Changeling Diplomacy

A lot of decisions are made changeling underground. A lot of plans enacted, problems foreseen, and actions followed through. Some of these decisions are better than others. For example, complementing your direct superior's lustrous chitin is a nice, smart thing. Waking up your direct superior on their day off, not a particularly smart one. One particular changeling drone found himself in such a predicament. He was on a mission. Sent forth by Chrysalis, Queen of the badlands hive, to retrieve his superior and summon her to the royal court. The problem was, his superior was known for over reacting to being woken up early. Often Violently. So now our drone has a problem, and needed to make a decision.

Wake up the hostile one, be pounded into the ground.

Risk the wrath of the queen, be pounded six feet under said ground.

Decisions, decisions. resigning himself to his pain, the drone walked the long hallways until reaching the desired location. He raised his hoof to knock, and hesitated when loud music started blasting from within the chambers.

BZZZZT! BZZZZT! BZZZZT! BZZZ-WHAM!!!

The sound of yet another alarm clock being smashed into unusable scrap heap rang clear. All the buzzing and smashing echoed off of the carved stone walls, annoying the room's sole occupant. With said annoyance came the almost ceremonial rustling of sheets, and angry curses at any random deity presently listening. Actually, most changelings in this particular hive went through this sacred ritual since the failed invasion. Wake up hungry, feel depressed and or angry, eviscerate alarm clock, curse at deities, etcetera.

An odd, disjointed voice half buzzed, half echoed through the mildly spacious room, "Ugh, mornings. Curse you for coming so early in the... morning..." Sheol angrily mumbled. She threw the sheets off of her chitinous body, revealing the lithe form beneath. Despite being a changeling, Sheol didn't look anything like the vast majority of her race. Her looks were more akin to that of The Queen, which in turn were more akin to a pony. Such was the visage of a changeling praetor, the upper-middle echelon of the changeling species. Her appearance was closer to the changeling nobility, possessing both a mane, and cat like iris with coloured cornea, but shorter in stature. If Sheol were to stand next to your average drone, one would find the praetor a full head taller. Horn not withstanding.

Sheol shifted her upper body in an attempt to rise out of her bed and make for the door, but the sheets still clung to her lethargic form dragging her back down, hard. Onto the solid stone floor. With a resounding thud, more curses were spewed, before she felt finally started moving again. The mildly pained changeling then dragged her sluggish form over to a small desk on the other side of her room. Straightening herself out, she ignited her scarlet aura, and put the needle of an old record player to the vinyl. Almost immediately, an electric guitar started wailing a riff through the chamber. The fast paced music had its desired effect on Sheol, as she slowly began shaking the feeling of drowsiness off her.

The Praetor glanced her sanguine eyes over her mirror's counterpart. Her horn had no gnarls in it, but it curved straight back like a scimitar. Her fangs were fairly short, peaking just over her bottom lips. Her carapace rivalled the blackest night, while her red midsection shined brightly. Her glorious rose coloured mane... a veritable explosion of hair flung in every which direction, almost afro-like in nature. All in all, a very tired looking changeling stared into her ovular mirror, weighing the pros and cons of shaving her bedmane to save the effort of grooming every single morning. The scarlet aura returned, and a simple wooden box opened to reveal a silver brush.

Sheol ignited her magic once more and began to levitate said brush to her mane, when a series of urgent knocks rattled her chamber's door. Giving the offending door a look that would turn make a cockatrice flee in terror, Sheol pulled the needle of the record, and trudged her way to the doors. Flinging said doors open slammed them into the face of a drone. The resulting crunch did not sound healthy.

"...Ouch. Why do you keep doing thaaaaAAAAAAA!" Steve the drone was only expecting a half-asleep murderous praetor. He was not expecting a half-asleep murderous afro praetor. Sheol just rolled her eyes.

"Come now Steve, I didn't open the door that hard." Sheol mumbled staring down at the drone.

"Ahem. No, you didn't, but it was still painful none the less... you know, we go through this routine almost every morning. The afro is new though." Steve the drone rubbed his muzzle in annoyance.

"You insist upon waking me almost every morning, even though you know I have several alarm clocks. Your point is?" an unamused Sheol lectured.

Steve inhaled deeply and raised a hoof, only to exhale and lower it a few seconds later. With a resigned sigh, Steve straightened himself. "I've got a message for you. Her Majesty, Queen Chrysalis formally requests your presence in her royal courtroom in one half hour."

"Really? But today's my day off! What is so important as to call me in?" Steve somehow shrugged and backed away at the same time. "Yeah yeah, you're just the messenger. Typical. At least she gave me time to fix... this" Sheol gestured to her mane. "See you at breakfast Steve." Sheol retreated into her domicile with a slam of the door. Steve began to trot off, when the door reopened. "Oh, and Steve? Decide to bother me on my day off again, and I wont be the only one with a wacky mane."

Steve took a second to digest this. He didn't even have a mane. "But I don't even have a mane." he said, pointing to his head. The praetor narrowed her eyes into a threatening glare, pointing her hoof at her own eyes, and then Steve's. The door once again slammed shut, and the loud music began once more.

One half hour later...

Even in the soft green glow of her throne room, Queen Chrysalis was a rather intimidating creature. Not intimidating in the sense of, 'This being is a hazard to my health.' Nor, 'should avoid crossing paths with her?' It was more of a, 'This creature is terrifying. I should ask her to step on me.' All changeling queens were of such nature. It WAS their nature. They demanded respect, being the alphas, the leaders, the rulers. They needed to inspire their subjects to be ideal, and what better way to do that than by being the embodiment of the ideal changeling?  One would think such a thing difficult, but one does not simply rule without being mastering this.

All that being said, all changelings knew that speaking to a queen required a certain amount of poise. A smidgen of eloquence. A hint of respect, and dignity shown at all times around her.

"You what mate?"

A custom which Sheol was apparently had little tolerance for.

"You have heard me correctly Praetor Sheol. You have been reassigned. I believe that your talents are being... misused." Chrysalis purred, practically lounging on her throne. "Such intelligence in a changeling should surely be a higher rank, doing field work for her queen."

"I am. Queen Tenae sent me here for inter-hive diplomacy and relations. Along with the other five ambassadors." Sheol stated bluntly.

"Come now Praetor Sheol, we all know that's not the real reason you're here." Chrysalis' sly grin only stretched. "The others sent all of you to keep me in line. They no longer feel like they can trust little old me after the invasion, isn't it?"

The tension in the room suddenly changed. The question hung in the air, begging to be answered. Begging for someone to break the tense silence. Sheol shifted on her hooves. She knew that any attempt at flattery would just be taken as an insult. She also what knew the advantages silence could bring; its own answer. She knew the smart thing was to keep her mouth shut, under threat of severe penalty.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Sheol had decided to skip the flattery portion of the insult. Queen Chrysalis' smile faltered into a deadpan look. The two changelings spent the next few seconds staring into each other's eyes, both assessing the will of the other. Chrysalis apparently found something amusing, as she began to laugh.

"I can see why Tenae is so fond of you Praetor Sheol, so outright for a changeling... Must have been why she fought so hard for you to be the new changeling representative." Chrysalis practically oozed smugness, giving Sheol the classic 'I know things you don't' look. Sheol cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

"I thought I already was a changeling representative." Chrysalis thought it fit to laugh in Sheol's face some more.

"Not a changeling representative, THE changeling representative. As I've been saying, we thought it appropriate to move you to a brand new position." Chrysalis relaxed back into her throne, the simple action dialled the smugness level to eleven. "How would you like to be the head of the new changeling-pony embassy?"

That got Sheol's attention. "YOU WHAT MATE." Sheol nearly shouted.

"After what happened with the failed invasion, we have decided that it would be... advantageous to the changeling race to seek some form of diplomacy, and offer reparation. We have already contacted the proper channels, and have acquired an appropriate building. Now all we need is some one who can deal with the stresses of diplomacy between races. For this, the other queens and I voted on which of you we should send. Surprisingly, it was you." Chrysalis stated half humorously. This was a bit of a system shock for the praetor.

"Me? Why send me? Praetor Draithe is surely the better candidate for this! Out of all the diplomats here, he has the most patience! The most understanding! Heck, he was the one who was always fascinated with the ponies, so why choose me over someone who is clearly more qualified?" Sheol half rambled. The guards on either side of the room shifted their weight slightly. Just enough to jump into action in case anyone tried, or ordered, anything to happen. Chrysalis waved her hoof with a single barking laugh, and the soldiers stood back down.

"Because Sheol, You possess a certain charm the others do not. A certain spark that we find most endearing. One the ponies should find most agreeable. Bah, we are getting off track again! I suggest you pack your things Praetor. This reassignment will be a lengthy task."

"Fine. So where are you sending me anyways?" Sheol resigned herself to her fate.

"Oh, nowhere special. Apparently the Equestrians found themselves a new princess. She's Just in a little town known as Ponyville."