the sisterhooves social network

The shadows on the cobblestone streets shift left and right as the polychromatic lights shining from the single-pane windows of a small bistro on the corner of 56th Street and Trotter Way change in intensity. The colored shadows switch jaggedly from one to another. This is mediated, however, by the constant, yet somewhat understated, dull blue light from the full moon. A particular individual watches this scene unfold from the inside of the building. He stands leaning and breathing on the glass while he regards the cutting shapes dance across the street in quick, starting motions; a horrible postmodern dance. The music plays loudly, albeit not loud enough for the atmosphere to be considered "club," despite the intense light show and a few dancing ponies. There is a certain modesty and reserve that permeates the place; hardly anypony talks. Drinks are passed almost with remorse. The party, which had been at its peak an hour and a half ago, had since died down to less than ten individuals. Our subject who is so fascinated with shadows breathes a sigh into the window as he realizes it is approaching time to leave. His breath cools and condenses on the inside pane—which, he realizes, provides a wonderful metaphor to describe the party—and temporarily obscures his view into the street. For an instant, the deep blues and blacks become blurred together, a late-night soup of color in the early-morning moon light. When all of the condensed water droplets evaporate again, he pushes himself off the glass tiredly and makes his way around three or four ponies that have grown almost annoyed with congratulating him.

Our subject, it is worth noting, was given the Starswirl's Lifetime Achievement Award five hours earlier for his work in bringing the first-of-their-kind personal computers to the ponies of Equestria—and all before he reached the age of twenty. He shook hooves with previous recipients of the award who seemed rather upset that they themselves actually had to work for a majority of their lifetimes in order to be recognized. He gave a speech that was said to "open the digital frontier and pave the way for a better connected world" as one paper put it. Our subject had also created a network to link the newly created and affordable computers where people could record their lives in a digital medium and share it with their friends online. Truly a novel and revolutionary idea. Two grand achievements with just 19 years of living is a feat in and of itself.

Our little friend is Nexel Diode, the computer wiz-kid from the University of Canterlot, and he is about to leave this party where it's just been called, time of death: 2:23AM. However, as Nexel meanders around the tables in the pulsing light, he spots somepony at the bar. Not just somepony, but a female—one he has never seen before. She wasn't a reporter or someone interested in his work, if so, she would have already tried to talk to him earlier. Not only had she not tried to make contact with him, but Nexel had never seen her before in his life—he would have remembered such a figure as her's. So, by deduction, Nexel Diode came to the conclusion that she had just shown up to the party, the party that had ended.

What kind of pony shows up to a dead party? Maybe she was just very, very late? Maybe she just wants a drink and happened on this place? What ever the reason, Nexel Diode had come to the obvious conclusion any rational University Colt would when confronted with a pretty girl who was out late. He was determined to hit on her.

Finally, through the labyrinth of tables and passed-out ponies in chairs and on the floor, Nexel makes it to the bar stool directly to the left of the mysterious mare. Nexel clears his throat to alert the rather irritated bartender of his presence.

"I'll have a appletini and whatever the lady wants," he says smoothly. His premeditated words are met with the reluctance of the brawny bartender to whip up a drink for Nexel. But after another second or so he finally puts down the shined mug we was cleaning and looks at the mare as if to ask what she'll have. She looks up quickly at Nexel, then at the bartender.

"Oh, I don't drink alcohol. But if you want to purchase me a glass of water," she says while slowly turning back to Nexel, "I'd love to have one."

Nexel smiles at her then at the rugged stallion who is looking impatiently at Nexel with his hooves spread on the counter, supporting his large frame and making him look larger than truth. "An appletini and a tall glass of water, please."

"Thank you," the mare says to Nexel as the bartender stallion shuffles off to prepare the drinks.

"It's nothing; it's only gentlemanly," Nexel responded. This is the first time he can focus on her features up close since spotting her. Her snout is a little longer than usual and her ears pointier, similar to that of a fox, although she was definitely a pony, proved by her toned, slightly shorter than normal legs, each ending in a petite hoof. Her coat is a light red, her mane seems indecisive about being long or short and it is just a shade lighter than the dusty fibers of Nexel's. His own coif spirals around his head like the thorns of a pine cone, with each small collection of hair curling up at the end. His coat is a pale grey that stops just above his coronets. In primary school, colts would often tease him for not having big enough hooves. They haven't grown much since.

"So, small talk time. What is a mare—who doesn't drink alcohol—doing in a club at such a late hour?" he asks as the bartender clinks, filling the glasses on the other side of the bar.

"I'm just...browsing. Like one does at a market place on a Sunday afternoon." she replies. The bartender brings the glasses and sets them in front of the conversing couple. Nexel slips in a terse "thank you" before continuing.

"Is that so? What is there to browse at a small club like this? Especially when everyone is asleep. Sounds a bit strange, don't you think?"

"I suppose it is a bit odd. However, it's exactly at this time when the selection becomes truly interesting." She said hesitating a microsecond on the last word then lighting up her magic and raising her glass to her lips. A sparkling golden flame burned around her horn, filling the air between the two of them with a warm glow.

"But seriously, what could you possibly be looking for in a place like this?" He still hasn't touched his appletini.

"Ponies."

An ominous one word reply. Nexel concludes he is either talking to a pony-trafficker or a prostitute, either way, his interests are piqued.

"It has just occurred to me that we have not introduced ourselves yet. My name is Sentinelle Flamader."

"Wow, that's a mouthful," Nexel said having some fun, "How about Seni for short?"

She looks confused and offended in a strange mixed expression. She pauses for a bit, her face still contorted, "Uh...no."

"How about just Sen?"

"No."

"Senzi? Sengi? Zen?" He asks rapid fire.

"I will not debate informal names right now." she says calm and austere. Nexel didn't understand how this reaction came about. This type of flirting usually got the girls giggling, what had gone wrong? He shakes it off.

"Okay then. I'm Nexel Diode." He raises his hoof to his chest and closes his eyes, waiting for the "oh" or "ah" of recognition to wash over Sentinelle who will, like all of the others, recall all of the resent newspaper articles containing his name. But no such reaction comes to pass. He opens on eye to see Sentinelle staring quizzically at him. He quickly clears he throat and pretends to brush off his chest. "Does—um—does the name ring a bell?"

"Not really, no. Am I supposed to know your name already?" She wears a lifted eyebrow as she says this, tilting her head just a hair.

"Well—um—I've been in the news recently...you see..." he trails off rubbing the back of his head with a hoof. How could she not have heard of him?

"Oh, well, I'm a bit of a recluse." Bingo. All of this only made him more interested. After a few weeks of people knowing his life story, he would now be able to tell it himself, independent of a interviewer. It was a refreshing thought.

He had been silent for the past couple of seconds staring blankly into space and the air now smells of awkwardness. "Well, it is becoming late as you pointed out earlier. I suppose I should be going." Sentinelle says matter-of-fact-ly.

"Oh," he says still staring into space some where just below her chin. He then looks at her again, "Yeah, I guess...let me walk you home."

"Oh that isn't necessary. I wi—"

"Please, it'll be my pleasure. It's only gentlemanly." Nexel finishes off the statement with a smile.

She just sighs, steps down from the bar stool and begins moving towards the door. Nexel hesitates, then takes out a couple of bits and smacks them down on the table to pay for the last drinks of the night, before running after her into the shadowy streets.

The cobblestone clops as hooves their are brought down upon it. The sound travels quickly through the cool night air. The reverberations respond with alacrity; the sound returns in large echoes that die out slowly, then they are reinvigorated by another hoof falling. This cycle continued as Nexel Diode and Sentinelle Flamader walked side by side along the starlit roads and alleyways of upper-west Canterlot. "So..." Nexel begins, "Sentinelle..." The name was cumbersome with it jagged syllables that didn't quite fit the mouth. After enough time had lapsed for the word to float away on the cool night air, he finishes, "that's not a name you hear every day." It's strange pronunciation gave it a ancient air about it—like the way ponies used to talk, hundreds of years or so ago.

He hadn't noticed it before, but Sentinelle was wearing a hooded dark cloak that tied around her neck to keep the cold out. The only reason Nexel was paying any mind to it now was because she had pulled the hood up against the slight breeze, which made her facial features hard to distinguish, and every time a small gust came along, the fringe of the coat would brush up against his hooves. They walk in silence for a little while longer before Sentinelle speaks up.

"Yes I suppose it is unique."

Nexel glances around at his surroundings as if they would give him a question to keep the conversation going. "So, what do you like to do? Or do you have a job?"

Sentinelle looks at him for a moment before looking to her left at the dark windows of the shops they passed. "I like to go shopping."

"Oh really?" Nexel tries to sound more interested than he was, "what do you shop for usually?"

"Books mostly." she says still looking away from Nexel. Now she had piqued his interests for the third time that night. A mare who liked reading: it wasn't an endangered species, but it was rare. Anypony who liked reading was rare.

"What kind of books?"

"Oh, you know, normal books," she answers tersely. It was a bit of an odd answer, and Sentinelle must have realized this because she quickly added, "Like romance and fantasy novels." As she says this she turns back to Nexel as if to see how he absorbs this information.

"Oh alright, who's your favorite author?" There was a pause as she thought. You could see her mind moving behind the eyes that stare into the space just above and to the left of her in that classic pensive face.

"Ernest Neighingway," she says after some time.

"Ernest Neighingway? I can barely get through that stallion's work for school, how could anypony enjoy that?" Nexel retorts with mock disgust.

"His style is revolutionary," she says with a smile, but upon seeing Nexel's grimace, she quickly adds, "you know, for his time."

There was something strange about the way she spoke. It was as if she was trying to keep her cool, but was also stumbling through things. She was feigning a tranquil mood. But why would she need to do that?

Then Nexel had an idea that was so fueled by his press-inflated ego, it had to be true. She must be uneasy because she is speaking to a modern celebrity. This thought made Nexel smile as he glanced at her, her eyes darting over the path as they walk along. He couldn't believe he was making a girl nervous. This was unheard of in Nexel's line of work. He couldn't help but capitalize on this opportunity.

"You know...I'm not much different from you," he says smiling at Sentinelle beside him.

"What do you mean?" she asks looking quizzically back at him.

"I'm just saying," he continues with a lighthearted, playful tone, "there is no need to be nervous about talking to me just because I am a celebrity tha—"

"I beg your pardon?" she interjects. They have come to a corner where the street turned left. Sentinelle stops walking in order to face Nexel with a raised eyebrow. Nexel stops too and notices the confusion in her face.

"I mean—I—uh—you look kind of nervous and—" he stutters with his own confusion.

She comes back forcefully, "I may be nervous but it is most definitely not because of you, sir!"

"Why—I—wh-what are you nervous about then?" he asks almost squeamishly.

As if by some cosmic cue, a large gust comes down from the roof tops of the shops on the corner of the street. This gust creates a howling sound in Nexel's ears and blows Sentinelle's hood off of her head. The wind is so strong Nexel feels the need to turn away and shield his face with a fore hoof. When he turns back he was not prepared for what he sees.

Sitting on the roof of the shop directly across from the two ponies is a large wolf of some kind. In the moonlight all that could be made out were his eyes, glowing a sickly green hew, and his teeth, like seven-inch pearly daggers neatly arranged in the beast-canine's mouth.

"Sentinelle...don't...move," Nexel says through gritted teeth, trying to take control of the situation, but his eyes betraying his moral fear. The wolf sits idly on the roof, staring at Nexel who is scared stiff. In his periphery he sees something dark grow and then shrink away. He takes the chance. In granting the possibility that the wolf might spot his movement, he sees a much stranger sight.

Sentinelle's cloak has been cast aside and now lays limp on the cobblestone. Sentinelle herself is now dressed in an ornate corset that ends in a skirt. On her hip is a thick, black belt with a scabbard for a long sword and a few pockets. Nexel watches wide-eyed as Sentinelle's horn erupts in a soft blue flame as she pulls the sword from it's sheath. She brings it in front of her and assumes a lower stance for better leverage against her foe.

With a quick side glance Sentinelle delivers this one-liner, "Now you see what I was worried about."

Nexel still has no idea how to react, his brain says 'flight' but his hooves are glued to the floor—like one of those nightmares where you can't move because your hooves feel like they are in quicksand. Then a helpful suggestions from Sentinelle.

"Run!"

Nexel does a quick one-eighty on his hind legs and bolts it back the way they had walked. He glanced back to see the wolf leap, muscles rippling, from the roof after him. His aim was immaculate. The wolf was on a collision course with Nexel, baring his teeth and claws extended as he fell from the sky. Nexel thought this would be the end. But just before the claws could tear at his flesh or he could be swallowed whole, a flash obstructed his vision for a second.

Then everything faded to white...