GREEN
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9516 52.27 KB 559
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>”Anon, you once observed that even with a hundred ponies, I was alone.”
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>You look up from your current history book to Celestia, sitting right beside you.
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>You can’t see what she’s looking at, with your back against the balcony balustrade, but you have a feeling it’s nothing in particular
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>She’s got one ear on you nevertheless, and you don’t bother responding beyond your shift in attention.
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>Sometimes Celestia liked to warm up to a point, and she didn’t need anything from you until she got there.
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>”It’s an interesting juxtaposition, isn’t it? I could be surrounded by my precious subjects, and feel no companionship. How many other strange paradoxes do you think there can be? Have you ever felt like you made a wrong turn somewhere, that that put your life on the wrong track?”
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“You mean besides me coming here?”
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>She turns an eye on you, at that. “I thought you’ve been acclimating quite nicely.”
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“I’m conversing with a talking horse, no offense. That’s never going to go away.”
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>Celestia smiled and chuckled, then looked back out to the city. “No offense taken.”
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“But yes, I know the feeling. Sometimes I wish I took a different path. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t taken a different path. Mostly I just reconcile myself to where I am, and make the best of where I’m going. I don’t give it a lot of thought, being honest.”
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>”If you knew I felt alone in a crowded room, would you believe that I feel powerless, as the highest power in the land?”
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“I still haven’t seen any proof counter to your – and everyone else’s – claims that you really do move the sun around, Princess. I stopped believing that magic here isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when I read that you have an actual weather factory in Cloudsdale.”
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>She looks like she’s going to say something, then stops.
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“Yes, I believe it, because at this point I’d believe anything. But I’d still like to hear you explain what you mean.”
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>“I’ve told you before how I sometimes go out of my way to help ponies in more personal ways. Ways I can’t when as princess regnant. That’s something like what I mean. Do you know what I’d like to do more than anything, right now?”
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“Uh, help some pony?”
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>”What I really want to do, Anon, is lie down.”
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>You look around the balcony, and into the tiny tower library it connects to. It’s cozy, especially with your legs sprawled out across the balcony’s center third, but there’s certainly enough room.
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“So why don’t you?”
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>”As I watch ponies down there, I know ponies are watching me up here. Even in this place of private contemplation, I have appearances to maintain. An image to keep. This is what it means to rule. Everything one says and does exists within a confined box of expectations. I have the power to do anything, but my choices are often already made. Decisions I make are defined by how they benefit benefit my ponies. How I comport myself is dictated by the solemnity of my position. cannot lay down, Anon, because that cuts against the idea of regal presence. I would be resting on a job I must be seen working at all times.”
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“Last week you chased me around the palace in the middle of the night.”
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>”If I didn’t have some fun, I surely would have gone mad long before now. Luna’s guards don’t speak to anyone about what happens on their watch. It’s a welcome relief; during the day I have to be more subtle about things, make my own private jokes. It’s always nicer when the humor can be shared, when I can make ponies laugh, even in hindsight. I’d love to spend my day just messing with other ponies in benign ways, helping them by means they don’t and may never quite understand, all while spreading smiles. At night, at least, I can let loose a little.”
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“It was pretty funny.”
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>She beams down at you. “Wasn’t it?”
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“If that’s why you feel powerless, what did you mean about your life being on the wrong track?”
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>She’s silent for a bit, and doesn’t move.
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>She is, in fact, unnaturally still.
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>”Anon, what I’m about to say is not to be repeated to others.”
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“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
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>”Funny, because my sister’s the only other who knows.”
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>You shrug.
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>”You know, by now, what cutie marks are. How important they are, and what they mean. So tell me, what’s mine?”
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>A yellow sun is about four feet from your face, just below eye level where you sit on the stone.
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“Big ball of fire.”
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>”It’s not a crown.”
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“Well, metaphorically, you could think of it like the crown jewel of the sky.”
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>”This has occurred to me.”
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“What’s wrong with a sun?”
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>”A thousand years ago, the task of arranging the heavens was carried out by six unicorns.”
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>There’s that number again.
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>”They were some of the wisest and most powerful. It took the strength of all six of them to do this work. Then my sister and I – we used to be unicorns ourselves, like Twilight – came along. My special talent was that I could do it all myself.”
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“And your sister?”
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>”Would you believe she wasn’t that good at magic, when we were young? Her talent has little to do with the moon. The dark splotch around her mark, that’s just as much part of it as the crescent itself. Her talent is her dream-walking. After we had gained our wings and the Elements and started down the path to becoming rulers, we studied under great unicorn mages, and her magical talents only bloomed then, no doubt thanks in part to our becoming alicorns. I granted her the night when we assumed power, as a sign of us being equals. When she was banished, I resumed doing it all myself.”
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“Well, with great power, right? It makes sense that someone with such a responsibility of changing the sky would end up on top.”
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>”Truth be told, it wasn’t our goal. We got swept up in everything, and ended up riding a wave of others’ acclaim. She and I – and several other notables – had defeated so many threats, our rise to power was inevitable. Even back then, Anon, I had no choice. I still don’t. I only remain because no pony I trust enough has stepped forward.”
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“You’d rather not rule?”
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>“I’d rather wander the nation my sister and I built, helping ponies on a personal level. I envy my sister’s nightly work; she gets to do what I always wanted, through others’ dreams. And I know she envies me too, because I so often get to see the results of her work, while she’s stuck in the shadows. Is that not the most terrible curse for sisters to have? But we are where we need to be to help our people most. Her levelheadedness and force of will by night, my charisma and leadership by day.”
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”Force of will? What does that matter, when she never leaves the palace?”
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>”Oh Anon, if only you’d known how much trouble obstinate nobles caused me, before her return. Nowadays, there are few obstinate nobles. They met someone with no patience for their idiocy, and learned quickly. I hardly got any sleep those first two weeks, with how loud the screams were as they woke from nightmare after nightmare, but my sister is very direct when her temper reaches its limits.”
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“That sounds, uh, pretty terrible, honestly.”
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>”Perhaps, but she and Raven put together the current system in no time, once their pointless obstacles were no longer an issue. This country has never run better.”
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“Speaking of Raven, why not talk to her about this? Aren’t you two close?”
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>”Raven is the last person I want to hear! I confide in her about a great many things, but I fear if her faith in me is ever shaken, she’ll never recover.”
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>Celestia drops her head to the balustrade. “My duties even keep me from my friends, at times, that way.”
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“Okay, so maybe not Raven, but why talk to me?”
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>She picks her head back up and looks at you. “Anon, you’re most certainly my friend, and the only person to whom I can talk about this.”
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“Bullsh- ah, nonsense.”
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>”If I speak to anyone in the court, it wont be as psyche-shattering as if Raven heard, but ponies expect me to have all this down after doing it for a thousand years. I can’t speak to my colleagues of other races, because we are peers in diplomacy first and foremost, and it would be a sign of weakness. You, though; your people aren’t exactly able to interact, and you’ve said half of them don’t even listen to nobility anymore. Even without all that you’ve done such a wonderful job at my side.”
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“Not to look a gi- aright I won’t use that phrase. I’m still not sure I’m the only one.”
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>”There are a few, shall we say, free agents, but I don’t quite trust Discord as much as my student, and who knows what he’ll do with that knowledge. Nothing good, I can assure you. There are a few others from our time who are around, but they visit infrequently. They better relate to my sister, anyway.”
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>She looks back out to the city suddenly. “I just realized that I’m the only one of our kind who came through all this the long way.”
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“What?”
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>”Time, Anon. Most were in stasis of some form or another. My sister was in a millennium-long fever-dream. I’m the only pony who lived through it; a couple other sovereigns eternal of different races are all who can boast the same.”
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>You slowly, haltingly, reach out to Celestia’s side, placing your hand on her flank.
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>It’s like you touched a sun-baked rock, she’s so tense.
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“So, uh, this up here. Our little routine. Is this part of your… regal presence?”
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>Celestia looks taken aback first by your touch, then by the sudden shift of topic. “It is our personal time, but as long as we’re visible to others…”
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>You withdraw your hand and toss your head to the side, towards the city.
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“Well, they know you have a routine, right? That includes watching the city at this time?”
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>”Well, yes…”
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“A’ight, cool."
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>You stand up and walk into the tower, toss your book on one of the two chairs inside, and make for the doorway to the stairs.
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>You don’t even hesitate in yanking it open and stepping inside, closing it behind you.
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>Once closed, you wait just inside, listening.
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>And start counting.
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>”Anon? Anonymous!”
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>Six, seven, eight.
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>You hear the metallic stamping of Celestia’s strange hoof-covering armored ‘boots’ stamping around on the balcony. She’s turned her whole body for the door, you guess, but had only done so haltingly.
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>Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
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>She takes her first hesitant steps inside.
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>Twenty-five, twenty-six.
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>The steps gain purpose, and she’s shortly at the door.
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>The handle glows with golden light, even inside, as she pulls it open.
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“Thirty-one, thirty-two… Hey.”
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>She stares at you in disbelief. “What was that for?”
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>You shrug.
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“You just made a choice, didn’t you?”
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>”It certainly doesn’t feel it!”
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“Oh, maybe not, it was between being forced one way or the other, right? But you still chose which you’d follow. And, uh, being honest, didn’t think you’d choose me. So much for your only one clear path.”
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>She shuffles in place a bit, tail swishing.
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>”Now what?”
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“What do you mean, now what?”
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>”Is this some sort of plan of yours?”
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“Look, the only things I plan are things I can build or fix. I’m just fucking winging it.”
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>”You’re ridiculous.”
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“How about this; now that you’ve already broken your semi-public schedule, there’s no ponies looking at you anymore. Why don’t we go somewhere private you can actually relax while we talk? If you still think I’m worth talking to.”
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>She narrows her eyes at you, but then tosses her head to indicate further down the stairs. “Fine, go.”
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“That’s the spirit.”
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>Once you’ve descended, she takes the lead.
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>She’s dead silent the whole time
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>You can’t help but feel you’ve pissed her off.
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>She takes you not to where her room is, but to the library.
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>You’ve been here often, but never to the section she’s leading you.
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>Once you’re inside, she takes you to a side-door leading to a reading area, and beckons you inside.
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>You take a seat
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>[sweating]
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>After she’s entered herself she practically slams the door behind her.
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>Then she lowers her head and lightly butts the door, her head down enough and slightly tipped to the side so her horn doesn’t jam itself into the wood.
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>She lets out a long breath. “I suppose I needed this.”
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“Well, hey, now you can lay down.”
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>She turns to look at you, and you wave towards a couch-like chair.
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“That’s, uh, an order, I guess.”
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>She smiles as she walks over. “It’s a good thing there’s no guards around to hear that. They’ll get the wrong idea.”
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“Yeah, me giving orders to a princess probably wouldn’t go over too well.”
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>Her smile turns to a wicked grin as she slows her approach. “Not what I meant.”
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>[SWEATING]
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>”You’ve been picking up a peculiar reputation as both a janefilly and a casual flirt, Anon.”
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>She stops right in front of you, neck craned down, her nose only six inches from yours.
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>”You invite me to a place like this, and I might just dish some of that back.”
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>Suddenly her demeanor becomes cheerful and upbeat, and she pulls her head back and smiles. “Just to see your face.”
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>Once again Celestia has totally derailed an idea of yours to change your friendship dynamic.
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>When are you ever going to learn?
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“I, uh, well, I was gonna offer a massage, with how tense you were, but after that...”
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>”I’ll be fine, Anon. But thanks.”
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>She flops down onto the couch in a single motion utterly devoid of grace.
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“You’re, uh, definitely more animated.”
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>”Do you know how long it’s been since anypony touched me like you did, just back there?”
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“Well, humans can get touchy-feely when we’re trying to console someone, or cheer up someone who’s bummed out. Arms around shoulders, big hugs, that stuff. I didn’t mean to, uh...”
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>”No, Anon, that’s exactly what I mean.”
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“Sorry?”
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>”I have few true friends, and fewer who’d think little of touching me. However tense I must have felt to you, I can promise you I was less so moments before.”
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“So definitely no massage.”
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>She laughed, the draped her head across a side table next to her seat. “Knowing how mareish you are, you might just make things worse. Even a pony as big as I would appreciate a gentler touch.”
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“You know, you are the only one as tall as I am. I can see why other ponies would be intimidated.”
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>”As I said before, it’s not my stature. It’s my position.”
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“Isolates. Yeah. Sorry, Princess.”
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>“And that title is the heart of the matter. You can stop calling me that when we're alone, Anon. Your casual attitude towards me in private is refreshing, and I’d like to see more of it, even if your language is at times ghastly.”
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”That’s a weird way of putting that, all things considered. You still sound kinda formal.”
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>She sighs. “I like it when you’re laid back with me.”
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“There we go. Relaxing after all?”
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>All at once, one of her wings slumps to the floor. “Trying.”
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“Well, there’s plenty of books here, being a library and all, so I wouldn’t be against retiring here after petitions, rather than the tower.”
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>”I do like collecting my thoughts up there.”
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“And you have to maintain your image longer than necessary, too. ‘Sides, if you have other time to relax, you’ll probably trip up the house staff less.”
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>”Well that is something I enjoy regardless.”
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“I’m going to have to start cleaning up after you.”
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>”That’ll only encourage me, Anon.”
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“Can’t hold yourself back?”
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>”I wouldn’t want to if I could.”
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“Heh. How un-princesslike.”
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>She turns to eye you then grins. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to accomplish with this?”
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“Uh, fair point.”
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>She adjusts herself on the chair; now her rear legs are hanging off too.
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>She can sprawl out pretty good for a pony with such impeccable posture, normally.
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>Her sheer size helps with that. The chair’s probably designed for regular ponies to recline.
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>”I will say a lot of the books in here are off-limits. This is a private section of the library for royal use only. You can’t use magic, so that solves most of the danger, but I’d still like you to clear whatever book you pick up with me.”
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“Now that’s just tempting.”
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>Another grin. “I know.”
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>You stand and turn towards one wall of shelves.
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>Celestia looks like she’s about to move, but relaxes again as you turn away from her.
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“Well, at least here you can both chill out and have someone to talk to. If I knew you were still on duty while we were up in the tower, I’d have suggested something like this a long time ago.”
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>”You haven’t been much of a conversation partner, up there.”
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“You did say you like collecting your thoughts.”
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>She tips her head towards you at this.
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>You pick up a book that looks suitably magical, then show her the cover.
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>She manages a really good approximation of a shrug, for a pony with six limbs pointing in four directions.
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>When you open it up, the entire thing is just weird poetry.
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“The hell is this?”
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>”If you mean the format, most complex spells are recorded as poems. Giving them a regular structure and rhyme scheme helps train the mental rhythm necessary to cast them. Sometimes spells are recorded in abnormal forms if the scholar is unsure on a specific element of it, to signify it’s provisional. It’s an ancient technique; diagrams and notes are more common now.”
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“Huh, Twilight never told me any of this.”
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>”She’s the prime offender when it comes to the diagrams-and-notes school of study; she’s invented new glyphs and patterns just to convert some of these older, more complex works. She knows all the rhyming forms and meanings, she just doesn’t normally use them. If you talk to my sister about it, she’d use poems exclusively.”
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“I guess there’s a lot less reading here for me than I thought.”
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>”Little point in reading tomes on magic when you can neither use nor understand them.”
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“Got any more history?”
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>She extends a wing towards the opposite wall. “Anything on the second and third shelves should be fine.”
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>Some of the books there were reproductions of the really old ones in the tower, but others were on more recent history.
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>You pick one out at random and return to your seat.
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>Celestia’s even more sprawled out than before; only her body, one foreleg, and one wing remain within the couch’s footprint.
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“Feeling better?”
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>”I think I’ll take a nap. Compared to your earlier touch, it’s been even longer since I’ve gotten some quality shut-eye with someone close on watch.”
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>So much for conversation.
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“That’s a thing?”
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>”For ponies? Of course. Part of the reason we herd up or band together in the first place.”
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“Wild.”
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>”Fittingly enough considering her job, Luna’s one of the soundest sleepers in the palace, when she’s not dealing with dreams of her own.”
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“Can’t have many more ponies on watch than the entirety of the court and regular guard force, I guess.”
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>She turns to look at you again. “Wake me when we need to head to the meeting?”
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“Sure thing.”
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>You take out your phone and thumb through to the alarms.
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>At least you’ll still have quality time for some reading.
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* * *
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>You open your eyes, but it does not get any brighter.
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>You’re lying in bed, perfectly still
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>Too still
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>You try to move a hand to your face, but neither one responds.
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>You cannot, you discover, even feel your limbs, let alone move them
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>Your head keeps moving very slightly, and it takes you some time to realize it’s due to your breathing
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>Yet you cannot feel the rise and fall of your own chest.
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>It takes you considerable effort to just turn your head to your left side.
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>There should be a window there, where you’re looking
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>Only darkness greets you.
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>You can’t see
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>You can’t move
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>You can’t feel anything
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>You can, however, start to panic
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>Can’t see, can’t move, can’t feel, can’t THINK
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>CAN PANIC
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>CANTSEEMOVEFEELTHINK
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>In a tiny corner of your mind not subsumed with primal fear, you realize you CAN think, and you’re thinking right now, only in this little part, only from what feels like a great distance.
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>Your breathing is loud enough you can hear it now.
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>It sounds as distant as your thoughts are from your chaotic mind.
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>It sounds labored.
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>Are you dying? Is this what death is like?
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>A new series of minute movements arises in your neck, rhythmic, rapid, like a muscle spasm.
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>It’s your pulse, you realize.
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>It’s preposterously fast.
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>Heart attack? Or is it connected to the breathing? Does your heart rate go up or down when you can’t breathe? What is the mechanism behind a heart attack, anyway?
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>It’s hard to tell when you can’t feel your chest.
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>You try to scream for help
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>All that interrupts your hyperventilating is a moan, distant and indistinct.
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>The area outside your fragmented awareness grows slightly brighter.
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>You can see?
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>The nearly-imperceptible outline of your window resolves as the light increases ever so slightly
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>You can see!
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>You try to get a grip on your breathing
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>It’s tough work
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>The light outside the window coalesces to a point, a small and dim one, so far away.
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>It’s the moon, you realize. The moon is rising outside your window, but even on the horizon, it’s as small as if it were at the top of the sky
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>As the light grows further, it eventually forms a dim but visible shaft from the window, falling across your bed.
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>The moon continues to rise, changing the shaft’s angle downward. Now to the floor, now sweeping across it.
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>It sweeps a dark shape five or so feet away from your bed.
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>When the light passes over it, however, the shape is not illuminated.
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>The moonlight just disappears into it, as if it were a massive void.
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>You lose control of your breathing again, and it once more speeds up dangerously.
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>Death? Is this the shape of death? No hooded or cloaked figure, no scythe, just this looming shape of nothingness.
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>The light slips away from it, then disappears entirely.
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>Once more there’s total darkness.
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>Until two impossibly bright lights appear.
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>Not lights.
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>Eyes.
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>The dark form is looking at you.
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>Now you wish you could go back to not being able to see.
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>The eyes shift as the figure looks around.
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>Then they move towards you.
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>You try to scream again, but it only adds wordless sound to your terribly fast breathing, making a hitching, stuttering sob.
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>The few parts of your body you can feel start tingling. Your vision starts swimming – no, buzzing – and it’s hard to focus.
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>The eyes of light dip down towards you.
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>They’re very close now. You could touch them, shove them away, defend yourself, if only you could move your left arm.
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>“Anonymous, steel thyself! ‘Tis only a dream!”
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>A dream.
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>A dream?
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>Yes, yes it is. It’s a dream.
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>You know this dream. A holdover from your nightmare-plagued youth. The most recent addition to a terrible variety that had survived the others’ extinction.
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>The worst of them all, the one you couldn’t escape. Your punishment for figuring out how to avoid the rest.
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>The only dream it was worse to be aware of than to suffer in thoughtlessness.
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>The dream that gave you all the time in the world to think about what you distracted yourself with work or friends or the internet to avoid.
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“L-Luna...”
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>You manage to stutter it out through your rapid breaths
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>They’ve locked themselves into a pattern now, like your whole body is shivering, not that you could feel it.
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>The two eyes of light are a mess across your vision as they lift away from you.
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“Help!”
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>You can just barely rasp the word out.
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>“Thy dreams are strange, Anon, we cannot simply banish them! Control thyself, and we can resolve it together!”
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“C-cuh-count.”
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>”What?”
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“Count!”
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>Luna’s glowing eyes blink a couple times, but she starts counting up slowly.
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>You focus on the numbers and try to still your breathing. It’s difficult when you can’t feel your chest, when you lack that feedback, but you try to wrap your whole mind around those numbers.
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>Luna, still only visible by her eyeshine, looks over you and moves side to side in a motion you can’t resolve.
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>The motion – both visually and with shifts in sound direction – seem to help a little more, distracting you.
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>Eventually you get your breathing under control, though your jaw still tingles.
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>At least your eyesight is normal again.
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>”Art thou recovered?”
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“I, uh, well, kinda.”
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>”What meanest thou?”
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“Well, it’s pitch black, and I can’t move.”
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>Luna’s horn starts glowing and her eyes stop, finally casting enough light around the room to see by.
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>”Sorry, we forget that thou hast not our night vision.”
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>When her horn dips low enough to be roughly in front of her eyes, you notice they exhibit a strong cyan-colored reflection, even without the supernatural bright white light she demonstrated just before.
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“So are you here to save me or something?”
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>She looks away from you. “We wish we could.”
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“I’ll tell you now, this paralysis isn’t pleasant.”
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>She starts looking about the room, apparently agitated.
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>“We can’t help, Anon. What does this mean? For thee, for us?”
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“Hey, stop that. If you start freaking out, I’m going to start freaking out again, and we’ll be even worse than where we started.”
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>Talking around your semi-numb jaw is difficult, but you’re managing. The tingling’s mostly gone now.
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>She settles, but only a little. “Fine, the long way it shall be. Is this a common nightmare?”
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“Used to be. Less frequent the past several years.”
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>”And thou sayest thou cannot move?”
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“Yeah.”
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>She returns to your bedside and looks your inert body over. “It… plains us, to see thee like this.”
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“I’d say it pains me too, but if it did, I wouldn’t be able to feel it.”
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>”This must be a fear of thine.”
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“There’s a lot to be afraid of.”
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>She cocks her head. “We know why ponies would fear it, but not thee. Tell us?”
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“I don’t know, Luna. You’re the expert. All I know is it gives me time to think in a state I want to think the least. I knew a few people with traumatic injuries causing impairment. It’s inevitable, when you work with heavy machinery and enough people, even if I spent most of my time at a desk.”
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>She’s silent while she takes this in, still looking at your striken form rather than meeting your eyes. “Thou workest with thy hands.”
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“More through them than with them, back home. Lots of thinking, lots of computer work. Uh, computers, er, the thing you saw in my room I spent a lot of time with. I did most of my design work with it. It did calculations and visualization and stuff for me. Kinda hard to explain what I did to you, honestly.”
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>”Some sort of sophisticated drafting table?”
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“That’s not too far off. We’d call stuff like that CAD – computer-aided drafting, or computer assisted design, or whatever you feel like saying it means. It wasn’t everything, but it was part of it.”
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>”But thou still doest it with thy hands.”
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“Yeah. And, well, I can’t even get out of bed like this. How would I support myself? I’d have no independence, and all the time in the world to think on my helplessness and uselessness.”
-
>”Surely thou hast family thou canst rely on to care for thee.”
-
“No.”
-
>You’re much quieter.
-
“I was pretty much on my own.”
-
>”Thou art a stallion, Anon. Even between herds thou canst find shelter from any storm. Was there truly no going back?”
-
“Where I’m from, Luna, males were expected to fend for themselves. Going back home, to my parents or whatever, that’d be admitting defeat. Shameful. I was expected to care for myself.”
-
>”But thou art in Equestria now. Thou art cared for. Free.”
-
“No, it’s followed me. I threw away my cushy responsibility-free life in a fit of pride, when I asked Celestia to take me seriously. But that’s part of it, isn’t it? If I couldn’t make myself useful even here, I felt I’d still get kicked out.”
-
>”Plenty of useless stallions leadeth comfortable lives.”
-
“Yeah, well, not me. Besides, throwing myself into my work stopped me from thinking about anything more unpleasant. Back home I’d come home from work and get to work distracting myself. Exhaust myself to sleep, go to work, buckle down, come home, and repeat it. Couldn’t give myself time to think. Here, I don’t have that. So it’s just from one kind of work to another. Keep me busy, keep me sane.”
-
>Luna puts her head down on your bed at your side, looking ‘up’ at yours. “Thou remindest us of stallions from our time. Back when life was more dangerous. When stallions walked the perimeter of the herd as the mares recovered, when their power bolstered their mares’ tenacity, some becoming heroes in their own right. When they were still protected, but not as defenseless, nay, but as the last line of defense for the young and invalid. But the plans of ours and our sister’s worked. Life became peaceful. And when life was peaceful, stallions became… domesticated.”
-
“I’m not really domesticated. It’s something of a sticking point, if you hadn’t noticed.”
-
>She smiles at you. “We have most assuredly noticed.”
-
>You sigh and – with some effort- look back up at the ceiling.
-
“Being stuck like this, for me, is probably the only thing I fear more than death. My work is all I have, especially now.”
-
>“Skies above, no. Thou hast more to live for than that.”
-
“Like what?”
-
>”We – and our sister, and her student – have pulled thee away from thy work often, Anon. Thou hast us, and hast left thy work to spend time with us. We are sure – or at least most fervently hope – we are more than a mere distraction for thee.”
-
“I… yeah. Yeah, you’re right on that.”
-
>You let your head flop back to the left, to look at her again.
-
>She’s still smiling that sweet smile at you. “And is it not better?”
-
“Well, besides feeling stressed about falling behind, yeah. I enjoy our time together, and with Twilight. And even Celestia, though she’s only really opened up to me recently. I enjoy my work, but I’m not complaining about companionship, to what degree it’s available to me here.”
-
>”And is this dream not more bearable for our presence?”
-
>Your turn to smile.
-
“Yeah. Much better than being left to it alone, though I still wouldn’t call it great.”
-
>”Perhaps, Anon, thy helplessness and uselessness is only part of this dream. Thou hast, after all, hardly been either of late. Perhaps this dream riseth from another fear.”
-
“What’s that?”
-
>Her smile falters. “Isolation. Solitude.”
-
>Ah, one of the many thoughts you hated to be left to, in this nightmare’s typical vast time for thinking. You do your best to nod in agreement.
-
>”We know much about solitude, Anon. Absent our magic to dispel this dream, we shall at least alleviate thine. It seems, as this dream embodies, thou knowest some of what we’ve been through. More than we’d thought.”
-
>You tilt your head a little further as she looks away from you.
-
>”To be all alone, in the night.”
-
“Not nearly as long as you, Luna, but yeah. I know it.”
-
>She meets your eyes again, and her smile returns. “Then let us speak of all manner of things, until thou wakest to our sister’s morning.”
-
-
* * *
-
-
>You open your eyes once more, despite them having been already open.
-
>This time, you’re greeted with bright daylight
-
>Experimentally, you wiggle a foot.
-
>This time, it responds.
-
>You close your eyes again and heave a huge sigh, relishing the sensation of air entering and leaving your lungs, feeling your chest’s rise and fall.
-
>You’re free. Luna kept her word, and you’d talked for what felt like hours, but now you’re free.
-
>You reach a hand over to blindly grope at your nightstand for your phone. Your hand actually obliges, which brings another strange pleasure.
-
>Your body merely working as intended shouldn’t bring such joy.
-
>When you turn the screen on, though, what you see brings none.
-
>How the fuck is it so late?
-
>When you put the phone back, something catches your eye.
-
>You lift your arm and the overly plush blankets to find…
-
>Princess Luna’s sleeping head, laying just where it had been while you spoke in your dream.
-
>She’s lying on the floor about where you’d normally swing your legs over the side to get up.
-
>Good thing you hadn’t done so automatically, or you’d have kicked her in the noggin.
-
>And maybe impaled a calf on her horn.
-
>That would have been a rude wake-up call for both of you.
-
>Even as you gather yourself up to get out of bed the other way, though, your movement causes her to stir.
-
“Ah, hell. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
-
>She opens her eyes halfway and looks around blearily. “Ffforgive our intrusion.”
-
“Only if you tell me why.”
-
>She drops her head back to the bed. “Dreams normally end, Anon. Thine did not. It just… dissolved, and thou sunk beyond our reach. We came to be sure thou was not lost in a deeper nightmare than we could intervene in.”
-
“And you stayed?”
-
>”Ah, an old tradition,” She’s slurring some of her words, which is strange, considering she’s always been clear of speech even when mumbling or otherwise not making an effort of it.
-
>Is it weird for the a princess of the night to be so bad at waking up?
-
>Heh, not a morning pony.
-
>”Some ponies in bands sleepeth while others watcheth,” she continued. “Usually the watchers looketh out, beyond, for threats. When one of the herd is ill, one watcher instead looketh to them, foregoing their own protection to be more aware of threats to the stricken, and to monitor their condition. Before, this vigil was not risky, for a couple ponies would be alert to other danger besides. In modern times, it seems this vigil hath become symbolic.”
-
>You can’t help but smile, even as you rebuke her.
-
“I appreciate the thought, Luna, but I wasn’t sick.”
-
>She slides her head off the bed and drops it to the floor, out of your line of sight. “It was uncalled for. We apologize for our invasion of thy privacy,” she mumbles.
-
“Well, the biggest problem is the fact I’m wearing nothing but my boxers.”
-
>That and attendant post-waking quirks of anatomy in that area of your body.
-
>Not that she needed to know, and didn’t, thanks to how thick and fluffy the top layer of your bedding was.
-
>”Besides these poor excuses for useless armor,” she lifts a foreleg into your view, displaying one of her darkened metallic hoof-guards, “we wear nothing at all, Anon.”
-
>That does not help aforementioned quirks of anatomy.
-
“Ah, all the same, Princess, I’d just like a few minutes of privacy to get ready for the day.”
-
>She sits up again, looking back at you. “Please do not hold our too-great concern against us, Anon. Thou art right; we should not have remained. It was presumptuous of us, to an outrageous degree.”
-
“Look, it’s fine. Honest. I understand your concern. Just… not something I expected, nor something that’s normal for humans who aren’t, well… Bit of a culture clash there. We’re cool.”
-
>She looked content, until the last bit. “C-cool? Oh, as we feared, a chilling between friends-”
-
“Chrissakes, no. We’re, uh, warm, I guess. Everything’s fine. Seriously. It’s alright. I’ll see you this evening, okay? Get some rest in a bed, instead of beside one; you look like hell warmed over. I don’t want you wearing yourself out on my account, I’d feel guilty as hell after all you’ve done for me.”
-
>She took a couple steps back before dipping her head to the floor again, this time far enough away you could still see her. Her eyes met yours briefly. “Thank thee, Anon.”
-
“No, thank you. You made last night nice enough to forget it was a nightmare.”
-
>She smiles at you, then in what you could only describe as a loud inverse pop, she vanished.
-
>Teleportation is a good way to not get the guards talking about what could be construed as a walk of shame, you suppose.
-
>Today is going to be a weird day.
-
-
* * *
-
-
>”Now if we arranged it this way we could cut down on the gearbox size, but now it can’t mount to the frame.”
-
>You look over the edit Twilight made to the design you two were hammering out.
-
“No. No, this is good. Rotate the motor side of the bracket ninety degrees, cut this frame support here, then extend the frame from here to here.”
-
>You make two marks on the rough drawing of the talon-like claw, then scribble a line between them.
-
“That’ll make up for the lost structural support while giving the bracket something to mount to in its new orientation. It’ll fit. Just barely, and it wont be pretty, but we’re more concerned with functionality on this prototype.”
-
>Twilight looked at the edits, nodded, then peered over your multimeter at you
-
>A third of your workspace has been filled with bulky lab and testing equipment, several large boxy items that could be combined in the palm of your hand back home, but you had to make do here.
-
>Frankly, you were happy enough they worked.
-
“So what’s that put our control channel count at?”
-
>Twilight looks back down at the large paper, tilting her head. “We’re at, uh, thirty-two.”
-
“Does that put us under the complexity limit?”
-
>She thought for a moment. “Theoretically, three dozen is the breaking point, for a design like this. To be safe, though, I’d like to be under thirty.”
-
>You rub your face with the hand you’re not leaning on.
-
“I never thought I’d have a design constraint to prevent a project from getting up and walking away on me.”
-
>”Powering everything preserves spell lifespan, which is definitely desirable, but if we rely on your systems for every single facet of functionality, we might just be making more work for it in the end. Cutting motors for these linkages might be mimicking limitations of the subject we’re emulating, but maybe we’re looking at the wrong side.”
-
“What do you mean?”
-
>Twilight levitates the pencil to her side of the table, then starts making a diagram in the corner. “We might be able to remove all the position sensors if we just have the spell report back the distance between two points. If we set those as the base of each finger and the tip, the distance is related primarily by the angle of the big knuckle for the majority of the range, and the second knuckle for the final third, with how you expect it to normally be used. That might be enough, and we could combine a couple sensors.”
-
“What’ll that give us?”
-
>“Twenty-six to twenty-eight, depending on how we set the wrist and intermediate connections.”
-
“Well hell, that’s only barely under, but it’s under. It’ll let us get rid of a big set of failure points too, since we won’t have to worry about the sensors wearing out. What’ll that do to the lifespan?”
-
>Twilight grimaces. “Cut it in half.”
-
“So, what, around six months?”
-
>”A little more.”
-
“Damn.”
-
>”Hey, it’s better than nothing! Once we have it working, maybe we can find other ways to streamline it.”
-
“I guess. Is there any way to extend it?”
-
>”Not really, but if you focus the spell on some sort of crystal, it can function as a reservoir that you can just add more magic to. There’s a reason so many magical artifacts have gemstones and such. For most artifacts, since they’re used as focii or catalysts, the recharge during normal use. For something like this it might be fairly large, though, and recasting the spell isn’t a big deal. I’m more concerned about your end.”
-
“There’s no way we’re making a battery pack to last six months of regular use. This thing will have to be recharged regularly, maybe even daily. Difference is, if the battery runs dry, we don’t lose the whole thing; it’ll work again just fine once we plug it in. That’s pretty important, since lithium-ion batteries lose their effectiveness over time. Lifespan shortens due to internal degradation. We’ll eventually have to replace packs, but those will be pretty easy.”
-
>”So they can catch on fire if improperly charged, and improperly charge when they get old? They sound pretty dangerous."
-
“Hard to get a good amount of power storage in such a small form factor, though. A proper charging station mitigates the risk anyway. Besides, it’s all we have for now. Speaking of.”
-
>You walk around the table to Twilight’s side, taking your phone out of your pocket and placing it on the table.
-
“Are we going to do this? With this plan in place, we’ve done everything we can on the design. Time to get to work.”
-
>She looks down to the phone and sighs. “Do we have everything?”
-
“Water, sweets, and a spotter. You should be fine.”
-
>”I’ve never tried duplicating something as complex as this.”
-
“Twilight. You’ll be fine. You’re an alicorn and your talent is literally magic. If anything does happen, I’ll be right here.”
-
>”Just stay close, alright?”
-
>You crouch down next to her as she focuses on your phone.
-
>Her horn and your phone glow the same shade of now-familiar magenta. She grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut as the brightness grows. After several seconds, she widens her stance, and her wings flare out for balance, giving you a face-full of purple feathers.
-
>By the time her whole body is trembling, you’re thinking maybe you should call it off after all.
-
>Before you can, there’s a pop and a clatter drawing your attention to the table.
-
>A perfect twin of your phone is lying there, face-down.
-
“Hey! You did-”
-
>Twilight falls onto you, knocking you off the balls of your feet. Only a timely reach prevents her head and neck from hitting the now-cluttered shelf under the desk as the bulk of her body lands on your legs.
-
>She’s unresponsive.
-
>Oh fuck oh shit did you just kill a princess god damn it all to hell.
-
>You gather her up in your arms – you’ve never realized how much harder it is to manipulate dead weight than an aware and somewhat able person – and manage to stand.
-
>You fumble with the door to your bedroom, but manage to get it open without dropping her, though you need to adjust your hold when she starts sliding through.
-
>You’re trying really hard not to step on her dragging wings.
-
>After finally making it to your bed, you drop her onto it.
-
>Her physiology isn’t helping this, and you have to deal with her limb’s awkward ranges of motion while you try to get at her chest. At least they’re more flexible than you imagine your world’s horses to be.
-
>You finally get her far enough on her back and remember the truth of what Luna told you shortly after you woke up this morning. Ponies are habitually naked.
-
>You didn’t have to deal with the moral questions of modesty and voyeurism when trying to save a nudist’s life. Didn’t paramedics have to take women’s tops off to do CPR and stuff, or was that just a fictional embellishment?
-
>How would you do CPR on a pony?
-
>Do you have to do CPR right now?
-
>No, she looks like she’s breathing, but you have no idea where you’d go for a pulse. You should take a first aid course or something when all this is done.
-
>You pull your covers over the lower part of her body just to eliminate the distraction.
-
>You put your ear near her snout just to confirm she is, in fact, breathing fine.
-
>As you stand and wonder if Equestria has capital punishment for endangerment of nobility, you just barely hear a soft murmur from her.
-
>You grab her head in both her hands and bring your face close to hers, and speak about as softly as the sound you’d just heard.
-
“Come on wake up please wake up I can’t lose you not now if you’re in a coma or something I’m so fucked why didn’t we go over this more...”
-
>After a stretch of silence, you notice her breathing pattern’s changed.
-
>This doesn’t help your mental state any, until you figure out what’s changed about it
-
>She’s now breathing in sync with you
-
>No, opposite; she’s inhaling when you’re exhaling, and vice versa.
-
>Is this some sort of automatic response in ponies, if someone else is close enough? Or is it a sign she’s conscious?
-
>She murmurs again, or maybe it’s a quiet nicker. You have no idea how pony vocalizations work, either.
-
“Hey. Hey, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
-
>Her eyes flutter halfway open, taking some time to focus on you. Her breathing held during your speech, and falls back into its prior pattern when you’d finished.
-
>Then, suddenly, one of her wings flaps out. The other flinches but it’s pinned under her body.
-
>She starts weakly shoving herself up towards the headboard. “Mphhnno Luna’s gonna kill me.”
-
“What? No, hold on now. Are you alright?”
-
>She blinks a couple times, then with what looks to be great effort, opens her eyes all the way. “Tired. Sugar. Sugar?”
-
“Uh, yeah, shit, hold on. Don’t go- well, don’t try to go anywhere.”
-
>”Dun wanna.”
-
“Alright, cool. Be right back.”
-
>Your relief, you realize, is very different than simply avoiding punishment.
-
>You take a few deep breaths as you turn away from her, towards the door.
-
>Back out in the workshop, you snatch a small stash of snacks from a side shelf, then scurry back to the bedside.
-
“Here, eat up. We got plenty.”
-
>You can only hope she doesn’t choke on any, as you pop the first piece in her mouth for her.
-
>Instead of sucking on a piece of hard candy, she just – with some effort – bites down and shatters it, crunching it up and swallowing.
-
>You offer another, and she disposes of it almost as fast.
-
“Holy shit, how much are you going to put away?”
-
>”Ever wonder why Celestia’s got such a sweet tooth?”
-
>At least she’s speaking clearer now.
-
“Magic does that to you, huh?”
-
>”Mhmm.”
-
>After the sixth piece, she shakes her head when you start to unwrap a seventh.
-
“Feeling better?”
-
>”I’m laying in your bed, as you tend to me like Equestria’s strangest nurse, after you’d put me face to face with you.”
-
“Is that a yes or a no?”
-
>She adjusts her position, freeing her other wing. It too extends about halfway, but is otherwise limp like the first.
-
>”We gotta talk about some differences in culture.”
-
>You shrug and sit on the side of the bed.
-
“If you’re up to it.”
-
>She closes her eyes to collect her thoughts, then pokes you in side, near where you held her candy.
-
>You unwrap another, but before you can get your hand near her mouth, she has her hooves around your hands. You let it go so she can finish the job herself.
-
>You’d never seen her try to manipulate anything without magic before.
-
>Ponies are clumsy.
-
>”Remember when we first walked around the city, and you observed you were overdressed?”
-
“Yup.”
-
>”Dressing up is a stallion thing, but you’re a bit overdone even then. I know it’s probably because you’ve got a very thin coat, but it can be distracting.”
-
“If I walked around naked everywhere, I’d be fucking freezing. And there’s modesty issues. I, uh, my bits ain’t as neatly tucked away as yours.”
-
>Twilight’s expression goes… silly. “Really?”
-
“Yeah, it sorta just all hangs out. Seriously, the clothes aren’t going. “
-
>”Okay, fair. But cool it with the socks talk, those are bedroom clothes.
-
>You manage to choke back a laugh.
-
>”I’m serious!”
-
>Her gravitas is not helped by her pausing to inhale more candy.
-
“Okay, fine. Sorry. I’ll uh, I wont mention them.”
-
>”And some bits of personal space are off-limits. Like the back just before the tail, and the wing-shoulderd. And the nose.”
-
“The nose?”
-
>”DEFINITELY off-limits. Along with everything about it.”
-
“So what we were just doing...”
-
>Ah shit, she’s blushing.
-
“Hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
-
>”Because, well…”
-
“Damn, I guess ponies think I’m some sorta fucking creep. I can’t even pass it off as trying to be charming, considering how monstrous I must be. As if there was any chance of reciprocal interest.”
-
>”Don’t say that!”
-
>Her vehemence startles you.
-
>It looks like it startles her, too.
-
“Isn’t it self-evident?”
-
>”No! When you say that you… you… insult ponies who might feel otherwise.”
-
>Several different snippets of memory vie for your attention at once.
-
“Would, ah, sorry for being so upfront, would you be one of those?”
-
>She looks away from you and mumbles, “I think so.”
-
>Now you’re the one with warm cheeks.
-
“Is that why you never stopped me, before?”
-
>”Not at first. No stallion’s ever done any of that with me, to me, let alone one I got along with so well. I guess I was taking advantage of your ignorance. I’m sure none of it was intentional on your part.”
-
“Er, is that what you meant by Luna would kill you? Does she have something against ponies trying to get with me? Some old perspective on interspecies relations-”
-
>”No, you dense… argh. She’s never as close to other ponies as she is to you! Raven told me some of what you two get up to. Anon, I’m happy someone’s dragging her out of her shell, but does it have to be someone so oblivious?”
-
>You realize that only several hours ago, you were where Twilight’s reclined, and Luna’s head rested where you sat.
-
“I… I can’t know that. If that’s true, she can tell me herself.”
-
>”I might be wrong, Anon, but if I’m right, you’ll know soon enough. The old ways could be quite direct, even if her awareness of her position will blunt most of the… aggression.”
-
“So, if you feel the same way-”
-
>”Well-”
-
“-then, what, would you just let her claim me anyway?”
-
>Twilight is silent for a second, before, “I wouldn’t have to give way to her, but I can’t put myself before one of the rulers of Equestria. She just has to get you first.”
-
>What.
-
>She picks up on our slack-jawed stare and continues. “It’s called a herd, Anon. Well, Luna might call it a band. Terms change over time. Anyway, several mares can be involved with a single stallion.”
-
“A harem?”
-
>She frowns. “That’s such a barbaric term. Besides, it gets the core relationship backwards. A mare’s in charge of a herd. The first mare. And the stallion runs the household while the mares take care of everything else, instead of the stallion being on top and a mare running the household like a harem would imply.”
-
“I, uh, sorry. That’s a bit much to take in. Where I lived, monogamy was the norm.”
-
>”Does that mean exclusivity? That happens here, but not often. It’s seen as a status symbol, sometimes, and other times as a mark of great devotion. That varies place to place. In Canterlot, and the Crystal Empire, or other places governed by formal or high society, the former is default, and it’d be frowned upon unless that status is at play. Elsewhere, in places that may be governed by folk tradition, the latter may be more common.”
-
>You don’t respond as you try to assimilate all this, staring at a particularly blank section of wall.
-
>Is Luna really after you?
-
>You can’t deny you two get along really well, and you definitely appreciate the time you spend with her.
-
>But if Twilight’s also interested, and she feels trapped like this, doesn’t that add a sense of urgency?
-
>You can’t get over how wrong it feels, despite the fact Twilight says it’s normal to have multiple interested partners.
-
>But is it a problem, on a fundamental level? You realize how much you’ve restructured your daily schedule just to spend more time with these two. How much you enjoyed those moments they pulled you away from work. How you came to feel comfortable walking the city with them, despite all the strangers gawking.
-
>You fell ass-backwards into new bonds, and you didn’t even realize it.
-
>Because you’ve been lost in your work.
-
>And yet…
-
>You can’t believe you actually feel pressured over this, but a lot of it still makes no sense to you.
-
>Maybe there’s a good reason you were single, back home.
-
>”Sorry,” Twilight eventually mumbles.
-
“Hm?”
-
>”For dumping all this on you. It can’t work out. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
-
“No, it’s fine. Thanks for bringing it up, I needed to hear all this stuff. I’m still very much lost in Equestria. It’s all so confusing.”
-
>”Yeah, it is confusing.”
-
>You look up at her, but her head’s leaning back against the headboard, and her eyes are closed.
-
“I’m, uh, gonna go for a walk. Clear my head. Can you stay here? Until I’m back? I don’t think you’re in any shape to get up.”
-
>She nods her head, mute.
-
“A’ight. I’ll, uh, be back. In a short while. Promise.”
-
>As you leave, you think you hear angry muttering.
-
>She can have it. She gave you a lot to think about.
-
>She’s got a lot to think about, too.
-
>You were right, this morning; today is definitely a weird day.
by E4-NG
by E4-NG
by E4-NG
by E4-NG
by E4-NG