Their Variables

Chapters

Veto
The Cutie Relapse
... don't wear it out.
Change(ling)s and Forms
Between a Spike and a Hard Place
When all you have is a spell book ... [T]
The Longest Line [T]
I Am the Night ... Glider [Original Flavor]
I Am the Night ... Glider [Take 2]
Domains
Yak Attak
That's my name ...
Dewey led a very interesting life, you see.
From Canterlot Boutique with Love

Veto

“The Chair recognizes Senator Grizelda. You have the floor.”

Slowly, deliberately, the sole griffon in the chamber removed the pince-nez from his beak and placed it in his jacket pocket. Senator Grizelda (Reformed Friendship Party, Baltimare) stood up and leaned towards the voice-amplifying crystal mounted on his desk. He spoke with a deep, soft voice. “I agree that this is a loophole that must be closed as quickly as possible. But I cannot abide the specific language of the proposed amendment. Redefining ‘born in Equestria’ to specifically exclude hatching … Well, need I remind the Senate that I was hatched in Equestria?”

Throughout the chamber, dozens of senators shifted behind their desks. Senator Tangelo (Friends of Reform Party, Manehattan) reached under her huge, white wig to massage her temple. With her other hoof, she flicked on her luminescent crystal to request the floor.

Grizelda continued, “My fellow senators, if you can reword the amendment proposal to bar changelings from citizenship without excluding my fellow griffons, or any other respectable species, then you will have my support. But no sooner. I yield the floor.”

Head Chairpony of the Senate, Prince Blueblood (New Camaraderie Party, Canterlot), nodded at Grizelda, then glanced around the chamber. “The Chair recognizes Senator Tangelo. You have the floor. Again.”

Tangelo stood up. “First of all, my sincerest apology to Senator Grizelda. As quickly as possible, I will review the wording of Article 2 of my proposal and make the suggested changes. But!”

The few dozing senators were jerked awake by Tangelo’s sudden shout, their own wigs nearly falling off their heads.

“Time is of the essence! We all can agree on that. Rewording Article 2 will take, what, another two weeks? That is too long. As a stopgap, we can split my amendment in two, and vote on each separately.”

The other senators murmured at that. The main door to the chamber opened, then closed.

“Better that we close one loophole now, rather than waiting two more weeks to close both. Chairpony, I move that we strike Article 2 completely, and vote immediately on the remainder of my amendment.”

Smiling, Tangelo sat back down. But her smile faltered as … nothing happened. Nopony clamored to second her motion, and Prince Blueblood did not offer the floor to anypony. Hoofsteps were the only sound in the chamber. Most of the senators stared at the source of the sound; Tangelo followed their gaze, and her eyes widened.

A white unicorn with a dark mane, wearing a collar and red cravat, slowly approached Prince Blueblood’s chair. It took Tangelo a few seconds to place her: this was Raven, one of Princess Celestia’s top aides. It was not unusual to see the Princess’s aides in the Senate building—but what she carried was unusual. Raven held the Spear of Nebuloso in her telekinesis, with its tip pointing straight up, and the Quill of Qronos dangled from a golden thread, fastened just below the spearhead.

Raven was here to speak as the voice of both Princesses.

She reached Blueblood’s chair and passed him the Quill and the Spear. “Chairpony,” she said, “are you satisfied that these are the sacred symbols of the two thrones?”

“The Chair is satisfied.” Prince Blueblood passed the symbols back, then pulled an ornate hourglass out from behind his desk. “As the representative of both diarchs, you have the floor, for a duration not to exceed one hour, beginning now.” He flipped the hourglass.

Raven turned to face the Senate. She produced a scroll, unfurled it, and read.

“‘We, Celestia and Luna, by the will and forbearance of Equestria, princesses …’ I’ll spare you the complete list of their ranks and titles. Anyway: ‘... with full understanding of the gravity and responsibility of this decision, do hereby invoke the right of veto maximus.’”

Raven gave that a few seconds to sink in. Every senator was on the edge of his or her seat now.

“‘Any law, amendment, or court order that seeks to strip changelings of the status and rights of Equestrian citizens, or which restricts—whether directly or indirectly—the ability of changelings to obtain Equestrian citizenship, is preemptively nullified, vilified, and declared anathema. The offer of citizenship must and shall remain open to all the speaking creatures of the Earth, including the changelings.’”

Gritting her teeth, Tangelo looked down at her desk, at the hard copy of her amendment proposal. She resisted the urge to throw the pages in the air, but just barely.

Raven continued, “‘This veto shall remain in effect for a period no shorter than five solar years and five days. Having thus invoked our right of veto maximus, we the Princesses may not invoke it again for the remainder of this solar year. May the blessings of Harmony be upon you all.’” Raven closed the scroll. “That is all. I yield the floor.”

As Raven walked out, Tangelo grabbed her quill and started crossing out lines on her amendment. “Way to go, Princesses,” she muttered, almost inaudibly. “You gutted my amendment—why not tear my heart out while you’re at it?” After reducing her text to a few islands of legibility in a sea of black ink, she flicked her luminescent crystal again.

The door slammed shut as Raven left. Prince Blueblood put away the hourglass. “The Chair recognizes Senator Tangelo, who technically never yielded the floor in the first place.”

Blushing slightly, Tangelo stood back up. “For obvious reasons, I wish to withdraw my previous motion. But I believe we can pass part of my proposed amendment and still comply with the Princesses’ veto. I move that we strike everything except Article 1, Paragraph C-1, then put that to an immediate vote. I yield the floor.”

“We have a motion,” Blueblood said. “Will somepony second that motion? Ah, Senator Carver seconds it. Very well …”

As Prince Blueblood rattled off the procedure for the vote, Tangelo leaned back in her chair and sighed.

She couldn’t deny citizenship to hypothetical changelings born—or hatched, or whatever—on Equestrian soil. Nor could she turn away hypothetical immigrant changelings applying for citizenship. And she couldn’t even retroactively strip hypothetical changelings of their citizenship for having lied about their species during their naturalization exam. The royal veto—this bizarre, borderline-insane royal veto—had tied the Senate’s collective hooves.

But Tangelo could make it illegal now for anypony to lie about their species on their naturalization exam. So in the future, any hypothetical changelings applying for citizenship would have to openly reveal themselves. It was better than nothing, if only barely.

She smiled wryly. The Princesses had thought her amendment important enough to preemptively “nullify, vilify, and declare anathema.” How many of her fellow senators could brag of that?

Author's Note

I originally wrote this scene for The Changelings Are Due in Canterlot. But, as my man J-teeth pointed out, this scene in that story created an irresolvable problem. On the other hoof, I still like the scene and want to preserve it.

Oddly enough, you could easily slot this scene into the same continuity as Alarm Clock or The Changelings Are Due..., even though the backgrounds of those fics are contradictory.

Thanks to JapaneseTeeth, KuroiTsubasaTenshi, and Yami Vizzini for pre-reading.

The Cutie Relapse

Five years later ...

Starlight Glimmer smiled as she gazed over Manehattan, stretched out beneath her. As the sun set, the lights of the skyscrapers twinkled like stars—which was just as well, because the storm clouds above obscured all sight of the real stars. It was of no matter. After all, a storm was much better ambience for the great work Starlight had to do.

Starlight reared back and let loose with a “Mwahahahahahaha!” A proper sinister laugh was good for the soul, even when nopony else was around to hear it. But tonight, somepony else was around. The lightning that punctuated Starlight’s laughter revealed another silhouette on the roof behind Starlight.

“Well, well, well,” Starlight said, picking up her staff. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

“I came as quickly as I could.” The other pony stepped forward. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“You’re assuming that the entire world revolves around you. How typical.” Starlight turned and pointed her staff at the machine on her right—a dizzying construction of cogs, pistons, glass chambers, brass tubes, and enough gemstones to make Rarity jealous. “For the record, dearest teacher, I was merely waiting for my newest creation to finish powering up.”

“Of course. How silly of me.” Twilight Sparkle took a few more steps forward, stopping about ten feet away from Starlight and her machine. She was tall enough to tower over Starlight—her alicorn growth spurt hit, hard, two years ago—but Starlight gave no sign of being intimidated.

“So what brings you here? Come to tell your faithful student how much of a disappointment she is?”

“Of course not!” Twilight’s impassive façade broke. “You’ve made mistakes, but so has everypony else. That doesn’t take away from the progress you’ve made, or all the good you’ve done. I’m proud of you, Starlight Glimmer, and don’t you ever forget that.”

Starlight sneered. “Spare me your pity. You want to talk about the good I’ve done? Well, tonight I will do something even greater yet! There is a cancer at the heart of ponykind, and I’m about to slice it out! Tonight, in this city ... and soon enough in all of Equestria! Hahahaha!”

Twilight sat down. “You’re off your meds, aren’t you?”

Starlight started, then glared daggers at Twilight. “What? That has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m attempting! But for the record, yes! Yes, I threw that so-called medicine away! It was holding me back, making me—”

“Like everypony else?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Starlight waved her staff menacingly in Twilight’s direction. “You don’t understand me! You never understood me! You—”

“That’s a very nice staff you have there.” Twilight smiled. “Where did you get it?”

Starlight was so taken aback by the abrupt change, she was smiling in response before she realized what had happened. “Whaaaa, oh, this old thing? It’s the stave of Thessalonicus the Elder. I picked it because I liked its colors.”

The staff was a thick metal rod, tapering slightly at one end, with arcane runes carved into its entire length. At the wider end, a large ruby was mounted.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Twilight said. “Where did you get it? And for that matter, when?”

“Oh, that’s simple! I ...” Starlight held up the staff and looked at it—really looked at it for the first time. Quietly, she said, “I don’t remember.”

Her eyes widening, she dropped the staff and spun to face her machine. “When did I build that thing?” She rushed to the edge of the roof and peered down. “How the hay did I get up here?”

Starlight froze in place, hyperventilating, until she felt the purple alicorn wing stretch across her back. Twilight pulled her into a hug, and Starlight simply rested her head against her teacher’s neck. “I’m having another episode, aren’t I?” she asked softly.

“It’s okay,” Twilight said. “I’m here, and we can work this out together. That’s all that matters.”

Starlight closed her eyes and nodded.

“Tell you what?” Twilight continued. “Why don’t we go back to my house and have some tea? I’ve got that green tea you like so much.”

“That ... that sounds really good.”

Author's Note

this is what the refrance

... don't wear it out.

“Pinkie! C’mon Pinkie!” Rainbow Dash, lit by the early-morning sun, pounded on the Sugarcube Corner upper-floor window. “Pinkie Pinkie Pinkie Pinkie!”

The window opened, and Pinkie Pie leaned out. “Hiya, Dashie!”

“Pinkie!”

“Hehe, that’s my name, don’t wear it out!”

“Whatever. Are we still on for all those pranks we talked about?”

Pinkie drooped slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m busy all morning today. Mr. and Mrs. Cake got a bunch of last-minute orders, so I need to make the deliveries.”

“Darn it!”

Pinkie leaned out the window precariously and patted Rainbow’s head. “But don’t you worry. I’m free all afternoon. Come back here at lunchtime, and then we can get our prank on!”

“Okaaayy …” Rainbow pulled away. “But on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Never, ever say ‘Get our prank on,’ ever again.”

Time flies when you’re having fun, and rare was the day that Pinkie Pie didn’t have fun at her work. For her, those six hours rushed past like a mere half-dozen hours—and those hours were filled with smiling faces and cheerful greetings.

“Good morning, Cheerilee!”

“Hello, Pinkie Pie.”

“Happy ten-days-till-your-birthday, Orion!”

“Heya, Pinkie!”

“Eeeyyy, Archer!”

“Right back at ya, Pinkie!”

“Good late-morning-almost-noon, Lyra!”

“Hello, uh … you.”

Pinkie froze mid-step and looked intently at Lyra Heartstrings. The unicorn smiled back at her—a forced, pained smile. “Oh, gosh, this is awkward,” she said. “How could I forget your name, of all ponies?

Sweat broke out across Pinkie’s brow. “HaveagreatdaybyeLyra!” she shouted as she bolted back to Sugarcube Corner.

“Hi, Pinkie!” Cloudchaser said as Pinkie zipped past.

“Heya, Pinkie!” Muffins called to the familiar pink blur.

“Curse my popularity,” Pinkie muttered as she pushed herself to move even faster. She tried to stick to less-used streets, but she still passed dozens of ponies—who all recognized Pinkie and greeted her.

“Morning, Pinkie!”

“Pinkie Pie, what’s the rush?”

“Hi, Penkie!”

Pinkle muttered, “Oh, no …”

She could see the entrance of Sugarcube Corner. But a small herd stood between Pinka and her salvation. She narrowed her eyes, snorted, and put on one last burst of speed. She leaped—and every pony in the crowd looked up as she sailed over their heads.

“Pankie?”

“Oh, hey, Pinkie Poo.”

“What the? Pimkie?”

Ponko Pay hit the ground and rolled, her momentum carrying her through the bakery’s doorway. She slammed the door shut behind her, then leaned against it, panting.

She was not alone in the bakery. Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle were both seated at the nearest booth.

“Finally!” Rainbow said. “I’m so bored, Pin—” A sudden coughing fit cut off the rest of her comment.

The pink mare threw her head back and shouted, “Daaaaarn it!”

Twilight leaped out of her seat and rushed over to her friend’s side. “What’s wrong, Puh … Puh …”

The pony in question ignored her, pointing a hoof instead at Rainbow Dash. “What did I tell you, just this morning?”

“What?” Rainbow replied.

“Pii, Pii, Pii …” Twilight sputtered. “Piiiiiin—”

The pink pony shoved her hoof into Twilight’s mouth. “Don’t! If you force it, you’ll just break it even worse!”

“Break what?” Rainbow lifted up from the table and hovered at the pink miniature horse’s side. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember what I said, Dash?”

“You say a lot of things. And … Tank kinda sorta hit my head really hard this morning.”

The pink equine facehoofed—in the process, splashing Twilight Sparkle’s spit over half her face.

With her mouth suddenly free of pink hooves, Twilight said, “And I wasn’t even there. What’s going on?”

“I said, ‘That’s my name …’” The pink ungulate leaned into Rainbow’s face. “‘... don’t wear it out.’”

“What.” Twilight said.

“Anyway …” The pink mammal continued glaring at Dash as she opened the front door. “Looks like we’ll have to delay that prank session, Dashie. Because I need to run by the shop and see if they can fix this.”

“Wait, P—, P—, uh, Miss Pie!” Twilight’s face lit up as she finally pronounced the name, sort of. “Miss Pie, I still don’t understand.”

Miss Pie scrunched her nose. “Ew, Miss Pie is my mom.” She stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Then she opened the door and leaned back in. “But, you know, before she got married.” She closed the door again.

She opened the door again. “If her maiden name was Pie. Which it wasn’t. You know.” She exited a third time.

Twilight and Rainbow Dash stared at the closed door for half a minute.

“Wow,” Rainbow said. “That wasn’t the weirdest thing she’s ever said, but it’s definitely a new kind of weird, right?”

Twilight, however, had her mind elsewhere. “Puh, puh …” She shook her head. “Eee. Ink. Puh. Okay, I can still say that much. So then, puh … Ink … Eee … Puh. Ink. Eee. Puh, ink, eee! Piiiiiiiiiiiipbpbtbptbtp …” She sputtered, her tongue sticking out.

Rainbow Dash laughed. “Good one, Twilight.”

“I’m not joking!” Twilight said. She trotted back to the table. “Something really weird is going on, and it might be serious. I’m going to get to the bottom of it, as soon as I’ve had my coffee.”

She took a long drink from her mug.

She spit her coffee across the room.

“What the hay?” Twilight said as she scrutinized her mug, and then the sugar pot. “Somepony replaced the sugar with salt!”

Rainbow Dash, meanwhile, whistled and looked everywhere but at Twilight.

Twilight scowled and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the front door opened, and the pink quadruped trotted through.

“Okay!” the pink carbon-based lifeform said. “I’ve got good news and bad news and some more good news. Which do you want to hear first?”

“Ummm …” Twilight said.

“Too bad, I’m starting with the good news! Sooooo, the boys at the shop say they can fix it for me. Unfortunately, they have to special-order some phonemes from Germaney. So it’s gonna be two weeks before they can even start!”

“Oh.”

“But! They gave me a loaner to use until then. So for the next few weeks, everypony can call me Flügel Snoot.” Flügel Snoot beamed.

“What,” Twilight said.

“Haha!” Rainbow said. “Good one, Flügel Snoot, you almost …” Her eyes widened, and she looked down at her own snout. “What the? Flügel Snoot, Flügel Snoot! Why can’t I say Flügel Snoot?!”

“See?” Twilight said. “I told you something weird is going on!”

Rainbow grabbed Flügel Snoot’s shoulder. “What’s going on? Why can’t I say your name, Flügel Snoot?!”

“That is my name,” Flügel Snoot said, “so don’t wear it …” A smile slowly spread across her face—a distinctly devious smile. “You know what? Go ahead and wear it out. I got the extended coverage insurance, so I’m not liable for any damage! I’m gonna run this sucker into the ground!”

Flügel Snoot pranced right back out the door. “See you later!”

Twilight and Rainbow Dash stared at the door, again.

“Twilight,” Rainbow said, “are you as scared as I am?”

Yet again, Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash found themselves staring at something—this time, above them.

“I’m not even wondering how she did it,” Twilight said. “I mean, I am wondering, but I also know that digging too deeply into that particular question will lead to madness.”

“Yep,” Rainbow said. “Madness.”

“So, whatever. I’m just wondering how she did it so quickly. How long was she even out of our sight? Two minutes?”

“A minute and forty seconds.”

The sky above was clear, save for a cluster of clouds directly above Ponyville. These clouds were shaped into letters, spelling out the message:

FLÜGEL SNOOT WAS HERE

“Heya, girls!” Flügel Snoot said, appearing from Celestia-knows-where and hooking her forelegs over Twilight’s and Rainbow’s withers. “Guess how many magazines Flügel Snoot just subscribed to!”

Rainbow groaned. “Too many, I assume.”

“Oooh, close! The correct answer is: all of them!” Flügel Snoot stepped away and commenced bouncing and cartwheeling in circles around Twilight and Rainbow. “Oh my goodness, this loaner name is going to be so much fun! As long as I don’t need my regular name for anything important in the next few weeks, I’ll be—”

Flügel Snoot lost her balance and fell on her stomach. The cause was immediately obvious: her rump was vibrating, and her cutie mark was flashing with a magical light. The same was happening to Twilight and Rainbow Dash.

“A cutie mark mission!” Twilight declared. “To the map, everypony!”

In the Great Courtyard of the Royal Palace in Antlerlantis, thousands upon thousands of caribou gathered—representatives of every walk of life, from all corners of the mighty Caribou Empire.

The Caribou Empress approached the podium, flanked by the six Bearers of the Elements of Harmony. Behind her, a large shape was obscured by a tarp. She cleared her throat and addressed the multitude. “Bucks and does, we are gathered here today to honor these six heroes. They have taught us a lesson about the Magic of Friendship which we shall remember until the end of days!”

“Until the end of days!” the crowd echoed.

The Empress waved her hoof. Three caribou pulled the tarp away, revealing the statues beneath it—the images of the six ponies, carved from marble. The base bore the engraving of each pony’s name.

“May their names be revered for a thousand generations: Twilight Sparkle. Applejack. Rainbow Dash. Rarity. Fluttershy. And Flügel Snoot!”

Though she was drowned out by the roar of the crowd, Flügel Snoot reared back and screamed to the heavens, “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaarn it!”

Author's Note

Thanks to KuroiTsubasaTenshi and Yami Vizzini for pre-reading.

Change(ling)s and Forms

“Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview,” Twilight said.

“Oh, it’s really no problem,” Thorax answered. “It’s the least I can do after everything you and Spike have done for me …”

“Hey,” Spike said, “we just did what friends do!”

The three of them trotted into Twilight’s private study. Her furnishings—an antique cherrywood desk, warm firefly lamps, portraits of authors and historical magicians, and bookshelves stuffed with a mix of fiction and nonfiction titles—had gone a long way towards making this the homiest, least imposing room in her castle. The thick Saddle Arabian rug muffled their steps as Twilight led them to a set of red, upholstered chairs around a coffee table.

“Here, have a seat,” she said.

“Hmm, this is really comfortable,” Thorax said as he settled into his chair’s thick cushion.

“Isn’t it? I asked Davenport for the most comfortable chairs in Equestria, and he certainly delivered.”

“Yeah, I love these chairs!” Spike added.

Thorax smiled. He was looking much healthier now than he had when Spike first met him. He was already less gaunt, and his carapace was growing glossier by the day.

Twilight grabbed her notepad, inkwell, and several quills. She cleared her throat and said, “So, did I hear correctly that you took the shape of Spike’s reflection? And then a rock?”

“Well,” Thorax said, “I don’t want to brag but …” He transformed into a rock.

“Fascinating!” Twilight jotted notes down. “A lot of pony scientists thought that changelings could only take the form of other quadrupeds.”

Thorax transformed back. “Really? Why would they think that?”

“It was just an assumption, because we’ve only ever seen them copy ponies. There’s just so much about changelings we ponies don’t know!”

“That makes sense …”

“Next question: Are there any other changelings who feel the same way you do? Changelings who want to be friends with ponies?”

Thorax’s head drooped. “I wouldn’t hold my breath for it. Queen Chrysalis taught us all that ponies are only good for food, and she didn’t like dissenting opinions. If anyone else disagreed with her, they never said so.”

Twilight wrote some more. “I see. And are there any other changeling nations? Or is Chrysalis the queen of all changelings?”

“Well, yes and no. Chrysalis is queen of all thirty known hives. But there used to be two other queens, who had five or so hives each. But they and their kingdoms disappeared.”

“Disappeared? As in …?”

Thorax threw his forehooves in the air. “As in, nobody has any idea what happened to them! Their hives were just deserted a few years ago, and there’s been no trace of them since.”

“Huh,” Twilight said, furrowing her brows. “If some other nation overran them, there would be signs of a struggle. Maybe some kind of plague caused a colony collapse?”

“Or maybe,” Spike cut in, “they went into hiding! Maybe they infiltrated the surrounding countries. And no one’s ever seen them because they’re so good at blending in.” His eyes went wide. “Maybe they’re right here in Equestria!”

“That’s ridiculous. Don’t be silly, Spike.”

Twilight turned, her gaze darting back and forth over the whole room. “Who said that?”

“Um …” Spike said.

“It wasn’t me!”

“Twilight,” Thorax said, “did your chair just speak?”

Twilight looked down at her chair. She thought about how very, very comfortable it was, and how irritating it would be to find a replacement. “No,” she said. “No, it didn’t.”

There was silence for a few seconds.

“Heeeeeey, Thorax,” Twilight said, “what was life like at your hive?”

Author's Note

“Changes and Forms”

Between a Spike and a Hard Place

Spike’s heart pounded as he approached the bed. He had been given just one job—to ensure that Twilight Sparkle got enough rest—yet here he was, about to wake her himself. Of course, Spike had been backed into a corner. Those pushy delegates doubtlessly would have woken Twilight themselves, and demanded even more of her time, if Spike hadn’t agreed to take their questions to her. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if there there was anything he could have done differently, to prevent this from happening.

He reached out and gently shook Twilight’s shoulder. She lifted her head off the pillow, looked straight at Spike, and said, “Huh?”

Spike tried to speak, but it just came out as an unintelligible squeal.

“Does something need scheduling?” Twilight asked.

Spike finally found his voice. “Oh, uh, yeah. Two delegates have speeches booked in the same hall. What do I do?”

“Okay, no problem. Just put the hay in the apple and eat the candle, okay?”

Spike blinked. “Huh?”

But before Spike could ask for clarification, Twilight yawned and flopped back onto the pillow. She fell back asleep in seconds.

“Oh, I need an answer, but Twilight can’t even think straight! What am I supposed to do?”

Slumping his shoulders, Spike retraced his steps back towards the door. And with every step, his frustration grew. Twilight had pushed herself too hard, again; the other princesses had let Twilight go without sleep for too long; some bird-brain had scheduled a polo game at the same time as this conference; some other dunderhead had delayed crucial maintenance until today; and now these delegates apparently couldn’t even wipe their own butts without asking for Princess Twilight’s help. Something had to give—and Spike just knew that when it did, everypony would blame him.

“Stupid delegates,” Spike muttered as quietly as he could. “Can’t leave Twilight alone for five flipping minutes. Why think for yourself when you can just ask Twilight?”

He froze at the door. As he listened to muffled sounds of the two delegates’ bickering, a devious smile spread across his face. “If they wanna hear from Twilight so much …”

Spike stepped out and shut the door behind him. The two delegates immediately ceased their argument and stared at Spike. He drew himself up to his full height, standing with his hands behind his back—and he said nothing.

Make them wait for it, he thought.

The stallion—the delegate from Manehattan, or maybe Baltimare, or maybe Stickupmybuttburg, Spike couldn’t quite remember—spoke first. “Well, what did she say? She picked me, right?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” the mare from Whogivesaflipville replied. “Let’s not be too hasty there, good sir. I got a feeling she went with me.”

The stallion opened his mouth, but Spike cut him off with an, “Ahem.” As the others fell silent, Spike continued. “Princess Twilight Sparkle has heard your questions. And this is her answer.”

He extended his left hand: it was holding an apple. He took a bite from it, savoring the sweet juice almost as much as he savored the confused expressions of the delegates. Then, with his right hand, Spike shoved a fistful of hay into the hole he bit in the apple.

The mare spoke again: “What in the—”

“Not yet,” Spike interrupted. “That wasn’t all Twilight said.” He reached behind his back once more and withdrew a white candle. After letting the two ponies get a good, long look at it, he popped it in his mouth and bit off half.

Mmmm, he thought, chewy.

Spike had mentally prepared himself for any reaction from the delegates: anger ... confusion ... angry confusion. But their reaction now took him completely by surprise. With wide eyes, both ponies said, “Oooooohhh.” Then they turned and quietly trotted back down the tower.

Spike stopped chewing. “What the hay?” he asked the empty landing.

“Princess Twilight! Princess Twilight!” A lanky blue pegasus rushed up the stairs, stopping in front of Spike.

Spike couldn’t remember this delegate’s name or where he was from. But after one glance at his mane—which looked almost exactly like a mass of fluffy clouds—Spike knew exactly what to nickname him: Fartface.

“Hello, random dragon. Is Princess Twilight available? I need to ask her … about …” As Fartface trailed off, his eyes darted from the hay-stuffed apple in Spike’s left hand, to the half-eaten candle in his right.

Spike swallowed the mouthful of wax. “Need to ask her what?”

Fartface stared into the distance. In a dazed voice, he said, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore.” Then he turned and trotted away.

Spike scratched his head, accidentally smearing a bit of candle wax against his scales in the process. “I don’t wanna look a horse’s gift in the mouth, but this is weird.” He shrugged. “Oh well, back to more important things …”

But just as Spike turned towards the door, a dreadful sound reached his ears: the clop-clop of dozens of ponies ascending the staircase. And judging by their chatter, they were dozens of angry ponies.

Spike stood in front of the door and struck his most intimidating pose. But as the mob of delegates advanced, Spike knew he was powerless to physically stop them.

“Where’s Princess Twilight?” one stallion said, a little too loudly. “I need to lodge a formal complaint about the catered lunch.”

“My chair is too fluffy!”

“Somepony is wrong about bees!”

“My chair is too hard!”

“I can’t stand all this shouting!”

“My chair is too hard and too fluffy!”

“Uh …” Spike’s first instinct was to back away—but he knew Twilight was counting on him. “By order of Princess Twilight, be quiet!” He punctuated the shout by waving his arms.

The crowd immediately fell silent. Every pony’s gaze was glued on Spike—or rather, on the two object he was still clutching.

One mare said, “Is that hay … in the apple?”

“Uh, yeah?” Spike raised one eyebrow. Then, on a whim, he popped the remaining half of the candle in his mouth. “What about it?” As he chewed, every eye in the crowd widened.

“It all makes sense now,” the mare murmured.

“Why didn’t we see it sooner?”

“By Celestia, I was wrong about bees …”

Talking quietly amongst themselves, the crowd descended the tower in a much more orderly fashion, leaving Spike alone once again.

Spike stared long and hard at the hay-stuffed apple in his hand. “I think … I’m gonna need a lot more candles.”

Spike appraised the nerdy mare waiting at the table. She looked quite tired—frazzled, even—and the schedule said she was some kind of rock expert. Spike had no idea what to call her.

Spike sat at the table and said, “Uh, it says here you have a meeting with Princess Twilight?”

She adjusted her glasses and replied, “Uh, yuppers.” But she said it with a lisp, so it came out more like yupperth. “She wanted me to prep her on all the different gemstones in the Citizens of Equestria statue”—Thitithenth of Equethtria thtatue—“before the reception tonight.”

Spike shook his head to dislodge all the th phonemes from his ears, and he knew then exactly what to call the mare: Gemmy McGemface.

“Yeah, that’s great,” Spike said. “But first, check this out.” He set the apple on the table, and gave Gemmy enough time to glance at it, then back at him, before he ate another candle. This one had grainy bits that added some pleasant texture to it.

“My stars …” Gemmy McGemface said, with absolutely no trace of her former lisp. “This changes everything.” She placed her spectacles on the table and walked away.

Spike vaguely recognized this stallion, but couldn’t quite place where he’d seen him before. So he walked up and said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, “I’m here for your two o’clock!”

The stallion was surprised, of course. “You? But I’m supposed to be briefing Princess Twilight on the progress with the water main.”

Oh, right. That’s who this was: Moisty the construction pony.

“I speak for the Princess,” Spike retorted. “And she says …” He waved the apple in the stallion’s face, then ate another candle. This time, he ate an apple-cinnamon-scented one, but unfortunately it just tasted like more wax.

“Wow,” Moisty said. “Princess Twilight said that? That … I could fix all the pipes in Canterlot like that …”

A tall mare approached Spike. She was an obnoxiously cheerful mix of pink and purple—pinkurple—and she had a heart emblazoned on her butt. Spike decided to call her … Princess Cadance.

Spike was really on a roll with these names.

“Hey, Spike,” Cadance said. “What’s going on?”

Spike slouched against a nearby table and crossed his arms—a pose that was absolutely as cool as Spike felt inside right now. “Oh, you know, just settin’ ’em up and knockin’ ’em down!”

Cadance looked unconvinced. “What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Spike waved the apple in her face. “Bam!” He ate another candle, this one vanilla-scented.

Cadance’s jaw dropped. “By the powers of Harmony …” Her wings flared out. A sudden gust of wind swept her mane and tail up; bolts of electricity shot from her hair, nearly striking Spike.

“Make way! The doors are opening to the Four Towers of the Night!” Cadance proclaimed. “Hidden wisdom is pouring upon us like new wine from a goblet! We must prepare the way!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Spike said.

Princess Cadance disappeared. One instant she was standing right there; the next, there was a Cadance-shaped hole in reality, filled with blue crystals and pink lightning. Then the hole collapsed, and the entire mountain trembled beneath Spike’s feet. As the vibrations traveled up his spine, Spike was suddenly aware of every person within a ten-mile radius—and filled with a profound, overwhelming affection for every one of them. Then the feeling passed.

“Wow,” Spike said. “The vanilla candles taste really good!”

From the stage, Princess Celestia gazed across the crowd of delegates, chatting amiably amongst themselves as they filled the assembly hall. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was time to begin; a glance to her side, at Luna, Cadance, and Spike, confirmed they were ready.

“My little ponies,” Celestia said. Everypony else went quiet and stared back at her. “I am so proud of all of you. At this conference, you’ve accomplished things we didn’t dare dream of. You agreed to a complete overhaul of Equestria’s economy, which shall make inequality a thing of the past. You created a practical roadmap to world peace. You solved the Rieponny Hypothesis. And it’s only been one day!”

Celestia stepped back, and Princess Luna stepped forward. “The sun will shine brighter! The rain shall make sweeter music as it falls! Procreation will be more fun!” She gave the audience a big wink. “Animals will be better behaved! And for this, we have the incredible wisdom of Spike to thank!”

The cheers and stomps of the delegates filled the hall. Spike waved back, then winced and put a hand to his distended belly. The mass of wax he had eaten felt like a bowling ball in his gut.

Luna stepped back. Cadance did not step forward; instead, the world warped backwards relative to her, until she reached the front of the stage. Speaking in a voice that sounded like a chorus of fifty mares, she said, “Behold, we stand on the threshold of a new age! As we look down upon the ants now, so too shall we in a fortnight look back upon our present selves!” Her mane and tail flowed like the other two Princesses’, and sparks of pink light streamed from the corners of her eyes. She hovered in the air without moving her wings. “The sky will roll up like a scroll, and the very foundation of the Earth shall be shaken! Three cheers for the harbinger of the new era: Spike the dragon!”

The crowd obliged. On the second cheer, the gems of the Citizens of Equestria statue began glowing. After the third cheer, the light was almost as bright as the sun.

“Look!” Celestia said. “The statue is shining with the Harmony that exists between all citizens of Equestria.”

Spike shielded his eyes. “Wha—”

Every gem fired a laser at Spike. A flash of white light blinded everypony in the hall. When their sight returned, there was a black smear on the stage, where Spike had been standing. The dragon was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh,” Celestia said. “Excuse me, please.” Then she teleported away.

“There can be no progress without sacrifice!” Cadance proclaimed. “Flesh and bone must be torn asunder before they can be created anew! All will—”

“Be quiet, you.” Luna’s magic clamped Cadance’s mouth shut. Then she flashed a big smile at the baffled crowd. “So, how about Spike, then? All that, and he’s a stage magician, too!”

“... Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa …”

Normally, Spike would have to stop for breath by now. But he didn’t think anything of his suddenly increased lung capacity, because he was too busy screaming.

“... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa … Oh, I’m not exploding anymore.”

Spike opened his eyes and stood up, then realized he had no idea where he was. He saw a dark blue void, littered with lights like a million stars. A carpet of similar lights formed a floor that Spike immediately looked away from, for fear that it would stop supporting him if he thought too hard about it.

“Congratulations, Spike. I knew you could do it.”

Spike spun to face the voice and found Princess Celestia, smiling at him.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Spike said. “I was afraid I was dead or something.”

“But you are dead.” Celestia didn’t stop smiling.

“What.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just temporary.”

“I’m … dead?”

“You’ll get better!”

“How?” Spike’s urge to scream incoherently was rising. “How do you recover from being dead?”

“Oh, normally there’s this whole ceremony that you and I do. But I imagine you’d find it boring, so I’ll give you the abridged version instead.”

Celestia waved her horn, and a bunch of glowing pictures appeared, hovering around her and Spike. “Hmm,” Celestia said. “Do you recognize any of these memories?”

“No. Should I? What the hay’s going on?”

Celestia dismissed the pictures and pulled up new ones. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I ought to have a bunch of your relevant memories prepared for when this happens. But your ascension caught me completely by surprise, so here we are. Ah!”

Celestia selected one glowing picture and expanded it. “Look,” she said, “it’s your memory of that rafting trip with your family. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“I guess …” Spike said, glancing back and forth from the memory to Celestia. “But what does—”

“And now you get a song!” Celestia cleared her throat. Then with a voice as clear as water from a mountain spring and as beautiful as silver bells, she sang:

“This is your Princess song,
It isn’t very long.”

It took Spike a few seconds to find his voice. “‘Princess song’?”

“Yeah, you’re a Princess, now.” Celestia fired another laser at Spike from her horn. “Bam!” Again, everything went white.

Twilight Sparkle stretched and opened her eyes. “Wow,” she said, “I haven’t slept like that since I was a filly.” Then she started and leaped out of bed. “Oh no, oh no, I’m not supposed to be sleeping! What about the schedules? Was the water main ever fixed? What about—”

“Relax,” Spike said. “Everything’s fine. We all followed your instructions to the letter.”

“Oh. Good.” Twilight sighed, then squinted at Spike. “You look … different.”

Spike was twice Twilight’s height now. He wore black pants over his long legs. His chest was muscular enough to make Bulk Biceps jealous, and scaly wings extended from his broad back. On his forehead, he had a unicorn’s horn, and a golden tiara rested just behind it.

“Is it the pants?” Twilight asked. “Yes, definitely the pants. They make you look taller.”

Author's Note

Big thanks to KuroiTsubasaTenshi and war877 for pre-reading, even if I wasn't able to use their suggestions. My fault, not theirs.

When all you have is a spell book ... [T]

Starlight Glimmer hummed a light tune as she trotted down Mane Street. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice as the street gave way to a grassy park—and she barely stopped herself from walking face-first into a tree. She gave the trunk a suspicious glare, before …

“Oh, Starlight! How fortunate!”

Starlight prepared her mental notecards for Interacting with friends — chance encounter (public), plastered a big smile on her face, and turned. “Oh, hi, Rarity. How are you doing?”

“Not so well, I’m afraid.” Rarity raised a hoof and pointed up at one of the tree branches. A white cat perched there, not deigning to look at the ponies below. Rarity continued, “As you can see, my poor, sweet Opalescence climbed up that tree and won’t come back down!”

“Hmm,” Starlight said. “Have you tried—”

“Everything, Starlight! I’ve tried everything! Calling her name, bribing her with treats, shaking the branches, bucking the tree itself …” Rarity threw a hoof to her forehead and swooned dramatically. “But nothing is working!”

Rarity abruptly regained her composure. “And now you, Starlight, are our salvation! I must stay with Opal, to make sure no harm befalls the poor dear. But can you run and find Fluttershy, and tell her of our predicament?”

“I can do even better.” Starlight smiled, genuinely this time, as her horn glowed. “I can get Opal down myself.”

She cast the spell. A white sphere of magic floated from her horn, up to the tree branch. Opal glanced indifferently at the ball—just before it collided with her face and exploded in a blinding flash of light.

After the light faded, Opal stood up. Her eyes were wide open, while her pupils were pinpoints.

“Come on down to Rarity, Opal!” Starlight called up.

The cat obeyed, silently and mechanically climbing down the trunk. Upon reaching the ground, she walked over to Rarity and sat in front of her hooves.

Rarity wore a deliberately neutral expression as she glanced between her cat and Starlight. “Well! Starlight—”

“Oh, no need to thank me! Helping each other is just what friends do!” Starlight turned and trotted away, already imagining Twilight Sparkle’s congratulations for acing this particular Friendship Lesson.

“No, no, no!” Starlight ground her teeth, leaning out her front door as menacingly as possible. “I wasn’t signed up for the Pinecone Of The Month Club the last three times you asked! Why do you think this time will be different?”

The delivery stallion glanced dully at Starlight, then back at the crate full of pinecones he had placed on the castle’s doorstep. “It’s your name on the box, isn’t it?”

“No! I’m Starlight Glimmer, and this is addressed to …” She crouched down to read from the crate’s label. “Stupidlight Glimbutt.”

“So, are you absolutely positive you didn’t sign up for—”

“Aaaaaauurgh!” Starlight fired off her spell. The flash of light faded, revealing the delivery stallion, standing rigid and staring wide-eyed at Starlight.

Starlight smirked. “That crate is not mine. Take it away.”

“Sure thing, Starlight Glimmer.”

The flask on the lab table was filled with a clear liquid. Starlight stared at it, willing the contents to react properly, but they stubbornly refused.

“It’s supposed to turn purple,” she muttered to herself as she consulted the chemistry text. “What went wrong? I added the reagents in the correct proportion, and the correct order … Aha! Heat! I need to heat the solution!”

Starlight frowned as she turned away from the table. “So, how do I do that?”

There was a window on the other wall of the lab. A book rested on the sill: 101 Thermal Spells: Heat and Cold Magic for Any Occasion.

“Of course!” Starlight smiled as she trotted over to the window. She picked up the book.

She set it on the floor and stood atop it as she opened the window. Sticking her head out, she shot her magic spell at the first pony she saw.

“Pony!” Starlight declared to her new thrall. “Tell me where I can buy a bunsen burner.”

The wide-eyed, smiling mare answered back, “Lab Supplies & Stereos. It’s on Bridle Boulevard, Starlight Glimmer.”

Starlight stood on the front step of Sugarcube Corner and scanned her surroundings. A few ponies were trotting here and there, on business of their own—the usual number for this time of day, and none of them were paying attention to Starlight. She was reasonably certain she hadn’t been followed here.

Starlight examined the letter one last time, desperately hoping to find some clue she had missed. No such luck: there was still no return address, no information about the sender, just the mysterious instruction to be at this place, on this date, at this time.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. The interior was dark as night. But as the door swung all the way open, the lights inside came on—revealing a dozen ponies lying in wait.

“SURPR—”

“Aaaaaaaaugh!” Starlight screamed as she fired her magic through the door. Then she stepped in. The ponies—Trixie, Twilight Sparkle, Spike, the five other Elements of Harmony, and a smattering of other Ponyvillians—stared back at her with wide eyes and frozen smiles.

Above them hung a banner, which read:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STARLIG

“Oh.”

“Starlight, we need to talk.”

Starlight glanced up from her book at the voice of her teacher. Twilight hadn’t come alone—Spike and the other Elements of Harmony trailed into the library after her, although Fluttershy was strangely absent.

Starlight’s heart sank. “Talk about what?”

“About your reckless use of that mind control spell,” Rarity answered.

“Sugarcube,” Applejack said, “this here’s an intervention.”

Starlight dropped her book. “Intervention? Why? There’s nothing wrong with my mind control.”

Twilight smiled. “Of course. A little bit of mind control between friends is perfectly normal and healthy. But …”

Rainbow Dash finished the thought: “But you’re going way past ‘a little bit’.”

Starlight snorted. “You’re exaggerating.”

“You mind controlled that stallion in the park to make him stop flirting with you.”

“Please! He wasn’t flirting, he was trying to strike up conversation and distract me from my book.”

“Right …”

Pinkie Pie cut in, “And then at Sugarcube Corner, you mind controlled Mrs. Cake while you were paying for your eclairs!”

Applejack added, “You ‘helped’ with applebucking by mind controllin’ Caramel to buck the trees for ya!”

Rarity grabbed Spike and rubbed his head affectionately. “And who can forget the time you mind controlled poor Spikey-wikey to make him clean up your spilled milk?”

Spike ignored the head-rub and deadpanned, “Or the time I was already cleaning up your spilled tea, and you mind controlled me to do it faster.”

Starlight gulped. “I, um, you see …”

Twilight added, “I’ve seen you use mind control instead of telekinesis to move furniture. Starlight, that’s not healthy.”

“Ah! I’ve been meaning to ask you about that!” Starlight perked up. “I can’t help but notice that mind control magic affects some furniture in the castle but not others. Do you have any idea why?”

Twilight flinched and glanced back and forth rapidly. In a too-loud and not entirely convincing voice, she said, “I have no idea what could be causing that!”

“Oh, okay—”

“I’m sure all the furniture in this castle is perfectly normal furniture! But that’s not important right now!”

Starlight looked down at her hooves. “I guess ... now that you point out all the times I used mind control this month, maybe that does seem like a bit much.”

“This month?” Rarity said. “Darling, you did all of those yesterday.”

Twilight continued, “You can’t keep using mind control to solve all your problems, or you’ll never really learn anything.”

“I’m learning flexibility!” Starlight replied. “How to get a lot of different uses out of just one spell! Doesn’t that count for something?”

Twilight rested a hoof on Starlight’s shoulder and said, “Perhaps your resistance is itself a sign that you really do have a problem.”

Starlight snorted and pushed the hoof away. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t have a problem. I can quit any time I want.”

Applejack cut in, “Darn it, Starlight! Yer mind controllin’ Pinkie Pie right now!”

“Here is your tea, Starlight Glimmer,” Pinkie said, balancing a full tea set atop her head and smiling vacantly.

“Starlight!” Twilight zapped Pinkie with her own mind control nullifier.

Pinkie shuddered as Starlight’s spell was expelled from her mind. The platter tipped and fell. Teacups shattered, tea leaves scattered, and hot water splashed across the floor.

“Ugh, what a mess,” Starlight muttered. “Hey, Spike! Be a dear and take care of that, please?” Without waiting for a response, she fired off her spell again.

“Aw, hay no!” Spike shouted as he dove behind the nearest chair. The white sphere of Starlight’s magic flew straight towards him, but collided with the chair first.

The chair started walking towards the dropped tea set. “Nope!” Twilight shouted as she fired her nullifier spell at the chair. The chair stopped moving. “That didn’t happen! Nopony saw that!”

Twilight’s mane was distinctly frazzled as she turned back to Starlight. “Starlight! This has gone on entirely too—”

Starlight’s spell filled the entire room with light.

“Now,” Starlight said, “the only problem I have right now is ponies bugging me when I’m trying to read. Can you all please just leave me alone for a few hours? Except for you, chairs. You can stay.”

The five mind-controlled ponies (and one dragon) gave their assent in flat voices, then quietly walked out of the library. As they filed out, Fluttershy entered.

“Oh dear,” Fluttershy said. “Starlight, did you mind control all your friends again?”

Starlight was in the middle of picking her book off the floor, and groaned at Fluttershy’s words. “So what if I did? Are you going to guilt trip me, too?”

“Oh, no.” Fluttershy trotted over, right in front of Starlight. “I’m not angry, I’m just—”

“Disappointed?”

“—a little sad that I missed out.”

Starlight blinked.

Fluttershy continued. “I think I understand why you like that spell so much. The ability to hold another pony’s mind in your hoof, to shape them like clay—that power must be …” She leaned forward and placed a hoof on Starlight’s chest. “... intoxicating.”

“Uh …”

Fluttershy lowered her voice, but in the stark silence of the library she was still clearly audible. “Why, a pony like you could take over my mind so easily.” She traced little circles over Starlight’s chest with her hoof. “You could bend me to your will—make me do anything you can think of. And I wouldn’t be able to resist at all, or even call for help. I would be helpless and completely under your control.”

Starlight was hyperventilating now.

Fluttershy leaned even further forward and whispered into Starlight’s ear, “It’s so nice to be the pet for once.”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Starlight blasted Fluttershy with her spell.

Fluttershy had been uncomfortably close to Starlight before. Now she was uncomfortably close and wearing the wide eyes and vacant smile of the mind-enchanted. But she looked slightly different from the others: her pupils were a little more dilated, and there was a distinct blush on her cheeks.

“Get back!” Starlight’s voice was almost, but not quite, a shriek.

“Certainly, Starlight Glimmer.” Fluttershy walked backwards until her backside bumped into the far wall. Her blush deepened, and her wings flared.

“Spuh— bluh—” Starlight sputtered. “Stop that! Stop doing that!”

“I’m not doing anything, Starlight Glimmer.”

“Uuuuughhhhhh!” Starlight shuddered, then fled from the library.

“Sun and moon!” she said as soon as she had put enough distance between herself and that pegasus pervert. “I’m never casting that spell again!”

Author's Note

Thanks to KuroiTsubasaTenshi for pre-reading.

The Longest Line [T]

Author's Note

This is more of an exorcism than a story.

The Longest Line [T]

Blackness. Burning lungs.

Impossible.

Twilight beat her legs, swimming upward—too dazed by the pain to wonder how she got here. A faint light shone through the water, slowly drawing closer as Twilight rose. Brighter and brighter it grew.

Eventually—minutes or hours later, she couldn’t say—she broke the surface and gasped for air in the daylight. Her neck still hurt: she felt a line of fire across the front, and the distinct sensation of air against a part of her that had no business being exposed. Then somepony grabbed her foreleg and pulled, and Twilight suddenly found herself sprawled on soft grass.

“Take it easy, there. You’re safe now.”

The voice came from Twilight’s bad side, so she turned to get a proper look. She blinked the water out of her eye and saw a purple blur that soon resolved into a familiar face—her own.

“Yes,” the other Twilight said, “I’m you and you’re me. Let’s just get that out of the way.”

“I guess I should have expected this,” Twilight said as she rose to her hooves. “I’m dead, right? So you must be part of my vaporized brain, so it’s only appropriate that you look like me.”

The other Twilight facehoofed, a chain on her leg clinking with the motion. “I thought I was smarter than this …”

Twilight continued, “And since my mind is deteriorating, it’s going to just throw random imagery at me until I fade into non-existence. I can only assume that’s why you look like that.”

The other Twilight was as tall as Princess Celestia, though not quite as skinny. And, unlike Celestia, she wore iron instead of gold: a collar around her neck; a thick, heavy crown atop her head; and shackles and chains on her hooves. All four of them—she still had all her legs, and both eyes.

And now she was rolling those eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m not wearing these chains as penance for my own wrongdoings—I’m just here because of your issues.”

“Be as sarcastic as you like. When I stop existing, you will, too. Any time now …” Twilight looked around, seeking some sign of this hallucination’s impending collapse.

She and the princess version of herself were in a completely flat field of chest-high grass. The sky above was dotted with clouds and as bright as midday, yet there was no sun visible. Gusts of wind rippled the tops of the grass and carried sharp, wild scents to Twilight’s nose.

Twilight had seen a prairie once, as a filly, and had visited the ocean several times. Somehow, this great plain dwarfed either of those memories. She had the vague but unshakeable impression that this sky was larger than the one she knew, that this horizon was farther away. Only two things broke the enormous monotony—enormonotony?—of sky and grass: a bright white line on the distant horizon, and the water that Twilight had just emerged from. Yet, looking at the water now …

“Ah-ha!” Twilight said. “I was completely submerged in there, but now it’s just a puddle!” She stepped into the center, and the water barely reached her fetlocks.

“You probably shouldn’t stand there,” the other Twilight said.

“Proof that this a hallu—Whoa!”

Another pony burst out of the puddle beneath Twilight, knocking her to the side. She fell again on the grass, then watched as the other Twilight pulled this newcomer onto dry land.

It was a third Twilight. This one was just a unicorn, and she was clearly confused as she glanced around. “This doesn’t feel like Discord’s work …”

“Ah, yes. Him.” The Princess Twilight smiled wryly as she said, “Would it make you feel any better to know that, where I came from, I killed him?”

“Maybe a little bit?” Unicorn Twilight scratched at the grass with one hoof. “No, not really.”

“Well, you’re a better pony than me, I guess.”

“Are my friends here?”

Princess Twilight nodded. “Everyone winds up here, sooner or later.” She pointed one manacled hoof towards the horizon. “You’ll have go to that white line over there to see anypony besides yourself.”

“Alright. Thanks!” The unicorn set off at a brisk clip.

The first Twilight intently watched her trot away. When her unicorn doppelgänger was just a purple dot in the distance, she finally rose to a sitting position. “Okay,” she said. “I’m still reasonably certain this is just my dying dream, but—”

“Why?” Princess Twilight interrupted. “Why are you so certain this isn’t real?”

“Because they killed my soul!”

“Oh. Never heard that one before.”

“The cultists slit my throat and caught my soul as I left my body—then burned it as fuel for their spell. I could feel my existence unraveling, my mind … Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t wish that on anypony else, not even Celestia.”

“That’s … ugh.” The Princess placed one hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“So according to everything I know, I shouldn’t exist any more. None of this …” Twilight waved her hoof, sweeping over everything. “... makes any sense.”

She placed her hoof on her chin, then explored lower. When she found the gash across her neck, she shuddered.

“Well,” Princess Twilight said, “I don’t know anything about killing souls. I just know that everyone ends up here, and that means everyone.”

“Hmm …”

“Perhaps if you go to the white line, you’ll find your answer there.”

Twilight rolled her eye. “Is that your solution for everything? Go to the white line?”

“Not quite.” The Princess wiggled one hoof, rattling her chain. “Or I would have gone there myself, long ago.”

Twilight noticed for the first time that the Princess’s chains weren’t fastened to anything.

“Well, then.” Twilight stood up. “If this is real, then exploring is a better plan than just waiting here. And if this is just a hallucination, then nothing I do here matters anyway. So I might as well go see what the big deal is with that white line.”

The Princess smiled. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“Goodbye,” Twilight said, turning to leave. “I hope you do well with … whatever it is you’re doing. Assuming you aren’t really a figment of my imagination. Which I hope you’re not!”

She trotted away, her gait smooth in spite of her missing foreleg. Watching her leave, Princess Twilight realized that the limb must have been lost quite some time ago. She turned her attention back to the puddle, just in time to see another shadow rising from the depths. A purple face and flailing legs broke the surface, and the Princess grabbed her hoof, pulling another Twilight out of the water.

Twilight had absolutely no way to measure the passage of time, and she suspected that time didn’t mean very much in this place anyway. But after trotting for what felt like an hour, she realized with some surprise that she didn’t feel like she’d been trotting for an hour. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Twilight was closer to the white line now, but not as close as she’d expected. Perhaps space behaved differently here, as well. Perhaps this was evidence of her earlier impression that this world was larger than Earth. Or perhaps this was just the sort of absurdity one would expect in a dying hallucination.

She shook her head and focused on her goal. The white line was thicker now, and no longer uniform. It flickered, more like fire than anything else. And a single, small black spot broke the line. Twilight made for that spot.

The line looked like fire because it was fire—an inferno taller than any tower Twilight had ever seen, and stretching to each side as far as the eye could follow. Twilight stopped in her tracks to stare. Though the flames danced and leaped, they did not advance along the ground. That black shape did not move from its place in front of the fire, yet it was untouched by the flames, as best as Twilight could tell.

She wasn’t ready yet to throw away this second chance at a life, even if she wasn’t fully convinced that it was real. So Twilight made certain she wouldn’t be marching towards an out-of-control prairie fire, before she resumed her trek.

The black spot grew more distinct as Twilight drew nearer. It was an alicorn, and a tall one: what the usurper Celestia was to a pony, this pitch-black mare was to a Saddle Arabian.

She fixed her eyes on Twilight—eyes that burned brighter even than the wall of fire behind her. “Greetings, Twilight Sparkle,” she said, crouching until she was level with Twilight. “Are you ready to pass beyond the flames, to claim the great gift awaiting you?”

Twilight snorted. “Oh, you know who I am? You know my story? Then you’ll understand why I don’t trust strange alicorns bearing gifts.”

The alicorn smiled. “And we don’t blame you. Yet … if you don’t trust us, and you don’t trust yourself, who do you trust?”

“Trust is over—”

“Twilight!” A new voice interrupted. The owner, a unicorn, emerged from the wall of fire and dashed towards Twilight. Like the flames, she was bright, and her outline seemed to waver disconcertingly. Her mane was deep red, and she wore a chiton of some gauzy fabric that didn’t obscure her pale yellow coat at all. “You’re finally here!”

“Moondancer!” Twilight exclaimed. She rushed up to her old friend, to nuzzle her neck and give the tightest wing-hug she could—but, an inch away, she recoiled with a yelp. Moondancer’s skin was hotter than a blast furnace. Twilight stumbled back, her haunches landing on the ground.

“What was—” Twilight’s demand ended abruptly as she saw Moondancer’s sheepish expression.

“Sorry about that,” Moondancer said. “I heard you were on your way, and I just couldn’t wait to see you again. I forgot about the … complications.”

“What complications?”

The black alicorn cut in: “You must be reforged, Twilight Sparkle, as your friend already has. You must pass through the flames, until the dross has burned away and only you—pure and eternal—remain.”

Twilight squinted at the alicorn, then cast an inquisitive glance at Moondancer.

“She’s right,” Moondancer said. “It hurts, but it’s definitely worth it.”

“Really?”

“Unless you want to just hang out in this empty field for the rest of eternity. But, you’ll love it on the other side! There are mountains and forests, and fields of the most delicious grass you can imagine, and, oh my goodness, the library! Twilight, I’ve been exploring it since I got here and I’ve still only scratched the surface!”

“Sounds pretty great.” Twilight cast her eyes down. “Sounds like you’ve been pretty happy without me …”

“Well, it’s almost paradise. There’s just one thing missing,” Moondancer said, pawing at the ground. In spite of the intense heat radiating from her, she didn’t scorch the earth or burn a single blade of grass. “Just one pony.”

“Please, Moondancer. You deserve better. And I—”

“Don’t deserve any of this? Just like you wouldn’t deserve to live in the world we’d have created if our little revolution had succeeded?”

“Yes! Exactly like that!”

Moondancer stomped forward until she was face-to-face with Twilight. “Well, Elysium to Twilight: I don’t deserve this either. No one deserves it. That’s why it’s a gift.” She raised a hoof, then refrained at the last second from prodding Twilight’s chest. “And if you really do think I deserve better, then this is your chance to prove it. Your chance to be the pony you think I deserve.”

“I … I … What?” Twilight leaped to her hooves and wheeled on the black alicorn. “Did you put her up to this?”

The alicorn just laughed. Moondancer answered instead: “Please. They tried to talk me out of seeing you like this. They had this forty-hour-long argument scripted out, to logically convince you to come. And they were so afraid I’d mess everything up if I saw you now.

“But I’ve been waiting years for you. So, ask me to just sit quietly for another forty hours? I don’t think so.”

Twilight could only stare, wide-eyed, at her old friend.

Moondancer trotted back towards the wall of fire. “I can’t be with you when you pass through, Twilight. Just know that I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.” With that, she stepped in, disappearing among the flames.

Twilight stared a few seconds at the spot where Moondancer had entered. “So,” she said to the alicorn, “a forty-hour-long argument, huh?”

“Your friend spoke true.”

“She has a knack for that. And I want to read a copy of that argument when I get to the other side.”

“You have chosen wisely, Twilight Sparkle.”

“I doubt it.”

Twilight marched forward, stopping less than a foot from the wall of fire. She extended her left wing into the searing heat—when it was an inch from the wall, several of her primary feathers burst into flame.

“Aaaaaugh!” Twilight recoiled, beating her wing in a futile attempt to extinguish the fire. She dropped and rolled on the ground, but that likewise had no effect. She looked again at her burning wing, and the panic on her face was replaced by dawning comprehension. Twilight had seen burnt wings in her old life, and her own wing now looked nothing like those blackened, mangled horrors. It still looked whole, even with tongues of flame still dancing across the feathers.

The fire hurt—sweet sun and moon, it hurt—but it was not consuming her.

Twilight took several deep breaths. “I see. So that’s how this will be.”

A huge, black wing draped over her back. When the alicorn made contact, strange images appeared unbidden in Twilight’s mind’s eye. The black alicorn was replaced by a succession of other forms: a lion with seven heads, an impossibly complex arrangement of gears and wheels, a writhing mass of spines and tentacles, a bear covered in wings and carrying a white-hot coal with a pair of tongs. She saw endless hordes of others approaching the fiery wall and stepping through—not just ponies but all manner of four-legged and two-legged people, and alien beings with no legs or radial symmetry—a rainbow of every sapient being, conceivable and inconceivable.

Then the black alicorn spoke, drawing Twilight out of the vision. “I shall be here to help, should—”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Twilight took several more deep breaths. “If this is worth doing, then it’s worth doing myself.” She slipped out from the alicorn’s embrace.

Twilight walked forward and, without pausing, without thinking, she stepped into the fire.

Light. Pain. Burning everything.

Twilight couldn’t tell how long it had been since she walked into the fire. Days? Hours? Minutes? Pure agony had obliterated her sense of time. This was no ordinary fire—if there had ever been any doubt about that—but something worse. Ordinary fire could destroy nerves, so that the worst burns were ironically the least painful, at least initially. This fire, however, penetrated Twilight to her core, and she felt the white-hot pain in her bones, lungs, and belly.

The pain had already knocked Twilight off her hooves—how long ago, she still couldn’t say—and now all she could do was crawl forward. So she did, dragging herself along the burning ground, inch by agonizing inch. She looked ahead, hoping desperately that the end was in sight.

Instead, she saw images in the fire surrounding her. She saw the faces of her parents and brother, who she hadn’t spoken to in years, even before the revolution. She saw the Celestial soldier—a guard, little more than a scared teenager in a uniform—whose throat she had slit on a cold October night. She saw Nutmeg, Wind Whistler, and Perihelion, comrades who had followed Twilight on what should have been a simple reconnaissance mission and never came back.

Twilight grit her teeth and crawled further. Tears were forming, both in her good eye and in the ruined socket on her other side, but they evaporated before they could wet her face.

She saw even more faces, ones she didn’t recognize but still intuitively knew. There were the workers and bureaucrats of Celestia’s government—some serving willingly, others because it was the only way to feed their families, but all cogs in the state’s machine, regardless. And there were the faces of countless civilians who supported the Celestial regime, whether motivated by self-interest or ignorance of Celestia’s true nature. As Twilight looked upon these faces, all the hatred and contempt she had felt for them in life, now filled her like a bellyful of acid. Her stomach burned even hotter than before.

Her whole body convulsed, and she stopped crawling forward. With a shuddering heave, she vomited a spurt of purple flame, which burned every inch of her esophagus as it came up. Then she did it again and again, losing count of how many times she heaved fire before she eventually voided her stomach. She lay on the burning ground, still in agonizing pain but too tired to move any further.

Then, one last face appeared in the fire. It was Moondancer, as she had been the last time Twilight saw her alive: one leg broken, one ear torn, blood on her face. “Leave me. Go, save yourself,” her mouth had said. Don’t leave me. I’m scared, her eyes had said.

Too exhausted even to look away, Twilight could do nothing but gaze upon these reminders.

Nothing remained. There were no more tears to shed, no more of her own blood to spill—nothing else she could give to atone, if such a thing were even possible. She had no strength in her limbs, and even if she could move, she no longer knew where to. She was lost.

And she didn’t deserve any better.

Then, Twilight lifted off the ground—and not under her own power. Before she could react, she was floated a few feet to the side, then lowered onto something dark, soft, and blessedly cool. Twilight found herself deposited gently across the black alicorn’s back and withers.

“What? No, I …” Twilight’s protest died in her parched throat.

The alicorn trotted forward, as if the roaring inferno were no more than a spring breeze. Twilight ceased her struggle and slumped, resting her head atop the larger pony’s shoulders. She could still see faces in the fire around her—but as the alicorn bore her onward, those faces shifted, softening. They were smiling.

In a city of dark stones, gleaming glass, and precious gems, a chorus of bells rang to herald the news. People of every shape and size paused to note the glad tidings, some responding with loud cheers, and others with smiles.

Moondancer, standing at the edge of the city and watching the fiery wall, was one of those who smiled.

Twilight climbed down from the black alicorn’s back, closing her eyes and sighing at the feel of the cool grass and soft earth underhoof. The last of the flames clinging to her body flickered out or flitted away. But even with those flames gone, she glowed, a purple light brighter than the fire she had just traversed.

She opened her eyes and practically drank the panoramic vista that greeted her. There was the city set in the midst of a great forest, spires glittering like jewels between the tree branches—then beyond that, a prairie even more vast than the one on the other side of the fiery wall. Beyond even that, a mountain range covered the entire horizon, its tallest peaks obscured by the clouds.

And closer—just a hundred feet away—was Moondancer, staring back at her. Smiling, Twilight bounded over and threw her forelegs around her friend, and held her tight.

I Am the Night ... Glider [Original Flavor]

“So how do you feel, Starlight?”

“Completely drained,” Starlight Glimmer replied. “Like I can barely manage even a simple telekinesis spell.”

Twilight Sparkle beamed back at her. “Great! That’s how you know you got a good workout.”

“If you say so …”

“Just be sure to get plenty of rest tonight.” Twilight yawned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

“Sounds great.”

The front door of Princess Twilight’s castle closed as Starlight Glimmer trotted away, into Ponyville.

Night had fallen, and patches of clouds sailed overhead. Every few minutes, one of these patches would obscure the moon, leaving only the street lamps and occasional porch light to push back the darkness in Ponyville. Deep in thought, Starlight trotted on.

As the moon disappeared behind a cloud, Starlight contemplated the mare whose silhouette had graced that great white circle until last year. Allegedly, the Mare in the Moon was one and the same as that new princess, Luna. It seemed too fantastic to be true, but everyone in Ponyville, even Twilight Sparkle, vouched for it. If even Nightmare Moon, the most frightening monster of ponykind’s subconscious, could find redemption, then perhaps—

A piece of the night sky fell and landed in the street.

“Aaah!” Starlight leaped back a few feet, then the object grew. No. Rather, it stood up. This was a pegasus mare, her coat a midnight blue, her mane cloudy-white. She rose to her full height, and her eyes met Starlight Glimmer’s.

Starlight sighed, relief written across her face. “Oh, Night Glider. You startled me.”

Night Glider’s glare did not soften one bit. “Good.”

The pegasus darted to the side. Starlight had enough time for fear to jab its icy claws into her stomach—but not enough time to react—before Night Glider rammed into her torso. For a brief moment, Starlight felt herself flying sideways, then the ground knocked her breath away. She was lying in a dark alley, gasping for air.

Night Glider landed a few feet away. “Did you really think it would be that simple, Starlight?” she said. “That you could just turn around and say you’re sorry—and that would make everything alright?”

Starlight scrambled to her hooves; she wobbled slightly, but remained upright. “Night Glider? What are you going on about?”

“Forgiveness.” Night Glider snorted. “It’s a beautiful idea, really. But just a dream. Some ponies don’t deserve to be forgiven.”

“Get back!” Starlight lowered her head, pointing her horn directly at the pegasus. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Night Glider, but I’ll blast you if you come any closer!”

“No, you won’t. You’re exhausted.” Night Glider darted past Starlight, clipping a hoof against the tip of Starlight’s horn as she went. The unicorn cringed, and Night Glider added, “You can barely manage a simple telekinesis spell, remember?”

Starlight spun away from her accuser and ran for the end of the alley. Night Glider flew past her again, her motion nearly imperceptible in the shadows, and stuck one hoof out. Starlight tripped, skidding about a foot in the dirt. When she regained her hooves, Night Glider was standing between her and the alley’s end.

“You browbeat us,” she said. “Brainwashed us for years.”

Starlight turned and ran the other way. There was another dark blur, then Night Glider was blocking that exit.

“You cut us off from our special talents, while you filled our heads with lies.”

Starlight spun again, but this time she tripped on her own hooves. When she hit the ground, she made no effort to rise, instead curling into the fetal position.

Slowly, Night Glider walked towards her, each step grinding the dirt of the alley. For the first time, she raised her voice as she said, “And now you think you can live a normal, happy life? Without paying for your crimes?”

“What do you want from me?” Starlight shook, her tears staining the dirt below her head.

“I want those five years of my life back!” Night Glider leaped as she shouted, and then hung in the air, flying towards Starlight. “But that’s impossible, isn’t it? So I’ll just have to take something from you instead.”

Night Glider hovered directly over Starlight and pointed one foreleg straight down. “This is for me, and Double Diamond and Sugar Belle and Party Favor …” She sank in the air, inching closer and closer to the terrified unicorn. Starlight could only stare up, transfixed on her doom. “… and everypony else in our town!”

Night Glider’s hoof touched Starlight Glimmer’s nose. Then it pressed hard enough to smoosh Starlight’s muzzle a bit—a mildly uncomfortable sensation, but by no means painful.

“Boop! Hahaha!” Night Glider withdrew her hoof, then waved it at Starlight, as if she held something. “Haha, I stole your nose!”

Starlight could only gape at her tormentor.

“Hahahahaha, revenge is mine!” Night Glider flew up and away, disappearing into the dark sky above. Her maniacal laughter echoed in Starlight’s ears.

As the moon emerged from behind the cloud, illuminating the alley, Starlight stared, cross-eyed, at her own snout. She gingerly placed a hoof on the tip of her nose.

Fin.

Author's Note

https://derpibooru.org/1077971

Big thanks to KuroiTsubasaTenshi for pre-reading.

I Am the Night ... Glider [Take 2]

Patchy clouds soared across the night sky. Every few minutes one of these patches would obscure the moon, leaving only the street lamps and lit windows to push back the darkness in Ponyville. Within those houses, ponies went about their evening routines—blissfully ignorant that the true darkness was not outside, but within their very midst.

A piece of the night sky fell. It landed on the roof of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s castle—not with a crash, but with a faint sigh, the wind itself giving voice to the frustration of wasted years of broken promises. This interloper—this fallen angel—was a pegasus mare, her coat a midnight blue, her mane cloudy-white. As beautiful as she was dangerous, she crouched low, crawling towards the roof edge.

A flawless approach to the castle, she thought. Nopony saw me. Nopony knows I’m here.

She stopped at the edge, pushing her ear as close as she could without letting any part of her battle-hardened body protrude over. Ground-bound ponies rarely thought to look up—and Princess Twilight, in spite of her wings, was still a ground-bound at heart—but this pony wasn’t taking any chances. Too many friends were depending on her.

She could remember their voices, like it was just yesterday, crying out for vengeance—saying, “You don’t really have to do this. In fact, we’d rather you didn’t. We’ve already forgiven her.”

The cry for vengeance was clear subtext. You had to be there.

I’m not here, she thought. I am a shadow, I am the night itself, I am—

“Hi, Night Glider!” Rainbow Dash called as she buzzed the castle.

Obstacle-flying: a form of athletics, itself merely a way for ponies to fritter away their time with pointless competition, and distract them from their true oppressors. Rainbow Dash was a child. Night Glider had nothing in common with her. But, reluctantly, she waved back anyway.

Her pulse quickened, and her muscles tensed, ready to leap into action at the slightest sign that she had been compromised. From this position, there were six different working strikes—but the odds of escaping unscathed afterwards were minimal. However, Lady Luck smiled on Night Glider this time, and the small talk in the room beneath continued unabated. Either they hadn’t heard Rainbow Dash, or they hadn’t recognized what that greeting signified—hadn’t realized that, for one of them, Night Glider was doom.

“You’re doing really well, Starlight!” That was Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship.

“If you say so.” That was Starlight Glimmer.

It made Night Glider want to vomit, hearing Twilight hold a conversation with that piece of equine filth. For all her accomplishments, Twilight was still a child. Granted, the world would be a far better place if everypony were a child like her. But instead, the world had ponies like Starlight Glimmer, monsters with hearts of black licorice rock candy, who made ponies like Night Glider necessary. Twilight Sparkle was a good pony—and Night Glider had nothing in common with her.

“So how do you feel?”

“Completely drained,” Starlight Glimmer replied. “Like I can barely manage even a simple telekinesis spell.”

And with those words, Starlight’s doom—which she had reserved for herself when she first corrupted that village to her twisted, self-destructive ideology—crystallized. There may never be another opportunity like this, Night Glider thought. I strike tonight.

“Great! That’s how you know you got a good workout.”

“If you say so …” The sound of hoofsteps followed, then grew fainter. Both ponies were walking away.

“Just be sure to get plenty of rest tonight.” Twilight yawned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

“Sounds great.”

Her muscles honed by years of training, Night Glider leaned over the eaves, slowly sliding forward until she could peer through the window. And not a second too soon—the two ponies inside exited the room, Twilight turning right and Starlight turning left, towards her impending doom.

Then, with the grace of an Equestria Games gymnast, Night Glider lost her grip on the roof and slid into the air. Without even thinking, she executed an ancient Neighponese technique to halt her fall and right herself—a complicated maneuver which might look, to the untrained pony, like she was flailing her wings and hooves at random. In the same way, an ignorant observer might have mistaken her chi-channeling cry for an awkward squawk.

Once stabilized, Night Glider latched onto the outside of the castle, blending in seamlessly with the irregular wall’s shadows. The crystal castle was as cold as Starlight Glimmer’s heart, while the night air was hot and humid—with long-delayed justice hanging in the sky like the electric charge before a lightning strike.

Keeping to the shadows, Night Glider slid in the direction Starlight had walked, then peeked in the next window. Her quarry was still in sight. She continued along the wall, her mind constantly calculating and recalculating the perfect moment to strike.

I am invisible, she thought. I am the night. I am the left hoof of justice.

In the past, Night Glider had dreamed of this moment, constructing elaborate fantasies where she would corner Starlight Glimmer in some dark alley or desolate mountain pass. And in these daydreams, she would lecture Starlight—as if convincing the monster of her own culpability were necessary … or possible.

“Forgiveness.” Night Glider would say to Starlight. “Everypony says it’s so good. But maybe it’s … not so good?”

“What you say?” Starlight Glimmer would answer, clearly stunned by Night Glider’s insight.

“You’re a bad pony, Starlight Glimmer, and you should feel bad!”

“I do!”

“Well, that’s not bad enough!”

“Woe is me, for I am undone!”

That was just placeholder dialogue. Night Glider had never gotten around to finding something badass enough for her fantasy before she realized: It was a child’s fantasy. And she no longer had anything in common with the pony who had dreamed it.

It would be just as fitting a punishment to strike Starlight Glimmer without any warning or explanation—divine retribution, like a bolt from the clear night. And this had a far greater chance of succeeding.

I am vengeance. I am the shadow. I am Night Glider!

There was a balcony ahead. Starlight Glimmer stepped onto it, then looked around. Confused, she said, “How did I … ?” In that moment, she sealed her fate.

Pumping her battle-hardened wings, Night Glider shot forward. To Starlight, no doubt she was an apparition, materializing from the shadow itself as she perched on the balcony railing. Emotions flashed across Starlight’s face: first fear and surprise, quickly replaced by recognition, confusion, and lingering wariness.

But she wasn’t nearly wary enough. Like a cobra, Night Glider’s hoof shot forward, stopping an inch away from Starlight’s face.

Then, she pressed Starlight’s nose, just hard enough to smoosh her snout a bit.

“Boop! Hahaha!”

Night Glider withdrew her hoof, then waved it at Starlight, as if she held something. “Haha, I stole your nose!”

Starlight could only gape at her attacker in pain and confusion. Mostly confusion, but the pain would come later, doubtlessly.

Night Glider spun and flew away, laughing to herself as she disappeared into the night sky.

She could never give back to her friends what Starlight Glimmer had taken from them. But she had given them the next best thing: closure. They could all sleep a little more soundly, knowing that Starlight had been punished for her crimes. Justice had been dispensed, and Night Glider’s was the hoof that had carried it out.

Author's Note

I'm not entirely happy with either version of this story, but I've already spent more time on this silly idea than it deserves.

Big thanks to KuroiTsubasaTenshi and War877 for pre-reading.

Domains

It was a beautiful night in Ponyville—except for Luna’s Moon shining in the sky.

“Luna’s Moon,” Twilight mentally called the pale disc floating serenely above. No doubt, everypony else in Equestria who happened to look up tonight would also have a similar moniker for the heavenly body.

After all, Luna’s was scribed across the Moon’s face, in great loopy letters.

“What does it mean? What does it mean?” Twilight paced back and forth in the bedroom of her crystal palace. “What’s Princess Luna doing by signing her name on the Moon? Is it a secret message? A cry for help?”

Spike, standing in her bedroom doorway, rolled his eyes. “Twilight …”

“Or what if Luna didn’t do this? What if something overpowered her, and this is the only warning we’ll get before it attacks the rest of Equestria?”

“Relax, Twilight!” Spike said. “The last time the Moon changed, everything turned out fine.”

“No ...” Twilight spun to give her Number One Assistant a harsh look. “The last time the Moon changed, a crazy alicorn came back and tried to bring about night eternal! And the only reason everything ‘turned out fine’ is because I saw the signs and gathered my friends to wield the Elements of Harmony against her!”

Twilight spun once more to gaze up at Luna’s Moon. “And how can I make everything turn out okay this time, when I don’t even know what this sign means?”

“Maybe it’s not a sign,” Spike said. “Maybe it’s just a prank that got out of hoof. You remember how nuts Luna went for April Loons Day, right?”

Twilight shot him an I’m too tired to deal with this look. “Spike, it’s September.”

Spike held up his hands. “I’m just saying, let’s wait to panic until after we get an urgent message from Canterlot. Besides, I bet Luna will clean all this up by tomorrow night, anyway.”

If Twilight had taken him up on that bet, she’d have won. The next night, the Moon rose, still bearing Luna’s name. Furthermore, no news or explanation had come from Canterlot.

Twilight turned away from her window. “Spike, take a letter.”

Dear Princess Luna,

I assume you’re aware of the recent changes to the Moon’s face. Now, I don’t mean to pry into how you govern your domain. But these very visible changes have made me, and everypony else here in Ponyville, curious and perhaps a little bit concerned. So I hope you don’t mind my asking: Who wrote your name on the Moon, and why?

Your friend,
Twilight Sparkle

My dearest Princess Twilight Sparkle,

It is but a simple question you ask, with a simple answer. I wrote it. And I did so because it’s my Moon, and I wish to impress that fact upon everypony. Now, nopony can possibly forget whose Moon it is!

May the blessings of Harmony be upon you!
Princess Luna

Dear Princess Luna,

Thank you for your quick reply. But, to be honest, your answer just raises further questions. Why is it so important now, after you’ve been back for over a year, to remind us that the Moon belongs to you? Considering the public appearances you’ve made (very favorably received, I must add), ponies are less likely than ever to forget you or the vital role you play! Writing your name in the night sky just seems excessive.

And it’s not like there’s another Moon up there that anypony might confuse with yours, right?

Actually, are there any plans to stick another Moon up there? If so, perhaps it would be best to announce these plans beforehoof, to minimize the confusion amongst the citizens.

Your friend,
Twilight Sparkle

Twilight,

Your last letter was most amusing. A second Moon! How droll! Of course, there is a realm with four Moons—three for the night and one for each day—but neither I nor Equestria would ever stand for such gaudiness. Nay, one Moon shall suffice, otherwise how would we see the glorious stars?

Blessings of Harmony,
Luna

Dear Princess Luna,

That’s reassuring, but it still doesn’t answer my biggest question. Why is it so important that everypony knows it’s your Moon?

Your friend,
Twilight Sparkle

Twilight,

Because it is my Moon. Truly, I do not see why somepony as intelligent as you could not grasp this.

Blessings of Harmony,
Luna

Dear Princess Celestia,

Have you talked to Princess Luna about what she did to the Moon? I’ve written to her, and can’t get a straight answer about why she did it. I’m a bit worried. But you know her better than I do, so I’m sure you can clear this matter up easily.

Your friend,
Twilight Sparkle

Dear Twilight Sparkle,

There is really no need to worry. I’ve spoken with Luna, and I can assure you we both see eye-to-eye on this issue.

Your friend,
Celestia

Twilight forgot to close her bedroom window curtains, so she woke up to the light of Celestia’s Sun shining right on her face.

Her initial reaction was to roll over and try to fall back asleep. But a few seconds later, realization sank in, and Twilight jolted awake, spinning to face Celestia’s Sun again.

Thanks to her hardy constitution as an alicorn, Twilight now could gaze directly at the Sun for nearly a minute with no ill effect. That was more than enough time to read a single word. There was no mistaking it: Celestia’s was written across the solar disc, in the Princess’s own flawless cursive.

Twilight groaned.

Twilight resisted the urge to groan, and the urge to smack her head against the podium in front of her. She was on the front porch of Ponyville Town Hall, and nearly every citizen was gathered on the lawn to question her about the recent changes to the Sun and the Moon. Twilight didn’t bother scanning the crowd, but just picked the nearest pony with a hoof raised.

It was Golden Harvest. She said, “I’m wondering—and I’m sure all the other farmers and growers are, too—how will this affect our plants? Everypony’s lives depend on plants, and plants depend on sunlight, and now all of a sudden we’ve got giant letters blocking part of that sunlight, so I think it’s a cause to be—”

“I promise you,” Twilight interrupted, “there is no need to get upset. Princess Celestia increased the brightness of the rest of the Sun, so our plants are getting exactly as much light as before. I’ve taken several photometer readings to confirm this myself. Next question!”

Davenport got picked next. “How did Princess Celestia do it?”

“I have no idea. Next question!”

Lily Valley leaped into the air, somehow hanging at the top of her arc long enough to shout, “Will these letters make the Sun explode into a supernova?”

“Our Sun is too small to go supernova. And, if it did, in complete defiance of known magic, then the entire planet would get vaporized so quickly, we’d all be dead before we could feel a thing. Then all our souls would go to Elysium together as one big, happy herd. A supernova would be a great way to die.”

Silence hung over the crowd for a few seconds.

Twilight sighed. “No, the Sun is not going to go supernova. Next question?”

Cloudchaser went next. “If Celestia and Luna are just doing this to mark their territory, like ‘This is mine! Don’t touch!’ then are they going to start slapping their name on other things they own?”

“Yeah!” At Cloudchaser’s side, Flitter chimed in. “Are they going to sign their names on Equestria next?”

“I don’t think so,” Twilight answered. Then under her breath, she added, “And I’m not going to ask, because I don’t want to give them any ideas.”

Twilight’s gaze drifted past the crowd, towards the horizon. Celestia’s Sun was setting, painting the sky with brilliant streaks of crimson, pink, and orange. The Princess’s signature, so beautiful in any other context, had the effect here of an ink stain on an impressionist masterpiece.

Either way, Twilight hadn’t meant for this question-and-answer session to run this long.

“Wow, look at the time! I’ll have to end this meeting now.” The crowd murmured, so Twilight silenced them with: “If you still have questions … visit me anytime tomorrow, and I’ll be happy to answer them one-on-one. I’ll be in my Castle of Friendship. It’s the big, crystal eyesore on the edge of town. You can’t miss it.

“But the most important thing is this: There is no reason to panic. Weird letters on the Sun and the Moon aren’t going to have any practical effects on our lives, so we should all just carry on, like before. That is all. Thank you.”

The crowd’s murmurs sounded vaguely satisfied now. As they dispersed, Twilight allowed herself to slump against the podium. “Blegh.”

Spike walked over and patted her side. “You did great, Twilight!”

“If you say so.”

“No, really! All of Ponyville was like—” He waved his hands in the air and spun his eyes in his sockets, “—‘Bluh bluh! Something changed and we’re gonna freak out about it!’ But then you were like—” He produced a pair of sunglasses and leaned against Twilight like she was a wall, “— ‘Heeeeeeey, it’s all cool.’ And it worked!”

Twilight chuckled. “Thanks, Spike. What do you say we see if Sugarcube Corner is still open? I think we’ve both earned a treat.”

“Yeah, that sounds—”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!” Lily Valley, Roseluck, and Daisy Wishes all screamed in unison. Then they fainted in unison.

The crowd, which had only halfway dispersed by this point, was now frozen. Everypony stared at the horizon, murmuring amongst themselves. Twilight followed their gaze, then scowled. “Luna …”

It was time for the Moon—Luna’s Moon—to rise. But it hadn’t. Something else rose in its place: a pale gray rectangle with black text on it. It read:

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The panic that Twilight had worked so hard to dispel was building back up again. A few voices in the crowd rose above the rabble:

“What does it mean?!”

“It’s Nightmare Moon all over again!”

“Luna’s such a sellout! Worst princess ever!”

“Everypony be quiet!” Twilight’s voice, magically amplified, overpowered the crowd. Once every eye was on her, again, Twilight continued, “There is still no need to panic. I will take your concerns to Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, and I will do everything in my power to set things back the way they were before. In fact …”

Twilight flapped her wings, rising several feet into the air and hovering there. “It is time that I took charge of my namesake in the heavens!” Her eyes glowed pure white, and her mane and tail lengthened, billowing in a breeze that nopony else could feel. “Just as I reunited Celestia and Luna, so do dusk and dawn bridge the gap between day and night! Henceforth, twilight is the domain of Princess Twilight Sparkle!”

Her horn glowed, then a bright beam of magic shot straight into the sky. It persisted for several seconds, then Twilight descended to the ground. “There,” she said. “It’s done.”

Ponies in the crowd glanced between the sky—completely unchanged—and Princess Twilight.

“I know, I know,” Twilight said. “It doesn’t look like I did anything. That’s because it’s only visible to …”

Luna, Princess of the Night, Guardian of Dreams, stepped onto her balcony. She gave her etheric tether to the Moon a slight, almost imperceptible tug. When the vibrations came back to her, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the deep river of magic that powered the engine of the heavens.

She glanced to the left, to the identical balcony where Princess Celestia stood. She nodded back at Luna. It was time.

Luna gathered her magic about her. She could lower the Moon with her eyes closed, but she still preferred to watch as that silver disc slipped below the horizon. But this time, when she looked up, her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped—only sheer instinct stopped her from losing her grip on the Moon entirely.

It was gone. Not just the Moon, but the entire dawn sky—everything above the horizon—was replaced by a yawning white void.

Then Luna scowled and gave another tug at her tether. The Moon was still there—she could still feel it with her magic, but she couldn’t see it. A glance at Celestia confirmed that she was seeing the same thing; a glance at the two Night Guards flanking the balcony revealed that they didn’t see anything out of place.

Then, black text appeared in the void of the sky—each blocky letter the size of a castle tower. “Curiouser and curiouser,” Luna muttered as she read the message:

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Twilight sat on the picnic blanket and gazed up at the night sky. Never before had the Moon—the signature was gone, so it was “Luna’s Moon” no more—looked quite so beautiful.

But a deep chuckle drew her gaze back to Earth. “A beautiful sight, the sky above,” Zecora said. Then she nuzzled Twilight, resting her neck on the alicorn’s withers.

Twilight leaned into her side and completed the rhyme: “But it can’t hold a candle to the mare I love.”

Both Twilight and Zecora wore contented smiles as they nuzzled, basking in the warmth of their totally well-established romantic relationship that definitely didn’t pop up with zero foreshadowing at the end of some hypothetical narrative.

Twilight opened her mouth to say something that no doubt would have been unbearably cute, but the words died as another text box suddenly appeared across her field of vision. So she groaned instead.

“Twilight, dear, you look perplexed,” Zecora said. “What could make you feel so vexed?”

“I thought my sister-in-law was immune to the recent craziness. I guess I was wrong.”

——————————————————

♥ UPDATE TO LOVE v11.0 ♥

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You’re still running LOVE v9.2.5. The latest version of LOVE is available now, completely free!

[ ] Update now!
[ ] Update an hour from now!
[ ] Keep reminding me to update, either until I give in, or the Sun burns out, whichever comes first!

Twilight dismissed the box by selecting the third option. “Stupid nagware …”

Author's Note

From now on, every time a fanfic refers to one of those big bright things in sky as “Celestia’s Sun” or “Luna’s Moon”, I’m going to assume the author means something like this.

I eagerly look forward to people telling me how wrong Twilight’s supernova monologue is.

Big thanks to KuroiTsubasaTenshi and War877 for pre-reading.

Yak Attak

The double-wide door opened, and a yak peered out. Her huge, brown face broke into an equally huge smile. “Twilight Sparkle! Pinkie Pie! Good morning! Come in, come in …”

Before Twilight or Pinkie could say anything, she wrapped them in a tight hug and pulled them inside.

“Good ... urk ... morning, Thurleena ...” Twilight said, in between struggles for breath.

Thurleena released the two ponies and shouted into her house, “Gregand! Get off your fat butt! We’ve got guests!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming …”

The living room of the yak house looked much like any other in Ponyville: wood-paneled floor and earth-toned walls with pink accents everywhere. The only difference was that everything was scaled larger, matching the inhabitants.

“So,” Thurleena said, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Twilight and Pinkie?”

“We just want some of your recipes!” Pinkie answered.

“What is this?” the bull yak growled as he entered the room. “You ponies walk into our house just to steal our secrets?”

Thurleena head-butted him. “Gregand! Be nice!”

“But it’s not stealing if we ask for it, is it?” Pinkie said, bouncing in place. “And we don’t want your secrets, just your yak cake, and yak yams, and yak yule logs, and yak yuxiang ...”

Twilight interrupted. “We’re throwing a party for some yak guests tomorrow. Pinkie and I both agree on the importance of research in party planning. So we’d really appreciate anything you can tell us about traditional yak cuisine.”

“... and yak yellow cassava, and yak yam naem, and yak yeast extract, and yak yangrou paomo, and yak yurla …” Pinkie continued, more to herself than to the yaks at this point.

“I see,” Thurleena said. “But where are these yak guests from?”

“Yakyakistan,” Twilight said.

Both yaks took in sharp breaths, and their eyes widened.

“... and yak yogurt, and yak yomari, yak yum sen lon, and yak yemas de Ávila, and yak gyros …”

Twilight continued, “It’s an official visit by Prince Rutherford and his entourage. And this is Yakyakistan’s first diplomatic gesture in—”

“I’ll do it,” Thurleena interrupted. “I’ll make the yak food for your party.”

“... and yak yellow soybean paste, and What?” Pinkie spun to face Thurleena as she exclaimed, “But we don’t want to be a bother! I’m already doing everything else for the party, so if you can just show me how to—”

“No, no.” Thurleena waved a hoof dismissively. “You’re a good cook, Pinkie, but nopony and noyak can learn yak cooking in just one day.”

“Before we left the old country,” Gregand added, “darling Thurleena was the best cook for fifty miles. But do you know how long she had to practice before her meals didn’t induce projectile vomiting?”

Thurleena beamed as she answered, “Only two years!”

Twilight and Pinkie gaped at the yaks.

“She’s still got it, you know,” Gregand said. “Still the best yak cook I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, you’re a biased source,” Thurleena said with a smile. “Pinkie, dear, why don’t you make your best pony food and dessert for the Prince? Leave the yak food to me.”

“Hmm ...” Pinkie smiled and extended her hoof. “You drive a hard bargain, Thurleena, but I’ll take it!”

The next day …

“Me honored. Yaks hope for great friendship between ponies and yaks. Friends for a thousand moons!”

The force of Prince Rutherford’s voice wasn’t enough to knock Twilight Sparkle off her hooves, but the stink of his breath almost was. Smells like you haven’t brushed your teeth in a thousand moons, she thought.

Carefully swallowing her bile, Twilight waved a hoof at the buffet tables which Pinkie Pie and Applejack wheeled out. “You must be hungry after a long journey. We’ve prepared two banquets for you. A smorgasboard of our favorite Ponyville foods, and another of traditional yak food.”

“If things not perfect, yaks get mad,” Prince Rutherford said, pushing past Twilight as he approached the tables. “Yaks always get mad when things not perfect!” The Prince’s two retainers (Enrique and Josh—the Prince hadn’t introduced them, but Twilight’s research was thorough) followed him closely.

Twilight gulped and made sure none of the yaks were looking her way before wiping the sweat off her brow.

Upon reaching the buffet of pony food, Prince Rutherford scooped a slice of apple pie—made with Sweet Apple Acres apples, of course—into his mouth. Enrique devoured a hayburger; Josh took a surprisingly dainty bite of a raspberry scone. All three yaks chewed slowly.

Twilight glanced over at Pinkie and Applejack. Judging by their faces, they were at least half as nervous as she felt.

Prince Rutherford swallowed and threw his plate to the floor. It shattered; Twilight cringed and recoiled at the sound. “Pony food taste funny,” the Prince said. His retainers nodded.

Oh, so that’s what it feels like when my heart stops beating, Twilight thought.

“Funny, but good kind of funny! Yaks want more!” The Prince dug into a bowl of salad with Neightalian dressing, while his retainers both helped themselves to slices of apple pie.

Twilight’s heart resumed beating. She glanced at her friends, who either beamed back at Twilight or breathed huge sighs of relief.

Prince Rutherford threw his salad bowl down. The wooden bowl simply bounced off the floor. “Only thing make this meeting better is some real yak food.” He walked to the other table and grabbed a slice of cake. His retainers attacked the yam casserole and porridge. All three started chewing quickly ... then slowed and eventually stopped.

Twilight’s blood ran cold as Prince Rutherford spat the cake out of his mouth. “This no taste like yak food!” he bellowed.

The six ponies gaped at the Prince, then another voice bellowed a reply from the back of the chamber: “Like hay it doesn’t!” Thurleena emerged from behind a crystal column and marched up to the yak diplomats. “I made that food, Prince! Tell me to my face it’s not good enough! I dare you!”

Gregand emerged from a different column and gestured desperately at Prince Rutherford, a look that said Quit talking if you know what’s good for you.

Twilight rushed over to her friends. “What’s going on? How did Thurleena and Gregand get into this meeting?”

“No idea, sugarcube.”

Prince Rutherford raised his voice and slipped back into his native yak language. “Gak gakgak gak gakgakgak gakgak!” he shouted at Thurleena. Twilight could understand the gist of what he said: “”

Gregand facehoofed.

Thurleena didn’t back down, but answered in Yakyaki herself. “”

“”

“Any idea what they’re saying, Twilight?” Applejack asked.

“Uh …”

“Is it okay to be nervous now?” Pinkie asked.

“Uh …”

“” Prince Rutherford shouted.

“” Thurleena answered.

Twilight was beyond all capacity for rational thought. Scary words like international incident and unmitigated disaster and cassus belli swirled around in her mind. It took every bit of self-control she possessed to refrain from unleashing an alicorn-tier spell like stopping time, or freezing everypony inside a glacier. Sure, neither of those would solve the loud catastrophe unfolding before her, but they sure as Tartarus couldn’t make it any worse.

“”

“<Yaks smash!>”

At that, Prince Rutherford and Thurleena both lowered their heads and charged. With a crack, their horns collided. Loud grunts and scratches filled the chamber as they pushed and strained against each other, their hooves ripping the red carpet to shreds and gouging into the crystal floor beneath.

“” Prince Rutherford growled.

Thurleena shoved, pushing the Prince back a few feet. “”

Rarity rushed over to Twilight’s side. “Twilight, is there anything we can do?”

“Uuuuhhh …” Twilight’s eye twitched a few times, and a bit of drool came out the corner of her mouth.

Rarity continued, “What a dreadful scandal! Foreign royalty and a Ponyville citizen, brawling like uncouth ruffians right in Twilight’s palace! I can’t believe this is happening.”

“And I can’t believe Thurleena’s winning!” Rainbow Dash retorted.

Indeed, Thurleena had pushed Prince Rutherford quite some distance. Inexorably, the two drew closer and closer to the palace’s front door.

“I dunno,” Applejack said. “That Prince Rutherford could just be pullin’ a tactical retreat.”

Motion from the back of the chamber caught Twilight’s eye. Gregand was waving at her, and as soon as he caught her attention, he mouthed something—it looked like So sorry.

Then he charged at the Prince’s stunned retainers, bellowing “” only a second before colliding. He took Enrique completely by surprise and easily pushed him across the chamber. They bowled over Thurleena and the Prince—forming a ball of fur, hooves, and horns that rolled out the door, bounced off the balcony, then crashed into the street below.

The last yak standing, Josh, gaped at the open door, then looked around the room. Upon noticing the six ponies staring back at him, he shouted in Equine, “Yaks smash!” He gave the nearest buffet table a weak shove; it tipped without falling over. He then grabbed another scone and rushed out the door.

Twilight’s friends galloped to the front balcony and stared down, and Twilight trotted after them, mechanically.

“”

In the street just outside Twilight’s castle, the four yaks brawled. Thurleena and Gregand, Prince Rutherford and Enrique punched and kicked and grappled and headbutted. Josh remained just outside the radius of the scuffle, jumping up and down and shouting “Yaks smash!” in a futile attempt to look like a participant. Ponies peered out of their houses as the yak fight raged, and some of the braver ones trotted forward for a better view.

“Oh my …” Fluttershy crouched as low as she could and still see the carnage below.

“Land sakes,” Applejack muttered.

“So …” Rainbow Dash said, “who do you think’s gonna win?”

“Rainbow Dash!” Rarity wheeled on Dash with her most indignant glare.

“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

“This barbaric display is a travesty of the worst kind! You can’t treat it like some sporting event! Hmmph!” Rarity stuck her nose up and turned aside—but she continued watching the fight out of the corner of her eye.

“How about you, AJ? Who do—”

“Thurleena. Sure as shootin’.” Applejack didn’t take her eyes off the brawl.

“Really?” Rainbow quirked an eyebrow. “Weren’t you rooting for that Prince a minute ago? Something about ‘tactical retreats’?”

“T’ain’t nothin’. That Thurleena’s a stone-cold badflank, and I wouldn’t bet against her.”

“Oh yeah?” Smirking, Rainbow leaned closer to Applejack. “And how much wouldn’t you bet against her?”

Applejack met her smirk. “Fifty bits says Thurleena wins.”

“You’re on!”

Applejack bumped Rainbow’s hoof, then leaned over the balcony railing. “Whooo-ee! Go Thurleena! Momma needs a new set of horseshoes!”

“Oh, um ...” Fluttershy said.

Ignoring her, Rainbow Dash turned back to Rarity. “You sure you don’t want to get in on this?”

“Um, I’d like to,” Fluttershy said. She didn’t recoil when the other ponies turned towards her, because she was already crouched low enough to just barely see over the balcony railing, her ears folded flat against her head. She gulped, then raised her voice—only a decibel or two, but by Fluttershy’s standards, that was practically shouting. “Fifty bits on Enrique.”

“Oooh!” Dash nudged Fluttershy’s ribs. “The wildcard.”

“He’s got a fire in his eyes. Like he’ll do anything to win. I think he might be crazy.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, Twilight, who do you wanna bet on?”

“Uuuuuhhhh …” Twilight was finding it harder and harder to keep her eyes in focus.

“Alright, I’ll give you a minute to decide. Hey, Pinkie!” Rainbow Dash looked back and forth. “Where’d Pinkie go?”

“Oh dear.” Rarity pointed at the street below. “What is Pinkie Pie doing down there?”

In the street, the crowd of spectators completely encircled the yak brawl, and more ponies joined by the second. Meanwhile, Pinkie Pie pulled a wagon towards the brawl—a wagon loaded with a massive, rubbery, pink thing that sloshed with every step. She stopped at the outer edge of the crowd, then reared back and shouted, “Hold it! Stop right there, everypony!”

The yaks froze: Thurleena with Enrique in a headlock; Gregand and Prince Rutherford inches away from headbutting. Every pony in the crowd turned to Pinkie.

“Aren’t we forgetting something?” Pinkie continued. “Something important? Something that unites us all, whether pony or yak or any other talking creature on this great big planet?”

Twilight blinked and felt her racing heart begin to slow. Good old Pinkie Pie, she thought. Figures she’d be the voice of reason when the rest of the world goes crazy.

Pinkie flicked a lever on the side of the cart. “We’re forgetting this!” In less than a second, the cart transformed into a catapult, then fired. The massive water balloon sailed in a beautiful parabolic arc, wobbling so hard that the stress popped it in midair. The water fell right in the center of the brawl, soaking the yaks and the first few rows of spectators alike. The dirt road was abruptly transformed into a mud pit.

While everypony else was stunned into inaction, Pinkie used a nearby stallion’s head as a platform to leap over the crowd. She curled in midair and shouted, “Cannonball!”

As the mud splattered everypony, Thurleena resumed grappling with Enrique, and Gregand and the Prince cracked their heads together so hard they both fell back, into the mud.

“” the Prince bellowed.

“Yaks smash!” Josh shouted.

“Ponies smash!” Pinkie replied with a huge smile on her face, as she tackled Josh into the mud.

“Ponies smash!” somepony in the crowd shouted. Mrs. Cake leaped into the mud pit, then the rest of the crowd followed.

And then Twilight’s brain decided it was time for a short vacation.

“Twilight Sparkle?”

Twilight knew that voice. It was the voice of peace and safety and sanity—the voice of the one pony who could pick up the pieces when Twilight really screwed up.

“Princess Celestia!” Twilight said. Her vision cleared, and she rushed forward to embrace her beloved mentor. “I just had the craziest dream. Foreign diplomats came to Ponyville, but they were insanely rude, and somehow it turned into a brawl, and it probably would have caused a war with … Oh, dear, I’m still dreaming.”

Twilight and Celestia stood in the street before Twilight’s castle. Behind Celestia, the brawl was still going strong—in fact, it was even larger than before. But the mud-covered ponies and yaks weren’t punching or kicking or wrestling very much. Mostly, they jumped up and down a lot and bumped into each other.

Oh. That wasn’t a brawl. That was a mosh pit.

On the other side of the mosh pit was an elevated stage, where a four-piece rock ’n roll band serenaded the raucous crowd below. Their song was psychedelic nonsense, something about a pony with “hooves down below his knees” and the necessity of coming together. Pinkie Pie was the drummer, because of course she was. She waved back at Twilight, while somehow still keeping the beat.

The rest of Ponyville had transformed just as dramatically into a huge party. Mud-stained streamers and banners decorated every house. Smiling ponies wandered about, helping themselves to snacks from the numerous food carts lining the streets. Mud pies were a particularly popular treat, for some reason. About a third of the ponies wore novelty foam yak horns.

“Yes,” said Celestia, turning to stand at Twilight’s side and survey the scene. She wore a massive sombrero—Twilight wondered how she hadn’t noticed that sooner. “This really is a dream come true, isn’t it?”

“A fever dream, maybe,” Twilight muttered.

Ahead, a mare climbed onto the stage—wait, was that Cherry Jubilee?—adjusted her foam horns slightly, then shouted “Ponies smash!” She dove, and the crowd caught her.

“Gak gak!” Prince Rutherford said, suddenly on Twilight’s other side. He held a pitcher of lemonade, and mismatched lampshades rested on his horns. “This good! Ponies funny, but good funny!”

“Ha ha, what?” Twilight said.

“And that Thurleena! She live like pony but still fight like yak. Bring great honor to ancestors! Prince not have brawl that good for many moons!”

“Ha ha ha ha!” Twilight’s laughter was a little too forceful.

“Hey, Twilight!” Pinkie exclaimed, suddenly appearing in front of Twilight. Apparently her band was taking a break. “Great party, huh? I’m almost as excited as you are!”

“Ha ha! Me, excited? Ha!”

“Yeah! You were so excited, you went all stiff and rolled your eyes back in your head and foamed at the mouth a bit! And then you stayed that way for hours! So the girls and I stuck you right here where everypony could see you, so you could be the life of the party!”

After glancing back and forth, Pinkie leaned towards Twilight and whispered, “You might want to wash up. Princess Celestia drew on your face while you weren’t moving.”

“Exciting! Yes!” the yak Prince proclaimed. “Party exciting! Ponies exciting!”

“Ha ha ha!” Twilight’s face twisted into a manic grin. “Frieeeeeeends, then?”

Prince Rutherford drank the rest of his lemonade, smashed the empty pitcher on the ground, then pulled Twilight and Pinkie into a crushing hug. “Friends for a thousand moons!”

The hug ended, and the Prince wandered off, bellowing to all and sundry about how much he was enjoying himself.

“Gotta go, Twilight! The band needs me!” Pinkie rushed back to the stage.

“Ha ha,” Twilight said. “Ha ha ha ha.”

“I’m very impressed, Twilight Sparkle.” Celestia smiled serenely. “Yakyakistan has been so isolated. I honestly expected it would take weeks of negotiation to win over Prince Rutherford. Yet you managed to befriend him in just one day. How did you do it?”

Twilight bit back another round of sharp laughter, then shook her head. She gave Celestia a small but sincere smile and said, “I’m really not sure. I think this is more everypony else’s doing …”

Celestia raised one eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. “So you just sat back and let your friends do all the work?”

“Well, when you put it like that—”

“I’m so proud of you, Twilight! You’ll make a fine princess yet.”

“Excuse me. I’m suddenly very thirsty.” Twilight made a beeline for the nearest table with a punch bowl. Dear me, she thought, I really hope somepony spiked this punch.

Author's Note

Many thanks to my prereaders for this story:

Kuroi Tsubasa Tenshi
Japanese Teeth
CDRW
Sereg
Justanotherbrony

That's my name ...

Twilight Sparkle hummed a happy tune as she cantered down the street. She glanced over the stack of forms suspended in her telekinesis. Half finished already, she thought. And Spike said this would be boring! I just don’t understand him sometimes.

She approached the next house and knocked, then a gray pegasus mare opened the door. Twilight immediately recognized her from the “Welcome to Ponyville” party just a few days ago—she’d never gotten the mare’s name, but those misaligned, golden eyes were impossible to mistake.

The pegasus shook her head, hard. After finishing, she looked at Twilight with both her eyes and smiled.

Twilight extended a hoof. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Twilight Sparkle, the new librarian, and I’m—”

The pegasus, ignoring Twilight’s offered hoof, rushed forward to envelop her in a hug. Twilight couldn’t return the gesture—her left foreleg was pinned to her side by the embrace—so she settled for awkwardly patting the other pony’s back.

“Uh, thank you ...” Twilight said.

“No, thank you,” the pegasus said.

“Anyway, I’m helping Mayor Mare with the biannual census. Do you have a few minutes to give me information for the official census form?”

“Sure!” The pegasus released Twilight and stepped back.

“Okay! To begin, what’s your full name?”

“My name is
.”

Twilight blinked. The pegasus just smiled back at her.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “I didn’t get that. Your name is …?”

“.”

Squinting, Twilight said, “Did you say
?” The foreign phonemes felt like insects crawling on her tongue.

“No …” The pegasus’s face darkened, briefly. “It’s
!”

“Um …” Twilight glanced between the pegasus and the empty census form. “How do you spell that?”

“First, make a bucket shape with the hole facing up. Then, make sort of a fluffy cloud shape on top of that. Maybe make some vertical lines for the paper wrapper. Then add a bunch of little points for poppy seeds, or big dots for blueberries, depending on what flavor you prefer. You got all that?”

Twilight held up the census form, whose “Name” blank now bore a small line drawing. “Is this right, Ms.
?”

“Close. We just need to work on the shading. Now, decide which direction your light source is …”

Author's Note

Source for the muffin vector.

Thanks to KuroiTsubasaTenshi and Yami Vizzini for pre-reading.

Dewey led a very interesting life, you see.

Twilight took the briefest peek out the window, at the hordes of monsters surrounding the Golden Oaks Library, then ducked out of sight. She turned back to her five friends. “Girls, we’re definitely outnumbered. Twenty to one.”

Rainbow Dash snorted. “Sounds like pretty bad odds ...” Then she smirked. “... for them.”

“That’s the spirit!” Twilight said. “I think it’s time we give those monsters a taste of the Dewey Classical Decimation System!”

Silence hung in the library, like an overripe fruit.

It was Rainbow who knocked that fruit to the ground. Grabbing Twilight’s shoulders, she said, “You know, we’d better all survive this. Because I am going to kill you for making that pun.”

Author's Note

Then Pinkie said, “But Twilight! What will we do with the other 90% of the monsters?”

From Canterlot Boutique with Love

“Really?” Twilight took a sip of tea to calm herself, before continuing. “You burned all those extra Princess Dresses?”

“Yes, yes, I did.” Rarity raised her snout. Quieter, to herself, she muttered, “And I still think ‘Reign In Stain’ was a better name for it ...”

“Why?”

“Because it was more clever than ‘Princess Dress’.”

“No, I mean, why did you burn them?”

“Because my dresses are supposed to be unique! One-of-a-kind!” Rarity punctuated this by smacking the tabletop. “But by listening to Sassy Saddles and making hundreds of that one design, I sucked the soul out of it. I made an extraordinary dress, ordinary!”

“So, what you’re saying is ...” Twilight tapped her chin, trying her hardest to avoid smiling. “... thanks to mass production ... The Reign In Stain felt mainly rather plain?”

Author's Note

Rarity groaned. “You know, Twilight, Monarchs have been dethroned for less. I’m certainly voting for somepony else in the next Best Princess poll.”

————

Credit to Take Walker for the title: