Or, Twilight Sparkle versus The Tooth Flutterpony
A school is very much a place of distinct contrasts I muse to myself as I tread slowly and quietly along the darkened halls of my School for Gifted Unicorns, the gentle golden glow of my horn-light the only real source of illumination to guide my steps.
During the bright of the day, as the corridors and classrooms hum with the sounds of education being delivered and received, the focus is very much towards the future. Upcoming tests, all-too-rapidly approaching due dates on assignments, even the simple longing for the seemingly distant weekend, or, in some cases, that all-too-distant closing bell. In the blinding glare of the future the past is reduced to merely an afterthought: previous lessons recalled, only to be applied to the problems of the present moment; or the results of past exams reflected on, maybe with regret, maybe with pride, and then discarded, all but forgotten.
At night, when shadows and silence reign, the school becomes an imposing edifice to the past. The walls are lined with portraits, painted and photographed, of students, teachers, and principals that have come before; in some instances they are one and the same pony, their images separated by only the brief span of passing decades. Display cases shine in the light of my magic, reflecting the past glory of those trophies, medals, and pennants won in honour of the school in a variety of fields academic and sporting, usually in competition against her sister schools: the School for Gifted Pegasi in Cloudsdale, and the School for Gifted Earth Ponies in Manehatten.
Tonight, after raising the Moon, I come here in search, in need of the future, and instead I find more of the past. Lurking, silently judging. I cannot help but feel betrayed by my subconscious. But I do not leave; a part of me knows that I fully deserve that which I am trying not to think about.
Even so, nestled among the accusing reminders of the past I find thin tendrils of the future that have intruded. Here, a poster advertising the upcoming Summer Sun formal dance. There, a sign-up sheet affixed to a notice board, asking for early auditions in this year’s Hearth’s Warming Eve school play. I walk by them and the burden on my heart is lifted, if only by that of the weight of a thread.
I stop at a tall, vaulted window, the mercurial glow of the Moon spilling into the hallway and scattering the shadows. I douse my summoned light, and for a moment I sit and watch as a lone cloud dances its way in front of that softly shining disc. I cannot help but think to myself that she would have loved this place of learning. But regret, even that born of necessity, is still regret. As I rise to resume my journey, a star adjacent to the Moon shimmers ever so slightly brighter than its siblings. Is this the threads of the future tugging softly at the past once more? The warm thrill of hope is as much a trap as the chill, bitter melancholy of regret, and so I push both sets of feelings aside, neither willing nor able to deal with them at this time.
I resume my gentle meander along the corridor and, rounding a corner, discover that I’m not as alone here as I thought I was. The honey-yellow glow of lantern light seeps out from beneath the door of one of the private study chambers adjacent to the school library. No doubt a teacher up late marking papers or making an early start on future lesson plans. Perhaps some tardy student intent on finishing that homework assignment left just a little too late, or the more eager sort of pupil seeking some extra credit. No need to intrude upon their privacy.
As I turn to leave a sound stops me cold in my tracks. A sound that, for all its softness, might as well be a great bell ringing out in alarm. The sound of crying.
Not tears of pain, nor of sadness. Rather, the gentle sobs that are born of equal parts frustration and exhaustion. Cries that are given birth when the owner of those tears has reached that point of weariness where even holding it in becomes too great of an effort and it bubbles unwittingly to the surface, like swamp gas escaping a mire.
It was not a sound that I had ever wished to hear within the walls of one of my schools.
With a skill accrued through a dozen of lifetimes of practice, I tread silently forth and ease open the door to the chamber. Illuminated by the gentle radiance of a firefly lantern, I survey the scene that is displayed before me: snapped quills, emptied ink bottles, crumpled sheets of parchment litter the desktop; the broken weapons and bodies of fallen soldiers lying upon the field of academical battle. Scattered scrolls and tumbled tomes, the bastions of knowledge that have fallen, besieged, for their secrets. And in the midst of it all the defeated General, head lying slumped against forelegs slowly becoming damp with tears, my own protégé, Twilight Sparkle.
Her head lifts the moment she becomes aware of my intrusion. “P-Princess Celestia,” she stutters and sniffles, scrubbing with a hastily raised hoof at the mismatched twin trails of tears that snake their way down her cheeks. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
I give a warm, comforting smile to my young student. “Having one’s name on the sign above the front door does tend to lend one a certain amount of freedom when it comes to matters of access.” I pause to raise an eyebrow, giving me time to ensure that my voice was free of accusation or admonishment. “Perhaps a better question is: what are you doing here at such a late hour, Twilight Sparkle? And in such a state of distress!”
“It… it’s nothing important, Princess.”
Her cheeks become tinged, although I’m uncertain if it is with embarrassment or with shame. My eyes wander over the scattered detritus of her studies. “If this is unimportant, then I’m certain the library staff live in fear of the moment you need to study something truly important.” The colour in her cheeks becomes more intense and she averts her gaze from mine.
I step closer and, with a raised hoof, I straighten the tangle of her bangs from her dishevelled mane. “Never be too proud to admit that you need help or assistance, my little pony.” As I gently stroke her hair, I call to mind Twilight’s current assignments. As my personal student, naturally I’m privy to her coursework, and I struggle to think of what might be causing so gifted a student such difficulty.
“But Princess, it’s just so… so… silly!” she mumbles wetly.
“I've seen and heard many silly things in my time, Twilight,” I reassure her. “I've even done a few of them myself.” Spying a kerchief among the debris of the desk, I levitate it over. “I’m sure that one more silly thing added to that list won’t hurt.”
She grasps the kerchief in her hooves, and there is an indelicate clearing of nostrils that one gets to know all too well after dealing with children for any length of time. Her head rises and she locks gazes with me, perhaps searching for any trace of mockery or insincerity. When she finds none, I see the resolve in her eyes waver and crumble.
“I can’t catch the Tooth Flutterpony!” she blurts.
Ever since the… incident resulting in the banishment of my sister I have endeavoured to know and have a better understanding of the ponies around me, to the point that I pride myself that in the last century or so I could count on the hooves of one pony the number who have managed to catch me off-guard. Now, thanks to the young filly before me, I feel that I will need either a second pony, or one with greater than the standard number of hooves.
Twilight takes my nonplussed silence as some kind of prompt to elucidate. “It all began after I started losing my first foal tooth,” she announces, her voice slipping immediately into her lecturing tone.
I struggle to keep the smile from my face. At such a young age Twilight is already an impressive instructor; if she could only learn to relate to ponies on a more personal level she would have within her the makings of a great teacher.
“That’s when I learned about the Tooth Flutterpony,” Twilight continues. “After the tooth came out, and I got my bit from the Tooth Flutterpony, I got curious: about what it looked like, about why it collected the teeth, about how it knew when to collect a tooth ... everything, really. So, I went to the library to do some research. What I found was… troubling.” She frowns at the recollection. “For starters, everything to do with the Tooth Flutterpony was shelved under ‘Myths and Legends’, and what I did find was extremely contradictory. If I found two books that agreed even on what the Tooth Flutterpony looked like, I found three more that disagreed with the first two! And the theories on the motives behind the tooth collection were even more wildly varying.” She turns away and begins rummaging through the piles of scrolls and mounds of books that cover the desk. “Clearly, if I needed answers, I would have to seek them myself… ah!” she exclaims, and her horn lights with the glow of her magic. “That’s when I started this.”
‘This’ is a well-worn journal, currently floating before my eyes in the grip of Twilight’s telekinesis. Inscribed on the front in the overly-precise hoof-writing of the young and precocious are the words ‘On The Tooth Flutterpony: Observations From the Field, by Twilight Sparkle (a filly) and research assistant Smarty Pants (a doll)’.
I glance back at Twilight, her eyes now shining with the brightness of pride in place of the wetness of tears. She silently urges me to open the notebook and so I do. Skipping quickly over the anticipated table of contents, glossary of terms, and similar material, I find that the introductory text is mostly an expansion upon what Twilight had just explained to me. I turn instead to the first entry in the journal and read…
“Experiment One: Tooth #2. Upper Left Second Premolar (ref. Appendix A1, Diag. 1: Equine Dental Structure).
Test Subject Alpha (Twilight Sparkle, hereafter referred to as TS) has noticed an increased loosening of the mentioned tooth, with detachment from gumline imminent. In preparation for the attempt at sighting the Primary Observational Target (hereafter referred to as the Tooth Flutterpony, or TF), TS has been attempting to remain awake all night, with 0% success rate. TS recalls that TS’s mother often partakes of the beverage known as coffee when intending to remain up late at night working, and so will also partake of this beverage in order to extend wakefulness. TS has calculated that one cup for each hour is required (ref. Appendix B1 - Calculations).
Initial observations show that coffee is totally gross, and copious amounts of sugar are required to consume all ten cups. In order to counter the aftertaste, TS has also consumed a six-can pack of 'Honey Dew' caffeinated beverage left in the back of the refrigerator by TS’s elder brother and his friends after their last game of 'Ogres & Oubliettes'. No observable effects at this time, other than an increased need to make use of the little fillies' room.”
Following this point, the writing rapidly devolves into a completely illegible spiky scrawl. What is legible, however, is a diagram of what I quickly determine to be a blueprint for a pony-and-coffee-powered emergency generator, consisting largely of an oversized rodent exercise wheel utilised as a turbine. There is also, I observe, the rather innovative touch in the addition of a “flush” powered hydrothaumic generator for maximum energy retention.
Another page or so of scrawl follows, until there is a sudden break that signifies a return to young Twilight’s pre-caffeine overdose writing.
“Experiment One: Tooth #2. Results.
Apparently, at some point in the preceding evening, Test Subject Alpha had the notion to climb to the top of the neighbour’s roof, for reasons that currently escape TS but were no doubt at the time critical to the experiment. TS defied all attempts to be lured down, and had to be ~~forcibly removed~~ rescued on a pegasus fire patrol cloud (which, while totally cool, was in no way relevant to the experiment). The Experiment One tooth became completely detached from the gumline shortly thereafter, and it would seem that the well-meaning but misguided parents of TS placed the tooth under her pillow after she passed out several hours short of achieving the goal of remaining awake all night. Experiment One tooth has been appropriated by the Primary Observational Target without a confirmed sighting.
P.S. Test Subject Alpha is now also banned from the library for one week. Let it be noted that despite these minor setbacks, the course of science will not be so easily impeded!”
Once again my gaze drifts back to Twilight, who is staring at me with a strange expression. It is as if she expects me to grade or critique her at any moment, part of her hoping that I do, another part fearing that I will. Feeling my cheeks ache with the effort of keeping a broad smile from spoiling the calm, Princessly demeanour that Twilight seems to expect of me, I decide that the safest course of action is to delve further into the journal. Turning to the next page my eyes are immediately drawn to the photograph that is plastered to the centre of the paper, and the oddness of it given the context of the journal: a slightly askew but still in-focus shot of the star-and-shield Cutie Marked posterior of a young and somewhat handsome though rather surprised-looking colt. The experiment results reveal the reasoning behind the picture and its placement in Twilight’s journal:
“... upon developing the film, it seems that TS’s big brother has accidentally triggered the shutter mechanism. Instead of photographing Target TF as intended by this experiment, it seems that BBBFF (ref. Glossary of Terms) stands for Big Brother’s Big Fat Flank. Success rate post-Experiment Two: Tooth #3 remains at 0 confirmed sightings.
Postscript: When explaining the results of this experiment to this researcher’s foal sitter, Princess Cadance enquired after the photograph and, upon sighting, asked for a copy of said photograph. Research Assistant Smarty Pants observed that grown-ups are really weird sometimes. This researcher is forced to concur, pending further investigation.”
I made the mental notation that it appears as though I’m somewhat overdue in having a certain straightforward and down-to-earth conversation with a certain Mi Amore Cadenza, and I resolved to remedy this situation as soon as possible on the morrow. The Princess of Love she may be, but there are what may be loosely termed the associated activities that I need to be sure of which she is sufficiently well informed.
I continued the perusal of my young protégé’s research journal, picking up speed and skimming through experiment reports as I did so.
Here, a failed attempt to coat a tooth in glue, resulting in the researcher’s mane and head becoming affixed to the pillow. I noted with interest that, the truth apparently being too embarrassing, the required shortening of Twilight’s mane had been explained away at school as an unfortunate bubble-gum related incident.
There, she had struck upon the notion of ‘following the money trail’, with a full sub-appendix that detailed the severest audit of royal government spending I have witnessed in some time. Though, observing some of the titles referenced in said appendix, I made the mental note to gently admonish Councillor Night Light. One does not loan sensitive internal national budgetary documentation to one’s school-aged daughter, no matter how adorable she looks when she asks.
Later, as her skills in magic improved, so did the attempted experiments to magically capture or observe the Tooth Flutterpony. All manner of seeking, tracing, alarm, scrying and locating spells were employed, all to no avail. Stunning spells, enchanted ropes and netting, and cages of magical force always came up either empty or with the least expected of prisoners. The local fauna of the Twilight Sparkle household had not fared happily during the course of these experiments.
It was as I neared the final pages of that well-worn tome that realisation finally dawned. Not bothering to finish reading, I closed the journal and levelled my gaze at young Twilight.
“So, where is it?” I enquired, my voice calm yet warm; there was no need to explain further – she knew full well for what I was asking.
The hopeful shine of her expression slowly drained as her horn lit with the glow of her unicorn magic, and a small box levitated from the saddlebags leaning against the desk. The lid of the box flipped open and there, resting upon a wisp of unspun wool like the most precious of gems, was a small lone tooth.
“The last one,” Twilight confirmed morosely, fresh tears welling unshed in her eyes. “And... and... I’m all out of ideas!” She gestured vehemently at the scattered books, crumpled scrolls, and overflowing waste paper baskets that surrounded her. “The experiment is over, and I... I’ve failed!” she wailed miserably. “I haven’t even been able to have a single confirmed sighting of the Tooth Flutterpony, let alone be able to ask any questions!” The words bubbled out from among the stream of liquid unhappiness, and overflowed anew from whatever dam had been holding it in check whilst I read.
I move over to my distressed star pupil and wrap a comforting wing about her, raising that poor beleaguered kerchief in my magic to catch a fresh deluge of her tears. “Twilight Sparkle, you have not failed,” I assure her, the firmness in my tone causing her start in mild surprise.
She blinks rapidly, eyes going wide with the internal conflict of disbelieving what I've said warring with the implicit respect and trust she carries for me. “But, what about the–?”
I cut short her protest by raising a hoof gently to her lips, then give her a quick, reassuring hug. “When we experiment, we do not always achieve what we expect when we first begin. Indeed, some of the greatest discoveries have come about from the unexpected. Other times, the thing that is discovered is that there is even more that we do not know than at first we thought, and more questions are often just as important as final answers. But more important still, is the process of experimenting and trying to understand.” With a hoof, I slide the worn copy of ‘On The Tooth Flutterpony: Observations in the Field’ across the desk to rest in front of Twilight. “If you can look at that journal and honestly tell me that you have learned nothing from conducting your experiments, then will I truly believe that you have failed.”
She stares at the notebook, and my hoof resting upon it, for some time. Finally, she looks again to me. “You’re sure I haven’t failed?” she asks faintly, her voice almost a whisper.
“I am.”
“But what about the books in the library? Are they all fiction? Is the Tooth Flutterpony even real?”
Once again I offer my most reassuring smile, one that comes naturally after centuries of princessing. “The important thing to know about most myths, legends, and old ponies’ tales is that somewhere at the heart is a kernel of truth, no matter how small.”
She ponders this for a moment, visibly processing the statement before reaching acceptance.
“You’re right as always, Princess Celestia,” she sighs, but it is the happy sigh of one relieved of a troublesome burden.
“Not always,” I reply, my mind returning to the thoughts this evening that brought me to the school in the first place. “But I’m glad that you trust me in this.”
Twilight’s head turns to look at the small tooth, nestled in its bed of wood and wool. “So, what do I do with the last tooth?”
I cast about until I spy a blank parchment and ink-pot with quill. I hastily scrawl a message, signing it, rolling it, and, with a flash of my horn, seal it with my personal crest. I offer the scroll to Twilight. “Take this and go to the front entrance of the school. You will find two of my guards there. Present it to one of them and he will escort you safely home. Then, place the tooth under your pillow and get some rest. You never know what might happen, and, if all else fails… well, a bit is still a bit.” I wink and begin levitating her belongings into her saddlebags. “No arguments! It’s been a long day – and night – for the both of us. And don’t worry,” I state, forestalling the protest I see forming in her expression. “I’ll tidy up here.”
I nudge her gently towards the door, and levitate her bulging saddlebags on to her back. Realising that I will brook no arguments on this, Twilight trots slowly towards the hall. She pauses as she reaches the door and looks back at me.
“Goodnight, Princess Celestia, and thank you.”
“Goodnight, my faithful student. You are most welcome.”
The expression of gratitude that now graces her previously tear-stained face warms my somewhat troubled heart. Without another word she turns away and all that remains is the clip-clop of her tiny hooves echoing down the hallway, until even that is gone.
I wait a few moments, busying myself with stacking books into neat piles, stoppering ink bottles, and clearing up the other telltale signs of Twilight’s frenzied studying.
“You can come out now,” I state to the apparently empty room. “I know you’re here.”
There’s laughter, light and high and airy, as if filled with the chiming of the tiniest and finest of silver bells.
“Am I so obvious?” the voice asks, bemused.
“To one who knows you – and your ego – as well as I do, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’,” I reply with naught but mirth. “You never could resist showing up whenever your name is said.”
Laughter again, even longer this time. “Guilty as charged,” the voice agrees cheerfully. “So, what can I do for you, Celestia? As you well know, I do have an appointment to keep,” it teases.
“That is precisely what I need to talk to you about.” And here comes the difficult part. “I need for her to see you tonight.”
“That’s not how it works, Celestia, and you know it.” The voice is serious now; nothing but business, with all traces of humour removed. “All children need to learn ‘the truth’ of this, as a part of them growing up. What is it about this one child that makes her so special, that I must break the rules for her?”
How do I respond? How do I explain that nearly every day I see in her such a rush to grow up, so eagerly questing for the adult magic of unicorns that she has turned a blind eye to the magic of wonder and imagination that is inherent to all children? How can I put into words the feeling that I must fight to preserve and nurture what childish innocence remains in her, lest it be lost forever? That all of my instincts are telling me that this is not only the correct course of action, it is the only course of action? I fear my audience would not understand or accept such reasoning.
“I ask as a favour between the oldest of friends,” I offer instead.
There is a long, drawn out silence that is most unusual, and for a moment I fear they have taken offence and gone.
Finally, there is a reply. “Only a glimpse,” it cedes grudgingly. “And only because we’re friends.”
“Only a glimpse,” I agree, relieved. “Thank you, my friend.”
“That’s what friends are for,” the voice exclaims, once more filled with the playful, flippant cheer that I'm familiar with. “Well, I have to go now. You know me – busy, busy, busy!”
“Thank you again!” I call, but the room is empty, the presence gone.
For a few minutes longer I continue to tidy the desk and study room in silence. For reasons I cannot explain, the unknown future no longer feels quite so dreadful. Perhaps it is nothing more than the positive feeling one gets from helping another? Perhaps it is something more? That is for the future to tell, and the past to bear witness.
Finally satisfied with the neatness of the room I extinguish the lanterns, leaving me alone with only the mercurial light of the moon and my thoughts for company once more.
