirmed, but somehow you’re not the least bit reassured. She blinks slowly, her lilac eyes meeting yours with steely intensity.

“Good evening, Anonymous.”
> 8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

You keep one hand steady on Octavia’s shoulder as you return Fleur’s gaze, searching her eyes for some indication of her purpose. Last night the depth of her eyes struck you as illusory; a fancy veil over the windows to a soul that was rather childish and shallow, though not without a certain appeal. Now, in the half-light, their lilac gleam seems different: alert, measuring, determined.

She moves differently, too. Still elegant, still poised, but her grace is transformed. Last night every movement was calculated according to the effect on an observer, every pose chosen to display her beauty to best effect; now her motion is spare and efficient, charged with the same fluid grace as a predator stalking its prey.

“…something’s wrong,” you whisper to Octavia. “Be ready to run if you get the chance.”

Octavia gives you a look of puzzlement and worry. "It’s just Fleur…” she murmurs.

“Maybe.”

Maybe-Fleur smiles as she advances slowly towards you, each hoofstep echoing down the halls. The first figure you sighted is manoeuvring into position behind you, perhaps twenty feet away; you can hear its hoof-falls as well, cautiously muted as they are. You keep half your attention on that, listening intently for any sudden movement.

“Might we talk in private?” Fleur asks softly, a knife-edge glinting somewhere beneath the velvet folds of her tone.

“Of course, Fleur. Octavia, do you mind heading back to the suite for a moment? You can have a word with Rainbow Dash.”

You give her a meaningful look with that last phrase, hoping she understands.

“Oh no,” Fleur follows up swiftly. “Octavia can come too, of course. It would be… too awfully rude of me to insist that you abandon her. And after all –" she smiles at the other pony, but her eyes remain hard – “she and I are friends. There are no secrets between friends.”

She’s maybe ten paces from you now, still advancing. The pony behind you has stopped moving.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t come any closer,” you say to Fleur.

Predictably, she ignores you, continuing until she’s standing just slightly closer to you than normal, polite interaction would dictate.

“Oh… but we’ve been a lot closer than this, haven’t we, Anon?” she coos, one hoof preening her mane.

The lemon-sweet scent you remember from yesterday evening is gone. In fact she smells of nothing at all.

Your hand tightens around the grip of your knife; you flirt with the idea of plunging it into her long, swanlike neck right now and twisting it around until she stops moving. Octavia’s presence stops you from considering that very seriously, though. There’s also the matter of whoever is lurking behind you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, your voice hard.

“Don’t you? I could… refresh your memory.”

She sidles up to you, making to nuzzle your arm with her head. You jerk away, pulling Octavia with you, keeping her close. She gives an irritated grunt at being manhandled.

“What is all this, Anonymous?” she demands. “Did you really…?”

“Oh, we did,” comes a voice from behind you. Rarity’s voice.

You give an inward groan. Octavia spins around, wild-eyed.

“R…Rarity? What are you saying?”

“Think, Octavia,” you cut in, keeping your attention split between the two impostors, ready for any aggression. “Rarity is back at the suite.”

“...yes. Then…” she sidles closer to you, real fear creeping into her tone. “Changelings.”

It seems like the time for decisive action has arrived. 

You lunge forwards, your knife seeking not-Fleur’s throat, but she melts away from the thrust with almost contemptuous ease. At your side, Octavia tenses up with a gasp and then goes limp, slumping against your legs and then to the floor as you step clear. Sparing a sidelong glance, you see a crimson-plumed throwing dart standing up proudly from her rump like a flag planted on a conquered peak. You don’t have much time to consider it; another dart is streaking through the air towards you, even as not-Fleur leaps forward to counterattack with a double forehoof strike at your solar plexus.  

You throw yourself backwards and down to the side, catching your weight on one hand and kicking upwards to correct your centre of gravity and get some momentum as the dart misses you by a scant inch. You complete your handspring and land on your feet again only to find your primary assailant barrelling straight at you. It’s all you can do to twist out of her path and use your blade to turn aside the worst of a vicious strike from her foreleg.

The skinny form it has assumed doesn’t seem to have any detrimental effect on the strength of your attacker; glancing as it is, the blow is staggeringly powerful. You reel into the opposite wall, trying to get some distance, but Fleur’s lithe form is upon you again before you can draw breath. A hoof smashes into the wall and shatters the stone where your head was just a moment before as you duck and spring forwards into her, trying to regain some initiative.

You catch her around the middle, aiming to bear her to the floor, but her hind leg arrests your forward progress with a sharp knee to the chest that straightens out into a snap kick, catching you squarely in the chin as she follows through into a tight backflip and lands poised in a crouch. You are slumped against the wall, head ringing, nausea rising in your stomach. There’s no time for that; the thing – the changeling? – in Rarity’s shape is closing in on you from the side even as her ally coils to spring at you.

With one sweep of your arm you loose a knife at each of them even as you haul your complaining body from the floorboards and roll to a defensive crouch. The assassins dodge the knives easily, but they gave you the moment’s breathing room you needed. Not-Rarity retaliates with another thrown dart, but this time you’re well prepared – your hand flashes out to snatch it from the air, leaving you off balance, giving not-Fleur a conspicuous opening.

She takes it, just as intended, and you shift your momentum into an arcing roundhouse kick that connects solidly with her shoulder and arrests her charge, sending her lurching off to the side. You fling her partner’s dart at her even as you press forwards, determined not to lose the advantage. She just barely gets a hoof up in time to deflect the projectile, and then you’re on her, your knife slicing neatly across the fetlock of her raised hoof and severing the tendon as you roll past and grab hold of a hind leg as you let your momentum carry you forwards, wrenching her knee and tugging her to the floor. 

Her form shimmers and shifts as she hits the deck, Fleur’s semblance vanishing to be replaced by a spiny, twisted form with a matt black hide almost like a reptile’s but for the lack of scales. The thing hisses and twists, kicking at you with its free hindleg and forcing you away.

The other one is coming up fast from your rear and you whip round to meet the onrushing form of Rarity, hurling herself at you with bladed hooves scything. You flow around her, grabbing one foreleg and swinging her onwards to send her crashing in a heap to the floor as you step back to get some breathing room and palm another couple of knives. Both changelings have regained their feet and are sizing you up once more.

The one that had taken Fleur’s form should be hobbled, by your reckoning, but it shows no sign of being slowed down by its injuries as it prowls slowly towards you, looking for an opening. Apparently changeling anatomy doesn’t rely on tendons: not much of a surprise, you suppose, considering the bizarre gaping holes in its legs that clearly predate any of your efforts. The two assassins come at you more cautiously now, covering each other, feinting and testing your defences, wearing you down and waiting for an opening.

You’re not sure that time is on their side; sooner or later somebody is going to happen by and fetch help.

That’s if you can hold out that long. It’s all you can do to fend off not-Rarity’s vicious hoof blades while avoiding the other changeling’s efforts to circle around you or bring you to the floor by tackling your legs or shattering a kneecap. They press on relentlessly, forcing you back away from Octavia’s limp form and the way back to the suite.

They’re learning, too. Drawing out your responses, looking for flaws in your footwork or weak spots in your guard.

You’re not sure how long it’s going to be before they find one. You try to clear your mind and focus, to let all the strange events of recent days slip away and just be, in the moment, unthinking and instinctive, moving where you need to. The adrenaline rush of combat helps, of course, up to a point – most people are at their most focused in a fight – and yet that can only get you so far.

Even in the midst of mortal peril, the average mind is cluttered and hazy, full of fear and doubt, speculation, half-formed plans and contingencies. Your own mind is no exception, especially after the manifold distractions of the last couple of days.
It’s been centuries since you drifted away from the Ciphers, never having been one to let a given philosophy tie you down for too long – but you’ve kept up with your training, more or less, and at a time like this you’re glad of it.

You focus on the movements of your own body; your blades, extensions of your will, flashing as they parry one assailant’s slicing blades and keep the other one at bay from throwing herself upon you; your feet, moving swiftly and deftly, predicting instinctively where they need to move in order to keep your balance sure; your centre of gravity shifting as you pivot and weave, twisting aside from a blow here or feinting an attack there to keep your opponents wary and draw them into committing themselves falsely. It’s an intricate dance, the steps improvised moment by moment, guided by a music that only you and your two partners can hear.

The blood pumps in your ears and the salt tang of blood is in your mouth, but all that is forgotten. As you continue to focus, falling deeper into the battle trance, your very self is forgotten along with all your aches and pains, your worries and uncertainties. You are one with the air around, one with the stone, one with these changelings who seek to end you.

Again and again the semblance of Rarity lashes out with her hoof blades, a flurry of feints and slashes intended to drive you back, but this time you give her no ground. When the opportunity comes, you don’t even notice it – you’re already doing what you need to do, slamming your dagger forwards to forcefully riposte a carelessly-aimed strike and stepping forwards as you do so, shifting all your weight on to your front foot.

The other changeling thinks she sees her chance. She launches herself at you, but you’re already throwing yourself forwards, inside the arc of the other bladed hoof that is swinging for you, pivoting on your front foot as you bury a knife in the Rarity-changeling’s white stomach. Spinning as you fall forwards on top of her, it’s an easy matter to lash out with a leg and deliver a kick in the ribs to the other changeling as her flying tackle goes wide and sends her crashing into the wall. You land on your shoulder and roll, the foe beneath you cushioning the impact. You keep your grip on the knife in her gut, giving it one final brutal twist as your forward momentum wrenches it clear.

Springing to your feet at the changeling’s head as her Rarity disguise gradually fades, you give no time for her ally to recover from her collision and come to her aid. You turn, crouch, and slam your knife up to the hilt into her faceted eyeball. She twitches, once, and lies still.

You’ve already snatched up your knife and are dashing for the remaining foe as she stumbles to her feet. In the face of her ally’s demise and your murderous onrush, she does the only thing that seems sensible and jumps out of the window with a crash of shattering glass. You follow her without a thought, making a mighty leap and managing to grab hold of one leathery hindleg, your fingers finding a handhold in one of the many gaps that riddle it.

The changeling gives a furious hiss, kicking at you with its free leg as its insectoid wings buzz desperately to keep it aloft with your added weight. After a couple of dizzying kicks to the head you manage to get a hold on the changeling’s other hindleg as well, although it means dropping your last knife; you watch it as it plummets fifty feet or more and vanishes into a patch of purple-flowering shrubbery. You are coming back to yourself, your preternatural focus lost.

You are aware, again, of the ragged breath catching in your throat, the agony in your head, the various bruises and strains throughout your body. Slowly but surely the changeling is losing altitude, the well-kept lawns of the palace gardens rising gradually like a tide coming in to swallow you up. Just your luck that there are no ponies in sight on this side of the palace. Your feet are ten feet off the ground when you decide to make your play.

You begin to swing, violently, wrenching down on the changeling’s hind legs and causing it to swerve erratically in the air and make a sudden drop of a few feet as you gather momentum. Your legs swing up to wrap around the changeling’s midsection, dragging it down further as you tug on its hind legs, aiming to wrench them at the most uncomfortable angle from its body that you can manage from this bizarre angle.

Hissing again, the changeling kicks at you with its forelegs as best it can, but the angle is obviously bad for it and the blows are weak. A moment later you feel the bone-jarring impact as the two of you hit the dirt, but you’re sure that the changeling took the worst of it. You keep your grip, scrambling immediately to get your weight on top of the creature and start applying some proper leverage to its legs.

The failed assassin squirms and screeches beneath you as you sit heavily on its flank and pull one leg up with all your might, feeling a joint dislocate, feeling the tension as bone, muscle and sinew are pushed close to breaking point. You lean back, heaving with all your might, listening for the sickening crack. It never comes.

A sudden impact knocks you sprawling, soft grass beneath your cheek, your head ringing more resoundingly than ever, your vision blurred and your stomach heaving. Almost tempting to just lay there on the fragrant earth and let the end come. With a growl you push yourself up, forcing yourself to a crouch, scanning as best you can for the new threat. Your dim vision swims and fluctuates, but there is no mistaking the brightly coloured form that hovers nearby, sneering at you. That cyan coat, that multicoloured mane.

"Time for our dance-off, Anon."

Fucking Rainbow Dash.
> 9
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your stomach turns over again as you stare up at the cyan pegasus who hovers above you, striking a taunting pose. Worse than the physical trauma you’ve suffered is the sensation of plummeting dread that seizes you at her appearance. If Rainbow really is running a black one for you, and she’s chanced upon this moment to settle it… then that’ll be just about that. You’ve no weapons, you’re already battered halfway senseless, and she’s a whole lot faster than you. 

But, wait… 

The moment of panic passes as doubts begin to form and solidify quickly in your mind. Rainbow Dash might be a total pain in your ass, but if nothing else, she seems to care about her friends. Would she really go behind their backs to attack a guy that they’re all on good terms with? And would she really be stupid enough to do it in the palace gardens, where any sod who happens to glance out of the window becomes a witness that she was the one who assaulted Princess Celestia’s honoured guest? And not least, would she really be giving you the time to wonder about all this?

Behind your attacker’s cocky attitude is a wariness; she doesn’t want to come in for another pass, which means she must be holding out for backup, or else she just wants to be sure of something before she commits herself again. Either way, that doesn’t seem much like Rainbow’s style to you. So that’d make this winged nuisance just another changeling. 

…which, to be fair, is still bad enough, especially considering that the one you were just wrestling with is moving around again already. Eyeing you warily, she squats back on her haunches and begins tugging at one of her back legs with little grunts of pain, trying to pop the joint back into its socket.  You don’t want to let that happen, but as soon as you start forwards you see her air support enter a steep dive to head you off. 

If you weren’t entirely sure before, you are now; this changeling’s flight is laughably ponderous and sluggish by comparison with the speed and finesse that Dash showed in Sigil, and the signature light trail is nowhere to be seen. She’s still coming right at you, though, and plenty fast enough to knock you flat if you follow through with your intention of heading to finish off her wounded ally. You’re forced to check your advance and fall back, keeping your eye on not-Dash as she swoops toward you.

If she continues on this straightforward trajectory it’ll be an easy enough thing to get a hold on her and clip her wings, as long as you can take the initial impact of her dive. Not much reason for her to let that happen, though; she’s already succeeded at buying her ally some time, and just as you expect, she pulls out of her reckless charge and ends up sweeping wide past you, too far away for you to make anything of it. Meanwhile the other changeling has succeeded in popping her leg back into place and is already getting to her feet and putting some experimental weight on the joint.

Gathering what remains of your strength and trusting that you have a few moments’ grace as your airborne foe wheels around behind you, you dart forwards across the lawn, reaching your target while she’s still off-balance and not quite confident in her leg’s strength. Your fist connects solidly with her skull and she rocks backwards as you follow up with another blow to the side of her head, and another, battering away with all your strength at the stunned horse-thing, knowing that your life might ride on taking her out of the fight before her ally can get to you. 

It’s not enough. She throws herself at your legs and you feel yourself begin to topple even as a heavy weight impacts your back and hastens your sprawling progress into the dirt. Face pushed into the lawn, you can’t see anything but blackness. The taste of soil and blood fills your mouth. You fight to get some breath back into your lungs as you thrash and squirm under the weight that pins you to the floor. There’s a thudding impact to the back of your skull, and then another. You can feel consciousness beginning to slip away. And then there’s a sudden wrench, a strange cracking sound, and the weight disappears from your back. 

Your first hazy thought is that you must be dead. The pain that still fills your body and the ringing in your ears slowly make their presence felt, though, letting you know that life hasn’t given up its claims on you just yet. After a few moments you manage to roll onto your back and take in the scene around as best you can with your vision spinning and swimming as it is. Beside you lies a changeling, crumpled like a carelessly discarded doll. Above you, the sky is being painted with an ever-expanding tracery of rainbows. 

Two hundred feet up or more, at the epicentre of the prismatic pattern, a black figure drops out of the sky. The rainbows harry it all the way to the ground, spiralling round it, flashing through it again and again until, by the time it hits the palace lawns, there’s a slowly-fading helix of light two hundred feet tall to mark its impact. You exhale heavily between gritted teeth, something between a sigh of relief and a laugh. 

“…bleeding showboating…” 

“Hey, gotta make an example,” comes Dash’s voice as she slowly drifts backwards into your field of vision, reclining casually on an air current, wings flapping desultorily. “Can’t have loser wannabes like that dragging my reputation through the mud, y’know.”

“…by attacking people?”

“By making it look like Equestria’s greatest flier is flapping around the place like some kind of overfed pigeon. You gonna get up or what?”

“Not sure if I can.”

“Huh.”

She lands next to you, looking you over with a frown. “They really did a number on ya, huh Anon? Well, don’t feel tooooo bad about it, I guess. They seemed pretty tough – a lot tougher than the last time we fought any changelings. Just no match for my awesomeness, that’s all. And that one was real dumb to try to fly away when she’s got ME on her tail.”

You just smile weakly at the pony’s bragging – you figure she’s earned some, after all. “You pretty much saved my hide. Thanks, blood.”

“Blood? What’s that s’posed to mean?”

You slowly haul yourself up to a seated position, noting a sympathetic wince on Dash’s face that she tries, but doesn’t quite manage, to hide. “…you sure you should be moving around?” she asks.

“Nope.”

You shake your head and manage to clear it a little; enough so that you can look Dash in the eye and see only one blue pony in front of you instead of two or three swimming around. “A blood,” you say, “is a real hende cutter.”

She looks blankly back at you, and you break into a lopsided grin. "It means… you’re pretty awesome.”

“Oh.” She nonchalantly brushes an imaginary speck of dust from her chest with one hoof, looking away as she does so and not quite managing to hide a pleased smile. “Well geez, everybody knows that,” she scoffs after a beat. 

You stagger up onto your feet. Dash grimaces as she looks you up and down. “Rarity is gonna pitch such a fit when she sees your outfit,” she says. 

You look down to take in the extent of the damage: rips, tears, missing buttons, grass stains and copious amounts of soil smeared all over everything. “…tell me about it.”

She shrugs. “Don’t sweat it too much, Rarity loves pitching fits, it’s, like, her favourite thing in the world. And once she’s done freaking out she’ll sort it out with a little zap from her horn no problem.”

You smile. “If you say so.”

“So I guess we should get you indoors and find somepony to fix ya up, or else you’re not gonna be in any shape for the party. You’ve got a dance-off to lose, y’know.”

“Right. Speaking of which, we should probably send word to somebody to fetch Octavia, too. She got spiked with sleep poison; at least, I hope it was sleep poison. Up in that corridor where the broken window is.”

You take a step forwards and stumble, nearly falling as pain shoots up through your leg. Rainbow rolls her eyes. “Geez. Here, lean on me.”

She walks impatiently by your side and, leaning heavily on her, you make your tortuous way back to the palace. Things quickly devolve into a blur as your strength fades. There are guard ponies and officials bustling everywhere, asking questions, giving orders; you just lean on Rainbow Dash as she guides you onwards, fending off all these attentions with short, curt answers. 

Finally the noise and bustle stops, and you find yourself collapsing into a deep armchair in what must be a private drawing room; it’s small, compared to most of the palace’s chambers, and luxuriously cosy. Rainbow Dash is nearby, looking at you with obvious concern now in those moments when the fog in your head parts enough to let you observe her clearly. Some time later – seconds or minutes or hours, who knows – there’s another presence in the room. Soothing, radiant, suffusing the room with an air of tranquillity and quiet majesty. 

“Hello, Princess…” you manage before you slip into unconsciousness.

When you wake again, your head is clear and your body is as fit and hale as it has ever been. Princess Celestia sits before you, regarding you with an eye that is, at once, benevolent and inscrutable. “Hello, Anonymous. I trust you are feeling better?” 

“…much. Thank you, Princess.”

You look around for Rainbow, but see no sign of her.

“I sent Rainbow Dash to get ready for the party,” Celestia smiles briefly, before assuming a more serious aspect. "Anonymous, I can only offer my most sincere apologies for this outrage. That a guest would come under attack within the bounds of my own palace is a grave failing of my hospitality, and that changelings should once again have succeeded in penetrating the heart of Canterlot shows unacceptable carelessness on my part.”

“Again? These creatures have done something similar before?”

“Nothing on such a small scale as this. Several months ago they infiltrated the royal family itself; their queen, Chrysalis, posed as Princess Cadence and fooled the entire court, feeding off Shining Armor’s love until she was strong enough to defeat me and overrun the capital with her changeling armies. The realm was saved from disaster only by Twilight Sparkle’s quick apprehension of the threat and the power of the love existing between Shining Armor and the true Princess Cadence.”

You ponder that for a bit. You may not have seen much of Celestia yet, but you strongly doubt that anybody – even a shapeshifter queen – could be cunning enough to maintain a false identity in her court, under her very nose. 

“In the wake of that defeat,” Celestia continues, “the changelings have been scattered and weak, no longer acknowledging any queen or master. Some of the more capable have been hiring out their services for bits.”

“So you reckon these were just crow feeders? Assassins for hire?”

“That seems likely,” Celestia nods. 

“…then the question is who hired them.”

“It is indeed. Do you have any thoughts on that, Anonymous?”

“A few. You won’t like them.”

“I will refrain from any manifestation of my displeasure.”

“…well then. I have a lot of enemies, Princess, as you know. But none on this plane, unless they have managed to obtain passage from yourself or one of the other four entities – or groups of entities – who have access.”

You watch her face for any reaction to that, but she only blinks at you, wearing the same regal smile as ever. 

“What seems more likely,” you continue, “is that one or more of those enemies have been in communication with agents or contacts already in place within this demiplane.”

Celestia gives a nod. “That would indeed be feasible,” she says. 

“Are you aware of the changelings, or anybody else, having extraplanar contacts?” you ask carefully. 

“I have seen no evidence of such a thing,” Celestia replies smoothly. “But that is only an absence of proof, not a proof of absence. I will make enquiries through the channels available to me.”

“All right,” you nod slowly. “In the meantime, I will be on my guard.”

“Do that,” she agrees. “I have something that may be of assistance to you in that regard; I had been saving it until I was more fully assured of your good character, but under the circumstances, I think it would be unreasonable to withhold it further.”

Her horn glows faintly and an unremarkable burlap sack floats towards you from where it had been stowed in a wooden chest against the wall. Your eyes widen.

“My bag. Corder had it…”

“Yes. I managed to retrieve it for you. You will have to forgive me for prying into its contents, but it seemed wise to appraise myself of their precise nature before returning it.”

You’re speechless, your mind spinning wildly as you try to imagine some conceivable way in which the princess could have come into possession of this. 

She’s just smiling that enigmatic smile of hers.

“Do feel free to speak your mind, Anonymous. But keep in mind yesterday’s caveats about the truths that I choose to tell you.”

“…right.”

She waits politely for a few moments before nodding with an air of finality. “Then, I will leave you to your preparations for the party. Please pass along my apologies to Rarity for any imperfections in the repairs I made on your clothes; I fear I attacked the problem with brute magical force rather than any of her subtlety or talent, and the results may not meet her standards.”

You look down at yourself; as best you can tell, the outfit looks indistinguishable from when it was newly made. 

“…thank you, Princess. Again.”

“You are quite welcome, Anonymous. Farewell for now.”

She makes her exit, and you’re left to bask for a moment in the slowly fading warmth of her presence and collect your brutally scattered thoughts. 
> 10
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

With Celestia gone, you sink back into the plush armchair and gaze out through the window. The sun is beginning to set over the palace grounds, bathing the gardens in a rosy orange glow. Your hand rests on the rough fabric of the sack in your lap, and your thoughts turn over again and again, trying to make sense of it. It’s bad enough that Celestia claims to have diverted the Sword from your head – with ‘the magic of friendship’, no less – but now this, too? The bag that Corder was carrying when he got mazed.

It’s impossible.

Unless Celestia got to Corder before the Lady did, and got the bag from him – but then why didn’t she warn him away from Sigil at the same time, and spare him his eternal imprisonment? 

Or is that assuming too much of her apparent benevolence?

Maybe, in fact, she has no general interest in perverting the course of the Lady’s harsh justice; maybe she only helped you dodge the music because you were too important to her. Although, if she could take the bag from Corder before delivering him to the Lady – for your benefit – then couldn’t she simply have cut out the middle man by taking the tears from you instead? Taking any benevolence on her part out of the picture, wouldn’t that have been the easiest thing to do?

And how did it even benefit her to take the bag from Corder and give it to you?

Perhaps if she’d used it as a bargaining chip to get the tears – but she didn’t.

Nor did it seem as if she really needed any bargaining chips, and it’s hard to see how she might have thought that she would, once she had you hipped in Equestria. None of it makes any sense, unless you’re important to her plans for some dark reason beyond the tears she’s already taken from you. As to what that might be… even speculating is enough to send you barmy. The last few days have brought way too many questions and not nearly enough in the way of answers.

On the bright side, though… at least you have your stuff back.

You run your hand over the bag and with a pointed thought it shifts, the fabric and dimensions morphing until, momentarily, the thing in your hands is a fine silken handkerchief. You unfold it and space twists, opening a window to somewhere else in the middle of the fabric. You put a hand inside and instantly it falls upon the item you bring to mind: a tightly rolled strip of oiled leather. A smile comes to your face as you unroll it and cast your eyes over the gleaming contents.

Six brace of knives, each pair entirely and radically different, but all of them of the finest quality that half a dozen of the greatest craftsmen across the planes could produce. One pair wrought of blessed silver with exquisite etchings along the blades depicting hunting scenes, tempered in moonlight by an ancient Eladrin artisan in the glades of Arborea. One pair, dull and plain but razor sharp, beaten out of adamantite by the inhuman strength of a hulking tiefling in the black depths of one of Acheron’s great cubes. One pair of mithril, efreet-forged, still glowing inwardly with the searing heat of the City of Brass and ready to burst into flame at any moment. Another pair, of cold-forged iron, still coruscates with the lightning imbued by its djinn creator on a floating islet in the Plane of Air. One pair has mercurial edges that seem to shift and ripple even as you look at them, the blades shaped in meditation over a day and a night by an Anarch of Shra’kt’lor.

The final pair, you are surprised that Celestia permitted you to keep.

The final pair was crafted of bone – what kind of bone, you preferred not to ask, and likewise it seemed wise not to enquire too deeply into the methods by which it was rendered as sharp and durable as any steel – in a profane ritual by a twisted creature in Gehenna, a creature that had once been a Yagnoloth before submitting to have its form and very essence twisted at the whim of other, stranger masters. Even touching them makes your skin crawl – always has done – but… their utility is unquestionable. 

Each of these blades is woven through with layer upon layer of enchantments, each one bonded to you such that you can hurl it away and will it back to your hand with a thought. Compared to these weapons, the knives that you brought with you to Equestria may as well have been toothpicks. You take a minute to conceal them about your person. With the process complete, you feel properly dressed at last for the first time in months.

Next to come out of the bag are a pair of twisted silver rings and a thin strip of leather with a clasp at either end and an ancient silver coin threaded onto it. You slip the rings onto the index and middle finger of your left hand, and fasten the leather cord around your neck. Instantly you feel a tingle as a familiar battery of protective dweomers flicker into being, warding you against poison, disease and the draining effects of negative energy; sharpening your senses and giving you a moment’s prescience of danger; warding you against hostile magic and psionics. 

The next thing is two nondescript strips of white linen cloth. Hiking your trousers up and taking your boots off, you begin winding the long strips about your ankles and calves. With the process completed you feel their magic take hold as your body seems to become instantly lighter, more buoyant, more agile and pliant to your will; with a thought, you hover upwards from the armchair and sit cross legged in midair. You grin as you think about the surprise Rainbow will get – although it’s not like you’ll be able to come close to keeping up with her, even with the magical aid.

That’s the last of your accoutrements, for now – there’s a full suit of lovingly-crafted leather armour waiting inside the Portable Hole, but it’s not part of your Rarity-approved outfit, so there it stays for now. You do remove a few more things, though – a score of potions, powders and elixirs of multifarious effect, all in little vials which get secreted about your person in much the same manner as your knives. That done, you fold up the handkerchief once more and tuck it into your breast pocket. Thus outfitted, you feel more than confident of your ability to handle any further mail deliveries from the changelings.

You’re even confident enough to think you might be able to handle the endless complications that the ponies seem to sow in their wake, at least for long enough to celebrate your arrival in Equestria to Pinkie’s satisfaction. 

On that note, it’s high time that you get up to the suite and let Rarity sign off on Celestia’s repairs and your hairdo, if you’re going to get to the party in any sort of reasonable timeframe. It takes you a couple of minutes to orient yourself once more in the palace, but once you’ve managed that it’s a quick walk to your suite.

You open the door to find Twilight, Rarity and Rainbow Dash sitting around the coffee table in their party dresses with drinks; from the doorway you can smell the pungent juniper scent of gin and the dry, crisp note of the tonic.

”Anon!” Twilight calls out as you appear, with a big grin which immediately collapses into a frown.  “We were so worried.”

”Darling, it’s so good to see you safe and sound,” Rarity says, getting up from her seat and coming towards you.

”Meh,” Dash says with a roll of her eyes. “I tried to tell ‘em that you’d be fine, Anon, but… well, you can see what they’re like. Better just let them get it outta their system.”

Rarity reaches you and rears up on her hind legs to give you a tight hug. You return it, a little uncomfortably. Again, her nearness, her scent, her soft breath on your cheek as you bend down to return the hug: it all sets you off. This mare has her hooks in you, and no mistake.

”We’ll talk later,” she breathes in your ear.

You feel your heart jump, and grit your teeth. Stay cool, for fuck’s sake. 

You separate and smile round at the three ponies in turn. “Hey, it’s not like I was going to let a little thing like that keep me away from this party,” you say with all the blasé nonchalance you can muster. “Hope you made me one of those gin and tonics.”

”I’m afraid not, but I’m sure Twilight would be happy to oblige, wouldn’t you Twilight, darling? Whilst I get your coiffeur under control. And… oh dear… whatEVER has happened to the stitching on these seams…?”

“Ah yes,” you grin. “Princess Celestia sends her apologies for the botch job she did of repairing my outfit.”

”Princess Celestia did this?” Rarity blanches. “Well… errr… that is to say, I’m sure it’s very good work, but it’s not -quite- what I had envisaged… let me just… hmm…” A pair of scissors and needle and thread float over in a blue magic field, as you catch Dash’s eye over Rarity’s head and exchange an eye-roll and a grin. 

So that’s two good things to come of the changelings’ efforts: you’ve got your things back, and Rainbow Dash seems to have dropped the attitude. Really, the hateful little fuckers did you a favour, even if they didn’t know it.

Twilight soon magically passes you a cold glass of gin and tonic and you sip it contentedly as Rarity fusses over your clothes. ”What are these new accessories you’ve acquired?” she asks disapprovingly. “They don’t quite compliment the ensemble, you know.”

“Oh, right. These are some trinkets that Princess Celestia returned to me. They’re more for practical than aesthetic purposes.”

”Hmmm,” she frowns. “Well, keep that grubby old coin inside your shirt out of sight, and… I suppose the rings aren’t TOO bad… perhaps I can improve the situation a little.”

She hurries off and comes back with a pair of small rubies in silver settings which, with a touch of her horn, soon adorn your rings. ”An acceptable blend of practicality and aesthetics, then?” she asks playfully.

“Yes, quite,” you smile, admiring the effect.

Then it’s over to the mirror to have your hair done, as Twilight asks question after question probing you about the circumstances and possible reasons for the changeling attack. You deflect her questions as best you can, feeling that even if you’re going to discuss those matters with her then this is hardly the right time. Rainbow, meanwhile, makes herself useful by backpedalling around the room at head height, moaning about how bored she is. You can only smile quietly to yourself, feeling that between Rarity’s fussing, Twilight’s incessant questions and Rainbow’s obnoxious bitching, all is somehow right with the world.

That feeling only gets stronger once Rarity finally pronounces you party-ready, and the four of you make your way through the palace corridors towards the grand ball room. You can already hear… something… coming from that direction – in fact, as you get closer, you realise you’ve been able to hear it all along, even in the suite. A low, vibrating bass sound, too low to be recognisable as music, almost felt rather than heard. You reckon you’re beginning to get an inkling of the purpose of all that bizarre equipment that you spent part of your afternoon lugging around with Octavia. The possibilities are intriguing.

It grows louder and louder as you approach, melody lines and percussion slowly becoming audible as well, until the volume is almost uncomfortable. It seems difficult to believe that ponies actually consider this a conducive atmosphere for social interaction; as radically unfamiliar as it is to you, you just want to lie down and let it wash over you like the irresistible tide that is, buffeting your whole being. The ponies don’t seem affected by it at all, though, so you steel yourself and keep going as normal. After all, you’ve endured much harsher challenges – it’s only that this one seems particularly odd since none of the ponies around you even seem to acknowledge it or experience it as a challenge.

The atmosphere only becomes more overwhelming as you approach the ball room itself, the epicentre of the noise, and find it already heaving with an unthinkably huge crowd of brightly-coloured ponies. Pinkie Pie has certainly outdone herself with the decorations. Coloured tissue streamers are everywhere, criss-crossing the ceiling in endless layers, and a banner is strung across the stage reading WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA in ten-foot tall lettering.

You recognise Vinyl Scratch and Octavia up on the stage, sitting casually next to their gear – well, Vinyl is sitting casually, Octavia looks stiff and on-edge – and chatting with some ponies in the crowd. Alarmingly enough, it seems their performance hasn’t even started. The current cacophony – which reminds you of nothing so much as an instance several decades ago where you found yourself assaulted by a jealous prime spellslinger with a penchant for sonic evocations – is apparently just… background music.

You don’t have time to get the horrors about that before ponies begin to notice your arrival.

The effect is instant – more and more faces turn to look at you in a great wave, and then the music cuts out. Deafening silence reasserts itself, broken only by the excited murmurs of the crowd – it’s like plunging into a cool stream on a bakingly hot day. A bakingly hot day on which you are on fire.

Pinkie Pie hops up onto the stage and speaks into a strange instrument, her excited voice somehow sounding loudly enough to be easily audible to every pony in the huge chamber.

"Good evening, everypony!” she sings out happily. “It’s so good to see so many of my very best friends here tonight! And so many great ponies who aren’t my friends yet, because if there’s one thing that I looooove to do, it’s… dance! And eat ice cream! And laugh! And sing! And bake cakes! And play fun games! And… wait, what was I talking about? Oh right! MAKE FRIENDS. But! Tonight, for once, is NOT about me making friends. Even though I bet I’m gonna make a BUNCH. But the real point of tonight is for you all to make friends with a very special NEW friend. The very first HUMAN ever to visit us here in Equestria: I give you, my good friend –“ she draws herself up dramatically – “Anonymous!”

It takes rather a lot to embarrass you, but as hundreds or thousands of pairs of pony eyes all turn on you, and the applause starts, it’s all you can do to keep your cheeks from turning red as you grin and wave.

”So make him feel welcome! And have FUN, everypony! Wheeee!”

And then the music starts again, and it’s all you can do to stay clear-headed enough to look around for where you can get a drink.
> 11
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the City of Doors, there is a Faction who name themselves the Society of Sensation. They hold that real insight comes only from experience, and so they spend their lives seeking enlightenment through their senses. 

You’ve taken up with several Factions at various times in your life, out of curiosity or convenience or happenstance. The Sensates have never been one of those – yet of all the beliefs enshrined by the Factions of Sigil, theirs is the one closest to your own heart. You can’t argue with a thing they say, really; it’s just that you don’t see the need to join a club to ratify your own quest for excitement, and it seems a little pretentious to frame the whole thing as some sort of approach to cosmic truth. That’s been your stance in the past.

You find yourself reconsidering it as Octavia’s bow caresses the strings of her cello for the first time, filling the ballroom with a wild, spectral sound that soars high above Vinyl’s bass and percussion like the valkyries of Ysgard riding the wind over a glorious, bonecrunching melee. The rich, ecstatic song of the strings is like a silver needle weaving through the rhythm, in and out, over and under in patterns complex beyond comprehension, and you are carried helplessly along: the thread in the needle’s eye. This, right here: this might pass for an approach to cosmic truth, at least as well as anything else.

The music makes its demands, and your body submits. You dance.

You dance in a circle of cheering ponies, egging you on in delight as you pull in influences from every style you can think of, from Broken Reach thrash-dancing to Star Court ballet, and bind them all to the service of Vinyl and Octavia. You dance with partners, with whatever mare comes to hand, sometimes leading them in a mad jig or a romantic waltz, sometimes letting them teach you something new even as you riff on it and together the two of you improvise some fresh way to bend to the music’s will. Pinkie, Twilight and Rarity all pass through your hands at one time or another, three mares among the dozens or hundreds that you dance with that night.

At some point you find yourself in the middle of a circle of spectators again as Rainbow Dash alights in front of you with a determined smile. You’ve been called out, you realise, but you don’t really care about that. All that matters is the music. Her mouth moves in some kind of protest as you sweep her up onto her hind hooves and into a tango step. Her body knows what she needs to do, following your steps instinctively, even if her brain is still stuck on this whole contest idea. She glares up at you from where her head rests against your sternum, but her balance shifts with perfect poise as you lead her, and you feel the pressure of her lithe body pressed close against yours, willing and responsive to the way that you’re leading her, on, down, deeper into the rhythm.

You focus for a moment, and the enchantment on your ankle wraps kicks in, leaving faint blue traces behind your heels with each step. The last of her resistance vanishes with a gasp as your feet leave the floor, taking two steps up into nothingness as you whirl her up into the air along with you. Her wings flare out and give an instinctive beat or two as if to fly off, but you hold her tight to you and begin an aerial waltz, your feet finding purchase wherever they need to in the empty space above the crowd’s heads. She gets it soon enough despite her shock, taking her weight with her wings so that she can follow the steps properly again rather than simply being dragged around.

When you drift back to solid ground at the end of the song, her eyes are shining brightly up at you. She must realise this, after a moment, because she blinks fiercely and looks away.

“Pffft,” she mutters in the moment’s relative quiet as the crowd applauds the two of you. “You know it’s not like you won or anything, right?”

“We both won, featherhead. One more?”

“…fine.”

You grin as you clinch her to you once more and the music resumes, obliterating everything except you and her and the beat. 

You dance on long past the point of exhaustion, losing track of time, until finally the set reaches its apocalyptic climax amidst an avalanche of coloured balloons falling from the ceiling, and winds down. Vinyl and Octavia leave the stage to wild applause and, after a minute, the pre-recorded music on the speaker system comes back on at what you now think of as a quiet volume. You wash up at the bar, elated and totally wiped out, and order a scotch on the rocks.

With a good-sized gulp of the cool amber liquor burning its way down to your belly, you begin to feel a little more grounded again, and by the time Vinyl and Octavia turn up at the bar you’re even able to speak in coherent sentences.

“That was bleeding incredible,” you say emphatically as you step over to them. “…Octavia, you still owe me a drink.”

“Performers drink free,” Vinyl chuckles, “so I guess she can manage that for ya.”

“Wait, we… what?” Octavia says in confusion.

“…you were paying for your lemonade earlier?”

“Well of course,” Octavia says with some embarrassment.

Vinyl shakes her head in exasperation. “Better make up for it now, then. YO! Bartender! Six tequilas, line ‘em up.”

“So you actually liked the set, then?” Octavia asks as the drinks are being poured. “I was concerned that it might be a little… unconventional… for you to appreciate it.”

“Well geez Tavi, didn’t he look like he was enjoying it?” Vinyl cuts in. “I know you might not used to this from your orchestra days and all, but when a guy is going absolutely fucking mental all over the dancefloor through your whole set, you can take that as a sign of approval. If you want, I mean, if it helps you to get the idea, imagine that he clapped politely and then made some pompous asshole remarks to you after the show while creepily staring at your flank the whole time. That’s more the kinda appreciation you’re used to, right?”

Octavia starts to draw herself up to reply but you cut in first.

“I can actually stare at your flank, if it’d help. I wouldn’t mind at all. Anything to oblige a lady.”

There it is, the familiar red flush starting to come over Octavia’s cheeks. It’s just too easy.

“I… umm… that is to say… Vinyl…”

“Shhh,” Vinyl grins. “Drink up.”

She slides two glasses of tequila down the bar to Octavia along with a bowl of lime wedges and a salt shaker. Several shots later, Vinyl is reeling off a litany of the creepy fans and agents that Octavia has been put upon by.

“…and so then there was the one dude with the cigars. Now this stallion was fat. Like proper fat. His cutie mark was a cream trifle, I’m not even fucking kidding. And he used to come round to the flat and smoke these huge, stinking cigars, and breathe creepily through his mouth and tell Tavi about how talented she was and how far she could go in the classical scene – like, with the right stallion backing her, y’know? ‘Backing’ her. Ehehehe. And so this one night-"

“Do you really need to tell this story, Vinyl?” Octavia asks, already flustered.

“Aww c’mon Tavi, you don’t wanna deprive Anon of a good laugh at Gravy Train’s expense, do ya? …So. This one night, he invites Tavi out to a fancy dinner party, to introduce her round he says, y’know, schmooze, make contacts. And oh, Celestia’s sweet shiny ass, I wish I’d been there to see it, I just had to hear about it later from a friend. But, so, he introduces her to everyone as his ‘little marefriend’, whatever the crap that’s s’posed to mean, and starts stroking her ears. Right at the dinner table, in front of everp0ny. She threw a drink in his face and then made a ten minute speech about how music industry professionals needed to establish a code of ethics and start behaving like businessponies instead of sleazy fratcolts on their own behalf or else somep0ny on Celestia’s advisory council might just get their ear bent with a sexual harassment claim and decide to press for an external regulatory body overseen directly by the Princess’s court.”

You splutter with laughter. “Good for you!”

You hold out your glass to Octavia and, her face beetroot red, she reluctantly clinks it with her own. A moment later you each add another empty glass to the ever-growing collection.

“Well he WAS an insufferable boor,” she says vehemently, her face twitching into the hint of a smile. “I’m only embarrassed that I put up with his overtures for so long. But then…” Her eyes narrow. “There ARE a few stories I could tell you about the stallions that Vinyl has brought home, you know.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Vinyl laughs. “Ahhhh buck, this whole ‘get Tavi drunk and embarrass her’ plan is going horribly, horribly wrong. Anon, I’m counting on you as my deputy.”

“Hmm… I don’t know, Vinyl,” you muse, punctuating your thoughts with another shot of tequila. “…I’m not sure if I have it in me to deliberately embarrass her any more. I think…” You drop your eyes to the floor and look up slowly, your expression hesitant and tender as you meet Octavia’s eyes. “I think I might be falling for her.”

You give a nervous swallow, dropping to one knee to be on a level with her as you gaze deep into her eyes. She blinks at you.

“Your eyes, Octavia… like two amethysts in the dusk, glinting with some mysterious promise. And your playing… oh, by all the Powers, Octavia, your playing. Such subtlety, such grace, such…”

“PFFFFfffffffhahahahahahaha!”

The snort of laughter comes from behind you as Vinyl puts a hoof around your neck, leaning into you in hilarity. “Oh, dude, that was buckin’ terrible.”

“I must concur,” Octavia smiles, giggling a little herself.

“What?! Aww c’mon, I totally had her, she was gonna start blushing any minute if you didn’t ruin it.”

“I assure you I was not,” Octavia says primly, reaching for another glass of tequila.

“Not a chance, man,” Vinyl says. “But now we’ve got a new game, ‘get Anon drunk and watch him hit on mares’. This is gonna be even more fun, so it’s all cool.”

You smile wryly. “Fine, well, get on with phase one then. We’re out of shots.”

“Right. Ohhhh bartendeeeer~!”

A few shots later Vinyl points excitedly behind you.

“Look! Look, it’s your first target! RARARARAmpf.”

You clamp a hand over her muzzle and lean in conspiratorially. “Be cool,” you hiss, as Octavia dissolves into giggles. Vinyl nods slowly, and you take your hand away.

“Rarity’s at the bar?”

“Yup! Go make us proud, big guy. Or, y’know, at least make us laugh.”

“Right. How’s my hair?”

“…fine, probably?”

“Good.” You take another shot and bite into a slice of lime before slamming the glass down and spinning about. Rarity is a little further down the bar, ravishing as ever in her fancy gown, ordering drinks. You go over, propelled along your way by a helpful shove in the small of the back from Vinyl. Rarity looks round as you approach, and shoots you a smile and a flutter of her eyelashes.

“Well, well. The guest of honour graces me with his company at last?”

“Yeah, well, figured I could take a minute out from my tireless work at getting all these mares to appreciate what a dashing figure I cut in your outfit.”

“Oh, that’s what you’ve been doing?” she peers past you to where Vinyl and Octavia are watching and giggling with tequila glasses in their hooves.

She looks back to you and raises a good-humoured eyebrow.

“Definitely. How better to do it than by fraternising with the artistic elite?” Your grin drops. “Listen, I want to talk to you. Properly. Wanna go get some air?”

Her smile fades, replaced by one that is smaller, uncertain, but sincere. “All right. Let’s take a turn around the lawn, shall we?”

She starts towards the doors and you follow, smiling to yourself as you are pursued by Vinyl’s yell of “OH COME ON! THAT’S NO BUCKIN’ FUN!”

The night air is mild again, and sweet with all the scents of the palace gardens. There are lanterns on poles lighting up the lawns, and there are quite a few ponies – some couples, some larger groups – out for some fresh air, leaning against the balustrade of the portico or promenading around the lawn. You lead Rarity down to the lawn as well, figuring it’s the best place to get some relative privacy to talk.

“So.”

“…so.” She looks up at you with a half-smile, waiting to see where you’re going with this.

“Last night.”

“Yeeees?”

"You don’t want your friends knowing that anything happened, I get that.”

She gives a ladylike cough. "…well. No. Not at present.”

“All right, fine, that’s up to you. Do you regret it?”

She gives you a frown. “Hmph. Hardly. I’m perfectly able to take responsibility for my own actions, you know. I’m not some empty-headed filly who’s incapable of making a rational decision.”

“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t ever do a thing and regret it later.”

“Are you attempting to prove that by making me regret ever entering into this conversation with you?” she asks sweetly.

“Okay, okay. Fine. You don’t regret it. Good.”

You look across to her where she walks beside you, trying to fathom what’s going on behind those big blue eyes. She blinks.

“I trust you’re not feeling taken advantage of, either, Anonymous?” she asks drily.

You chuckle. “No. Look, if that’s all you wanted, then I’m ful happy to have obliged, and we can call it a day right there. If you want.”

“…but you’d prefer otherwise?” she asks archly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

“So what do you want?”

“…more sex would be a start.”

She kicks you sharply in the ankle, but you see a hint of a smile before she turns her face away and withdraws it behind the curtain of her mane.

“Look, I don’t really know, okay?” you say with a chuckle. “I only met you a couple of days ago, and I’ve had kind of a lot else going on in that time. But I like you.”

She turns back to you with a silent smile, and you reach out a hand to stroke her face briefly. “So how about we just say –"

You’re interrupted by a rustling of something large moving in the bushes nearby. A silver knife comes to your left hand as you use your right to draw Rarity in next to you, away from the concealing shadow of the bush.

“Get behind me,” you whisper. “There’s something there.”

“…I heard it too.”

There is another heavy rustle of foliage and the snap of a twig, and then an awkward cough from the shrubbery.

“…WE… umm… that is to say, I… apologise if I startled ye. Hello, Anonymous. And hello, Miss Rarity.”

“Princess LUNA?” Rarity says, her voice rising in surprise.

“Shhh!” the princess urges, a horn and then a midnight-blue head coming into view through the leaves. “Please, do not alert anyp0ny else to my presence. It has not been a simple matter to shed my escort.”

Remembering her manners, Rarity gives a bow, and you follow suit.

“No more of that,” the princess demands, her voice growing frustrated. “Ye make yourselves conspicuous. I beseech ye, act naturally. Miss Rarity. Might I impose upon thee to give Anonymous and I a few minutes alone? There are delicate matters I wish to discuss with him.”

Rarity smiles graciously. “Of course, Princess, no imposition. I’ll see you inside, Anonymous.”

“Right. See you.”

You turn back to the princess with a certain amount of trepidation, and she beckons you with a jerk of her head before pulling back inside the shrubbery. You cautiously follow, and find yourself inside the thick canopy of a laurel bush. Luna is just barely visible in the moonlight that filters down through the branches, a dark figure sitting on her haunches by the trunk, watching you. She seems nervous. You can’t help but be impressed forcibly once more with just how unlike her sister she really is. 

She has none of Celestia’s gravitas or majesty. You wouldn’t take her for a princess if you didn’t know better, let alone a Power. It makes you wonder…

“I must apologise for the unorthodox conditions of this meeting, Anonymous,” Luna says haltingly.

“It’s quite all right, Princess. I’ve parlayed in stranger places than this.”

“I am happy to see thee looking so well after the regrettable incident earlier today. I… trust thou art enjoying the festivities?”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty spectacular so far.”

“Excellent. And hast thou admired our capital city?”

“I sure have,” you reply, wondering just how many of these pleasantries you’re going to be exchanging. “It’s quite something. And I couldn’t have asked for better tour guides than Twilight and Pinkie.”

There’s a shadowy movement which you take to be a nod, and then a moment’s silence before Luna speaks again. “Anonymous, I would speak with thee of the planes, the other realms thou hast travelled before coming here.”

“Well… sure. But that’s a pretty big topic. Anything specific you had in mind?”

“Sigil. The city that lies through the gate in our former palace. Is… is it true, that no god or goddess can set foot there?”

Well, that’s interesting. You assumed Luna was as knowledgeable about the planes as Celestia, but it would appear not.

“It is. The Lady of Pain rules Sigil, and she doesn’t suffer Powers to enter.”

“…I see. And…” she pauses nervously. “And dost thou take me for a Power, Anonymous?”

“…more or less. I’m honestly not sure, Princess. You command the moon, don’t you?”

“I do. The rising and lowering of the moon is my charge, as well as its cycles, and all the stars that shine in the night sky.”

“Okay. That sounds pretty divine to me. But really, the question is – does anyone worship you? I mean, that’s generally considered the definition of a Power.”

“I… I’m not sure. Nopony pays me such reverence, to my knowledge. And yet… sometimes… sometimes I think I hear things. Oaths. Supplications. Like whispers on the breeze, so faint that most of the time I’m never sure if I truly heard anything at all.”

“Okay. Interesting. I assume you’ve spoken to your sister about this?”

“I… I have. But… Celestia is…” there’s a pause. “I hardly know. She is so kind to me, such a loving sister, and yet… sometimes I feel I hardly know her. She is… so much wiser than I, Anonymous. So much more knowledgeable. I feel a blundering foal before her. And although I do not think she would lie to me… when I ask her about such things, I fear that I ask the wrong questions.”

You smile to yourself. “I think I know the feeling already, Princess, despite my brief association with your sister.”

“That is somewhat reassuring,” she says with the hint of a smile in her tone. “But then, it seems that at the least, my status as a power is uncertain.”

“Yeah. Which would seem to make it a pretty risky idea to go stepping through that gate, if that was your plan.”

“…yes. Not exactly. It is more that I wanted the reassurance of knowing… if I wished to leave this place, would it be possible? But it seems I must assume that it would not, even though the gate opens at my command.”

“So, uhh… pardon me, but I’d figured that you and your sister had come to this plane from elsewhere, Princess. But the way you’re talking makes me doubt that.”

“You are correct, I think, about Princess Celestia,” Luna says after a moment’s hesitation. “She shares almost nothing with me of her life before Equestria, but I have at least inferred that she had such a life. As for me… no. I recall nowhere else.”

“What about your parents?”

The shadowy figure of the princess looks at you silently for a long, tense moment.

“I mean…” you continue, “if you were born here in Equestria – what of them? Did they leave here? Or…. excuse me if this is indelicate, Princess… did you even have parents? Because if you’re confused as to your ontological status, that’d be a pretty big clue.”

Her silence continues and you feel her eyes on you, glinting sea-green sparks in the darkness.

“I… I think perhaps we should end this audience here, Anonymous.”

“…if you want. I meant no offense, Princess.”

“And… and I took none, Anonymous. But there are things I am uncertain about. I must speak with Princess Celestia.”

She takes a heavy step backwards, cracking a branch or two as she backs out of the bush and muttering a curse under her breath.

“Good night, Anonymous,” she says with all the regal dignity she can muster. “I am sorry to have waylaid thee in this manner. We shall speak again.”

“Right. It’s okay. Goodnight, Pr-"

She’s gone.

What a weird pony.

Speaking of weird ponies, there seems to be a cat-suited shadow warrior of some kind sliding rapidly down a rope towards you from a branch at the top of the bush; you might be worried, if not for the poofy pink tail protruding from the back of her costume. She stops upside down right in front of your face, blinking big blue eyes at you and making a muffled noise from behind her mask that sounds like a question.

You reach up and help her out by peeling it halfway off so that her mouth is free to talk. She just stares intensely at you for a moment before straining forwards as if to kiss you. You step backwards and she falls to the floor in a heap before hopping up, giggling.

“Oops! Sorry Nonny, dunno why I did that! Are you all right? Rarity said you’d been foalnapped by a spooky princess and that somep0ny should maybe come check on you, so I volunteered cos it’s been a while since I got to wear my stealth suit.”

“Right as rum. But thanks for checking up on me.”

“You betcha! Can’t go letting my guest of honour get foalnapped from right under my nose, that’d be super bad party planning. Are you finished hanging out in the bushes now?”

“Reckon I am.”

“All righty then, let’s go back in! I think we’ve nearly convinced Twilight that she should use her anti-gravity spell for this new drinking game I invented. It’s going to be like musical chairs crossed with pin the tail on the pony crossed with a bottle of peach vodka. And anti-gravity! And balloons! And…”

You just grin to yourself as you follow her across the lawn and back to the ballroom.