Conversations with Dead Ponies

Chapters

Rainbow Dash
Applejack
Rarity
Pinkie Pie
Twilight
Fluttershy

Rainbow Dash

Rainbow Dash sat on the balcony of her home, reading and intermittently looking out over Ponyville. She had slept enough during the day to remain vigilant until daybreak and, typically restless, had over the course of two hours already taken to the sky thrice to circle around Ponyville looking for anything extraordinary. Each time she had been disappointed. The town lay as still and silent as it had ever been. It must have rubbed off on her, she thought, because having returned from her third trip she felt peaceful. Not tired, just peaceful. So, rather than pace and grumble to herself, she had settled down here where she could keep watch.

“Hi Dash. Been a while, ain't it?”

Dash looked up. A pegasus stood beside her, looking out across the town.

“Firefly? What are you doing here?”

Firefly cocked her head. “What, I need an excuse to visit an old friend?” she said.

“Well, when you arrive on my balcony in the middle of the night with no warning, yeah, kinda.” Rainbow Dash stood, stretched her legs, and cracked her fetlocks.

“Well, I could leave again if you want,” said Firefly, spreading her wings.

“Nah.” Rainbow shook her head and sighed. “May as well hang out, then, since you're here. It isn't like anything interesting is gonna happen tonight, anyway.”

Firefly snatched up the book with her wing and peered at it. “The Three Musketeers. Huh. Gotta say Dash, I didn't imagine you ever reading anything as long as this. I didn't imagine you being literate at all, come to think of it.”

“Hey! I'm no book nerd. Just … some of those stories are pretty awesome, is all.”

“I had such a crush on Milady De Wither when I was a filly,” said Firefly.

Rainbow Dash, having had enough of the conversation, flew to the edge of the balcony. “Oh, hey, tell you what. Let's race!”

Firefly raised an eyebrow. “How about we start by catching up, like normal friends do?”

“Hah! You're only saying that because you know I'll win.”

“Well, yeah.” Firefly settled on a cloud cushion in the lounge adjacent to the balcony. “Some of us focused on being able to fly more than ten metres without crashing into a wall, y'know.”

Rainbow Dash gave an overdramatic sigh and ambled into the lounge.

“We went to Junior Speedsters,” she said, sitting opposite Firefly, “not Junior get-out-of-the-way-of-stuff-ers.”

“Well, glad to see all that reading has improved your vocabulary,” said Firefly, grinning.

“Firefly...” Rainbow Dash put her hoof to her face and sighed, sincerely this time. “I like chatting and all, but really, what are you doing? It's been, like, five years since we last talked.”

“Well, that's kinda my reason,” said Firefly, leaning forward. “How many friends did you make at Junior Speedsters? How many have you kept in contact with?”

All the mirth evaporated from the conversation. Firefly looked Rainbow Dash in the eye. Her expression was almost neutral, the slight angle of her eyebrows and the prominence of her jaw betraying hidden anger or resentment. The two ponies were silent for several seconds. Firefly's unrelenting stare was oppressive. The unnatural silence of the night was oppressive. Rainbow Dash felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“Not enough, I know. I've … I've had stuff to do, all right?”

Partly because she was reminded of her task for the night and partly because she could no longer stand Firefly looking at her, Rainbow Dash leapt to her hooves and walked out to the balcony again. Ponyville looked no different. No commotion, no noise, no sign of anything odd happening.

Firefly followed her. “Since you stopped bothering to write back, the last I heard of you was from Gilda, a year or so before... Well, never mind. Point is, that was the last time you hung out with one of your old friends, and that ended with you alienating her.”

“Oh, come on!” snapped Rainbow Dash. “You know what Gilda is like. Her fault we fell out, not mine.”

“Gilda is aggressive, more than a little mean, and has a serious temper problem,” said Firefly. “And from what I remember, you were arrogant, selfish, self absorbed, hot headed–”

“Yeah! I get the picture, jeez.” Rainbow, now more annoyed than ashamed, still avoided eye contact with Firefly. “I still hang out with Fluttershy, you know. She's a better pony than most of us who went to Junior Speedsters.”

“Fluttershy...” Firefly put a hoof to her chin in thought. “I think I remember her from your birthday party. She was the weak winged mare, right?”

“Hey!” Rainbow glared at Firefly. “She's not the best flier in Equestria, but she's way cooler than you ever were.”

“Whoa!” Firefly put her hooves up in placating gesture. “I ain't saying the mare is uncool. Just wanted to make sure I had the right pony. So, Fluttershy, huh? Am I right in thinking you got into a race with some knuckleheads to defend her honour, knocked her off a cloud, and then forgot all about her when you got your cutie mark moments afterwards?”

Rainbow Dash said nothing. She looked out at Ponyville, almost wishing the night would bring some visible disaster to the town. The night did not oblige.

“So you came to tell me what a bad pony I am?” she said eventually. “Great, thanks for that.”

“Well, not totally,” said Firefly. “I'm pretty sure the old Rainbow Dash would have given me a smack in the mouth by this point.”

“Don't think I'm not gonna,” said Rainbow Dash.

“I should hope so. If a mare came into my house and rubbed my nose in some supposed personal failures of mine, I'd be pretty pissed off too.” Firefly looked at the ground and sighed. “Look, Dash, I don't think you're a bad pony. It was just... Well, suddenly seeing you after all this time, after you'd pretty much forgotten about me and all your old friends, upset me. I was cruel when I shouldn't have been. I said some things I shouldn't have. I'm sorry.”

Rainbow Dash felt awkward. Being angry was fine. But a sincere emotional outburst? What was she meant to do with that?

“Eh, don't worry about it,” she said eventually. “I guess you're kinda right, anyway.”

The two ponies looked at Ponyville in silence.

“Tell you what,” said Firefly after a while, perking up again. “Let's have that race you wanted. It's been too long since I got a chance to stretch my wings.” She gestured with a hoof. “Directly up to that altocumulus, touching absolutely no other clouds along the way. Game?”

Rainbow Dash squinted. There were a lot of other clouds littering the sky, none of them easy to see in the moonlight.

“I wanna see if you've learned to actually, y'know, avoid obstacles since I last saw you,” said Firefly, grinning.

“Ha! Are you kidding? I could do that run with my eyes closed,” said Rainbow Dash.

“I'd love to hold you to that, but let's do it the non-dumb way first, all right?” Firefly flared her wings.

“You're on!” said Rainbow Dash, responding in kind. She figured she should still be angry with Firefly, but didn't care. This was way more fun than arguing.

“On three, yeah?” said Firefly.

“Sure.”

The two pegasi stood with wings open, waiting. Several seconds passed.

“Well?” said Firefly.

“What?”

“Aren't you gonna count us in?”

“Wait what? You're the one who said, 'On three.' You count us in!”

Firefly shook her head. “No way, that burden is shared... Ah, whatever. Never mind. Three.” She dropped down, ready to leap into the air. “Two–”

Rainbow Dash crouched, wings prepared.

“–One. Go!”

The two ponies hurled themselves upwards.

Rainbow Dash soon lost track of Firefly. Avoiding all the clouds was hard. She managed it, though. Well, obviously she would.

Firefly was absent when Rainbow Dash reached their destination. Rainbow Dash greeted her with a smug grin when she arrived several seconds later.

“Oh for pony's sake,” said Firefly, panting. “You have improved. Now I have nothing to show off with!” She laughed. “Seriously, with skills like those, I'm surprised I didn't arrive to see you polishing a Wonderbolt badge.”

“Well, actually,” said Rainbow Dash, grinning even more.

Firefly's eyes widened. “You're serious? Oh, Dashie, that's so frickin' awesome!” She bounded into Rainbow Dash, hugging her and sending the two off them rolling across the cloud top laughing.

After the two ponies had calmed down, Dash stood up, flicking her wings to straighten her feathers. “I'll show you academy sometime. You're totally gonna love it!” she said.

Firefly looked at her forehooves. “Yeah, uh, I'd like that,” she said. “See, Dash–” She looked Rainbow Dash in the eyes, frowning slightly “–This is why you should keep in contact. I like you. We all like you. Well, most of us, anyway. We all want to know how well you're doing so we can hear awesome news like this.”

“Yeah, I get that,” said Rainbow Dash. “I got kinda caught up my life here. I'll try and make time for you guys, all right?”

Firefly smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Friends?” She offered a hoof.

“Well, duh!” said Rainbow Dash. “Yeah, friends.” She brushed Firefly's hoof aside and pulled her in for a hug.

“The sun's gonna be up soon,” said Firefly, looking out across the cloudtops after the two had broken away from each other. “I gotta go soon. One more race down beforehand, whaddya say? I won't go easy on you this time.”

“Oh, I dunno, Firefly. I'm not much in the mood for racing right now.”

Firefly raised an eyebrow.

“Kidding! Come on, then!” Rainbow Dash flew to the edge of the cloud. “OneTwoThreeGo!” With an overdramatic, mocking swoon, she dropped off the edge.

This time, the two arrived almost simultaneously, Firefly landing on the balcony moments after Rainbow Dash.

“Damnit,” said Firefly, grinning. “How did you get so good? I'm seriously missing out on some training tricks here.”

“Just my natural awesomeness!” said Rainbow Dash. She leapt into the air again and circled Firefly a couple of times. “Can't step to this mare!”

Firefly yanked Rainbow Dash out of the air by her tail. “Okay, okay, I get it. You're the best flier.” She looked out across the ground below them. “It was good to fly again. Thank you, Dashie. I nearly squandered this opportunity. But you made it turn out brilliant all the same.

“I really need to go now. Before I do, though, you should know that I'm sorry. You'll see why soon. It's just... I didn't have the heart to tell you.”

“What do you mean?” said Rainbow Dash.

Firefly smiled and, out of nowhere, leant forward to give Rainbow Dash a kiss on the cheek. “Never mind. Remember what I said. Bye, Dash.” Then, wordlessly, she leapt into the air and flew through the cloud layer.

Rainbow Dash stood still for a moment, bewildered. She considered calling after or following Firefly, but decided not to. Firefly was in a hurry; Rainbow Dash didn't want to press the issue and figured that she could ask next time they met in any case.

She looked at Ponyville. It was bathed in the first glimmers of dawn, but otherwise unchanged. Nothing interesting had happened to it. The night would have sucked if Firefly hadn't visited, she thought.

Author's Note

Oh hi, Firefly.

Applejack

Applejack had spent most of the night downstairs at the kitchen table working on the accounts for Sweet Apple Acres. She hated this part of the job. Granny Smith used to handle all the numbers, but with her advancing age the sheer volume of work was starting to get the better of her, so Applejack and Big Mac had agreed to take on some of the workload. Tonight, not being able to go and buck trees in the darkness but feeling obliged to get some work done, Applejack sat in the kitchen, head resting on forehoof, staring at the numbers before her and trying to make them agreeable.

She had sat staring blankly at the same line for fifteen minutes, unable to think, when a voice from across the table brought her back to reality.

“Howdy, Applejack. Been a while, I reckon.”

Applejack looked up and nearly fell off her chair. “Ma!?”

“Yes, Applejack. It's me.”

Applejack looked into her mother's eyes for a moment, trying to think. The unnatural calmness of the situation disturbed her. She climbed off her chair and took a step backwards. “Now, what in tarnation is goin' on here? Ma is... Well, she sure ain't in a position to be talkin' to me from across the table! You ain't her. What are you?”

The pony fixed her gaze on Applejack and spoke slowly. “I am your mother. And you're right, I'm dead, but that doesn't seem to be stopping me.”

Applejack shook her head. She wanted to believe this. She felt almost as though she had to. But she didn't let herself.

“Applejack,” said the pony across the table. “Look into my eyes and tell me I'm lying. Go on.” She spoke slowly, sounding out each syllable calmly.

Applejack closed her eyes and sighed. The suggestion was sound. She could spot a lie from even the most controlled and calm of ponies if she put her mind to it. She did as the other pony requested, looking her in the eye for several seconds. The other pony looked back, unflinching.

The other pony was not lying.

“Ma... What's goin' on, ma? This is...” Applejack's voice cracked as she spoke.

Her mother sighed, shoulders slumping, and then shrugged. “No clue. Some ancient magic, I reckon. I don't know the metaphysical mumbo jumbo behind it and I don't rightly care to. All I know is that I'm here now. And that I hafta go at sunrise.”

Applejack's eyes widened. “Go? But...”

Applejack's mother looked down at the table. “Yes, sugarcube. At sunrise.” There were long seconds of silence. Then she said, “You're standing there like a scarecrow with no place to go. Sit down, why don't you?”

When Applejack sat, she remembered the accounts sitting before her. She pushed them together into a neatish pile and pushed them to one side.

“I know we ain't got much time,” said her mother. “But it's better than most ponies get, so I reckon we should make use of it while we can.”

Applejack rubbed her forehoof against the table. “Ma,” she said at last, “It's just so... I don't know. I don't know what to feel.”

Her mother reached across the table and put a hoof on hers, holding it steady. “Talk to me, Applejack. Tell me about my kin. Tell me... How long has it been since the accident?”

“Ten years,” said Applejack.

Applejack's mother took a deep breath and shuddered. “...Ten years. Oh, Celestia.” She looked out the window. “So Apple Bloom is...”

“A filly now.”

“Tell me about her.” Applejack's mother gave her a pleading look. “And Macintosh. And you.”

Applejack smiled. This was something she felt comfortable with. “Bloom is a little firecracker if you ever saw one. Passionate and skilled like I ain't ever known. She's takin' a mite longer than most ponies to get her cutie mark, just like I did. Impatient, just like I was. She even got herself a little group of friends, 'Cutie Mark Crusaders,' they call 'emselves. Them three fillies are always causin' a ruckus tryin' to find their special talents. I don't mind, 'cause it just shows that filly won't ever quit once she gets in her head to do somethin'.

“Big Mac and I tried to bring her up the way you brought us up. So how I reckon it, she's the filly she is because of you. You'd be proud of her, ma.”

Applejack's mother was smiling. “ 'Cutie Mark Crusaders,' huh? I like that. And what of Macintosh?”

“Big Mac … Well, he's quieter than he used to be. But he's always been there for the family, keepin' us together steady as a rock. He ain't hardly ever let himself get riled by events, even when I've got het up. Even when jumped-up ancient varmints are threatenin' Equestria. We had a lot of those, lately. Been kinda hectic.”

Applejack's mother frowned. “You haven't been running off half cocked into the maw of danger, have you, sugarcube?”

“Yeah … I have.”

“Applejack! You were always so steadfast. Until something tickled that heroic instinct of yours. Then, boom! And you were high-tailing it in quick as an ice skating whippet, consequences be damned.” Applejack's mother tried to look severe, but tears in her eyes betrayed her nostalgia. At length she put a hoof to her head and sighed. “Tell me at least, you ain't putting yourself in any unnecessary danger, are you?”

“No! It's important. It's important to help ponies where you can. You told me that.”

“I reckon I did. Still, leaping into the fray without thinking does nopony any good.”

“I know. I ain't so thoughtless now as when I was a filly. Plus I got my friends helpin' me, and I got Celestia's blessin'.”

“Celestia, huh? Well, I figure that's okay. Just you tell her, though, if she gets you hurt, then immortal demigod or not, she'll feel my wrath. What? Don't you look so shocked, sugarcube, you know I never had much reverence for the monarchy.”

Applejack sighed. “Yeah, I remember. But … never mind. Thanks, ma, I'll try and keep safe, I promise.”

“Good girl.”

“Also, it's a diarchy now. Princess Celestia's long lost sister came back from the moon, and … Well, it's complicated.”

Applejack's mother looked as though she was about to say something dismissive, then stopped herself. “Huh. Now there's a change. Well, so long as they ain't becoming tyrants and ain't raising taxes, that's fine and dandy.”

Applejack wondered whether it would be worthwhile to mention the recently introduced Crystal Empire Aid Tax. Before she had decided, her mother spoke again.

“We're getting off track. I ain't got long; I want to know about my kin, not heads of state. Tell me, what happened after your pa and I died?”

Applejack's breath caught in her throat. “Well,” she said after a moment, “I don't remember much about it. It was hectic. A lot of stuff to sort out. Funeral arrangements, financial stuff, that sorta thing. We kept busy 'cause we had to, and 'cause it stopped our minds from goin' places they oughtn't.”

Applejack paused and looked at her hooves.

“Go on,” said her mother. “After that?”

“After that … I guess I kinda let everythin' get to me. We found a routine and didn't hafta worry so much about the farm. So I started to dwell on what happened, and then I stopped thinkin' straight. I decided I didn't wanna work on the farm any more. So I left.”

“Oh, Applejack,” her mother said, and reached across the table to put a hoof against Applejack's cheek. “I'm so sorry.”

“No, ma, please, you ain't gotta be sorry. It was a thing nopony could help. So, I left. I went to live with Auntie and Uncle Orange.”

“Hmph. I can't imagine Granny Smith was too pleased about that,” said Applejack's mother.

“No, she wasn't. She didn't stop me, though. Said as headstrong a filly as I hadta make her own mistakes. Matter of principle.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her. It was easy to not like your granny, but terribly difficult to not respect her.” Applejack's mother gave a wry smile. “And the Oranges? I'm betting they were head over hocks – sorry, uh, absolutely delighted – to have the opportunity to pull you back into the frou-frou fold.”

Applejack felt a little embarrassed by her mother's contempt. “They did nothin' slick, ma. They just had their way of life and I was the one who chose to be there. I gotta own that one, not them.”

“Don't get me wrong, Applejack. They ain't bad ponies. I love my sister, my mom and dad. And family comes first, no matter what. I still hold to that. But I ain't gonna pretend I respect the values they chose to live by, and I ain't gonna pretend I forgive them for how they treated your pa and me. Not even now.”

Applejack didn't say anything.

Her mother sighed. “But that's my issue and it's my burden to bear, not yours. You don't hafta blame them. And you don't hafta blame yourself either, 'specially given the circumstances. So no talk of owning it, y'hear?”

“Yes, ma.”

“Anyhow, we're back at the farm, and you don't sound like a pony who grew up in Manehattan, so I figure the move didn't stick?”

“Nope,” said Applejack. “Livin' in Manehattan was difficult. Didn't make anythin' easier and made a cartful of things worse. Couple'a things happened, and I realised home was where I belonged.”

“Ah,” said Applejack's mother. “And what about – ”

“Ma?”

Applejack's mother swished her tail. “Please don't interrupt me, sugarcube.”

“Sorry, ma, but this is important.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“Are you really so upset with Aunt Orange? I don't recall that ever bein' a problem when I was a filly.”

“Yes, I was. And no, you wouldn't” said Applejack's mother. “There are some things you don't worry fillies and colts with. This was one of them. When I was pregnant with Macintosh, we all figured my family's … disapproval … of your pa was pretty much useless, so we decided to never argue in front of the foals. We all agreed on one thing, after all: Family comes first.

“Granny Smith was quite happy to share her thoughts on 'em, mind, but since she and my parents were never in the same room, it didn't matter so much.”

“So all those trips to Manehattan …” said Applejack. “All that time you and aunt Orange were buttin' heads in secret?”

“Oh, no. Not all the time,” said Applejack's mother. “Sometimes we just glared at each in cold silence. Kept some variety to the visits, y'know?”

“Ma!”

Applejack's mother shrugged. “Nah, we did argue, but not all that much by the time you and Macintosh were out of diapers. Usually we agreed to disagree. And I agreed not to raise hell when they tried to teach you posh mannerisms. Which was fine, 'cause they never succeeded and gave up after a couple of years.”

“I wish you'd told me,” said Applejack. “I was a tough filly. I coulda' handled it.”

“You probably coulda',” said Applejack's mother. “But you shouldn't'a had to. Not at that age.”

“No, ma … You lied to us, Big Macintosh and me.”

“I didn't lie. I just avoided telling you some stuff. Look, sugarcube, you might be getting huffy over it now, but consider how it was then. What good would it have done? Seeing my sister and I arguing? Nothing but caused you and Macintosh grief. I didn't want you to grow up seeing rifts in your family from foalhood.”

Applejack looked away. She wasn't pleased. Her mother's reasoning was understandable, but she still felt it was wrong that she had been mislead as a filly.

“Applejack, I'm sorry if I've hurt you. But you must understand that I made that decision for your benefit, and when you were a filly it was my choice to make. You don't hafta agree with that choice, but please respect the position I was in. When you have your own foals – and you should! – you can make your own decisions.

“'Sides, we haven't got much time before we're separated forever. I'd rather not spend them arguing about what's already happened.”

There was a moment of silence where Applejack studied her hoof.

“Okay, ma,” she said at last. “I don't agree … but it's past, and I suppose it does nopony any good to fuss about it now.”

“Or, at least, you can fuss over it after tonight,” said Applejack's mother. She was looking out the window. “What I'd like, I reckon, is to go out and wander about the farm a bit. I want to see the sunrise. Let's trot up to Kallisti Hill. I always liked that spot. Went there to cry sometimes, and remind myself that living here was worth the stress.” By the time she finished the sentence she was already at the door.

“Okay,” said Applejack. “But, one thing. I reckon I missed a lot as a filly. I'll tell you more about Big Mac, Apple Bloom, and I if you tell me more about you and pa.”

“Seems fair,” said Applejack's mother, smiling. “C'mon, let's go.”

Rarity

Rarity dreamt of rescuing a stallion from a manticore just in time to make it to a ball aboard a gilt airship. The two of them were retreating to the airship's sizable penthouse suite when, much to her annoyance, she woke. Pushing back her mask, she glanced around her bedroom and swivelled her ears, searching for whatever had had the gall to interrupt her sleep. She found nothing; the room was silent and still.

Not entirely sure why she did so, Rarity decided to go downstairs rather than attempt sleep. As she descended the stairs of the Carousel Boutique, she heard the faint sound of shuffling and muttering, barely audible above the creak of stair and the clipclop of hoofstep. She hastened downwards and swept into the main studio of the boutique, where she found an agitated and gaunt pegasus mare rifling through some of her reference books, which were now strewn across the floor.

“This is … absolutely … scandalous,” said the mare quietly. She seemed not to notice Rarity.

“Can I help you, my dear?” said Rarity, walking across the room. “Are … are you lost?” It struck her as a rather mundane response to the situation, but the mare didn't seem aggressive, and in any case, a midnight home invasion was a poor excuse for rudeness.

The mare choked out what might have been a laugh. “I very much doubt it,” she said without looking up. “And, au contraire, I think this is the first time I've had a good reason for being anywhere in Equestria. Which … Ha! … makes this all the more …” Finally she looked at Rarity. Her gaze was intense, and the circles under her eyes stood out against an otherwise youthful face. “What is this!?” Shaking, she pushed an open book at Rarity.

Rarity wrinkled her nose. “Miss! I know you're upset, but there's really no need for such behaviour! We're civilised ponies, are we not?”

The mare took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Please. Show a girl some sympathy. What do you see?”

Rarity looked at the book. “Designs,” she said. “For dresses.” It seemed utterly bathetic.

“Fashion designer and that's all you have to say? Dresses?” said the mare.

Rarity looked again. “They're designs by Wild Grace … one of my greatest inspirations. Her Decadent Flaneurette series. A hybrid of Manehatten Nouveau and Decadent designs.”

“Of course they are! Brilliant!” the mare said, voice dripping with venom. “'One of the most influential fashion designers of the modern age', apparently.”

“Miss, I'm afraid I don't follow. Why have you taken such an interest in my reference works?”

The mare responded with a thin smile. “A better question would be 'Who are you?', don't you think? Well? Isn't it obvious? Hm!?”

Rarity hesitated.

The mare plucked a bluegreen feather from her wing and tucked it into her mane. “Well?”

Rarity started and almost fell over. “M- M- M- Miss Grace!”

“Yes.” Wild Grace brushed the feather from her mane and crushed it under a hoof.

“But … but … how? And why? And how? And why? Oh dear me, never mind that. My manners have abandoned me! Please, Miss Grace, make yourself at home. I'll fix you some … Oh dear, you like saloop, don't you? I have none; my cupboards are bereft! I do apologise. Will you be able to accept some tea, just this once? Darjeeling? Earl Grey? Lady Grey?”

Wild Grace swished her tail and snorted. “I don't care about any of that! I don't even care that I've been magically reanimated for a night! What's got me bewildered is this.” She pointed a hoof at the book. “What are my designs doing there? Why are they accompanied by such effusive burbling? And for that matter, why the hay do you know I like saloop?”

Rarity did not feel any less flustered. “Oh, uh, well, darling, they are some of the greatest pieces of art in recent history.”

Wild Grace shook her head. “So, I'm famous now, huh? An idol for Celestia knows how many jejune, wittering social climbers? Oh wonderful. I can just –” She stopped when she saw Rarity's expression, and when she spoke next, her voice was softer. “Cheer up, sweetheart. I didn't mean it as a slight against you. I'm sure you're a delightful mare and a true lady.” She sighed. “Tell you what. Put some tea on. I'll try and calm down a bit, and maybe you can help me a bit. Tea's fine. I'll take Earl Grey. No milk or sugar.”

Rarity cantered over to the kitchen. She, Rarity, was making tea for Wild Grace! Whatever apprehension and confusion she'd had was buried under elation. Unable to control herself any long, she let out a small giggle-squeal.

“Are you okay in there?” called Wild Grace.

A few minutes later the two mares sat opposite one another, nursing ornamented cups. Rarity's books were stacked in a neat pile beside them, and Wild Grace was settled.

“So, Miss Grace …”

“You can drop the honorific, sweetheart. 'Grace' will do just fine. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name, though?”

“Rarity.”

“Well, then, Rarity, I apologise for my conduct earlier. I'd apologise for dropping in so unexpectedly, but I didn't have much choice in that matter.”

“Oh, no,” said Rarity. “It's no bother at all, I assure you! If anything, it's an absolute pleasure!”

The two ponies stared at each other while the absurdity of the situation sunk in. They burst into giggles.

Wild Grace's died away and she finished with a nicker. “Well, thank you,” she said. “But there's still the issue with all this.” She gestured at the books. “Exactly how famous am I?”

“My dear, your work is one the foundations of all modern fashion design. Everyone in the industry has heard of you. The greats say how much they owe to you and the uncouth young turks decry your stifling influence! You are, without doubt, one of the greatest influences of the modern world!”

“…Of fashion.”

“Of fashion, yes. Is there a difference?”

Wild Grace pursed her lips and swished her tail. “I feel,” she said, “as though I've been paraded through the centre of Canterlot with my tail held up. While in estrus. With a big, flashing neon sign on my rear. Without my knowledge.”

Rarity choked on her tea. When she had recovered she said, “But why? Why does it upset you so much?”

“Because I never asked for it!” Wild Grace pulled the first book from the stack and began leafing through it. “All this … It was meant to be private.”

“It's fashion, Miss Grace. It's not in its nature to be private.”

“So, what, because my notebooks were filled with designs rather diary entries, you think they flew out into public and spat out their contents of their own accord?”

“There's no need to be facetious, dear,” said Rarity. “What I mean is this: A pony dresses up to be seen. We wear these clothes to show how glorious we are! And we design these clothes to show how glorious we can make other ponies! Being a fashion designer and wanting it all to be private … It makes no sense to me.”

Wild Grace shrugged. “Where does making sense come into it? I just fiddled with fabrics and sketched a few designs.”

“Why? Why create if you have no intentions of showing off your creation?”

“Do you really need to ask that?” said Wild Grace. “You're here surrounded by art of your own making and you ask why create? I'm an artist. I create because I couldn't do otherwise.” She looked down and flipped through the book again. When she spoke again, her tone had softened. “I had all of these ideas and I just had to put them down. These things came to me unbidden and wouldn't leave me alone. So I filled my books with scribblings. For my sake, not for anypony else's.”

“Wild Grace, dear,” said Rarity quietly. “That's a load of horsefeathers.”

Wild Grace looked up, looked Rarity in the eye.

“I know what it's like to have my muse drag me to the drawing board and not let me go,” said Rarity. “Believe me, I do. But I was the pony who chose to go into this field. If I hadn't wanted it, I wouldn't be here. And I think the same holds for you.”

“Well, believe as you like,” said Wild Grace. “I've told you why I made all those designs, and I'm not going to explain again.”

Rarity had spent years developing an artistic facade, and she knew one when she saw one, but she decided not to push the issue. She sighed. “Okay, if you say so.”

Wild Grace snorted and went back to flicking through the book. For a while there was nothing but the sound of rustling paper and Rarity sipping her tea.

“Besides,” said Wild Grace, “It's not just about my designs, is it? Saloop – you know I like saloop. Why does that need to be publicised?”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Ponies know your favourite drink. Is that really a big deal?”

“Yes!” said Wild Grace. “Yes, it is!”

“I think you're being a little overdramatic, dear,” said Rarity.

“Overdramatic? Ha!” Wild Grace rifled through the stack of books again, sending some crashing to the ground, which did nothing to aid her dismissal of Rarity's comment. “It's the principle of the matter! Why should details of my personal life – any details! – become trivia answers for the in crowd? What do they care?”

“Because you're an idol to these ponies!” said Rarity. “You mean a lot to them. And to me. They want to learn about you.”

Wild Grace had found a book of biographical details and responded without looking up. “What they want is salacious details. They built me up without my asking and, not satisfied with that, they also want to tear me down.” She paused, reading a paragraph, nickered, then continued. “This may be some great future, but ponies haven't changed, I assure you. I remember the rags with all their speculation on Princess Celestia's less regal side. And now you ponies have made me into a mini-Celestia, and ...”

“Miss Grace,” said Rarity, “While I won't deny there are some ponies like that in Equestria, the great majority have a great respect for you. They want to know as they would a friend.”

“I asked for none of it,” said Wild Grace. She sounded more petulant than angry this time. “And look, they spend five pages here talking about how I sired a mule. I guess you future ponies don't care much about whether a girl has a thing for Jacks or not any more, but to see something like that, something I could tell nopony but my closest friends, splashed across Celestia knows how many biographies …”

Wild Grace paused, then snapped her head back to the book and skimmed several pages. “Never mind my woes. Rarity, sweetheart, do any of these books say what happened to him?”

“I, uh,” said Rarity.

“There were journalists all over my past like flies on manure,” said Wild Grace. “Come on, there must be something.”

“Hold on,” said Rarity. She took the book from Wild Grace and glanced over the pages. “I do apologise,” she said. “I haven't read parts of this since I was a filly.”

“I suppose that's better than if you'd had it fully memorised,” said Wild Grace. “Well? Anything?”

Rarity slumped and shook her head. “I have nothing about your son, Miss Grace.” Piqued, she threw the book across the room, taking care not to let it hit anything important. “Oh, how horrible of me! Now you will never – Oh, wait!”

“What? What!?” said Wild Grace.

“I know where we can look!” said Rarity. “Take whatever coat you wish. Come, Miss Grace, we're taking a trip across town!” She galloped cross the room and grabbed her emergency going-out coat from the wardrobe.

“Stop calling me that.”

Soon after the two mares were galloping through the streets of Ponyville. There was nopony else visible on the streets.

“Twilight will be surprised!” panted Rarity.

“We won't see your friend,” said Wild Grace.

“Whyever not?”

“It doesn't work like that, I don't think.”

“Oh, that is unfortunate,” said Rarity. “It would have been so lovely to introduce you to her.”

“I'm afraid I'm all yours tonight. You must bear that terrible burden alone,” said Wild Grace. “Anyway, you seem to have cheered up a bit. What's come over you?”

“Oh, Miss Grace, isn't it obvious? I get to do something for my idol!” Rather than have her complain at me, Rarity didn't add.

The library, as Wild Grace had predicted, was empty. Rarity circled the room, lighting candles.

“I love this town,” said Wild Grace, scanning the shelves. “A tree for a library. How delightfully bucolic! Ah, here we go – biographies.”

Rarity trotted over to help. Soon they had found a number of books about Wild Grace. The next few minutes were spent in silence while the two ponies searched through contents pages and indices.

“Splendid! Here we go,” announced Rarity, handing a book over to Wild Grace, open at the page where her son was mentioned.

Wild Grace scanned the page, then looked up. She looked like she was on the verge of crying. “Thank you, Rarity,” she said. “I know this is a terrible thing to ask in response to such a generous act … but would you mind giving me a little time alone?” She smiled sheepishly.

“Not at all, Miss Grace,” said Rarity. “I'm just glad I could help.” She stood up. “I'll be just outside if you need me.”

Rarity sat outside and looked up at the moon. The air was chill, but not uncomfortably so. With only the sound of her own breathing audible, it seemed as though Ponyville was empty, preserved in resin by some capricious deity. She liked the metaphor and congratulated herself for coming up with it, but the argument she had had with Wild Grace back at the boutique kept coming back to her.

Rarity had sought recognition for her talent her entire career. The idea that a pony, especially a luminary such as Wild Grace, would be horrified by fame was utterly bizarre to her. Except … Not quite. There were parts of her life that Rarity jealously guarded from everypony, parts that she would not think about now. Was that what fashion was to Wild Grace? She didn't know.

But perhaps …

The door behind her opened “Rarity,” said Wild Grace. “I … I'm done now.”

“Did you … ?” said Rarity.

Wild Grace nodded with a faint smile. She glanced at the stars. “Shall we head back? I think we've enough time for another cup of tea. If I'm not imposing, of course?”

Author's Note

I think this is the first time I've ever introduced an original character pony and mentioned their coat colour.

I wondered whether or not I should keep that sudden swerve in the narrative near the end. In the end I decided to keep it as an interesting artefact of discovery writing, even if it is a bit odd.

Pinkie Pie

Pinkie met Pinkie.

She woke Pinkie by singing a ditty about blueberries at an intolerable volume. Pinkie leapt up, saw herself, and gasped. She jumped over to the other Pinkie and stuck a hoof in her mouth.

“Quiet!” she said, loudly. “Pound and Pumpkin are sleeping!” Then: “Oh, hey, you're me!”

The other Pinkie laughed at best she could around Pinkie's hoof and shook her head.

Pinkie removed her hoof and frowned at the other Pinkie, cocking her head at a right angle.

“No, silly!” said the other Pinkie, still laughing. “Nopony can hear us tonight! We can make at much noise as we like! Come see!”

She raced out of the bedroom and downstairs. Pinkie followed.

The nursery was empty. Mr. and Mrs. Cake's bedroom was empty. The bakery was empty. The other Pinkie turned the lights on in each room as they entered, and Pinkie turned the lights off as they left, save for the bakery, where the other Pinkie finally stopped scampering. She sat on the counter, grinning.

“Let's bake!” she said.

“Okay!” said Pinkie. “But why now? It's night time.”

“Are you tired?” asked the other Pinkie.

“No …”

“Well then, why not now?” The other Pinkie rolled her eyes as if it were obvious. “I'm in the mood for butterfly cakes! How about you? Oh, also tonight because I'll vanish in the morning and I wanna get in as much fun before I go.”

“Oh, okay!” said Pinkie, beaming. She dived for the cupboard and pulled out some flour and icing. “What about Mr. and Mrs. and Pound and Pumpkin cake? Can't they join in?”

“Nuhuh,” said the other Pinkie. “They're here, but they're not here. They get their own friends to talk to. Tonight it's just us. It's a shame we can't all meet each other, but them's the rules!”

“Will they meet themselves too?” asked Pinkie. “Or … meet me .. you, too?”

“No. Maybe.” said the other Pinkie. She had a bowl. “Come on, slow-poke, get the spatula!”

Pinkie bought the spatula over. “Butterfly cakes, then?” she said. “Ooh! We can give them to Fluttershy tomorrow!” She frowned. “That's allowed, isn't it? They won't vanish when you do?”

The other Pinkie laughed. “Don't you know?”

Pinkie thought for a moment. “Aha!” she said. “They won't disappear because they're the product of something done after you arrived and not just something you brought with you. Right? Am I right?”

“Yep!”

“Oh no! We can't do that, then!”

The other Pinkie looked crestfallen. “But … why not?”

Pinkie laughed. “Don't you know?”

The other Pinkie thought for a moment. “Aha!” she said. “We can't make just butterfly cakes for Fluttershy because then your other friends might feel left out!”

“Yep!”

“Then we have to make five types of sweets!”

“Six!”

“Oh, yeah. Spike. What sweets are we going to make then?”

The two Pinkies sat symmetrically, rubbing their chins.

“Twilight?”

“Mooncakes! Rainbow Dash?”

“Rainbow cookies! Applejack?”

“Dorset apple cake! Rarity?”

“Pomegranate pavlova! Fluttershy?”

“Butterfly cakes, silly! What about Spike?”

“Ruby cakes!” they said together.

“We can fit all that in if we hurry,” said the other Pinkie, rooting through the cupboards for more bowls.

“Pinkie?” said Pinkie as she worked, “Why do you have to vanish?

“That's what it says in the invisible rulebook,” said the other Pinkie. “I only get to come back for one night.”

“Come back from where?”

“Nowhere.”

“Huh?” said Pinkie

“Eggs, please!” said the other Pinkie.

“Eggs incoming! Catch!”

“Whee!”

Shells cracked, and whites and yolks fell.

“Whisk, please!” said Pinkie.

“Whisk incoming! Catch!”

“Ow!”

“Oops. Sorry!”

“No biggie,” said Pinkie. “What did you mean 'come back from nowhere'?”

“I don't exist,” said the other Pinkie.

“Sure you do. You're right here. Look!” Pinkie dropped the whisk for a moment to hold up a mirror to the other Pinkie. “See? Right here.”

“But not really,” said the other Pinkie. “I'm only here because I'm dead.”

“But you're me, and I'm not dead!”

“I'm not you, Pinkie,” said the other Pinkie. “Not really.” She sounded more subdued. Then, perking up again, she said, “We need pomegranates, pineapples, and apples, stat!”

Pinkie pulled the requested fruits from a cupboard of cooking utensils as they were mentioned.

“But if you're not me,” she said, “then why are you me? I mean, like me? I mean, you're Pinkie, right?”

“Yep.”

“And I'm Pinkie.”

“Yep.”

“And you're not me.”

“Yep.”

“Well …” said Pinkie, rubbing her chin. “Shared names lack the property of transitivity, so that's alright, I guess. But if you're not me, then who are you?”

“Pinkie!”

“No, I mean … Oh!” said Pinkie. “You're mirror-Pinkie! From the Mirror Pool!”

“Yep!” said the other Pinkie. “Could you pre-heat the oven?”

Pinkie didn't. “You're mirror Pinkie,” she said, “and you're dead … and you're here talking to me.”

The other Pinkie stopped working. “I guess I'm not really mirror-Pinkie,” she said, looking down. “Because she doesn't exist any more. I'm just her echo. An echo of an echo of Pinkie Pie, just here for a few hours.”

“Oh.”

The two looked away from one another. Pinkie sniffled and chewed at her bottom lip. The other Pinkie went back to working on the fruit.

No, she couldn't let this happen. She couldn't be sad. There wasn't enough time.

Pinkie shook her head to clear the tears and went for the oven. “Okay!” she said, voice cracking. “Oven on! We need to fit in as much fun as we can before sunrise.”

The other Pinkie looked up from her work. Pinkie glomped her, and the two rolled on the floor. The other Pinkie looked dazed for a moment, then smiled.

“Exactly!” she said, and hugged Pinkie. “Just like a party.”

She stood, and helped Pinkie up. The Pinkies went back to the counter, switching tasks.

“I guess I don't mind too much,” said the other Pinkie. “It's only a few hours, but I get to spend them having fun. And I get to help my friend help her friends...”

“Are you sure?” said Pinkie. “We need to absolutely make sure you enjoy yourself as much as you can.”

The other Pinkie nodded. “I have this moment and I'm enjoying it. That's the best anypony could ask for, in the end.”

“Quality over quantity!” said Pinkie. “I like that because it alliterates. But just ask if there's anything – anything – I can do.”

“Not unless you have a stallion hidden away upstairs,” said the other Pinkie.

“Nuhuh,” said Pinkie. “Just some crayons and a roll of tape. And I bet you'd just find them uncomfortable, 'cause I –”

“Baking will have to do then!” said the other Pinkie. “Don't worry, me. I'm happy, see?” She grinned. “Oven's ready!”

“Yay!” said Pinkie. “Here come the sweets!” She carried a loaded baking tray to the oven.

When it was safely in place, the other Pinkie shut the oven door, and the two hoof-bumped.

“Do you really consider me a friend?” said Pinkie. “Even after …?”

“Of course, silly!” said the other Pinkie. “Wouldn't you?”

“Apparently so,” said Pinkie.

“Also if I hated you then I'd almost be hating myself,” said the other Pinkie. “And it's not like we have giant self-esteem issues or anything.” She gave a mock nervous giggle, which quickly turned into proper laughter, and Pinkie laughed with her.

“Oh, yeah!” said the other Pinkie while they were washing up and the sweets were baking. “Your friends might be a bit sad tomorrow. They all have to meet dead ponies, too, and they might be having less fun than we are. So you need to be around to make sure they don't get too down.”

“And give them sweets!” said Pinkie.

“That too.”

“Yes ma'am, Miss Pinkie Pie!” Pinkie saluted.

Author's Note

Hold on, are the Pinkies shipping TwiLuna?

Twilight

Something was coming.

Twilight felt it, she felt it in her horn, in her wings, in her breath, in her bones. It was like a distant, barely perceptible thrum. It was almost an ache, but not quite painful. It was at once blindingly obvious and so subtle that she was barely sure it was real.

The evening was unseasonably warm. Six ponies stood in a circle in the lower floor of the library. Twilight explained her findings.

"I'm sure of it," she said. "I've collated the ancient diamond dog codices, the thaumic record of the Crystal Empire, the studies of griffon folktales, the script of the Auld–"

"It's okay, Twi," said Applejack. "We believe ya. You didn't let us down about Nightmare Moon's return, you won't let us down this time. Plus, I'm getting a mighty strange feeling about tonight."

The other ponies nodded.

Twilight smiled, sheepishly and sincerely. She sometimes forgot she didn't have to justify herself to her friends as she would to an academic review board.

"So what's going down?" asked Rainbow Dash. "We can take it, I'm sure. Just point us at it!"

“Well, I talked to Princess Celestia, and she said we should do nothing. She's seen it before. It's not a threat to Equestria. It's not dangerous.”

“So, you brought us all here just to tell us not to do anything?” Dash did not look pleased.

“What should we expect, then?” said Applejack.

“She … wouldn't say,” said Twilight.

“Wouldn't say?”

“Yes.” Twilight looked at the floor. “She said it's a personal thing, that it would be better not to be told.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Nothing, then?” said Rainbow Dash. She seemed uncertain.

“Well, y'all know I have plenty of respect for Princess Celestia and Princess Twilight, but I reckon we'd do well to be vigilant tonight. Just in case somethin' less than friendly tags along with the harmless stuff,” said Applejack.

Twilight nodded. “That seems sensible. Go home, be keep an eye out for anything suspicious. I'll be here, prepared to use the Elements if we need to.”

And so it was decided.

Twilight Sparkle

Twilight awoke. She was sitting on the ground floor of the library, face buried in a drool stained book. Her fetlocks ached from resting in an awkward position and her nostrils stung. The only light came from a low burning candle on the bookshelf, flickering and sending shadows dancing across the room; the only sound, from the creaking of the floor beneath her as she shifted position. She sighed, and silently cursed herself for falling asleep when she was meant to be keeping watch and researching.

The world felt different. Not like it did earlier. The air did not thrum and her horn did not ache. Rather, the air was thick with an aetherial stillness, a sense of serenity, and a smell of smoke. Twilight wondered briefly whether she had been drugged, but, upon playing through some calculus in her head, decided her cognitive prowess was intact.

...A smell of smoke. Acrid, stinging, but not overpowering. That was odd. Rationality won out over magically induced calmness. Twilight stood up and looked around, searching for a source, a potential fire. Behind her sat a wrinkled unicorn with a long, white beard smoking an ornate ceramic pipe. He was holding one of the library's books open with his horn field and staring at her over it with a furrowed brow.

"Hmph," he said. "Alicorn, eh?" His voice was gravelly and coarse, his speech slow and ornamented with an odd stress pattern. "I was wondering when you would wake up."

Twilight realised that this was the sort of event for which she should summon her friends, but she felt no inclination to do so. In any case, he did not seem dangerous, so there was no immediate need to seek help.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The unicorn frowned, lay the book he was reading down, and blew smoke in her face.

"Star Swirl the Bearded, you young fool!" he barked. "Was the beard too subtle a clue?"

“But you can't be … You're dead … You … What about your hat?” Twilight faltered.

Star Swirl snorted. "Do you really think I'd wear that unwieldy, jangly rag outside of ceremonial occasions? Think, filly!"

Twilight was more than a little taken aback, but still calm. "How did you get here?" she said. "Is this another time travel spell? Have you come to enact some great work? Ohmigosh, I should call Princess Celestia! We need to–"

"Hush! Stop blabbering and listen!" said Star Swirl. "This magic is not mine. It's older and greater than that. It's not time travel. I'm dead. I've been dead and rotted to dust for far too many years to waste time listening to you panic. I'll only be here to talk to you until sunrise, and then that will be the end of it. Why? Because apparently the great, unknowable workings of reality in their infinite wisdom think this is a good way for me to spend my time. Don't go choking on questions again. I don't know any more than you do, other than what I've already said."

Twilight felt both cowed and disappointed. Star Swirl was clearly an imposing presence, but in her mind he had always acted like a stallion version of Celestia.

"Okay," she said. "What do you want to tell me?"

Star Swirl pursed his wrinkled lips and glared at her for several seconds. Twilight stood her ground, silently looking him in the eyes. At last, the old stallion took a breath from his pipe and filled the room with another puff of bitter smoke.

"You're an alicorn," he said. "From what I remember, we only ever knew of two alicorns, and neither really bothered to meddle in mortal affairs. Arrogant, isolationist creatures. And now here you are, sleeping in a library for normal ponies. You're too naïve to be very old, you must have come into being recently. And yet you mention Celestia in a reverential tone, as if you were her pet, so you're evidently no usurper. What's your tale?”

“The princesses weren't like that!” said Twilight. “...Were they?”

“Alicorns, not princesses. They weren't princesses. Now, I asked you a question, filly!”

“But–”

Star Swirl threw his book at her. Twilight ducked, and book thumped unceremoniously on the wall behind her.

“I asked first!” he said.

Twilight glared at him while reshelving the book.

“I'm sorry,” said Star Swirl. “Shouldn't have done that. It was inappropriate. Normally, I'd use my cane, but it seems not to have made the journey with me. One should never be disrespectful to books.”

Twilight sighed.

“Well?” said Star Swirl. “You're a young alicorn. How did that come to pass?”

Twilight was finding it increasingly difficult to respect Star Swirl, and felt a twinge of pride when she thought about the question.

“I was Princess Celestia's personal protégé,” she said, fluffing her wings. “She allowed me to become a princess when I finished this spell.” Twilight pulled a book from the shelves and dropped it, open at the right page, in front of Star Swirl.

He looked at the book for several seconds, frowning, then back at Twilight, frowning harder. His jaw was tense, his lips pursed, his eyes narrow. He had forgotten about his pipe, all his attention now concentrated on Twilight.

Star Swirl laughed. Twilight took a step back, bewildered.

“Oh, child,” he said after his laughter had finally died away. “Maybe you do deserve some respect, after all. Not a great deal, just some. But some nonetheless!”

“You're not angry?” asked Twilight, tentatively.

“Furious! Ha! But only with myself.” Star Swirl shook his head. “In any case, since you answered my question so beautifully, let me tell you of how your princesses acted when I was alive.

“I lived through the last stages of the Unicorn Reunification, when the Platinum Dynasty brought the final recalcitrant unicorn city states unto itself, when it routed the Earth ponies from the Sanguine Veldt. It was a violent time. Callous and incidental bloodshed was the norm.

“The two alicorns, Zaria and Selene we called them at the time, came by the unicorn cities intermittently. They knew what befell us. They knew the violence. And, I know that, given their powers, they could have stopped it. But they didn't. They simply chose not to see it.

“When I was a young, headstrong, idealistic fool, I sought them out. I abandoned my family, my city, and travelled in search of them. There are many tales to be told of that time, but the important thing is that I did find one of them. I found Selene in a cave. I sought her attention. She ignored me. I camped outside for three weeks while she ignored me. She would leave every so often, flying, so I couldn't follow. Each time she left, I never knew if she had done so permanently, to make a fool out of me. But she always returned. Entered her cave silently as if the gormless young unicorn before here was nought but a rock or a tree. But! At the end of the third week, once I had run out of food supplies and was trying to survive off the sparse, tough grass around us, she talked to me. She came out from her cave, told me that I had tenacity that would put an Earth pony to shame, told me she had food the likes of which I had never tasted, and bade me enter. She was not lying about the food, at least. Once inside, we talked properly. I told her of my aspirations as a scholar and a magician. Of how my desire went beyond the parochial aspirations of the Platinum Dynasty. And, for some reason, she humoured me. She started to teach me.

“I learnt a great many things in those months. Spells, of course, but more than that. I learned the many names Selene and her sister went by. I learnt of their ascension at the Apotheonic Torque. I learnt the myth of the mad, reclusive draconequus, an abandoned relic of an earlier time. I learnt that alicorns, despite their tranquil, haughty countenances, know worry and insecurity. And I learnt that alicorns, despite their tranquil, haughty countenances and tremendous powers, bleed and eat and shit just as lower ponies do. As – ha! – I'm sure you're aware by now!” Twilight averted eye contact with Star Swirl, who was grinning like a schoolcolt. “And, for that matter, they fuck too!

“Alas, I fear I'm rambling. The point is this. I asked Selene, once, why she did not intervene during the bloody battles of my home nation. She recited an answer from Zaria – Celestia, to you – saying that the problems of other ponies were not the concern of alicorns.

“They were not vicious, filly. They were merely unconcerned. And, lest you think I sit here making moral judgements, know that I was no better. My nation was no better. I thought only of learning. The Platinums thought only of aesthetics and possessions and means to safeguard the two. None of us came away clean.”

Star Swirl sat back, silently, watching Twilight.

Twilight said nothing. Her mind whirled in a great storm of thoughts and concerns. Could he be trusted? Was he the real Star Swirl? Could Celestia, a beacon of benevolence and magnanimity for as far back as Twilight could remember, really have been so callous? And yet, the story fit. Celestia and Luna's births had never been recorded in history. There was no reliable mention of them during the Pre-Classical Era. It was not until the end of the Discordant Age that the princesses were noticed by history. But Celestia could easily have been around before then, just not making any historical impact. It was not inconceivable that even a princess's outlook could change over millennia. And yet... The thought of the Princess of Equestria, her mentor, her teacher acting in such a way was horrifying.

Star Swirl laughed again.

“I know that expression,” he said. “Your heart and your mind are pulling in different directions, aren't they? You are intellectually honest and fairly bright, as ponies go. Your mind will win. You will come to accept what I say as possible.”

“You're right,” said Twilight. “I am.” There was no arrogance or show boating in this statement; both ponies knew it was true. “Do you know why I spoke of Celestia so reverentially? I have good reason to. She looks after us. All of us. She does everything in her power to keep Equestria safe, to keep ponies happy, to allow them to express themselves, to be the best they can be without fear of anything befalling them.”

Star Swirl smiled. “I can't blame you for feeling so strongly about the issue. But neither can I deny you the insight on how she used to act.” He shrugged. “That does not undermine any of the benevolence that you so eloquently burble about.”

Twilight was unsure what to say. Star Swirl went back to puffing on his pipe, filling the room with smoke again.

“You're naïve, filly,” he said. “And that, though more than a little pathetic and annoying, is no crime. Your princesses are not as pure as you thought them to be. I imagine you expected me to be rather more dull than I am, for that matter. So, if I am to advise you, I suppose I should say this. You are an alicorn. Unless your princesses are fucking with you, which is not beyond the realms of possibility, you will live for a very long time. You will not be the protected, you will be the protector. You will live through history on a scale that is currently unimaginable to you. You will have to face to brutality of reality, lose your naivete, and see how horrible things can be. If you are to be a good princess, and keep up Zaria's grand plan of caring for all ponies, you will have to do so unflinchingly.

“For that matter, you're also a scholar. And it is the duty of a scholar to see reality as it truly is, to hold up the light when no one else will so that you my illuminate the world in all its beauty and in all its flaws.”

Having finished his lecture, Star Swirl, with some difficulty, climbed to his hooves and ambled over to the window to look outside. Twilight said nothing. She was thinking over what he had said.

“It looks like I've finished early,” said Star Swirl. “It's not dawn yet.”

“I will,” said Twilight.

Star Swirl looked at her.

“I will face the nasty side of the world. As a princess and as a scholar,” she said.

“Well then,” said Star Swirl. “I suppose I've done all I need to. Would you like to hear some stories of my time in the world before the sun comes up?”

“Oh gosh, yes please!” said Twilight. “Wait there just a moment! I need to write these down.”

“Hmph. Students.” Star Swirl rolled his eyes. “Go on, then! Hurry!”

When Twilight had her parchment and quill before her, Star Swirl began. He told her of the Platinum Dynasty, of its brutal internecine struggles with other nations and its internal backstabbing and struggles for power, of his time with Luna and the wonders she had shown him, of his travels alone through the Old Lands, of his return to civilisation and attempts to disseminate all he had learned.

When the sky was orange and Star Swirl was drawing to the close of one of his stories, Twilight leapt up.

“Grown tired of my rambling? I don't blame you,” said Star Swirl.

“I have an idea!” said Twilight. “I think I've come up with a way to let you stay here. I just need to go grab some equipment.”

“Well, you haven't,” said Star Swirl. He looked through the window. “This isn't the sort of magic we can play with.”

“Please, just let me try!”

“Very well. If your arrogance is that great.” Star Swirl sighed. “Before you do, though, let me say something. It is heartening to know that so long after my time there are still ponies like you who shine the light of inquiry with fervour and honesty. I trust you entirely to carry out this noble work. More than other ponies, more than the other alicorns, even. It was an honour to have met you, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight smiled in spite of herself.

“Now, go,” said Star Swirl. “Let's see you try this spell of yours.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Twilight scampered down the stairs to the basement as fast as she could. When she reached the bottom, she froze, inwardly wincing. That was stupid. She tentatively ascended, hoping to be greeted by a scowl from Star Swirl for wasting time.

Spike stood in the middle of the room watching her with bewilderment. Star Swirl, his pipe, and the smoke that filled the room were gone.

Author's Note

If you're wondering: Yes, the gimmick and title are pilfered from episodes of Babylon 5 and Buffy respectively.

Also, standard needy writer requests apply: Please savage this if you didn't like it. If you did, then signal boosts and advertising via groups and the like would be much appreciated.

Fluttershy

Fluttershy blinked.

Dark brown fur, sleek, arched body, fluffy tail, twitching whiskers. Rounded ears and black shining eyes on a masked face, ready to swivel towards the slightest whisper. Now, though, it was pointed at her.

Fluttershy had named the polecat Bounce when she found him several years ago, had said how adorable and bouncy he was. Now she said nothing, just stared at him while he stared back at her.

Bounce chittered and looked at the couch behind him. Fluttershy squeaked and nodded, and Bounce leapt up to the couch and settled down. Watching her from across the cottage, he chittered again.

“Oh … Okay,” mumbled Fluttershy. She sat opposite him. “Please don't be angry, but … why are you here?”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“Oh, no, Bounce! I don't mind. I'm glad to see you again. It's just a bit of a surprise, because of … you know.” Fluttershy, feeling unable to meet Bounce's eye, studied the floor intently.

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“Goodness! Really? But what happens then?”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“No! That's so sad! Is there any way I can change it?”

Chitter.

“Oh … Oh, Bounce, I'm so sorry.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“Are you sure? Well, if you do get scared you can come over here for a cuddle. I won't mind.”

Bounce looked from side to side, furtively, as though he might be overheard. Chitter.

“Of course! Even if you're not scared.”

Bounce leapt from the couch, ran across the floor, and jumped into Fluttershy's forelegs. He peered around the room, then nuzzled her shoulder and settled down.

Fluttershy ran a hoof across his fur. Then something occurred to her, and she squeaked. “What if Angel Bunny wakes up? Oh my, he won't be pleased at all.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“He won't? So long as he's happy, then. Are you sure?”

Bounce chittered again, then barked.

“I wish you wouldn't be so cruel. He's not a bad bunny. Naughty sometimes, but not bad. And I love you both equally.”

Chitter.

“No, not loved. Love. I never stopped, even after you .. you know.”

Bounce peered at Fluttershy and hid his head in her mane. She stroked him again.

Slightly muffled: Chitter. Chitter.

“I don't think you have to love him, no. I know that after what happened, you and Angel could never …”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“Of course not, Bounce. Why would I blame you?”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“But it's not your fault. It's in your nature … was in your nature.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“I know I did. But that was a long time ago. At the time I didn't realise.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“I was just shocked. I'm .. better with it now. I've accepted it.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter?

“You don't need to apologise for it, sweetie. Like I said, it was in your nature to do it.”

Chitter.

“To Angel? Oh … Of course I could.

Chitter. Chitter? Bounce shifted and pawed at strands of her mane.

“I … Yes. I'm sure he will. I'll apologise to him and he'll accept and we'll all be fine.

Chitter.

Fluttershy squeaked and looked down. Bounce emerged from her mane and peered at her.

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“You're right. Oh, Bounce, I'm sorry. I want it all to be okay, but it isn't. I don't know if Angel will accept. I don't think he will. It … it's not the sort of thing he could forgive.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“I will, even if he doesn't accept it. I promise.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Bounce paused, panting, out of breath. He looked Fluttershy in the eye. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“You couldn't starve, Bounce! That wouldn't have made anything better. And if not her, then what else? It could've been any bunny. But it was her. Angel was just a baby, just a little kit. He lost his mother … and I don't think he can forgive that.”

Bounce lay on the floor, silent. Fluttershy rubbed his head softly.

“Please don't be too sad, sweetie,” she said.

Bounce said nothing.

“You don't even like Angel Bunny. Why are you so put out now?”

Chitter. Chitter!

“I keep saying that I forgave you.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“But my view of the world … I had to lose that. I was naïve. If not you then someone else would have shown me.”

Bounce ran across the floor and looked out into the night. Dabbing at her eyes, Fluttershy watched him without saying anything.

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“Yes,” said Fluttershy, “it's your last chance. But …” She thought for a moment. “I have a friend I met after you … you know. She's called Pinkie Pie, and she would say that if it's your last chance then you should try and spend it being happy.”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“I know, sweetie. I know.” Fluttershy sighed. “I feel like that when she tells me I need to be more assertive. But we have to try, don't we? Well, I … I'm scared of not trying.”

Chitter.

“Yes. Like I might shrink and fade away and be forgotten if I don't. But I'm not important right now. You are. Please try and be happy, Bounce. It breaks my heart to see you sad like this.”

Chitter. Chitter.

“I'm not.”

Bounce stood on his hindlegs and folded his arms. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

Fluttershy looked away. “Okay, if you say so …”

Chitter. Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.

“Oh, yes. That would be lovely.”

Chitter?

“Agreed!”

Fluttershy brushed the fresh tears from her eyes and extended a hoof. Bounce leapt to it, ran along her leg and cuddled up in her mane.

Author's Note

Fluttershy's turn! I'm getting a little more experimental.

I'd like to say that this chapter is so short because I want to play with economy of words. But the truth is that it's damn hard to get a conversation to realistically say much when one partner is incomprehensible and the other is, y'know, Fluttershy.