Xenophobia

Negotiating

Raymond stood alone.

Well, technically not alone, but, then again, he rarely really was. Two guards stood watch by what used to be the courtroom doors. Everyone else was sent away—it had been a long time since he’d given any real orders—to the castle, or the hospital, or to aid in the relief effort in the lower city.

The Elements were practically dragged away by Moonfire’s battalion, except for Ms. Sparkle, who had taken to the streets in search of her family alongside her soon to be sister-in-law. Chrysalis’s execution had shaken them, but that couldn’t be helped.

It was Company policy, after all.

Ray had to admit he was sad to see them go. He genuinely enjoyed their company, but it was best they weren’t present for what came next.

The human shifted his gaze toward the gabled ceiling, eyes lighting on the dense, green cocoon that hung above, and allowed himself a small smile. He raised his rifle, and fired.

Thick stalks of resin snapped under a torrent of explosive shells and the grand chrysalis fell, crossing the ford between ceiling and floor with only the aid of Mistress Gravity and shattering into thousands of sharp, green shards. Almost immediately, a body was revealed—white flecked with green, pinkish mane limp and dead. Princess Celestia lay sprawled in the aisle, laying in no small amount of changeling blood and vomit, covered in sticky resin and perhaps changeling birthing fluid.

Raymond’s guard detail tensed, and suddenly found themselves on the receiving end of a still smoking gun barrel. They froze, but remained alert, and the human respected them for it. Respect wasn’t changing how this meeting would turn out, however, and it almost pained him to make their jobs harder.

Almost.

A shuffle from below stole the human’s attention: Celestia was coming to. Ray took a step backward over Chrysalis’s mutilated body, kicked it closer to the downed princess, and waited.

The Princess of the Sun burned. Air—the feeling of air on her skin—burned her; stung her; bit her. She was free, but at what cost? Had the transformation been a success? Celestia clenched her eyes shut further: other than the burning she felt no different. She shuffled wings, limbs, ears… heard breathing.

Her eyes snapped open, and her own breath ran short.

Chrysalis, a fellow founder of Equis, deity of the changeling people and mother of countless thousands lay before her. Half of her face was missing: a cavity of jagged carapace and glowing, green tissue lay turned up to the ceiling, her right eye dull and lifeless. Celestia could have laid there, staring in grieved disbelief, for an age if not for the blood-caked, black shoe that came crashing down upon the remainder of Chrysalis’ skull, shattering it in a shower of chitin and settling, green blood.

“Good afternoon, Princess.”

Celestia’s skin crawled, and she felt like throwing up, but she trailed her gaze upward nonetheless: shoe to burnt pantleg to stained shirt to torn tie to scarred face to blue eye…

“You live,” she coughed, throat half-filled with cold fluid. “We were *cough* worried for your safety.”

“Cut the bullshit,” the human growled. Gun pointed across the room, he stepped closer, towering above. Celestia frantically tried to move, but her muscles wouldn’t obey her, and she felt a sharp pressure at the base of her damaged horn. Her eyes flickered to her forehead: the human was standing on it.

A shout rang out across the room, and Celestia heard the sound of clattering hoof-beats. The tinny echo of gunfire against marble quickly sent her would-be saviors skidding to a stop, however, and the monarch felt her heart sink.

“Tell your guards to stand down,” Sgt. Shaffer grunted, shifting more weight onto her horn. “We’re simply negotiating: mare to man.”

Celestia obeyed, feeling true fear for the second time in one day. It would have been wise to accept Luna’s counsel. The humans murdered an immortal. What was stopping the death of another? The only solace Celestia found in her current situation was the fact that her sister was out of harm’s way: sent to Stalliongrad to prepare more soldiers for the second return of Discord.

“What is it *nng* you wish to discuss?” the princess wheezed, silently trying to gather mana in her horn, but Gerald’s foot grinding into her was making magic near-impossible to perform.

“Ma’am… you appear to have a bug problem.” Celestia stopped trying to cast and looked up in surprise. Raymond just looked down on her impassively.

“I… I am aware…”

“No. You aren’t,” Raymond continued, face a diplomatic mask. “If you were aware, your city would not be in shambles and you wouldn’t be in this position.” He stooped down, putting more pressure on her already sensitive horn. “But you are.”

“What… what do you want?” Celestia sighed, suddenly very tired. How many ponies had died today? How many by her own fault? How many in her service? The alicorn shrank in on herself, ignoring the pain in her horn and her lungs, and blinked. Her eye met Raymond’s. He appeared to be disappointed.

“I want many things,” the human answered, pausing to adjust his grip on his weapon. “My family, my friends, my home… but right now I just want cooperation, and I’ll do what it takes to get it.”

“I can see that,” Celestia deadpanned, indicating the gun in his hands with a tilt of her head.

Raymond frowned: “You see nothing.” He shifted again, unconsciously grinding her skull into the marble. Flecks of sharp resin dug into her pruned underskin, and Celestia winced. When Ray spoke again, she could hear the smile behind his words. “You will give us back what’s ours, and then we will discuss that little business contract we drew up last week.”

A discussion... The Princess of the Sun had experienced enough discussions, parleys, and negotiations in her lifetime to know exactly how this was going to play out—what Raymond was going to say next.

Celestia decided to get it out in the open, hoping against hope that her ponies were safe.

“Or else?” she quietly murmured, resigned to meeting the humans' demands upon Ray's answer—for she knew he would have an answer. Celestia again looked toward the dais where she had been leading the wedding ceremony only a few hours ago. She felt something tug at her insides and she wanted to cry, but she kept her composure. The human didn’t deserve the satisfaction of witnessing the tears of a goddess, no matter the circumstances. She looked up, and, as expected, found Raymond smiling.

“Give us back our vacuum suits,” he murmured, crouching until his face was but a two feet from her own, “or you’ll have to start raising the moon again.”