Observation

Chapters

Peer
One or the other, you can't have both
Three Good Looking Ponies
Picking up one Pink Lady Apple
They're Taunting Us!

Peer

Probing the heart of Equestria is a true art form. Slipping into somepony else's life, sweeping the missus off her hooves, and then ending it quietly as the rest of the family is dragged to holding pods to drain all the love and energy they have, so we, the parasites, can find new hosts and live on. It's not what I was meant to do, but darn it, I'm trying my best.

I've never podded a pony for love or emotion before arriving in Ponyville, only observed. I write this, because after scouting Ponyville now for two years, I'm ready to turn in my report. In the last two years, I've watched the three other dreamers, changelings, be violently woken up and pulled from their host families. I am ever awake.

My mission parameters were simple: Do not engage the Elements, do not arouse suspicion, take whatever measures necessary to ensure that identity is not revealed, and finally, don't get caught. Every mission, quest, or task always comes with the unspoken additional objective - secure love and energy for the hive.

I happened to notice after waiting for three months from the date the agent was suppose to arrive...that he or she never arrived. I distinctly remembering the order 'Set up the alias, stock the home, wait for the infiltrator'. For the first month, I went from the living room window, to the small peep hole on the front door, staring out at the world around me. I was watching shadows of trees and houses stretch to the left in the morning, to the right in the evening, until late at night when all shadows became moot. I didn’t think to write down the details of every single pony that walked or jogged past the front of my house until my second week of waiting.

Every morning, the same trio of joggers pass by my window around the same time. Interesting enough for a changeling with nothing to do but wait, I wrote down the time and description of each pony.

By the end of that week I was venturing more and more into Ponyville, buying color coded notebooks and learning names. Soon enough, I assigned each pony I saw two pages, starting with the store owners and market stalls. Those ponies by far maintained the most predictable schedules during the day. They were even nice enough to let everypony know when they would be open or closed.

The most peculiar sounds that I will never forget in order are, ‘Click-ver! ter-scritch, scritch, scritch’ I thought somepony clicked their tongue at first, my ears perked up and swiveled towards the noise. Swinging my head around to see a family of four, the father was taking a snapshot of his family posing on a bridge. With mom in the middle, and her two kids on each side sitting on the railing, the father said, “Alright, we’ll do one more then switch. One...two...three!”
‘Click-ver!’ He wound the disposable camera in his hooves and swapped places with his wife. I’ve used cameras before, taken pictures of ponies I’ll replicate. In that small moment, I saw the happiness coming from their smiling faces, their shared family love. Adoration radiated life between those four ponies, and my hunger began crying out in need. It needed to be apart of that family, it wasn’t satisfied with absorbing emotions out of the air. I marched over to them, trying not to salivate like a dog after a treat.

“Want me to take your picture?” Calling out, the mother’s eyes lit up as she happily handed the camera to me.

“Would you? Thanks!” Mom took her spot next to Dad, reaching one leg over both of her kid’s shoulders.

Bringing the lens to my eyes, “Can everyone move a little closer?” They all squeezed together to fit in the center focal point of the frame. “Smile on three. One, two, three!” Click-ver, scritch, scritch, scritch.

“I’ll take one more, just to be sure.” Holding the camera at 90 degrees, “One, two, three.”

Oh sweet bliss. It tasted fabulous. I scoured Ponyvile for a quality camera of my own immediately after passing the disposable one back to the family so I can remember the moment I became addicted to the emotion of elation.

With these simple things binding me in place to Ponyville, I spent months watching every single event and catastrophe pass through the town. It was these great public shows of affection that opened my eyes to concepts that aren't even considered in a hive setting.

Mob mentality, as I learned, was the greatest and most powerful force a non-royal force of ponies could produce. Switching from anger, hate, disgust, only to be broken and turn over into pity, delight, or calm. Sadness is absent from most pony group settings, unless a time of mourning or sorrow comes. When a drone dies, it is simply one less voice our queen has to listen to - drones are hardly more than walking muscle. When a pony dies, their entire community, every pony whether they are expected to or not, hated or loved, they all offer a condolence to the immediate family around them. The concept I struggled to understand for the longest time was why the ponies could move on so quickly, or how when one changeling is absorbing sad emotions through close contact. For us we don't reflect back those same feelings. When a queen is sad, everyling is sad. It's a fact of life, when a queen is happy, the sentient are happy, soldiers, drones, nursemaids, everyling is happy. Everyling is given the same basic needs to live.

Three months gave me plenty of time to wonder more important things in my life such as 'when will the replacement arrive?' and 'what am I going to do for food?'

When I was forced to forage for even more supplies I realized feelings never remained mutual and their outside don't reflect their insides. Ponies were happy-ish, less than content. I'll walk by a dozen ponies all bright, smiling, and cheery, but the older mare in the middle with the blue eyes and short chopped pink mane and yellow coat. When I locked eyes with her, I ground my teeth together and bared some of the grief she didn't want the rest of Ponyville to know about. I suppose that was my first lesson in empathy - caring about somepony else. I didn't really think about it by pulling a piece, a thread of her emotion and bringing it in. I winced and coughed, trying to keep the freezing emotions down rather than spewing them across the ground and all but exposing myself as a changeling. The bitter and overbearing taste of extracted peppermint leaf was crawling across the tongue, down the throat, and chilling my stomach like suddenly waking up in the middle of hibernation for winter.

Moving past her, I silently wished her well for my own reasons. I was feeling her mood tip back towards somber, with a few rays of sunlight breaking through the dark cloud over her head.

I'll admit that contact helped by going around town, and absorbing ambient emotions, but I was lacking the basic necessities to live. I hardly knew what starving was until a gnawing pang in the pit of my stomach refused to go away.

A pegasus fell asleep while flying today, a brown mare with orange hair and white iced tips on her feathers. Watching from my living room window through the viewfinder of my new camera, her head dipped and rolled with the rest of her body as she fought exhaustion. Wings beating out of sync, perhaps she was gliding down and ran out of energy, I speculated. Picking up my camera, and stepping into the front yard, her last ditch attempt to get closer to the jutt her wings out to their fullest length, trying to lock the muscles into place with her head nodding and dropping. Her body followed quickly in suit as she gained momentum.

Pony society places high value on helping others in their time of need, even if you were to fail in your efforts. I lulled her to sleep myself, I only wish at the time I fought my instincts that were in control and forced me to not even feel the flutter of my heart as she collided with the ground. No spiral to slow her descent, no trees, bushes, or sources of water to cushion her fall, only grass, dirt, and rocks.

What was I supposed to do or feel? Pity? Where I come from, it's a sign of disrespect to those who receive it, for they themselves could not pull themselves up. Sorrow? Changelings...we feel emotions and we don't. We know how it effects us, but we don't know what it means. Like reading a book in a foreign language, at best you might pick out familiar words, but depth of understanding is lost on us, it was lost on me.

Instead, I only observed her broken body and blood coming from the wounds where bits of bone were poking out through the skin. Her eyes were blood red, as I'm sure of it that the time that the blood vessels in her eyes popped.

And of course, the unspoken word to collect love and energy for the hive. She would die by the end of the day if I drained her love and energy, I even gauged that the collective experience of all her emotions would sustain me for three weeks. I was only a scout, not a full blown infiltrator or harvester yet, I figured.

I observed that she was going to die, and in the event that she was found later, there would be a coming of sorrow from the ponies regardless if I left her or took the body. The latter scenario of course is always the more difficult path that thousands of changelings chose and will continue to chose before and after I’ve left Ponyville.

There’s a thought process ponies go through when they can't find their missing mate. There are three presumptions of what happened in most cases. They ran away themselves, they were kidnapped by a pony, and finally, kidnapped by a changeling. Naturally this type of prejudice happens in towns with hardly any diversity, a fact worth loathing, I know. It's only then are we mentioned. In fact, most ponies refuse to think that their pony neighbor can do no harm! I was conversing the day before with a fine gentlestallion, expressing concern that his wife had yet to return from a day trip to Canterlot, and a interloper who wasn’t part of our conversation in any way had the gall to slide in the comment 'or changelings got him!' Part of me wanted to slap the colt for intruding on us like that - I was enjoying nice radiating waves of concern and sympathy for the stallion’s wife. Soaking in emotion that was freely given to any pony walking by on that particular day. My head was filled with the warmth of a summer daze. Everything seemed brighter, and I was nodding thoughtfully along. The sympathy felt cool as an ocean breeze, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they met or wed on a beach somewhere. Here this stallion was, reliving in the back of his mind one of the most emotionally touching day’s of his life because his wife was late. Then the little twerp’s comment turned the impressionable beast into a tombstone.

I found the whole ordeal insulting, the way he clammed up. The colt's lackadaisical smirk could told me that he didn't even know what a changeling was, let alone our tactics. Regardless, I let my imagination play out a scene of myself wringing the colt’s neck, and then kicking him into the dirt for good measure.

In my defense…well, I was currently moving a unconscious pegasus’s body partially on my back, while wrapping the rest of her up in my magic. My plan involved sticking her in a pod to wait and see what happens, so maybe the name drop on changelings wasn’t completely unbiased…

She crashed less than a mile from my house, skirting the western edges of the Ponyville between the dips in the rolling hills of suburban and rural neighborhoods. Each house with tall windows and a great view of the valley below or facing Canterlot. Nopony seemed to be home or interested to look outside. If it she decided to leave a little later, earlier, or any other day for her unknown destination, somepony other than myself would’ve seen the crash.

After reaching her body, I took a quick glance to see if any pony was around and was satisfied with the empty streets - leaning down to her neck and biting through the first layer of skin, she thrashed and moaned, but it only took twelve seconds for her body to fall completely limp to changeling venom. Carrying her back left my insides empty and cold. I couldn’t even muster up the courage to speak to a pony by myself, and become part of their life. So here I am, picking over the rest like a vulture.

In the late afternoon, I was truly exposed in my actions, yet no pony was in sight. There was a chilling silence that enveloped the streets I walked through, as if my evil actions were killing off the bright and happy sounds of winds calmly blowing across the hills of Ponyville, and the good-neighbor attitude of everyone here.

I carried my tripod and camera in my teeth, and split the weight the pegasus between my back and magic. I was focusing more energy and mental strain with using my magic to keep all her bones and gooey bits from moving at all while calmly moving through the quiet streets of town, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Checking both ways as I crossed the street, I peered for anypony coming or going. Taking steps across the dirt road and onto the curb. I strode the length of my white painted, knee-high fence, to the path leading up to the front door. I set the Pegasus down on the porch for a moment as I caught my breath, and nearly dropped my camera equipment to the ground as I tried to search for my key. A small gurgle came through her lips, a struggled, painful breathing that was getting worse. I kicked the door open and picked the Pegasus up again, making sure she didn’t hit her lopsided and frayed wings against the door frame. When she was clear, I took her to the basement door, doing the same, and brought her downstairs. The candles I used down there were all dark, after relighting two of them near the first of three pods, the Pegasus was finally set onto her stomach.

fun part, the emotions. Whatever her name was, where ever she was going, I could feel the pain crying out in her heart of wanting to live. I stoked that desire with just a brush of magic, and felt the response immediately. On command, I digested the emotion and used it to fill the pod with green resin mucus. The swirl of emotions within me gave a calming high. Digesting them further would give me enough energ to live for weeks. Instead, I let the drool fill my pony’s pod. Adding my own changeling magic to the Pegasus’ emotions. When I was finished, she was completely submerged in her own burning will-to-live and membrane bubble to hold her still. Positive emotions are directly related to the recovery of any creature, sentient and non-sentient. If they think they can survive, then they will. That’s why some ponies when stranded in the middle of the desert, surrounded by a hive of scorpio scorpions keep believing until well beyond the moment they can successfully communicate their disbelief.

Podded ponies become very detached from their bodies, changelings feel it from a very early moment on when part of a hive. Communicating with their mother, and their queen, and the changeling that would be their nursemaid, all before ever drawing their first breath. For ponies, they let the pods breathe for them, a pony without the ability to use their lungs or maintain a steady heartbeat could be lulled into a stasis for weeks.

As she was right now, I thought, she could barely survive. In fact, she’s even closer to death now than before I used venom on her. Her heart rate was so faint and distant, it’s like the heart itself needed to remind itself after every beat that it needed to push and pull again, and that it was still alive. As I was right now, the holes in my body were much more prominent, so much so that I could pass the tip of one hoof through my other leg.

Now came the painful part, not for me, but for her. Well, it’s kind of painful for me, my legs were sore after stretching and resetting the bones in the Pegasus’ limbs. I noticed within minutes of fitting the shin and ankle bones into place, the swelling in her legs went down. I gently rotated her wing outwards, pushing down through the humerus with one leg and pressing into her shoulder blade with the other. I popped the wing back into her socket. I went up and down her body, every square inch, trying to reposition her so I could snap fractures into place.

The last portion was her neck, and face. Marred, unrecognizable, would her parents recognize her? Some part of me was scared that she would never walk again, or fly, open her eyes, or know what happened to her. I wanted to tell her, and let her understand, I wanted to see her eyes open with lively grace and make sure she knew that what happened. The one thing I didn’t want to see were eyes that didn’t have any life, or to hear her voice with an intelligence that couldn’t understand.

My concern went to her as I stepped away. This was a slow process, bringing something on the verge of death back to life. It takes time, energy, to reignite a living creature’s desire to live. Resin came from digesting emotions that I used through my hooves for building pods or reinforcing structures and roofs. My other options were spitting it back out to fill her pod, with a lot more mucus involved, or storing it in a jar for later.
Resin hardening over her chocolate brown fur and orange hair like a membrane turned everything darker shades of green. More emotions, more energy would speed the healing process, all I needed was a non-diminishing source, two actually. One for her, and one for me...hers and his.

I was full for a moment, so utterly full with her happiness and desperation reaching out for a new future. It tasted like hope, every gland was salivating with its warm tingling sensation in the pit of your heart. Heat was spreading across my chest like a smooth sipping hard alcohol. As I returned upstairs, my disguise burned away. Breathing deeply my head was spinning from exhaustion. trying to stop the room from spinning. In out, another breath, in out.

I must’ve laid there for twenty minutes, eyes glazing over, all my senses telling me different things until I unconsciously filtered all but one noise out. I could no longer hear the ticking of my clock from the kitchen wall, or even register the thoughts that were scattered and random, coursing through my brain. I could hear my own heart beat when it was higher, but now, I couldn’t even tell if my own heart was beating. Maybe I died right there, and didn’t want to hear, see, talk, or feel anything or anyone. The last sound I heard, the one that grew from beneath the floorboards. A slow, steady lub-dub. Internally, I smiled, the venom was wearing off and she was successfully podded.

Author's Note

And the big reveal is that the whole story is about the effects of a socialist-dictatorship economy interacting with a welfare economy. Supply and demand people! It's how the world works!

Nah, that's mean, I wouldn't try to paint a picture that big. :trollestia:

One or the other, you can't have both

While taking in the nearly - dead pegasus seemed like a good idea at the time, the more I thought about her, the more convinced I was of acting foolishly and impulsive.

Considering how broken the pegasus is, it'll be at least two months before she's even remotely healed. By then, the mare wouldn't be burning through love and my magic reserves to keep her alive. That's after I re-break a few bones, because I was an idiot and didn't do it right the first time. As much as I wanted to prime her, let a pony bathe in positive emotions so that they themselves could reciprocate and produce positive emotions attached to memories, bodies react in a way that takes away from her healing.

With my back against the basement wall, I slid down onto my rump. Hunger told me to throw patience to the wind, to rip open the pod and plunder every last emotion I could so that I could survive and just get rid of the body, but a cool tone cut through my thoughts every time.

"It'll get better." I thought to myself, Which part? "That the love she'll give you once she wakes up and realizes that you helped her."
It wasn't the most selfish thought I'd had, but to actually do it? I felt remorseful and nearly wanted to drain the pod, just to end her life quickly, painlessly.

"Tartarus." I said, still looking directly at her, still seeing her float and twitch in the pod I constructed with my own two hooves and a excessive amount of protein resin.

"TARTARUS!" I screamed, jumping up onto my hooves and bucking the wall. Twice, again, and again, I turned around and punched it with my hoof before storming upstairs and collapsing onto the couch.

New plan, I swore to myself.

New plan, similar to the old one,

"Convince a pony-." I couldn't even finish saying the words before shaking my head to clear away the thought.

"Convince a pony to - GAH!" The words still refused to sound any less ridiculous. "BUCK my life!" I shouted in frustration.

I stomped my hoof into the ground, and drew a blank stare as I tried to think of a better plan...and threw my head against the wall and banged it to get out the worst idea I'd had yet.

"Convince a pony to buck me, bring him in, then...I get a little from him." I jerked my head away from the wall, 'why did I go straight to him?' "And then pod him next to the other."

It felt like torture getting a semi-solid plan into place, but at least this one was more in-line with what other changelings did. I threw myself to the door and stopped, taking a moment to run through the best possible mask to wear for the night.

I needed something enticing, something pretty, and it needed to say 'Take me home,'. My legs shivered as I thought about a magenta colored coat with a two tone split down the middle, heavy-wine red and lavender purple. I smirked while trying to think of a cutie mark as well and settled on a red firework with a lit fuse. The brief mental debate of 'magic, wings, or none' was decided by the amount of magic I felt I had left, A flash of green ember burned around me, and I was instantly the new Earth-mare on the block.

"And who is this head-turning, jaw-dropping mare?" My voice was free from the husky low pitch, now clear and feminine. Clearing my throat, I practiced with my voice again, becoming louder and more confident in the new body.

"And just who is that head-turning, jaw-dropping, wing-stiffening mare who wants to have her way with your little pony?"

"Bomb Shell."

I was panting from exhaustion, not in the good way, and not in the 'sexy-times' way either. I lucked out, as the ponies say, but now I'm wondering if the phrase actually meant to be so lucky, that everything else around them moves out of their fortunate day; or to be so unlucky, that somepony else might comment on my situation and say "You lucked out,".

While I was still arguing with the little voice in my head, I was dragging pony number two off my front lawn after heaving a horseshoe at the back of her head. Mentally berating myself, I didn't actually mean to hit her perfectly in the back of the cranium. I didn't want another pony to have brain damage, and the horseshoe was the most convenient and heavy object closest to the door.

I only meant to trip her up, she was screaming only a few moments ago about changelings and demons, and vampires of all things, and it's not like I could've let her go running through the streets of Ponyville so late at night.

But, regardless, I set myself up for that one. I could've went as the suave, smooth stud that would've wandered through a club with a four-to-six stallion-to-mare ratio, and I could've snatched up the other bombshell that evening who was making it very obvious she wanted to go home with somepony that night with every flick of her tail. Cherry Pepper, I need to remember that name. She was quiet, flustered, and a good dose of lust to keep me going through the night, great personality too, I hope I get to meet her again. Green and red hair, yellow coat, I should've went for the easy one. But no, I wanted the big catch, I wanted the two - for - one, I wanted to sate the never ending hunger in the pit of my stomach for emotion and keep her alive.

Listening to their conversation for twenty minutes, I picked up the names of the ponies Almond and Pink who were getting to know each other quite well. Sending them a drink each, I made my intentions clear.

"I couldn't help but ask, but, are you two interested in a third party joining in for a little fun?" I smiled my best smile, the mare's smile drew in close. Contemplation was on her mind and I pushed it, "Let me ask you when was the last time you were given a great night worth bragging about? If I may, I think you have the best mane here in the whole town. My name is Bombshell." It's true, she was born with sun yellow, coral pink, and brick red strips of color in her hair. Looking from Pink to Almond, he introduced himself to me first. "Almond." He offered. "Pink. How long were you listening to our conversation?"

"Only the last two minutes or so and I believe I heard one of you say something about a tongue bath?" Waggling my eyebrows, and a quick lick of the lips, flicking my tail in her direction I took a step towards Pink. "Do you mind sharing one of the best looking stallions here tonight? I promise I'll make it up to you."

For a moment, I could see the scenarios playing out in her head. I leaned in, kissing her on the lips and reached up to gently massage her ears. They each gave a slight flutter and I moved to kiss her check, and then a small nip, just to get the ideas in Pink's mind a bit more clearer for her. Almond was making no effort to hide his smile to show that he wasn't opposed to me joining them tonight. The decision rested on Pink. Pulling away, I gave her a sultry stare, sticking the tip of my tongue out, and lightly biting it. "I...would not be opposed to having a third with us tonight. What do you think Almond?"

The dark clouds broke and sun shined down on this golden opportunity for Almond to be with two mares. "I'd be happy to have you join us, Bombshell."

I, Peer, with all my social-misunderstanding, somehow managed to convince pony number two, Pink, to sleep with me and Almond, pony number one, at the same time.

I winced as Pink's head thumped against the bottom porch steps while dragging her, but once she was inside, I threw the door closed and locked it.

Looking back to two minutes ago, things were going well until Pink started licking me. Moments before, she decided my facial expression of love and hate was worthy enough for a picture. One second it's dark, the next I'm blinded by the flash of my own camera. Pink's tongue is teasing at my lips, demanding to explore my mouth when I was reminded that Almond was behind me.

I bit down onto Pink's tongue by accident and bucked up on my timing for the rest of the night. She yelped, I tried to shout out my apology as fast as I could, but buck my life twice over, I didn't just bite down into Pink's tongue. My right molar pierced into her tongue like a hypodermic needle filled with fast acting paralyzing agent.

She flung herself off the bed after wrestling her tongue back in the matter of milliseconds. I was a step ahead of both of them when I purposefully bit down into Almond's left leg before he pulled back. After seeing Pink shaking from the floor, trying to make sense of the pin-prick. He took one leg around my neck and threw me off the bed, into the wall.

'Time's up.' I had all of half a minute before the venom kicked in, Pink was staring at me, begging to ask 'What?' or 'Why?' when she noticed her own hooves feeling like lead.

"She bit us!" Almond yelled, jumping off the bed and falling flat on his face, his legs pedaled through the air as their elevated heart rates quickly spread the venom through their veins, Almond's adrenaline was trying to fight an uphill battle as he somersaulted onto his hooves and made two steps towards me before collapsing again. His legs pedaled through the air, as he tried rolling off his back. I stole a moment to laugh on the inside as he tried to cope with the rush of blood surging all over his body.

Pink's entire body was shaking in anger that was giving away to fear as she lost feeling in the tips of her hooves. "Youm fangs! You's a skin-caler, a cha-ling!" Venom spreading from her mouth to her mind wouldn't take long, but she ran to the door while I was pulling myself off the floor.

Into the pod they went, no ceremony, no fanfare, pods two and three were empty and waiting. I filled them and sealed the two with resin, if it weren't for the brief escapade into the world of pony anatomy, I would've ran dry of resin after podding Pink.

All things considered, they didn't see my true form, and Bombshell would be going away for a long time now. Pink and Almond were visibly much more active, their hooves pawing through the membrane, trying to lash out. I'd give it two days before the violent tendencies wore off. They would be much easier to prime and get them focused on happier times, rather than the abduction they just went through. I could see their faces through the gel, their eyes clenched shut and mouth twisted in confusion.

"Take it easy," I say to them, "Just sit back, and relax."

Three Good Looking Ponies

Two days passed in relative silence, for the first time in years, I was finally having my fill from Almond and Pink. With my own hunger satisfied, I redirected their energy towards the pegasus and back unto themselves to preserve them. By drawing on their energy periodically, letting them rest, and storing excess, the two can provide for me with liquid emotional energy reserves to last for months. I
cleaned her pod today, dead skin tissue and loose mane and hair that came loose turned the membrane of the pod black. Some of it was clotted blood that would rise to the surface after perixsomes in the cell purged toxins from the nucleus host. This process allowed me to wipe the dead matter and tissue off the surface of the pod with my hoof. I tsk'ed at the gnarled face as her features became clearer through the membrane, I'm sure it was very pretty before her crash.

My walk around town as Peer with camera in tow made me stop when I saw a guardspony with a stapler standing next to a small wooden board with dozens of flyers and papers tacked in.

Cake Catering at Sugercube Corner, first time visitors receive special discount.

Take one: Rosetta's Flowers, your arrangement for 5% off.

Thrift's Potluck Friday, please bring desserts for raffle. Dinner starts at 6:00

Interested in Going on nature walks with Nature Walk? Info session at 604 Elderwood Way, 9 A.M. Wednesday the 13th.

Monday: Cloudy and cool all day. Tuesday: Sunny. Wednesday: Sunny. Thursday. Morning Showers, Sunny Afternoon. Friday: Sunny. Saturday: Cloudy. Sunday: Overcast morning, Afternoon and Night Showers.

50 Bits for a Sofa, Contact Lazy Bones.

The guard pony pressed the first white sheet up, MISSING/WANTED FOR QUESTIONING Almond. Dirty brown coat, Golden colored mane-naturally straight, cut ear length, green eyes. Almond Cluster Cutie Mark. Last seen leaving Wendy Whistle Wetter's with individual(s): Pink Lady Apple and Bomb Shell.

MISSING/WANTED FOR QUESTIONING: Pink Lady Apple. Magenta/pink dual colored hair, long, wavy. Neck Length. Two (2) yellow/red/pink apples connected to wooden branch Cutie Mark. Orange eyes. Last seen leaving Wendy Whistle Wetter's with individual(s): Almond and Bomb Shell.

Pink Lady Apple was the only one of us with a picture, I reasoned that she was the first to have a pony that knew them realize they were missing.

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING: Bomb Shell. Deep Magenta hair color, neck length. Dark red coat. Eye color unknown. Red rocket firework cutie mark. Last seen leaving Wendy Whistle Wetter's with individual(s): Pink Lady Apple and Almond.

Nopony reported Bomb Shell missing, giving them plenty of suspicions. It was surreal as I took my pictures of the guard putting up our posters, even going so far as to smile and wave cheerily as he glanced in my direction at the sound of the shutter, then trotting off.

What arrested my curiosity was the fact that I never saw a similar poster for my pegasus 'friend'.

I wondered when, if at all, somepony would knock at my door. For the first three months, I'd hoped that the only pony to knock on my door would be a changeling in disguise. But, going from summer to fall, I was convinced that whoever was suppose to take my place was never going to arrive. Now I worried that if a changeling knocked on my door, they'd replace me and then hide the body.
Ironic isn't it? I guess I'd already accepted the fact that it was inevitable for somepony to knock on my door by abducting three ponies off the streets, but admitting the fact made me worry about the possibility of somebuggy actually showing up. If they did, it's not like they could take over my ingrained role as a pony, it's not like they...are...watching me...

My mind wanted to slap itself silly, of course 'they' were watching me. There was more than one changeling here in Ponyville, at most a dozen, maybe less. It wouldn't be stretching the realm of possibilities too far to say that two of them worked in tandem. Emotions in the air seem to dry up whenever I spot a large group cantering and chatting their way through town. Farmers markets' was where I always sensed a brother of my kind soaking up the ambiance and well-to-do attitude of the Equestrian ponies.

From my brief trots around town, no pony I observed broke their facade and glared at me with burning eyes, telling me I wasn't wanted. At least they were well ingrained into their role.

I may be perceptive and think ahead, but I'm prone to accidentally wandering around, and not realizing where I am or who I pass on the street. I stopped infront of a market stall with two pictures taped to the outward facing poles, and then noticed exactly who the stall owner was. I wonder if the ponies have a word for it...spacially challenged? Mentally Dense? An Idiot?

Pink Lady Apple was sitting under a tree with three other ponies, one from the picture was also manning the stall. Two overlapping circles were drawn around Pink Lady's face, with the words "Have you seen me?" scrawled below the picture itself.

Applejack stared at me, not yet ready to ask 'How my day was,' because my eyes were soaking in every detail of the picture and comparing information with the rest of my brain. From the apples on display, the additional missing pictures, the way Applejack's throat clenched and chest rose. Applejack was ready to speak from the way she cleared her throat with a little cough.

"Morning, how are you today?" She genuinely asked, 'Terrified, I'm talking to an Element of Harmony that's known to represent honesty, and I think I peed a little. Would it be bothersome if we carried this conversation some other time? 'Never' seems to work for my schedule.'

"Quite well, thank you." I replied, hoping to move along as fast as possible.

"Can I interest you in some Sweet Apple Acre's apples this morning? Some of the best apples in Equestria are grown right here in Ponyville." Yeesh, her sales pitch was lacking spirit, I knew spirit, she delivered her line like a clerk called in on their day off to work the cash register all day.

"I'll pass this morning." I casually replied, "I was actually looking at the pictures and posters that are showing up all around town. I wish on my behalf that she's found safe." 'Pink Lady is hardly in a sound state of mind.'

Applejack drew up a smile from the vote of confidence I'd given her, "Well, thank you kindly."

"When did you last see her?" I asked, playing my role of a concerned citizen.

"Three days ago, Pink Lady breezed in from out west, and was only passing through for the day. She went out to have a little fun at the watering hole later that night after dinner, and that's all I know. She left all her things at the farmhouse, so I know she didn't decide to just up and leave." Applejack summed up rather briefly. I could tell she was keeping her emotions close to heart, struggling to keep a certain anger from rising too quickly.

It seemed coy, but an idea popped into my head, "I've been taking pictures all around Ponyville for a few weeks now, and I might have a picture of the mare, Bombshell." Bingo, her eyes rose in curiosity and want, with a small breath of affection blown my way.

"I heard somepony was lugging a camera around these past few weeks. I take it, with all your gear, yer that pony?" She took a moment to eye my camera with more speculation, I could tell she was reading the red and white metal tag bolted into the faux black leather exterior - Tasek Film. Model number: A#3708.

"Yes, ma'am!" I cheerily replied. "Peer... Pictograph," Offering my hoof, she shook it with enthusiasm that was building the moment I mentioned Bombshell's picture.

"Pleased to meet you, Peer. So you think you might have a picture of this 'Bombshell' pony?"

"Well, I do remember stunning...seeing a mare matching her description, and I might of taken a picture of said mare from a distance." Tripping over the Freudian slip, Applejack gave me a queer smile.

"Stunning and stalking?" Applejack teased, leaning into her side of the stand. "Rhymes with jail bait?" She asked, I looked at her with a curious brow, wondering if the anachronism was a local jargon for her. "You know," She implied as if I were in on the inside joke the whole time.

'Not really.' My curious blank stare and silence allowed her to reiterate.

"Flirting with trouble?"

Huh? Applejack didn't even skip a beat and kept the conversation going.

"Hey, now, I like to think I know a lot of ponies here in Ponyville, us girls keep a pretty tight knit group. We all know each other through a friend or a friend of a friend, but I guarantee you that there is definitely no pony named 'Bombshell' living in Ponyville." Applejack said the last word with spite.

Oh. Figures, of course in a small town like this, nothing remains a secret for long. I was right when I thought that the ponies would figure the odd-pony out in situations like this. But then again, taking an eligible mate in Manehatten will still have at least one pony asking questions.

"Well, I'll be sure to take a gander through the film and see if anything turns up!" I said, turning my hooves away from Applejack and down the street.

"Thank you, Peer." She was deliberately slow with her words, distraught and sincere. It was different from the other 'thank you's she's given me. The emotions chilled my spine and made my mouth water at the same time. It was touching, and my eyes were hot, I was worried that my nervousness would make my eyes switch colors or flip to their natural form. Being dishonest with that mare made my insides squirm and twist. In truth, I did have a picture of Bombshell, but it certainly wasn't the one I was going to show Applejack.

I tried to reasonably think of how long I should keep the ponies tucked away in their pods. After three months, all three of them would need nourishment, by then their bodies will have metabolized excess body fat and their stomachs shrunken. After six months, the ponies wouldn't be able to walk properly if they were freed from the pods and expected to walk.

That was if I weren't actively trying to preserve them, in a hive setting, the same scenario would apply more quickly. With energy directed towards the pegasus, and myself just skimming emotions off the top, I theorized I could easily live comfortably for a year.

I smacked myself in the head with my hoof - As a changeling, I was supposed to bring food back to the hive. How could I have gone four months without realizing that one facet of my very existence?

Suddenly I was struck with another debate - take them back or leave them here, I should've taken them back and let the emotions be shared between the whole colony, but I was too preoccupied with providing for myself to remember that tidbit while starving.

Pacing in the basement, my thoughts were directed at the three waiting guests.

"No, I need to wait, get my own reserves up, and let the pegasus heal. Pink, Almond, and her..." I rambled, "Pink, I'll let you go. I can't have your cousin get the whole town whipped up into a frenzy especially since she thinks Bombshell kidnapped you. I dont want to imagine how quickly things could go right for everypony but me if she pleaded to the other element bearers for help... I mean it's true." I said to Pink Lady.
"You have no idea how absolutely terrified I am of your cousin, the element bearers, the guards, of the princesses, of trying to come up with the words to a conversation. Even my queen, yes. My queen, she's the most wonderful mother who raised us and taught us about the world, and sent us into it/ There are just so many combinations of words! And so many ways to say it, I can't ever get the right one without thinking to myself ten minutes later 'Did I say it right? Did I say everything that needed to be said? How do they see me now?' That's every moment of every social interaction in my life, Pink." Admitting it to the silent observers at first seemed passively easy at first, nearing the end tears were coming out of my eyes.

"Am I happy? Or am I sad? I don't...know." My senses dulled, and a queasy feeling was building in my stomach. Suddenly being around these ponies felt like I was standing in a room filled with rotting garlic. I wanted to take one pony with me to hold, but at the same time it seemed crazy and wasteful.

"I could leave her on a train..." I tried talking as if they weren't there anymore. "...not going out, they'd know. OR...at a restaurant, the side of the road if I were mean, a bench..." Obviously it would need to be someplace far a way from here. I thought of leaving her somewhere picturesque and poetic, but what type of changeling would do such a thing like leave a pony in the middle of a concert hall...

A total creep I realized, I never known how many memories a pony retains of before the abduction. From what others told me, our venom does a pretty good job of scrambling the memory of that night into a jubilee of brain paste; if they did remember anything at all. I wouldn't want to be the pony caught playing hooves on with a changeling in disguise. Making it worse would be wake up in someplace like a bench.

Back upstairs, I returned to my makeshift dark room. I hadn't yet decided on a means to get Pink out of the village, and instead focused on having Bombshell make a quick reappearance around town. Sure I could use a Polaroid camera, or a crystal clear image lens, made in the crystal empire, but I could argue that unless a pony puts emotion into their work, it doesn't show the extra effort. That's why I spent so much time practicing, mimicking what real emotion and effort looked like so I can show my work to others and convince them I'm a pony alongside them, basking in their praise for a few minutes before retreating. Taking in the view of the whole world tends to polarize things, small details are lost, everything is so black and white.

Raising a picture out of solution, I placed the photo into a rinse pan and then letting it dry on the rack. I wonder if it was vanity that made me take a picture of Bombshell, or ego: I'm risking another confrontation with an Element of Harmony, with a picture that showed my previous disguise, all for a little bit of adoration.

I staged it so Bombshell was walking behind three ponies, showing a semi-full profile of her face and a glimpse of the firework cutie mark.

Pink Lady, Almond, and the pegasus were still floating in their pods when I returned. Lacking any plans, I needed to think. A rational pony would return to Applejack either the day of, or the next morning. Each decision came with different responses, if I took the photo to her now, she'd be surprised, elated, happy, and gracious as I could only guess. If I kept her waiting until morning, that curiosity I planted earlier today would grow until tomorrow morning, and might reduce the amount of surprise and positive affection Applejack would end up giving me. I convinced myself that the first option would be better and changed into Peer as quickly as I could.

The farmers market was already sparse and closed down for the afternoon. A few merchants were holding out for last minute of the day customers. Only I knew what was really going on from their emotions-they were bored out of their minds, hoping I would come up and buy something to validate their reasoning for staying open later.

Alas, Applejack was not there, and must of returned to her farm. I wasn't tempted to ask either, I knew where she lived. I know where all the element bearers live. I prefer to avoid them like they carried the plague, but I guess plague victims need hope too about their missing cousins.

The walk to Sweet Apple Acres was spent calculating and planning every little response I needed to make and appropriately feign emotional response, just to make sure she wouldn't discover me and to get the most out of our little conversation without going over the top. None of that, 'Let me kiss you because I'm greatful, because it's still a possibility'. Skies above, my entire chitin would burst in to pieces at the thought of trying to maintain composure if that happened.

"Peer. PEer. Hey! Peer! peeeEER! Peer Pictograph!" Every time I said my new name, I tried imagining somepony calling out to me. It was something I did to help me ease into another day as one of the ponies. The Apple's faces came to mind, I remembered the expression on each of their faces as I saw them for the first time. It was through the long range scope of a viewfinder as I took pictures of them in my first month here in Ponyville.

"Keep it concerned, cheerful, and then progressively more upbeat." I said, like some kind of mantra. Like a director giving an actor their emotion, and I, the actor slipped into this mindset. Approaching the door, a calendar listing phases of the moon and weather cycle for the next month was pinned off to the side of the door, and red X's already crossed out on the days that predicted rain.

"Hum...Says rain in two hours." The note under today's date, as well as a red X, read 'rain 9 PM-1AM'

I pulled back the screen door and knocked loudly, every rap against the wooden door echoed across the farm and through the quiet orchards. Suddenly a dog was barking and howling, I heard a strained voice shout, "Winona, shut yer' barking!" The barking continued for another twenty seconds followed by more, "WINONA! SHUSH!" loud enough to shake the whole house, the last words I heard before the door opened were 'Winona, git in there.'

It was opened by a unexpected, train-engine sized red stallion with the emotional fortitude of a brick wall, 'Feathers, her brother is tall!' The barking died instantly, most likely from my heart skipping a beat to make the dog believe I was dead.

"How 'Bout it'?"

"Perhaps later, if you're still interested. I'm actually here for Applejack. Is she home?" Turning Mac's words on himself made his expression stall for a moment, and with a eye roll he looked back over his shoulder.

"Yep."

Behind him, two mare voices asked "Well, Who is it?" "Yeah, Who is it, Mac?" I recognized the first as Applejack's, the other was the darling little sister to the Element of Honesty, Applebloom.

"Peer," I offered, "I have a picture for Applejack, I was looking through my photos I took in the last week and found one of Bombshell, she is...wanted for questioning?" I added the inflection without realizing it, in the back of my mind I hoped Big Macintosh knew what I was talking about.

Big Mac turned called over his shoulder, "AJ, it's fer you." The Clydesdale stepped back, and Applejack took his place.

"Peer! Your here!" I smiled, trying to make her feel comfortable.

"I've got that photo for you." I said, reaching back into my saddlebag for the black and white picture.

Applejack took the photo and held it up to the porch lantern, a smile stretched across her face. "I'll run this into town first thing in the mornin', Peer. Thank You." She said.

"You're quite welcome, Applejack. I'm just trying to be a good citizen." I said with a hearty smile.

Be sure to place a really strong emphasis on trying.

"Tryin', shoot, you are a good Ponyvilli'ain. Have you had dinner yet?" Applejack asked, "I'd like ta get to know a new face aroun' town."

Ouch, in the art of conversation, I internally winced at her heartfelt request. Asking me to dinner, filling a pony's need for food, and holding a stimulating social visit? Applejack was certainly a welcoming host and new how to twist a pony's leg with her words. Mentally I made a note of that, next to first impressions. With her humble background and status, I'd be hard pressed not to want to meet with an element bearer and listen to her stories.

However, as a changeling, if I could get this far with a conversation with an enemy; a known enemy and verify her stories with our own records, this might be the most important night of my life.

Somehow I wasn't paralyzed with fear from that fact and nodded. "If you're offering dinner, I'd love to try some."

"Come on in! We always cook enough for leftovers, we got friends and family rolling through this farm all the time! Wouldn't be the first time the Apple family set another plate at the table." Stepping back, she held the door open and I was allowed in to a brightly lit and warm home.

Macintosh was standing close by to the couch, about ready to sit down again, as Applebloom was on her hooves, ready to meet me.

"Mac, Applebloom, this is Peer. I met him in the marketplace, he was taking pictures throughout Ponyville and found a photo of one of the ponies who was last seen with Pink Lady." I smiled and shook hooves with all of them.

"How many photo's did you have to look through to find this one?" Applejack asked.

"Only a few dozen. I went through all my color photos first, looking for that mare. Then, I went and developed my black and white film, and she was in the middle of the strip."

"You do black and white film?"

"Yes, I'll buy two or three cameras at the beginning of the year, then experiment around to find the best scenes to photograph to match the film medium."

"What do you take pictures of?"
"What kind of cameras do you have?" the question came from Applebloom this time.

A voice from the kitchen cut through our idle chit-chat. "Do you have a studio for family portraits? Applejack, we need to get a family photo taken. A good one! One with all of us!" The rest of the Apple family collectively rolled their eyes to the several framed photos starring the Apples in different times throughout the years around the living room.

"I have-" I started to say, but was cut off by the matriarch of the family, Granny Smith.

"All dressed up real fancy!" She rattled on. "You do that kinda photo work?"

"I-" Granny Smith carried on, striding right up to me and shaking my hoof.

"Name's Granny Smith. What's yours?"

"Do-" After spending so much time planning out all the little details for conversations, then from being shut down so man times in a row, and finally after all that, we're back to square one?! I was crying on the inside and wanted to leave. I needed something to calm me down, water, to move around. Applejack's gaze was warm and inviting, but to me... they were thrashing my disguise apart.

Getting a message through to my brain was impossible. I tried telling myself they weren't going to hurt me, but I was internally screaming everytime Applejack looked at me. I felt like she would be the first to know, to figure out I'm a changeling. I dug in my back hoof to the floor and twisted it back and forth into the carpet like a nervous tell, then worked on answering the first question and keep talking from there.

"I haven't done anything like that for anypony in Ponyville yet, but I'd be willing to take a photo of your family. I'm still trying to find my new muse for-"

"OH! I could be a muse!" Applebloom proposed, I winced, I needed to. There was so much logic and planing that went into a single response, from everything as simple as a yes or no answer, silence, or elaborating; I was off the rails and hardly able to keep it under control. Looking down at her, the bundle of energy was barely contained at the seems. I laughed as she danced around, striking ten poses. Swinging her tail, leaning back onto two hooves, and spinning on one hoof. Applebloom paused for barely a second between poses as if a crowd of ravenous photographers were demanding more.

Compassion, loyalty, humility, pity, I stopped myself immediately from the temptation. 'I'm here to return an Apple, not pluck another one off their family tree.' I wanted to ask a question myself, but I'm under a microscope every second I was around ponies and needed to remember all the parts to my alias as Peer.

"Geeze, I don't know? How long can you hold a pose?" I asked, curious and playfully confident.

"Fer' hours!" She said, standing back up on one hoof, she was determined to show me without waiting to see reached up behind her head and gripped her rear left leg while leaning back. I was shocked at the stretches and watched as she jumped from pose to pose.

"Those are some pretty good poses," I said, "What do you do to be so flexible-"

I stopped, this is what I meant when I tried to think up of the hundreds of different ways of saying something, saying it, and then realizing there was something else I could've said that would've been WAY better. Could'a, should'a, would'a, a grown stranger stallion who takes pictures for a living asked a filly how was she so flexible in front of her family.

"Do you do gymnastics? Or dance alot? What about sports or running around with your friends?" I spat out as many questions as I could, as fast as I could, to get bury the thought and direct the attention back on to Applebloom. Was my face red? Darn it, I should've made Peer a red pony. He may have stood out more, but at least he could hide a blush in his cheeks. I dreaded saying it, and now the thought would haunt me for a few years as I accidentally said the worst thing in the history of trying to be sociable. From that point on in the night, I wanted to leave and go bury myself in the dirt outside.

"Oh yeah, my friends and I are all part of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. We're all looking for our cutie marks so we keep on trying tons of new ideas every day to see how we can find them!"

"Oh really, what did you do yesterday?"

"We went out and picked fruit and veggies at all our neighbors. We tried blueberries, and black berries, Carrot Tops, and Salmon berry's farm, and plucked potatoes..."

"Wait, are these ponies, or the fruit and veggies?" I asked for clarity sake.

"Huh? Oh, They're both. So, anyway, after rootin' around and harvesting everything. My friends Scootaloo, Sweetie Bell, and me were working in different rows in the berry patches." My disdain of small fillies grew in that moment, curse them and their ability to only understand questions at face value and not elaborate. "I'm working a row filled with blueberries, Sweetie Belll is over in strawberries, and Scootaloo is a few rows down, trimming back thorn vines for black berries. When we get to lunch, we've all got a few flats of berries from our own row. Scootaloo asks Sweetie Bell to toss her some strawberries, so she does. You know, 'goin' long." Sweetie Bell asks Scootaloo for some blackberries and so she over hoof, fast-ball pitches a pint of blackberries all at once right at Sweetie Bell. Sayin' 'Catch!'"

Applejack and Granny Smith were already grinning at that point in the story. "Now, Sweetie Bell has a beautiful, white coat and a real sparkling 'dai' hmond' for a sister who likes to keep things clean and organized. She doesn't like it when we go out and roughhouse and get all dirty."

"I don't mind the dirty part, it's the far-fetched ideas that you take to the extreme too quickly to find your cutie mark." Applejack interjected.

"So that's why we went berry picking, Applejack." Applebloom said defensively, turning back to me. "The blackberries were already a few days past their harvest date, 'cept no pony had gotten to them yet. But these blackberries Scootaloo threw were the biggest, juiciest blackberries she could pick. The ones that matured early and stayed on the vine late. They hit her like mini water balloons filled with jam." Applebloom leapt out of her chair. "She was like 'AH, Ah. ah! Ah!' trying to catch and deflect and of the berries, but it was like an instant dalmatian makeover."

"And her sister was mad when she saw Sweetie Bell covered in blackberry stains?"

"Oh, it got way worse." Applebloom assured me, sitting back down in her chair. "Sweetie Bell had a fit. Going off on Scootaloo about how she threw them way too hard. Scootaloo was all like, "I said, 'Catch'. Maybe we can toss a ball around later, and work on your skills. We could try that again!' Scootaloo doesn't even see Sweetie Bell boilin' away. Nostrils flarin', steam coming out of her ears. She picks up a dozen strawberries with her magic and flings 'em right at Scootaloo. Boom, instant berry fight. They each take a flat and are lobbing berries back and forth at each other, running up and down rows. I'm walking over towards them with my blueberries as they get into round two. A few minutes go by and they sit down all tuckered out. I walk up behind them and say 'Oh, Sweetie Bell, Scootaloo! I love your new shampoo!"

Applebloom brings up both hooves and slaps them down onto the table around her plate. "I smashed blueberries right into their manes! "

I laugh, even a deep chuckle comes from Big Mac. From the way Applejack was looking at Applebloom, I realized that this type of behavior wasn't suppose to be condoned and switched to a different topic.

"Speaking of farms we're you thinking of using a backdrop or maybe a I could have the family somewhere meaningful around the farm?" Applejack's ear twitched at the mention of the setting. I picked up on it instantly and offered her some of my time. "Would you mind if I brought my equipment and wander around the orchards? I'd love to try and capture Sweet Apple Acres. I'm sure there's a spot you can think of, but on my own time I want to do a case study for different cameras." I was being forward, and I honestly wanted to wander around Sweet Apple Acres. I wagered they owned close to twenty five to thirty acres. There's bound to be an interesting photo opportunity somewhere in those endless orchards.

Applejack wrangled me into a deal, the family portrait in exchange for as much time as I wanted in the orchards. That's right, Apple family, let me get to know you a little better. Let me sit at your table, and eat your food. Let me hear tales of friendship and family matters while eating ice cream and apple pecans. I'll even help clear the dishes and tell you a story of my own to sate your well meaning curiosity.

"I was a bored photographer living in a two room apartment in Phillydelphia, and everyday the view outside my window was of a brick storefront, two concrete houses with gravel yards, some gaudy looking trees, and a two by one lot filled with weeds. Nothing was inspiring me. For the longest time I said to myself, 'Nah, I'm fine with this.' Fine, if you ever catch yourself saying 'you're fine,' you're telling everyone you are freaked out, insecure, nervous, and emotional. One day I said, 'I'm not fine with this.' and wholey-moley, I realized how terrible things were in my little world." I took a moment to think, I didn't want this story getting too complex. "But, I reflected that there were a lot worse things going in on the world than the problems in my own life."

"You sound like someone I know with that last bit." Applejack interjected, I briefly considered asking who, and realized I could ask anytime. I wanted to finish my story before asking any. "Yeah, it's called being mindful. There isn't a city park big enough to make me feel like I was in the true outdoors. I'd grown so accustomed to seeing the same buildings. I realized that I needed a change in scenery in my life. Ponyville was my fifth stop during the Everfree Overgrowth so I was kind of stuck here."

"Oh jeeze, you were here for that? I gotta say, it's one of those things you put up with to live in a quiet valley town."

Quiet valley town? My mind burst in to flames, I remember at least two occasions where I've looked outside my window an seen a herd of screaming ponies in the street running for their lives. I didn't go outside on those particular days, saying "nope, I do not need that type of fear and paranoia in my life," and closed my blinds for the time being. I didn't even know what they were running from.

Movement outside the kitchen window caught my attention, the sky was getting darker and Pegasi were moving clouds over the orchard.

"Did you ever take any pictures for a newspaper?" My head whipped around to Applebloom, I quickly realized I'd been off in la-la land for almost half a minute and was tuned out of the conversation.

"Newspaper photographer?" I went through my mental alias checklist, "No, what I do is I'll save up my work in portfolios and then try to sell them to studios."

"What was your last portfolio of pictures?"

"I did cups, mugs, glasses, pitchers, growlers, lanterns, all filled with different levels of water."

"Sounds like a hoot." Granny Smith chided.

"It made good kindling before I came here." I tossed back.

"You destroyed your own photos?" She asked, shocked that I would do something like that to my own work. They were lies of course, I didn’t need the Apples or anypony they spoke to to ask about my things that did not exist in the first place.

"I was depressed, the whole six months before I moved out felt like building a sand castle right up against the water’s edge. Burning them felt like being able to be that kid who got to kick it all away before the waves came in.”

“I apologize for making you bring that up, sounds like getting out of the city was a long time coming."

"Yeah, after passing through towns on my way out of Philly, I started hearing more sounds of nature. I took a big shine to hiking around here with my camera.” More like securing alternate routes out of town, but tomato tomato. I took a quick breath and pointed my hoof at the pegasi through the window, “Are they watering out there?”

Everypony’s head swung to see where I was pointing. “Oh, Yep! Those fellers are gathering rainclouds for late night watering, It helps soil absorption so the ground has enough time to suck up all the water, instead of in the daytime, where the sun would dry it up faster.” Granny Smith said, waving her hoof over the trees.

"What's a growler?" Applebloom asked, I wondered how long that question had been burning in her mind. For a while now I suspect. Her curiosity grows like a giant beanstalk when you’re not looking, and it reached its peak. I took a moment to glance around the kitchen, hoping to spot one, and saw the perfect example sitting on a middle shelf next to more cups, glassware, and pitchers.

"A glass half-gallon jug with a screw cap, they're usually brown." I pointed at the one sitting on the shelf.

Applejack looked at Granny who was oblivious to the stern look and then to Big Mac, "Hey Mac, when did we get that growler?"

"Cider season?" He shrugged. In that moment I couldn't help but stare down the pony who hasn't said more than ten words the entire time I've been here. He was lying. The way he safeguarded his emotions was like extinguishing a candle by putting a much larger dome over it to suffocate the flame. He became so cold that when he said those two words, it was likely he didn't know percisely when they got it, but he certainly knew how it came to be inside their home. To have such a large reaction to that made me question what the story behind Big Mac's glass jug could be.

Half-truths...wow. How difficult it must be for the rest of Applejack's family to have to become this defensive when talking to her. Barking out 'Yep' or 'Nope' and other short responses while praying that she wouldn't dig deeper. Big Mac feels threatened by Applejack's integrity, so he chooses to muscle through his problems and keep quiet. He only chooses to answer because he doesn't want to be rude, never pushing the relationship forward, even though I'm sure he would've preferred to stay silent. I was on the fence, but I think I found a brother in arms who I could talk to about not wanting to talk about things.

That and I wanted to know why in the tartarus Big Mac was lying about the growler. I bit my lip as his emotional dome rose and waves of fear started eminating from him. I rolled my shoulders to mask the fact I was breathing shallower breaths. I was mirroring Big Mac's emotional state, and then feeling conflicted as Applejack and Applebloom and Granny Smith all projected positive emotions that were blind to what Big Mac was thinking.

"Would you like some warm cider?" Gosh, it seems that no matter how many times I mentally tune out of the conversation, I keep on forgetting that I'm still here in Applejack's house! My stomach churned, I felt daggers glaring into the side of my head coming from the part of the room being took up by the giant brother. 'Damn it Big Mac! What's got you so pissed off?' He was looking at me with hatred, the real 'boring a hole in my head' type of stare. I could feel his burning desire to rip off my disguise, my chitin, organs, and then scream into my soul. His eyes expressed a sign that it was one of my few opportunities to leave.

"I actually need to get going, I only came by to drop off the picture, and I didn't expect to stay so long. We'll pick up this conversation again sometime, how does that sound?" It sounded great in my head, and I was satisfied with the words. Sweat was picking up on my brow and mane, and now that I was on my way, Big Mac finally backed off, snuffing his emotions again. That scared me, how quickly and close he held his emotions to his chest.

"Sounds mighty fine! In fact, w'all see you next week for the family photo!" She said, giving me another hoofshake. I agreed, making my way to the front door.

"Applejack, it was pleasant to meet you and your family. Applebloom, Big Macintosh, Granny Smith. It was nice having dinner and chatting with you, thank you."

"Pleasure is all ours, Peer." She said, pushing the door open for me.

"Later, Peer!" Applebloom called out.

Stepping out onto the porch, I noticed how late it was, the darkness was already settling across of the sky as the sun was already hours past, turning it a dark red, almost violet color. They reflected off the gathering clouds

"Thank you again, and I hope Pink Lady is found soon. Have a good night." I said, remembering manners of all times.

Author's Note

I was implying with Applejack's mention of "Rhyming with jail bait," to point out that it might not be the best idea to talk to Bombshell, or otherwise end up in a bad situation like jail or a changeling pod.

:ajbemused: "Called it. I didn't even know about it, and I called it."

Also, Peer survived a night at the Apples! I intended to end this chapter long ago...right after Applejack introduced Peer to the rest of the family. While going back, I wasn't satisfied with how I cut it off. I added the living room and kitchen scenes to show how I imagined the Apples interacting with each other after the abduction of their cousin.

Picking up one Pink Lady Apple

All week, I scoured for ways in and out of Ponyville. Aside from main roads, the train station, and by air of course, hiking trails were the ace in the hole that I could follow away from Ponyville to neighboring towns If a time ever came for me to run, I'll have backups memorized and a escape plan.

While atop a ridge overlooking the village, I saw the curving steel rails reflecting sunlight leading sixteen miles all the way down the line to Canterlot. I saw small white plumes of steam chugging and blowing out of the colorful metal engine, heading towards us, then to the Great Falls region.
Rainbow Falls, Emerald Falls, and the Ruby River, they were stops only an hour away by train, and there was an uncanny relaxing feeling of watching the landscape move by.

I realized how I could leave her to be found. The plan unfolded in my mind, with the search relaxing after the initial panic, it wouldn't make sense to leave her somewhere unconscious within the town, nor on a train leaving Ponyville. Obviously, the ponies would figure out the kidnapper was in town, but if she were on a train coming back?

It seemed like a perfect plan, maybe disguise her, or...

A dim flickering bulb blinked out in my brain, 'How do they get the ponies back to the hive without nopony noticing?' It seemed like an obvious answer, having come from a changeling hive, but in all the times I've ever been around any other changeling, not once do I remember them ever hinting at how they smuggled an adult pony dozens of miles to the hive.

How could I not know?! I tried pulling up every mental image I could of scavengers and infiltrators bringing back cartloads of ponies, bound up and knocked unconscious, or already podded.

It's not like there's books written on this available. Time to do exactly what the great philosophers have done when trying to figure something out, think hard about it, and then wing it.

There are two trains leaving ponyville, each come every 45 minutes, one heading east, the other west. That's all I really needed to know about the where and the when. Who I needed to worry about was Big Macintosh. Whatever mind game he was playing last night, he was definitely winning. I can't tell if he was getting madder over some back of the mind item, and was looking in my general direction when he did it. Or, I'm lying to myself and the big lug knows I'm a changeling. How he knew, I couldn't even begin to guess. I certainly could've been trying harder not to sound like a pony conjured up out of the blue.

I took a kitchen knife and carved straight down through the precipice of Pink Lady's pod, letting the resin spill out onto the floor. I caught her in my front hooves as she started to cough. Pod resin held a much denser content of oxygen than normal air, unlike water which is only thirty percent oxygen, seventy percent hydrogen, ponies don't necessarily drown because of the water, they just can't pull enough oxygen from water to stay alive.

Shaking another distraction out of my head, Pink Lady finished coughing out the resin, slumped over and barely conscious. Drool dripped from her lips, followed by a few involuntary shudders as the cold air clung to her wet fur.

Carefully, I laid her on the floor, and toweled her dry. Combing out her mane, I nudged her until she finally reacted, slowly climbing up onto her hooves.

Looking at her, she was well and truly drained. I peeked at her eyes and they were completely lifeless. A faint recognition sparked deep within her eyes, but Pinky Lady leaned on her right hooves and slowly started slumping down onto the ground. She let out a gutteral sigh that came with a stench of old sugar.

With a horrified look, I remembered the last thing that went into Pink Lady was alcohol, and even though her body used it all, the slowed digestion and filtering could've turned her stomach into a walking rot-gut distillery. She couldn't even know where she was or did, and was suffering from one of the worst hangovers of her entire life from now until she dies. Pink Lady burped, an unpleasant smell, and then all the muscles along her neck and chest contracted and convulsed. Vomit and bile mixed in with pod residue stained the ground an unhappy rainbow of colors.

Whoops, maybe should've left her in for another two weeks? I noticed that Pink Lady was looking more fit and thin than she was earlier this month.

"No, no, stay awake, come on." I pulled her up, shouldering one hoof over my neck as her head dropped.

I left the other pods untouched, glancing over my wither to Almond and the pegasus. Thinking of who I could replace to keep myself energized, then about getting love back to the hive. By all accounts, liquid love, or goopy-love, would be the best way to return to the hive with something to show for. Love is thick, it's compact, the best buck for your bit, it can be stored in a barrel, and tastes great. The cons made themselves even more so apparent: I've been gone for months, and to return with a small haul wont earn me any awards or favors-it's suppose to be my job, and I hadn't done it very quickly.

If that were my job. I reminded myself that way back when, all I was supposed to do was stock the house and wait for my replacement, then to report back to the nest.

As for now, on an impulse, I'm walking a delirious and suggestible Pink Lady to the train station in the late evening. The train ran right through Ponyville, and with the one station only a hoof full of blocks away, I could see the three blinding lights shining directly down onto the steps leading into the terminal. Not that the Ponyville station was all that large, but I knew it opened up to a small ticket booth right by the tracks with a restroom and benches nearby.

Pink Lady Apple mumbled, surly, I was supporting her, but confident she wouldn't remember much about this walk. I took the liberty of changing into a pony that I hadn't used before without much given thought aside from, name, hair, mane style, color, cutie mark, and backstory as to why I was dragging a quote-unquote, drunk mare through Ponyville. The backstory only lasted as long as nopony recognized her. If anypony did...well I guess I'd know who to replace Pink Lady with.

I was confident during our walk, passing three ponies with a small smile and a word to calm their nerves. "Evening," my heart did pound against my chest when Pink Lady threw up again on one of her hooves while slurring "Heeeeeyyyyllo-op." It sounded like a greeting ended with a hiccup to a passing stallion, I jumped in and said, "Sorry, she's drank to drink," I snorted and restarted, "Heh-We're drinking. No weee...were drinking... and now we're almost home." He nodded knowingly and kept walking, for the life of my I couldn't understand my profound luck, or natural skill.

"Be safe." I heard him say, as Pink Lady's stumbling only cemented the fact that she was acting inebriated.

With the train station only across the street, I set Pink Lady Apple down on a bench and hurried across the dirt road and clambered up onto the steps. With so little development, the gangway wasn't nearly long enough for any longer train to come in, and at the end I saw steps leading down to the ground and a rough-worn patch of dirt trailing next to the train tracks.

I approached the booth and smiled - it was important to smile - it made some ponies think that there was an actual reason for you to belong in places that you didn't.

"Two tickets for the 8:45 to Canterlot,"

It would only take half an hour to reach Canterlot, then, as I'd discussed with myself already, the last trains out of Canterlot were 9:30, the one I was going to put Pink Lady on, and 10:15 to Ponyville, 9:35 direct line to Fillydelphia, and 10:00 to with layover to Manehatten, and a-I kid you not- 3:15 A.M. train to Trottingham.

All I needed to do was to make sure that she was on the return trip home.

"Train arrives in..." He looked up at a clock to his left and then leaned forward, trying to look out the window and down the tracks, "bout twelve minutes." I glanced down the tracks as well while pulling out bits to pay for the first set of tickets. I didn't see any train, and I thought the walk from my house to the train station would've taken a lot longer than expected. Swallowing, I thanked him for the tickets and retrieved Pink Lady, depositing her at the last bench next to the tracks in plain view of the ticket booth. She didn't offer any resistance I stepped back from Pink Lady and exhaled a deep breath.

I was visibly shaking, blood seemed to be coursing past my nerves as if they'd just come into contact with cold steel. "Stay here, I'll try to find some water for you." I absently said, any stand or concession selling water was closed, I only said it for the benefit of three ponies who arrived from the time it took for me to grab Pink Lady from the bench across the street and bring her here.

Nervously I thought about actually getting water for her, and on another note, I only assumed I would have to bite Pink Lady and knock her out again before too long or risk her becoming aware of her surroundings.

I walked to the bathroom, if only for a moment so I could be someplace private. My desire for no pony contact was interrupted by the same fliers and posters I'd seen around town- Applejack being much more involved with her family definitely put up more missing posters than Almond's, as out of all the things hundreds of ponies walked past every day, the only thing that stood out was the one I was guilty for. My chest felt tight. The only thing holding the Pink Lady's missing poster to the wall was two small pieces of tape.

I pulled the poster of and pushed my way through the door into the bathroom. It was decent for a small town train-station bathroom, it's not like there were guards hanging around, bullshitting stories to each other. The tiled floor was a stark contrast to the wood paneled flooring outside. The yellow glow made the room feel like it was perpetually late afternoon, flanked with a buzz of electricity surging through the lights. Locking the stall door, I was alone with my thoughts and the poster. Contemplating flushing the poster down the toilet didn't bring me any immediate joy, I was only going to remind myself what she looks like when I took two steps out the restroom door.

The rogue in me gave an answer to what I should do with the poster, which is odd considering changeling's don't have a rogue side, just the part that's drilled into them since birth and always reminds them to never screw up in any social or private situation in any context with anyling, anypony, or anything ever or risk exposing yourself to the world to see and scrutinize.

High expectations. The humor was so palpable and ironic I silently chuckled in the bathroom stall for a moment, knowing full well that a shot in the dark like this would be wild and blind on my part; impulsive, but everypony would hear it, and come running. I wonder what it would hit?

I slid back the lock to the stall and set out to find a pen within the next five minutes before the train arrived.

They're Taunting Us!

Mild Violence tag

'We're not all bad, just desperate.

Signed, A changeling.'

'It sounds terrible, doesn't roll off the tongue at all. What kind of hail mary to the ponies is this suppose to be, a desperate cry for grammar lessons?' Being critical of myself, I looked over those words I wrote on the front of Pink Lady's missing pony poster. I wanted the skepticism generated around her reappearance to create waves. Let it be a talking point on every pony's mind, maybe it'll keep them from lashing out on instinct next time they see one of us in our true form.

Here's to hoping.

They can't seem to wrap their tiny brains around the thought of emotion being in one of four states that we can consume and use as energy. Why do you suppose the ponies have a so called 'genius' unicorn class with mages and alchemists and scholars both living today and dating back longer than anyone alive, excluding the ruling classes. Yet the general population can't figure out a simple magical concept? What is being lost in translation? What is not being disseminated by that sun-wielding immortal?

Their inability to effectively and locate changelings, obviously. I spent the rest of the time waiting for the train thinking about all the different ways I could've knocked out the Apples in succession without the other pony noticing them. My mind lingered on how to take down the older brother; rapid blows to pressure points and choking him out. Leave it to my thoughts to come up with a ninja fight scene where I play the 'good' guy. If I was bouncing these ideas off another changeling, we'd be laughing by now. Booing at the thought of ponies having it better than us, being able to enjoy themselves. The thought of mentioning anything like that to a pony made my skin crawl, like a dozen worms finding their way underneath my chitin and wriggling in every direction. I clasped both hooves together in front of me, trying to focus. Flipping the wanted poster over in my hooves, reality seemed to speed up all around me as the train pulled into the station. For a mild second I panicked, looking around for my misplaced ticket.

Not many trains have them, but then again, I haven't been on all that many trains. A small metal clasp on the edge of the bench or seat closest to the aisle was meant to hold your tickets out for sleeping passengers who didn't want to be disturbed as the conductor made his rounds. I helped Pink Lady onto the train and laid her down on the bench. After setting her ticket in its holder, I popped into the bathroom for a moment, changed, then took up a bench two rows down.

Two short blasts from the engine's horn was followed with the whole train lurching into motion. I did it, I realized. This is how changelings moved ponies to and from hives. Right under every pony's nose. Gah! The answer was so obvious the whole time. I could keep going, take her back to the hive at this point. Then, when the time was right, take Almond. In thirty five minutes, I would be in Canterlot. In an hour, I could be anywhere.

The conductor came through, punching all of four tickets in the same car before moving on. His voice had a low grumble but relatively upbeat for how late at night it was. "Ticket." he said, his brown eyes, grey coat, and lantern cutie mark. I smiled wearily and took in all his features - predominately right hoofed, small enameled gold pocket watch in left coat pocket, and filed the details away for later. Would I ever use his form? Maybe, but having another form to imponynate meant I could use one more face use to walk away from a bad situation.

The rattling of the train wheels beneath me were rocking the entire car as it was jostled and pulled along the track. Every lurch I could feel emminating from the single hitch connecting this train car to the one in front of us. The groaning and creaking of the metal box was incessant, always bouncing along the track. The entire train seemed to be alive as it came around any bend, tilting and leaning. Despite the noise, the rocking of the train made me want to lay my head down to sleep.

I forced myself to stay awake, settling for awareness and focusing on the rising and falling of my chest until we came to Canterlot. The squeal of metal on metal brakes ground out all other noise as we slowed down. Bright lights illuminated the track, and for a brief ten seconds, the train passed a station under construction. Ten ponies were laying concrete, cutting beams to size, carrying buckets of gravel and planks. All too quickly it passed in the blink of an eye. Another five minutes after passing the construction crew and we were at Canterlot Station.

Some part of me wanted to hiss, as if to fend off any curious looking types before they even got near me. Pulling Pink Lady down onto the platform, she looked right into my eyes. Her own eyes were beautiful, I never took the time to appreciate them aside from a few moments at the bar. It took me until now to realize that. The depth of her gaze was short, she was trying to fight through the haze, remember my face, who I was, remember herself, remember what happened to her.

I didn't give her the chance to vocalize anything. "Come on. You're going home." She clicked her teeth together and followed along. Sputtering mono-syllables, "Muh..Wha.. hssh..."

In a single instant, my Id blurted out an idea on keeping her silent before the rest of my brain could shove it far back down into changeling thought processes. Skies! The anxiety in my stomach alone made me want to slap myself for thinking like that.

It was the energy in the air. I was ignoring it with all my attention on Pink Lady, but after taking a moment to take stock of myself, there was a foul, corrupting, tainting presence in Canterlot Station. My defenses flew up, my heart thundered like a drum in my chest.

I imagined giant violin strings being strung across the sky, and this...this...'bleakness, was grinding against them. I was grinding my teeth together before long, trying to figure out what the Tartarus was putting me on edge. Over the next minute I was more aware to my surroundings, every time I licked my lips, another detail came into focus.

The train station at this time of night was a purgatory of emotion, ponies mindlessly milling around, hardly a original thought in their head. Filtering out everything else, the noise of a conversation growing louder and louder, and more out of control was the source of the bleakness.

Two platforms away, and three benches down, was natural observation at its finest. An anxious stallion, and a black hole of emotion embodied mare were talking face to face. The noise wasn't even relevant until the tone of the male's voice shouted a single word with both apathy and finality.

"NO!" Our heads turned towards the noise. "I don't know!" I froze, no matter where I went, those posters followed. In the mare's hoof was a folded piece of paper. Even from where I was sitting, the 'MISSING' was plenty visible. My eyes were pulled away from the couple to look around the station. I wished for a quick and painless death as I saw two more posters tacked up.

'Who would be the first to spot us?' I wondered. In plain sight right above benches, I wondered if I could immolate things from a distance.

"Then ask one of them!" The mare's voice rang out. It sent a ripple through the station, the state of aloofness shifted to curiosity and concern.

"I can't! You need to stop-!" The stallion yelled, but he cut himself off, restarting at a quieter inside voice. "You need to stop." Were the last words I could easily make out. The mare pointed at the poster, the stallion shook his head.

My tongue slipped out again and I passed it off as a yawn while tasting the air.

"What?" I asked myself, "Was the stallion a big of idiot as me?" The stallion reeked of changeling, one hundred percent. The conversation became vastly more interesting and apparent on the two ways I imagined it playing out. The first, I'm eavesdropping on a conversation that I've taken completely out of context and took the wrong way by inserting myself into everything. The second scenario was more unsettling for me. If one of them takes stock of their surroundings...

I need to stop thinking like this.

With a sweep of his right hoof, then firmly planting it on the ground, I could see his mouth make the words. "Stay here, wait for the train."

He jumped down onto the tracks, hooves crunching on the gravel. In three strides he jumped back up onto the adjacent platform, the one closer to Pink Lady and myself. "You're lying." The mare declared, taking a step down onto the tracks, I see her stoop down out of sight for a moment. My throat felt rough and scratchy as I swallowed. The changeling sighed and turned around to his left. All that negative energy, coming from her, being deflected by me. I see him lick his lips, and the expression he gives would be the same as a colt drinking a spoiled milkshake. I was wriggling in my seat, trying not to break a sweat and merge into the surroundings when he jerks his head in my direction, taking his eyes off the mare. He stares right at me.

The only pony to ever see through my disguise and see the pit of anxiety and bunched up nerves I really am is another changeling. I silently screamed, his chest rose, his mouth formed a word. Whatever word he was going to say, I wanted to snatch away, but a rock colliding with the side of his skull silenced him before he could speak.

His disguise burned away in a flash, the orange brown coat, the blonde hair cut, the green eyes. As he was falling, I imagined the noise of screeching metal. His head hit the ground first, followed by a loud thump as the rest of his body flopped onto the platform.

His eyes are clenched in pain and a wave of concern crashes through the station. The mare is panting, swaying on her hooves as she climbs up onto the platform and stands over the changeling. Blood is rushing to her head, conflicting emotions are bouncing back and forth, trying to figure out what type of approach to take. She spread her hooves defensively, then raised her head triumphantly.

"Changeling!" She yelled, "Changeling!"

If I didn't flee, I was going to die. I was certain of it. I shakily stood on my hooves, voices were parroting the word over and over again. It was grinding away at my resolve. Grinding, screeching, it took a train pulling right in front of me, effectively cutting off my view of the changeling and the mare for me to realize I wasn't imagining the metallic noise for the past few minutes, it was the squealing brakes. A crowd of ponies descended from the train, moving past Pink Lady and me towards the exit. I pulled her onto her hooves and pushed our way against the tide onto the closest carriage.

Her eyes were wide, like a child discovering the world for the first time. It only took a moment of convincing and guidance for me to sit her down, and then turn her forelegs onto the seat so she could lay down. Pressing my hoof on the back of her head, I gently instructed her to go to sleep. Her eyes shut instantly, leaving me to look out the opposite side of the train at the crowd of ponies that gathered around the changeling. They were cautiously keeping distance.

All I could do is sit there and keep my head down. At best, I could pretend to be asleep and not even know that a changeling was exposed less than five meters away while another watched.

Five minutes passed. Five agonizing minutes. Where were the Royal Guards? A lone security guard arrives and quickly hoists him up. The changeling stumbles, and I get a look at the bloodshot eye and bruised chitin as he looks back towards the train, but doesn't get a chance to see me. The mare follows the security guard, and I can only imagine he dragged him off to some booth.

The conductor makes two passes through our car as ten more levee-breaking minutes tick by. Here's where the indecision grips at me, Pink Lady is already on the train to Ponyville, like I planned. Now I just needed to remove myself from the sitution so I could go back to being a social butterfly in my basement.

The stillness was stifling. I was content on flying the sixteen miles to Ponyville, I decided. I rose up from my seat, clamped down the missing ponies poster right next to Pink Lady, and side stepped the conductor who was making a beeline for the front of the train again. The first pony I immediately see is a different security guard is trotting down the platform. She offers a polite "Excuse me," and chances seeing the conductor stepping down onto the platform a few carriages down.

My chest craves air after holding it for so long. With a moment of hesitation, I turn around and watch another interaction take place.

The security guard and conductor meet, they nod their heads, and the conductor shows a sign of relief. Rolling his head upwards as the guard turns around, "ALL ABOARD!" The conductor shouted.

As I sat there shaking in my seat, a countdown started in my head, only it wasn't numbers, it was an equation. A train traveling sixteen miles at a rate of thirty five miles an hour plus six three-minute stops. Sighing, all the math fell into place and I was calmer. Fifty minutes, I reasoned, from Canterlot to Ponyville. Swallowing, the conductor didn't make a pass until the second stop after leaving the station. Her steps were silent as she moved through the train car, "I need to see your ticket." The conductor said to any conscious pony, including myself. She briefly stopped at Pink Lady's ticket clamped in its holder, one sharp eye prowled it for authenticity, and then she put the ticket back.

The wanted poster and a pen were back into my hoof, nowhere in the message 'We're not all bad, just desperate.' was the looming realism of negativity directed towards changelings. Downplaying a kidnapping was a foolish thing, but thinking I could get away with taking a family member of the Elements of Harmony with a happy-go-lucky note? Something about watching one of my own kind getting stoned in the head by a mare confirmed a lot of unaddressed fears I had about ponies.

'I apologize, if I knew who she were, I would not have taken her.
If I go back without her, I'll die.
If I turn myself in with her, I'll die slowly.
If I remain hidden, I'll die alone.
If I take her to my hive, We all die slowly.
If I act the coward, I'll die free..'

I distanced myself from my thoughts, trying to remain 'out of my head', sticking to what was based off my experiences. I wrote down what could happen, thinking this flies in the face of their harmony. A well of despair was pouring out of me, the kind that you normally try to keep a cap on in public situations. Here I was, practically asking for somepony to tear me a new one so I didn't have to keep beating on my own emotions.

I still wasn't being honest.

Am I suppose to find solace knowing I'm incapable of finding happiness? It's like a soda, drink it down, happiness tastes amazing. Then the bubbles are gone, and the fun is over. The changeling from the station must be getting propped up in an hospital bed, or in the interrogation cell with a bandage on his forehead. The poor sap, he must be drowning in distrust, and the dent right in side of his head too. I give him my hope that he can still change.

Then there was the mare, they were both equally dense for crossing the train tracks, and I lost sight of her as she stooped down to grab the rock. It was only for a second when the brother under a different banner spotted me.

In one final attempt at writing a meaningful message, I wrote on the back, "Every day, I live by a few words that helps me remember that I'm living in a world surrounded by ponies. I'll say it to myself, whisper it quietly, repeat it over and over again in my head. No matter the end result of any conversation, no matter the pony, I'll always keep the phrase close in mind. It's something to remind me while I walk, eat, breathe, sleep, fly, play, and work side by side with you... Somepony hearing of us might cast doubt on a pony they already trust very little, but as for myself... "

"I can't trust anyone. I can't trust anyone."

Throwing the tall order of high expectations out into the world, I fully well knowing social change wouldn't happen overnight. Pausing only for a moment by Pink Lady Apple, I clamped the poster in the holder next to Pink Lady Apple's train ticket and disembarked. I was the only pony stepping down onto the platform, and the train's coupling links all clinked as the train pulled out of the station again.

A twenty minute train ride was about an hour of walking, I guessed. After taking two steps, I snickered to myself and transformed into a pegasus.

At last, Pink Lady Apple was free from my embrace. Back to society she went, while I flew away from the station. Watching the train progress towards Ponyville from where I was flying was as close as I wanted to be to the scene of the crime. The conductor would be doing another pass within two stops and notice Pink Lady's missing poster. From then on, social dominoes get knocked over.

It started with a whoosh of air and a loud pop as steam discharged from the forward engine. Two ponies ran up the steps into the train before coming to a complete stop. Pink Lady Apple's eyes opened up to the sunlight coming in through the train's window. A conductor and a guard were both staring at her face, standing closer than she would've preferred, while at the same time telling herself the last few days were nothing but a bad dream.

"You're back."

While everyone was loving life down in Ponyville, I laid out on the bed and slept the afternoon away. Not even aware of what happened until Applejack came looking for Peer.

Author's Note

I read an 1,100 page book in three days, my mind is like :derpytongue2: and my flow is like :fluttershyouch:

This chapter just didn't want to get finished, I started this story months ago and wrote a mock draft up to this point. I end up dickering around for a two months unsatisfied with how the story played out. It wasn't until last week I added the changeling and mare. I actually slotted the couple for a later chapter, having them be a fighting couple that intrudes on a conversation Peer was meant to have with another pony in the street in a suburb of Ponyville. Their shouting was suppose to interrupt Peer and this other pony as they both turn to watch the couple yell at each other. As the stallion, changeling, turns to leave, the mare grabs a rock/flower pot from her garden and lobs it at the changeling, knocking him out.
Both times I wanted there to a marginal sort of relationship between the two. They needed to be brought in earlier because this chapter was dry, it was a simple there and back again. Now, for Peer, he's getting out of this situation that he isn't the only changeling doing this. He's also building some walls based on the fact that he hasn't been exposed despite everything going on around him.