Follows A Little Spark: Sc.10-13


                                            >”Anon?”

                                            >You and Celestia are once more on the balcony of her private library, as the sun begins to set.

                                            >You’re sitting on the balcony, leaning against the arch connecting it to the tiny private library, almost finished with an accounting of the lives of the ‘Six Pillars.’

                                            >Six seems to be a fairly significant number, culturally, for ponies.

                                            >Celestia’s also sitting on the balcony, but she’s looking out across the city.

                                            “What’s up?”

                                            >“I haven’t been seeing you at breakfast, the last couple days.”

                                            >She finally looks to you, smiling.

                                            >”You used to eat on such a regular schedule even I thought it was strange, and I’m the one telling the sun when to rise.”

                                            “Well, school and work will do that. Just sorta got into the habit of waking up at a certain time. With Princess Luna helping me, figured I’d try to stay up a little later. Her duties make scheduling hard outside our normal meetings.”

                                            >She paws at the floor with a hoof, then looks back out across the city. “I never thought I’d miss how grumpy you are just after waking up.”

                                            >After gauging the amount of daylight left, you close the book and stand up.

                                            “Never heard that one before.”

                                            >“It added an unpredictable element to a routine the palace staff has down to an artform. With you around, I don’t have to try to trip them up myself.”

                                            >With the book in its place on a shelf, you look at her back. Her strange misty mane’s greens and blues clash with the sunset’s oranges and yellows.

                                            “You do that to your staff?”

                                            >She looks back at you over her side, her long neck craning around, and grins. “I have to keep my little ponies alert and prepared for the unexpected.”

                                            “Not a bad policy.”

                                            >She stands and walks over to you. “You never told me why you join me up here.”

                                            >You have to stop and think back on the first time you did.

                                            “You never dismissed me, that first day. You just got up and walked away. Figured I’d follow.”

                                            >”Surely that’s not all.”

                                            “Well, you come up here just to watch the city. You’re not the kind of per-, uh, pony to just do nothing. I’m guessing you come up here for some time to think. After being alone surrounded by a hundred ponies talking at you, thought maybe you might like some company with no ponies at all in silence.”

                                            >Celestia smiles, then turns for the stairs down. “You’re a thoughtful one.”

                                            >You wave the compliment off

                                            “Eh, it gives me time to catch up on some reading.”

                                            >Both of you make your way through the palace to the meeting room, for the daily royal shift change.

                                            >On top of the usual ponies from the last several days, Celestia’s assistant Raven Inkwell shows her face again. She’s been gone the past week to some far-flung locale for her duties as archivist, retrieving some document you couldn’t even pretend to care about. Now that she’s back, the seating arrangement’s changed again, putting you a little further from Celestia’s side.

                                            >Raven smiles at you and telekinetically pulls your chair out.

                                            >Considering you’ve spent the last few days just shy of persona non grata, this comes as a bit of a shock.

                                            >You note Prince Blueblood’s pointed look at her. Interesting.

                                            >”Let us get right down to business,” Celestia says. “What will we do for Appleloosa?”


                                            * * *


                                            “That could have gone better.”

                                            >Celestia comes around your side. “Your aggressive timetable was inspired.”

                                            “Too bad that’s the only thing that worked. All my quantities were off.”

                                            >”It was a useful starting point for a new plan.”

                                            >You shrug, still looking at the ground as you stand outside the hall.

                                            >Celestia smiles, almost apologetically. “I didn’t think you’d have everything on your first try. Your input was still very useful.”

                                            “If I’m going to do this job, I need to do better.”

                                            >Celestia tilts her head slightly. “Perhaps your standards are a little high.”

                                            >You finally meet her gaze, fighting down a brief surge of irritation.

                                            “All due respect, Princess, but that’s only a more polite phrasing of what I’ve been hearing for three days now.”

                                            >She pulls her head back into that straight-necked posture you’ve come to associate with catching her off guard. “Is it, now?”

                                            “Don’t you mind that, I have a plan.”

                                            >She leans in again, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “Do you, now?”

                                            “Yeah, so don’t you worry your regal little head over it.”

                                            >”I’ll take your word for it, Anon.” She grins, then turns to leave. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

                                            >As she walks away, Luna walks up on your other side. “What doth our sister speak to thee about?”

                                            “Just a bit of mischief.”

                                            >Luna frowns. “Our sister is quite adept at mischief.”

                                            “Wish I had a bit of time to study under her, then.”

                                            >“As thou speakest of time, Anon...”

                                            >You turn to face her.

                                            >She looks chagrined.

                                            >”We are afraid we will not be able able to make our usual meeting. We are hosting guests, this night.”

                                            “Ah, that’s fine. I got something to take care of anyway.”

                                            >Luna shuffles in place. “Anon, dost thou know the great problem of thy schedule?”

                                            “My, uh, what?”

                                            >”As thou stayest awake to makest time to see us, thou losest time for us to visit thee in thy dreams.”

                                            “I’m like two hallways down and a flight of stairs away. Come see me when I’m awake.”

                                            >She shakes her head. “Affairs of state keepeth us busy.”

                                            >You sigh and run a hand through your hair.

                                            “You know what? That makes sense. Do you want me to go back?”

                                            >“Not at all. We appreciate our discussions.” Her expression brightens “We both learn so much!”

                                            >You chuckle at her enthusiasm.

                                            “That’s true, yeah. I know I didn’t get to contribute much back there, but even that was thanks to your help.”

                                            >”We enjoy our time with thee, Anon. We wish for more of it.”

                                            “Maybe when this all settles down a bit. I did get tossed to the sharks, after all.”

                                            >Luna frowns. “We are not sure what thou meanest by this.”

                                            “Really? Of all the sayings we have in common, that’s one you don’t have?”

                                            >”Perhaps it is just our circumstances.”

                                            “You going to tell me about those sometime?”

                                            >Luna takes a step back, a distant look in her eyes. “Sometime.” Then she snaps back to the here and now. “We must prepare for our guests. We wish you luck on that which thou needest attend to.”

                                            >You give her a wave as she turns to depart, then make way for the wing of the palace containing the working spaces and supply areas.

                                            >A guard is standing in the middle of that wing’s central hallway. He eyes you as you approach, but only speaks when you stop in front of him. “This wing is closed, Anon. Everypony’s gone home.”

                                            >You look past him, down the hall. Sure enough, there is no activity.

                                            “Can’t let me by anyway, just for a couple minutes?”

                                            >”No.”

                                            >You stare at him, expecting some snide remark.

                                            >He holds your gaze, saying nothing further

                                            “A’ight, good to know.”

                                            >You shrug and turn to walk away, towards the stairs leading to your workshop.

                                            >When you reach your personal retreat, Twilight’s looking over more plans on your desk. Her expression brightens when she notices you enter.

                                            >”Oh, Anon! I think I figured out some ideal segment ratios here, after looking over some books on avian anatomy and gauging different likely object sizes. I was going to start running some numbers based on the equations you sent me, but...”

                                            >She looks down at your phone, sitting on the corner of the table.

                                            >”I wanted to test this thing’s calculator, but  can’t seem to use it.”

                                            >You walk by her and pick it up thumbing the power button and unlocking the screen.

                                            “The touchscreen will only work with my fingers, most likely. At least with any level of precision. I could probably eventually get the hands we’re making to work with it too, but for now just my fingers.”

                                            >Her bright expression falters. “No ponies can use it?”

                                            “Probably not. There’s a grid inside the screen forming an electrostatic field, and my finger interferes with that field in certain ways. That’s how the phone knows I’m touching it. I doubt your hooves have the right electrical properties for it, and your magic probably wont either, unless you learn how to manipulate electromagnetism directly.”

                                            >You pause for a moment.

                                            “Honestly that’s a bad idea, at least regarding the phone. It’s an extremely complex device, you might damage it. I might be able to set up a test rig for you to play with, if you ever suspect or discover magic can do that. A Van de Graaff generator should be enough.”

                                            >”A whatnow?”

                                            “Collects charge through a spinning belt. Real simple to make, big arcing sparks are very visually impressive. Useful if you need a ton of voltage, and quite safe to play with.”

                                            >Twilight chews on this while you put your phone in your pocket, then head towards the far door that leads to your bedroom.

                                            “I want to get a nap in, if you don’t mind. I just about pulled an all-nighter and I need to get up real late for something tonight.”

                                            >”Hey, wait! What about m-” She screws her face up a moment- “What about our work?”

                                            “I really do need to take care of something.”

                                            >You stop at your door, then turn back to her.

                                            “Tomorrow. I promise.”

                                            >She looks down and paws at the floor. “I’ve been monopolizing your time lately, haven’t I?”

                                            >You walk back over to her, and crouch in front of her. She’s too tall to be at eye-level here, but you didn’t want to look down at her like you normally do standing.

                                            “Look, you’re the only one I can talk to about this stuff, and you’ve been a wonderful guide to society at a ground level, around here. My only complaint is that I don’t have more time to spare.”

                                            >You reach out and ruffle Twilight’s mane. She leans into it a little, but you catch yourself and pull your hand away again.

                                            >Why do you keep treating her like that? She’s royalty, and putting aside educational differences, probably smarter than you.

                                            >It might have something to do with the fact she’s as cute as a four foot tall cat, while the other two alicorns you interact with regularly fall within normal human height ranges.

                                            >You sigh and stand up again.

                                            “I have three princesses and two jobs demanding my attention. I don’t need you to leave me alone, I need more time in a day.”

                                            >”Sooo… do princesses demanding your attention have anything to do with what you’re doing later tonight?”

                                            >You can’t help but bark out a laugh, loud enough to startle her. Turning back for your room, you wave a hand dismissively.

                                            “As if any pony would be interested in me like that. The smith was probably right about that at least; I’m a freak to you.”

                                            >”Don’t say tha-”

                                            “Nah, it’s fine. I don’t hold any illusions otherwise. I’m resigned to my fate.”

                                            >You reach the door, open it, and turn back to her again.

                                            >She’s staring at you with a look of… incredulity?

                                            “Seriously, thanks for looking past my weird appearance and habits, to work with me on all this. It’s been a nice taste of home, working on this stuff, and I’m glad I can do it with you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

                                            >She gives you that baffled stare for a few more seconds, then flashes a warm smile. “Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

                                            >She turns to leave with that curious bouncing trot you’ve come to associate with her happiness.

                                            >You make your way to your bed, strip down quickly, then collapse onto it. After fishing your phone out of your discarded pants, you set an alarm for midnight.

                                            >You’ve got some snooping around to do.


                                            * * *


                                            >It’s pitch black in the palace, late at night.

                                            >You’re dressed down in the softest clothes you had on you.

                                            >No shoes, just socks.

                                            >You’ve never felt more comfortable since you’d arrived.

                                            >You listen to the sound of a guard retreating down the hallway that your workshop’s situated off of.

                                            >Luna’s guards, you were pretty sure, could see in the dark.

                                            >More likely to be mares too, you’ve noticed.

                                            >In fact, you’ve never seen that particular variety – one with no analogue in your home’s mythology, for once – anywhere but the castle. A recessive phenotype, or some endangered race?

                                            >They were no quieter than the ordinary ponies, at least, and you could use that to your advantage.

                                            >Once you couldn’t hear the guard anymore, you slipped out of your workshop, closing the door behind you as quietly as possible.

                                            >You marvel at how well-maintained the doors in the palace are; you never had any reason to notice before now.

                                            >You’re down the hall in a flash, half power walking and half skating on the smooth floor.

                                            >Once you reach the stairs to the lower floor, you pause and listen for a moment.

                                            >No guards to be heard.

                                            >After retrieving your phone from your pocket, you flip on its flashlight.

                                            >The bright white illuminates the stairway, allowing you down safely.

                                            >At the bottom, you stop to listen again, but still hear no hoof-beats.

                                            >On the solid stone floor of this level, you could run flat-out and still make less noise than a pony’s leisurely stroll.

                                            >Bit cold through the socks, though.

                                            >You sprint half the length of the side corridor, but slow near the large full-height windows that replace the solid wall for its remaining length. The view from them quite literally stops you in your tracks.

                                            >With only your smaller bedroom windows, you never really took the time to appreciate the night.

                                            >Fuck it, you had time.

                                            >You sit in a corner of the window’s frame on the floor, looking up and out.

                                            >Canterlot, at night, is astonishingly beautiful.

                                            >The prodigal volume of gold used in the city’s architecture, cheerful yet garish by day, glimmers with moonlight and starlight to throw thousands more subtle points of light by night, provoking a sense of childlike wonder at constellations of land-bound stars mirroring those above.

                                            >With no light pollution, the sky is as clear as pristine wilderness back home, its background color the deepest blue, with even the dimmest stars visible. You’ve never seen so many of them in your life.

                                            >Bright moonlight provided the only illumination, bathing everything in a pale glow that lends an ethereal air to the cityscape. Its whites look blue. Its purples appear as darker shades that no longer seem to clash against the green forest and grasslands of lower altitudes beyond the city’s mountaintop siting, barely visible above the palace walls as a thin band below the horizon.

                                            >Star motifs seem very common in pony decoration, naming, and even in the identity-affirming markings that they receive as some sort of magical rite of passage. You wonder if, culturally, they have some affinity for the night.

                                            >Perhaps this is the way Canterlot’s architecture was always intended to be viewed. You’ll have to see if you can get a pony to escort you around the city proper one night.

                                            >You only shake yourself free of your awe when you hear hooves from around a corner back where you first entered, near the stairway.

                                            >Beautiful as the moonlight is, it is your enemy as long as guards are around.

                                            >After darting across the hall away from the windows, you sidle along the solid wall opposite them until you turn a corner yourself, once more taking advantage of your nigh-silent movement.

                                            >Continuing onward by the light of your phone, you encounter no further obstacles before reaching the palace’s work wing.

                                            >A guard patrols the main hallway, from what you can hear. You stop just before the intersection with that hall, until you hear them walk the other way.

                                            >Poking your head out, you confirm the guard’s back is to you, then tiptoe your way over to the palace smithy with your phone off.

                                            >If they were going to think you petty and catty like the rest of the colts, you may as well commit the crime.

                                            >You manage to slip inside without notice. Once in, you turn your light back on.

                                            >Darkness aside, it doesn’t look much different from when you were here a couple days ago. Sweeps of your phone’s flashlight over the walls and shelves show much the same clutter as then.

                                            >You stick your head into what you assume is an office, off to one side.

                                            >Boxes of various sizes occupy more shelves, each with a slip of paper in front.

                                            >On a hunch, you start looking for a box of a similar size needed to contain the parts you ordered. Three likely candidates stand out

                                            >The first paper indicates it’s an order for the guard’s training grounds, for a number of arrowheads.

                                            >The ergonomics of a pony – even a pegasus – holding a bow confounds you. Unicorns only?

                                            >The second appears to be for utensils or some sort of cookware

                                            >The third box, however, has a paper labeled MISC ITEMS – ANONYMOUS

                                            >Ah-ha!

                                            >At the bottom of the note is more scrawled writing

                                            >ORDER HELD PER HH PB

                                            >You lift the lid on the box just enough to shine your phone’s light inside.

                                            >Sure enough, the parts are all there.

                                            >That bitch already had them, and just wouldn’t give them to you!

                                            >Briefly considering – and then discarding – several ideas on how to leave your mark here, you stalk out of the office, turning your light off and listening for the guard outside. After confirming they’re once more facing away, you step back out and hurry down the hall back to where you came from.

                                            >You have to find out what HH PB means

                                            >It should be easy enough during the day, but you’re on a roll, so why stop now?

                                            >Scooting down hallways, dodging guards, it’s almost too easy when you’re the quietest thing in the building.

                                            >Up a floor, across the majority of the central structure.

                                            >This palace is way bigger than you thought, or at least it seems at night.

                                            >You have to make conscious effort not to stop in a long gallery to admire the night’s view again.

                                            >You arrive at what you’re pretty sure is the administrative wing, another wall of windows forming one side of the three-way intersection.

                                            >The only room you’ve been to in this area is the library, and that’s at the hall’s other end.

                                            >You’re going to have to figure out what each room here actually does.

                                            >You turn the hall to get started. With the moonlight at your back, you come face-to-face with a guard.

                                            >To her credit, the mare doesn’t even flinch.

                                            >You, however, jump a full two feet back, then rub your face with a hand once you’ve recovered your wits.

                                            “Well, shit. I can’t hear you if you don’t move.”

                                            >”Noted. Just what are you doing out here?”

                                            “Oh, y’know. Checking the place out.”

                                            >You gesture to the windows behind you.

                                            “It’s drop-dead gorgeous outside and I can’t help myself.”

                                            >She tilts her head, looking you over. “I believe the gallery would be suited to your tastes. You can find it back-”

                                            >Her eyes reach your feet, and you can see her slit pupils go wide.

                                            >“Uh, back, ah, sirmustyoureallybesoindecent-”

                                            >Muffled laughter draws both of your attention to a pillar at one corner of the intersection.

                                            >”Who goes there?!”

                                            >From behind the pillar walks Princess Celestia.

                                            >Her horn is glowing, and her hooves are wreathed in its golden glow. They don’t make contact with the floor; she’s ‘walking’ six inches above it.

                                            >The guard goes ramrod straight. “Apologizes, your Majesty.”

                                            >”Oh, come now. You’re just doing your job.”

                                            >You find you’ve unconsciously straightened, yourself.

                                            “Ah, hey Princess. Wasn’t expecting to see you around this late at night.”

                                            >She eyes you and grins. “I could say the same. When I realized you were doing, I couldn’t help but observe. I thought you were all business, but now I see you have your own flights of whimsy, with choice hours to pursue them.”

                                            “I did say I had a plan.”

                                            >”One that involves taunting my sister’s guards with certain footwear for the sake of silent passage, it seems.”

                                            >The guard, with some effort, manages to stand even straighter.

                                            >Celestia leans in close to the guard, “Do you have something to say?”

                                            >You swear you can see the poor mare sweat.

                                            >”It seems, ah, like, er, you have everything underrr… control. I’ll, uh, be going now.”

                                            >The mare crosses her legs then executes what you’re pretty sure is an exact one-eighty, marching back down the hall double-time, turning the corner at its end and going out of sight.

                                            >Celestia looks at you. “No guards around now, are there? You’re free to carry on.” She winks at you.

                                            >Your mouth opens and closes a couple times as you try to find words to articulate the dozen questions vying to be first out of your mouth, before you give up and simply nod.

                                            >By the time you reach the first door, Celestia’s nowhere in sight.

                                            >You’re not going to be able to shake the feeling of being watched for the rest of the night.

                                            >The first door is locked.

                                            >After making sure the guardmare is still out of sight, you walk down to the next door.

                                            >This one is unlocked.

                                            >When you open the door, you find the room inside lit.

                                            >And occupied.


                                            * * *


                                            >Be on your fourth cup of coffee in as many hours.

                                            >Be pulling an all-nighter to catch up on work that piled up while you were gone.

                                            >Be archivist and secretary to royalty, weary but loving your job all the same, wanting to be nothing else despite the mountain of paperwork confronting you on your return.

                                            >Be Raven Inkwell

                                            >And be confronted with Anonymous, estranged ambassador of a fabled kind, a strange stallion of stranger ideas, standing in your office’s doorway in the middle of the night with socks on.

                                            >Oh my.

                                            “Hello, Anon. Please, have a seat. I do not have enough coffee in me to deal with you right now, but I will amend that posthaste.”

                                            >He babbles a bit, not stepping in or out. “I, uh, didn’t mean to-”

                                            “I insist. Maybe I can help you find… whatever you look for, at this time of night.”

                                            >You’re already turning away to pour another cup of coffee, and top off your own. You concentrate on the cups and focus your magic, quickly heating them to an exacting temperature.

                                            >Anon, meanwhile, finally decides to enter your office, closing the door behind him, and being careful to make sure it latches quietly.

                                            >What a sneak.

                                            >You float his cup and a saucer to match over to a side table near the chair he selected to settle into.

                                            “Help yourself, I have more where it came from. What brings you around at this absurd hour?”

                                            >He purses his lips as he collects his thoughts, then looks at his cup

                                            >You both take a sip.

                                            >”This is some good stuff,” Anon says.

                                            >You gesture to the massive tankard you’d been pouring from. “I keep my own supply.”

                                            >”Remind me to stop by more often, then.”

                                            “As long as you tell me why you stopped by in the first place.”

                                            >”You know, maybe you can help me. Saw a note, had some sort of code on it. ‘HH PB’. Any ideas what it means?”

                                            “Ah. Did you see it as a signature or something similar? That would mean His Highness, Prince Blueblood.”

                                            >Anon sat back in the chair and was silent a moment. Then, quietly, “Now that’s interesting.”

                                            >You read another page and sign off on its contents during the time he thinks over this factoid, levitating the paper into your ‘done’ pile and floating over another one.

                                            >”Has he said anything about me to you, since you came back?”

                                            “Nothing I felt inclined to acknowledge.”

                                            >”What’s that supposed to mean?”

                                            “His Highness may oversee the palace’s household staff, but I work for Her Majesties on the bureaucratic side, and I occupy a very favorable position, at that. Simply put, I do not have to listen to a word he says.”

                                            >Anon snorts in amusement at that last part.

                                            >Normally stallions would get peevish you dismissed one who had found his way into a position of authority.

                                            >You’re glad Anon has as little time for that nonsense as you do.

                                            >That he cut straight to the point was nice, as well.

                                            >You’re starting to see what Celestia sees in him.

                                            >”I take it he didn’t have anything nice to say.”

                                            “His Highness rarely does.”

                                            >”Worse than usual, then.”

                                            “His Highness did seem rather peeved at your sudden increase in status. Did something happen while I was away?”

                                            >”Your boss tossed my ass into the fire. Gave me run of the place and set me to work on some relief project, three day deadline. You came back on the third day, that’s what we went over in today’s meeting.”

                                            >You take a long look at him as you chew on that. It had to be more; Blueblood would be familiar with advisors coming and going. Celestia changes them out faster than she runs through students.

                                            >If Anon knew that, though, he seemed oblivious.

                                            >”’Nother thing. Why is your boss still awake, and stalking me through the halls?”

                                            >You sigh.

                                            “Curiosity, I imagine.”

                                            >”Sneaking around her own castle?”

                                            “When you live as long as Her Majesty has, you can afford yourself some whimsical excursions.”

                                            >”Think she’s still out there?”

                                            “After you discovered she had followed you in the first place? No, she would not find any fun in that.”

                                            >He furrows his brows. “I see.”

                                            “At least, you saw.”

                                            >You both take another sip of your coffee, and you fill out a few more forms.

                                            >”I wonder what it’s like to live that long.”

                                            “Lonely.”

                                            >He starts at this, then gives you a searching look. “It would be, wouldn’t it?”

                                            “I will not breach confidence with details, but as a good friend to Her Majesty, Anon, I can tell you Her Majesty is lonely. She has her few close confidantes, and I feel honored as one among them, but we live mortal lives. Her Majesty has lived for over fifty generations.”

                                            >”No helping that along with magic, huh? Those confidantes living mortal lives, I mean.”

                                            “If that possibility existed, do you not think she would have accomplished it already?”

                                            >”Yeah, probably. Fair point.”

                                            >For a moment, Anon almost looks hurt. Then contemplative, as he turns his attention to the floor.

                                            >Almost as if that loneliness was a problem to solve.

                                            >You’d only ever known him to throw himself into his various projects. You thought that was proper, noble even; a kindred spirit of sorts, even if his line of work was foreign to you. You hadn’t expected such a side to him as this.

                                            >If he wanted to solve this loneliness, you’d help him in any way you could.

                                            >What kind of friend to Celestia would you be if you didn’t?

                                            >After you make your way through a few more articles of paperwork, he finally speaks again.

                                            >”Do you have some paper, and something to write with?”

                                            “An archivist’s office, Anon, has plenty such things.”

                                            >”Cool, toss some over here for me.”

                                            >After you comply, he immediately starts writing down notes and drawing rough images full of labels.  His whole demeanor changes; you’re not even sure he’s aware of you anymore, or of where he is.

                                            >Definitely a kindred spirit.

                                            >You both work in near-silence for an hour, only punctuated by infrequent questions of Anon’s.

                                            >You don’t even feel miffed that the strange stallion then falls asleep in your office wearing socks.

                                            >You’re going to need to fetch more coffee, though.

                                            >As you stand to make your way for the kitchens, you glance at his work.

                                            >Is that supposed to be a pony?