Mancala

by Schismatism

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Princess Celestia, Crossover, Alternate Universe, Human, Main 6, Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Mystery, Comedy, Cutie Mark Crusaders
Length: 65705

A very bad day for Jennifer McAllen - and twelve others - gets even worse when they're sent to Equestria - five years before the series begins. Waking up as a changeling is not fun, after all... and she PROBABLY doesn't have the worst of it.

Once upon a time, there were twelve pillars of reality, which were shattered into nine sets of twelve apiece. These shards, scattered around the world of Equestria, could be said to form the very basis of the world itself, and for some time, they metastasized into a relatively stable configuration. That, however, was long ago...

In a handful of different universes, events have occurred which destabilized reality, opening rifts, even if only a few moments in length. Things, and people, have fallen through - some of which were guided by unknown variables. Some were heroes, or villains, or, let's say, ordinary people.

Rainbow Dash was having an extremely good day: she'd just performed a legendary Sonic Rainboom, beating out those two stupid colts who claimed that she'd never amount to anything!

Jennifer McAllen was having an extremely bad day. She'd hoped to obtain some good photographs of urban decay in Toronto. She'd hoped to get home and work on developing them into something worthy of a composition book, all the better to fuel her hobbies. She never once thought she'd land in the Everfree, let alone as a changeling! And what's this nonsense about it being 995 CE?

But so goes life. And what is a changeling going to do when she knows a very large part of the future?

Probably screw it all up...

--

This is the first book in the Mancala series, a work in progress. Expect a lot of world building, up to and including frank discussions of relationships. Do not expect clop, in any way, shape or form.

All worldlines used and discussed, including Earth Prime, are the properties of their creators and/or owners, including but not limited to FASA, NCSoft, the BBC, the Canon Cabal, and the Foundation. All OCs are mine unless otherwise noted. Timeline may differ from established canon after Series 1, in part due to meddling Princesses. Side effects may include blind searing rage. Ask your doctor if Mancala is right for you.

Published 2016-12-27 02:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2018-05-30 19:17:25 UTC

Prelude 0: The Lightning-Struck Tower

Have you, maybe, ever, had a very bad day? A day where you honestly had to make ... no, wait, let's try that again.

There is a point, come in every person’s life, where one has to make a choice…

… well, no. That’s wrong. There are a million points, in every one of a billion, billion lives, where a choice has to be made. At that point, chaos spirals outwards and forms new crystallized order. Some choices are minor, like whether you have oatmeal or doughnuts for breakfast. Other choices became something much more, like whether you turn right or left at an intersection -- and, by that choice, hit a vagrant who’ll might just be the savior of worlds. Lives become parts of stories, which are told time and time again, oftentimes by breathless voices relating the story of how their aunt crushed the vicious Spider God…

Honestly, the Spider God story sounds a lot better to me than the start of my own little tale. Sure, I was the hero of my own host of stories. The time I recovered a hard drive from the pits of despair. The time the Princess Nocturne was brought back from the verge of death, by acquiring a new heart at the local computer store -- no, I’m sorry, a new CPU and fan at the Castle of Demise… ehh. All the rest… meh, you don’t need to hear about those. My life really wasn’t all that interesting. C- at best, the sort of a grade which would get you hearing from your parents about how much of a disappointment you were.

In a way, I buried myself in small projects while living paycheque to paycheque, small projects which - to my excitement - were in vogue around the town in which I now lived. Tiny social interest pieces, taken by camera and a knack for interest writing, worked their way into larger ones, and before long, I had acquired a following of sorts - one which led to a certain dialogue, an entry chip into larger games...

A camera, a bus pass, and a pair of feet could carry an aspiring entrepreneur across town, and an art department in the local university had a suitably interesting focus: in an attempt to highlight the increasing gentrification of this university town, they had a sizeable curiosity viz. a certain project or two, ones which might result in the reduction of certain interesting facets of my hometown.

To define my early days would be an exercise in disappointment. To describe my middle years, an exercise in frustration. To describe my latter years, an exercise in loathing - and, perhaps, in that, my curiosity began to burgeon… and that turned out well. Alrighty, though. So let’s skip ahead to my last day on Earth.

*click*

“Alright. Now, that looks pretty good. Excellent colour, strong message. Very Dark Souls.” To myself, I snickered a tad - some gentleperson had painstakingly graffiti’d a message on the wall, with an arrow downwards, reading, simply, ‘Mind The Gap’. The fact that it was written in exquisite calligraphy wasn’t the best part: it was the four-foot hole surrounding the wall on which the message was written. Someone wanted to show off, and they did so well.

Click went the camera as I took another shot, from a second angle; I wanted to show off how the sun highlighted the artist’s work, and I was decidedly cautious in my efforts to see how far down that hole went, without getting anywhere near it myself. Somehow, a huge part of the floor had collapsed, and I momentarily cursed, thinking how that creator might have created that hole in the floor after writing the message. Still, it was a suitably comic message anyway, and fit the message of the piece: that removing all of this effort, this history, without suitable documentation would be one ginormous crime, a blasphemy in a whole host of ways..

“You know,” I smiled as I began my trek back, “you haven’t said a word or two yet, Forte. You wanna say something? Maybe even ‘what’?” Nothing greeted my ears, and I chuckled once again: “Closed-mouthed jerk.” Forte was nothing more than a tablet computer, one I’d had for a few months - and while not a camera, he was as much of a ‘constant companion’ as my other equipment, even more so. I never expected him to respond, though from time to time, I’ve wondered if, one of these days, he actually would. After all, who doesn’t expect their toys to talk back?

“Alright, let’s retrace,” I yawned, yanking a post-it note off a wall as I passed by. Big part of this process: while taking pictures of urban decay may be legal and reasonable -- you can’t exactly do much with a picture of a building which will be yanked down in short order -- actually entering such a building is a matter of trespassing unless you have actual permission from the owners, and very few building managers are willing to allow for documentation on how ill-kept their buildings are. This, if nothing else, is why you don’t make chalk marks on the walls, you wear regular-patterned shoes, and you have gloves. Oh, and you number your notes.

Those aren’t the ONLY reasons, of course. Nor are those the only precautions you take, as I’m about to demonstrate.

Six sticky-notes later, and I was beginning to mumble to myself. One of the various issues you encounter while performing a work of urban treachery and trespassing is that you can get tired after climbing up to the interesting stuff. Also, there’s the sound. Where one building is marked to come down, so are others. And so, the pounding of the jackhammers, the grind of the drills, the honking of the horns, those all become a major deterrent, because they will put you right. to. sleep.

You folks over in the rural areas might not get this one. Here’s why. In rural areas, silence is the norm. Heck, in non-central city areas, silence is the norm. For those of us near the middle of a city, the sound of construction isn’t just a constant, grating noise, it’s a lullaby to lure us to sleep. It tells us that everyone’s awake around us. It’s normal. And so you can see why, tired as I was, I nearly slipped off the edge of the building.

Ten milliseconds later, I was awake, alert, and ready for absolutely no coffee. There’s nothing like a momentary dip into microsleep to wake a girl up, and let me tell you, that was more than enough. I found myself clutching a small concrete pillar which had, hitherto, been resting behind me, a perfectly harmless pillar, the solidarity of which was continually reassuring.

Okay. This was just me saying these things to myself. I will not fall asleep again. I will not even begin to sleepwalk. Because if I do again, I will die. Perfectly sensible, and reasonable, and sane, self. Why, thank you. You’re most welcome.

After collecting myself, I detached myself from the very friendly pillar, and began to return to the entrance of the building. While I’d like to say that this process was inextricably long, and exceedingly dangerous, the simple fact of the matter was that … well, it was just me returning from my point in the building to the entrance I’d taken, collecting all of the sticky-notes I’d placed upon the walls on my way in.

With a sigh of relief, I exited the … well, non-existent double-doors of the newly-designated Heritoc Building, a creation which would replace a historical monument which… which… I couldn’t really find it in me to care about. I closed my eyes. It was important, somehow. And now, with a full camera of photos,

I could step into a dangling power line.

shit.

Author's Note

Every story needs a prelude. Let's go with this.

If you're going to wander into a historical site, let alone illegally, then you don't want to cause any harm to the magnificent artifacts you actually want to preserve. Even if the historical site is fewer than 100 years old. But you also want to make sure that, if you run into any traps or pitfalls, that the local constabulary will be able to recover your corpse. So, sticky notes.

Urban Break

I almost wish I could tell you much about just exactly how it felt to get zapped by a live powerline, but the problem is, I... kind of didn't. You see, the very instant I was about to become crispy-fried photo geek, something blinked. Don't get me wrong, I'm not short on vocabulary here, I can epitomize with the best of them, but all of a sudden it felt like the whole world simply...

Look. Have you ever felt that strange sensation of silence when the power grid shuts off? When the calming, soothing hum of all of those electrical or thaumaturgical devices you've got going on simply stops? Imagine that, but imagine it as a full-body sensation. Like all of a sudden, every spark of nerve suddenly disappears. Can't see, can't hear, can't think. It was something like that. I don't know if that's what it's like to be dead, because I've frankly never been, but it must've been something like that.

You're alive, so you breathe, your heart beats - well, if you have a heart, and you're not some crystal abiotic creature reading my notes for some reason, and if so, Hello! - but when all of that shuts off, and somehow you're still alive, that leaves what's left of you in a little bit of a panic. And then, when a moment later, it starts up again...

Well. To describe my traverse through what I'm now going to call the Void would be kind of difficult, because frankly, text doesn't do it justice, and I am very definitely not going to go all House of Leaves here-- er, for the most part.

Maybe for effect.

Possibly.

But I felt like I somehow heard the sound of water hitting a wraith, a wind crackling, I think I felt the Earth singing a tune of something or other, and I know for a fact that I heard the baying of a dozen or more wolves, howling at the sky. The sensations... we don't have words for those. And please, bear in mind, that's what I can remember. I'm not a good narrator here.

The sensation of falling, though, now that was unmistakable. And so was the thud when reality returned and my head shattered like a dropped plate.

That is not, of course, what it was. It was, however, what it felt like. Allow me, please, to wax artistic for a moment. Imagine, if you were, that a crazed lunatic were running a jackhammer over your skull while Yoko Ono played, turned up to eleven, into your ears, while your tongue was being pierced by red-hot needles, your limbs casually removed an inch at a time, your spine was being played by a xylophone artist extraordinaire who had somehow decided to use golf clubs, and your hair somehow felt like it had been detached and used as a makeshift harpsichord. Sounds pleasant, right?

Knowing what I now know, that's more or less how a transfer through a morphogenic field array without the proper safeties goes. And ladies and gentlemen, that's on a good day.

This was not a good day.

By the time I returned to proper consciousness, I think that my unearthly screams must have probably scattered away whatever wildlife was scattered throughout, if they were even there in the first place. Which, again knowing what I know now, was probably what saved my life in the end. You see, waking up in the Everfree Forest, land of chaos, dark magic, and generally... er, well, Terran weather, is kind of like waking up in Ravenloft, Silent Hill, or Chernobyl. The very moment you realize this is where you are is the very moment you realize this is where you do not want to be.

I, being a young, hapless twenty-something, did not quite realize this fact. However, I did recognize that I was no longer in Toronto. For one thing, things were much, much too quiet. When you are in a city, there are certain sounds you grow used to, even subconsciously. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those nutcases who think that wind turbines are going to cause depression or that wifi signals will control your brain. But it's a low-level background noise which eventually, folks get accustomed to, like the hum of a fan.

Biologically, the fact that I could no longer hear the sound of cars was enough to propel me to full alertness, followed swiftly by full unconsciousness as my body reacted poorly to the sudden movement.

The second time, I opened my eyes in a much more sober way. And here were my thought processes, in part:

To the front of me, grass. Maybe it's someone's rooftop garden? Not a lot of birdsong, that's fine, it's kinda fall and maybe they're just in migration patterns. What are those brown things? Kind of interesting, those. Kinda brown... bark, that's it! Bark!

Wait, why are there trees here? Did

And that's more or less all I remember from that segment.

To leave it at that would be silly, though. The third time I opened my eyes, I immediately stopped. I took a deep breath. A moment or two to center myself.

And then I lied to the audience, because I immediately awoke in a panic.

Eventually my mind and body held a conference, decided that it would probably be better to be alert and capable in an unknown situation, and woke me without the sheer rush of Adrenaline and Terror which had encompassed my prior attempts. Maybe Self-Preservation decided to make an executive decision; I'm not entirely sure. Still, when I finally regained what there was of my sanity, I awoke to find myself in a small grove, with a small brook beside me and a bag at my feet.

Immediately, to stifle the pounding in my head, especially with my hands feeling like they were utterly numb, I stuck my head into the stream and drank deep. The cool water... well, it's difficult to describe. It really was like the breath of life. If you've ever been dehydrated, and felt utterly willing to do anything to obtain a glass of water, that's more or less how I felt, only that I must have drank a full liter before I was satiated.

With that water coursing through my veins - shut up, I know, that's how it felt, not how it was - I finally took a moment to perform a quick self-diagnosis. After all, I'd awoken, utterly parched, in the middle of a forest. Who knew what sort of person led me here? Diagnosis, let's see, left ear, right ear, perfectly fine, face, full feeling, hooves were perfectly intact, forelegs w

...Wait.

This time was the charm, this time was the charm. I knew it. Okay, perhaps I was hyperventilating. Who wouldn't hyperventilate? Hyperventilation was perfectly fine and reasonable and I knew that there was going to STOP, self, before this becomes a running gag. You're in a strange forest. You can't afford to pass out any longer. Well, that's what I told myself, anyway.

What I was doing, of course, was looking at a pair of blueish and... rather... holey legs. Legs which would otherwise belong to a horse. Legs with a certain number of gaps within. Legs surrounded by chitin.

... let's just skip past the running gag at this point.

Once I had finally washed my face enough, I decided to come to grips with reality. Pain? That much I got, and stubbing my leg on a rock didn't make it any less realistic. I guess maybe it's possible that a coma dream could result in realistic pain, but... eh, the nerves just felt good enough. By which I mean, ow. Don't do that unless you really are trying to wake up, it's not fun for the next two hours.

Mental, on the other hand...

For a few moments I toyed with solipsism. In case you philistines don't know, that's when you imagine that the whole world's in your imagination. It's popular amongst galactic presidents and other such narcissists. Problem is, even if you don't know if this is one gigantic dream or some fake reality or the real reality, it's entirely possible that the sword through your throat doesn't care. So there was that. Totally not worth a try.

Coma dream, waking dream, fever dream... let's not. Let's say it's real.

Some kind of afterlife? That is possible, but I didn't think I'd be good enough to wake up here. Again, discarded, if only due to my own self-loathing. Plus, Hell wouldn't let me take my bag along, unless someone really wants to spread around some good shots of ... no, let's move on.

So... discarding those, let's just say that this is all real. So, somehow, someway, something had resulted in me winding up, in Wilderness Forest #3, Gigantic Spooky Haunted Place, in a grove which might be the only safe point for some reason, in the form of an overly emotional bug-pony, with this weird bracelet around my foreleg.

And those, ladies and gentlemen, were my thought processes. Don't worry, we'll get to the bracelet in a moment.

Let's take a few moments here to separate, briefly, from our brave and not-at-all-freaking-out heroine, and look in on three members of the Wild Guard, Equestria's answer to places like the Everfree Forest, the Ghastly Gorge, Froggy Bottom Bog, and ~~Princess Celestia's bath~~ so on. They were the fearless, the best of the best, and the ponies who had somehow pissed off their superiors hard enough that this was the place they were sent. Not that they were incompetent -- far from it! -- but 'fearless' does not equate to 'common sense' on any metric, and so...

Well, to make a short story long, when a round of profanity strong enough to turn the air blue erupted from the forest they were patrolling around, all three guards on duty nearly engaged in a case of 'friendly stab', to borrow a phrase from the late great Pterry.

Please bear in mind that this incident has been buried and 'forgotten', ahem. I'm simply going by what I know of these three, who eventually became well-acquainted with me. ...Okay. Stop looking at me like that, I know better than to start trouble, but this is Equestria, and a day without some level of panic, desperation, and possibly rampaging lagomorphs is what we call a 'good day'. Plus, you've got the rampant xenophobia, which... eh, I'm getting ahead of myself again.

Let us place the tableau for a moment. The day had been good for the three ponies: an Earth Pony mare named Shamrock Quartet, whose tones were as green as her name might sound; a Pegasus stallion named Cobalt Pinion, a deep azure in shade; and a Unicorn mare who went by Scarlet Dawn. No points, dear audience, for guessing her particular palette. The use of the triad of tribes had developed in the early days of the Wild Guard, where it was decided that a group capable of dealing with any threat and fulfilling a combination of facets was well worth the option.

It is perhaps in the nature of any group of friends, compatriots, and even coworkers, that a certain dynamic inevitably occurs. In a set of three, for example, most often you have the gregarious, the flightly, and the calm. Okay, so in reality that's not what happens all the time, but in the case of these three, somehow it came together naturally. They'd come together in Manehattan Primary, seemingly at random, when - and I'm not making this up, this part they actually told me - they all sat together at the same table, disregarding the local - and racial - cliques. I'm not going to say that it was friendship at first sight or anything, but they ate their food, shrugged, and from then on, they just sort of... drifted towards one another. Sooner or later, they figured they might as well do something interesting together, and, couple of years later, the closely-knit group eventually joined the Guard.

Weird how it happens, huh?

So judging by what I know from these three, Shamrock drew her spear fast as lightning, Cobalt zipped over to a cloud for cover and potential overwatch, and Scarlet charged to a secondary corona, before they even had a chance to communicate to one another exactly what they were doing. Which... probably wouldn't have turned out well no matter how well they knew each other, but when no obvious threat erupted, they holstered, depowered, and... well, stayed on the cloud at that point. And then they began talking.

The reason this team was in place along the Everfree was simple. Earlier in the day, a gigantic ring of rainbows had erupted from the vicinity of Cloudsdale. With the resultant thaumic dispersal, an accompanying upswing in chaotic energy was expected, even if nothing had immediately occurred. This was furthermore confirmed by a series of oddly prominent events, such as the Princess deciding upon a new pupil after - and this part was specifically difficult to believe for anyone who hadn't been there - she somehow pushed enough thaums into a dragon egg to cause it to hatch, something which ordinarily requires the presence of an active volcano or an equally impressive source of power. There are, for example, air dragons hatched in the eye of a hurricane... but let's leave the Kirin out for now.

Have I mentioned that Spike terrifies me? Because he does. Moving on...

As such, every member of the Wild Guard was on high alert, though for these three, 'alert' usually means 'keeping an eye out when they feel inclined, and goofing off.'

... and though she might not be here: Shut up, Shamrock. I'm the one telling the story.

Let's go back to the forest here. As you might have probably guessed, that little ring-about-the-Rainbow which was propagated by a certain prism-painted Pegasus pony was indeed the catalyst for a series of events, but of course, the most important one was the wave of energy which brought me here. Having screamed my vocal chords half to death and possibly scared away a manticore or two, then, I decided to perform a more proper inventory of my assets. No time, as they say, like the present.

Hair, check. White -- well, perhaps, silver. Patchy in spots, perhaps to fit the motif of a changeling. Gods, what does that do to split ends? Either way. Check. Ears, two ea., I had to doublecheck, and ensured that they were both there, if somewhat more long and pointed than I - for some reason - thought they should be. Eyes... well, I closed each of them and verified that I could see equally well out of each, that is to say, I could make out fine details at a range of 10 feet. So there's for that. I'll spare you the rest of the details.

In case you were wondering why I was doing a full body inspection, there are two reasons. The first and foremost is that because, when you find your brain transplanted into an entirely new framework, you ensure that each and every part is mobile, flexible, and reactive. The second is because you don't want any surprises. Well, any more, I guess.

One detail which did draw my eye, and which will probably become a bit important, was that I was wearing, well... some kind of bracelet. It wasn't really much of one, just an armband - well, forelegband, which held twelve stones, each of which was a different shade and shape. The fabric of that bracelet seemed to be silk, or gossamer, or possibly some sort of nylon - either way, it nearly blended into the oceanic blue of the chitin around it.

The armband seemed... pointless to worry about. The stones, though. Those twelve stones seemed... Important. Capital-I Important.

And the very instant I realized, that's when I cursed, heavily and in detail. Loudly. With fine precision and the weight of a hundred-kilogram sailor. Frankly, I did not have time for that right now, I was in the middle of Spooky Haunted Forest and I had more important things to do. At that point, I put it right out of my mind, ignoring what might well have helped me ignore a lot of issues.

After a self-diagnosis which would probably have deeply annoyed a medical professional, I decided to take stock of my surroundings. Here is where I found myself, and my resultant thought processes:

Examine here.

You are in a forest filled with large trees of various natures, including pine, oak, maple, ash and cedar. Other types appear herein which are unfamiliar. Deciduous and evergreen varieties populate the area. A pathway leads to your left, with no signs to mark the way. It appears to lead North and South. A babbling brook runs through this area, bereft of fish or other life; moss grows on the bottom, but appears slightly grey. The time appears to be late afternoon, the skies are clear, and the weather is currently about 30 degrees Celsius.

You see here: A bag, leaves, a large rock, and a gold coin.

Count leaves.

There are 69,105 leaves here.

Examine bag.

Okay, so it didn't go quite like that, but I really couldn't resist, now could I?

The bag itself was... strange, at least to my eye. Well, perhaps I should say, 'bags'. The pair of them seemed to be equivalent to a set of saddlebags, meant to be thrown across one's back so that the contents, in their shifting, didn't move around too much with that, er, motion. That having been said, they were stylized in such a way that they could more readily be called 'packs'. I painstakingly viewed the contents of each pouch, and found nearly what I expected: Granola bars, a small bottle of water, odds and sorts, and, most critically, my hardware.

You might be a little bit confused here. First, for a geek, especially one like myself, one's technology is one's life. A granola bar is filling, and manages to get one's stomach full, or at least full enough to continue functioning. A camera? Now that helps to fill one's mind. And so I was invariably pleased when my trustworthy camera was found sitting, neatly, in a good little pouch which seemed almost designed for it.

Then the implications hit me.

I was admittedly rather more concerned about the tablet and laptop which were sitting on my left side. I had, first of all, no way to charge them - if such a thing could even be considered possible. (Yes, my camera needed to be charged too, eventually, but it had a much longer battery life than either.) What exactly does one use to define 120V, 60AC? Would time be different here? What exactly would one do to define voltage and amperage? Alessandro Volta surely never found his way here, right?

Barring the very basics of electricity as we generally know it, let's also consider temperature. Is Celsius the same? That is to say, is 0 the freezing point of water at sea level, and 100 the boiling point of the same? What's an inch, or a centimeter? What's gravity look like around these parts: obviously I haven't evaporated yet, so there must be something, but what's the measurement scale?

Worse yet! What's a meter? Is it still the amount of time it takes for an object to accelerate? And what's an inch, a centimeter, a second, a gram...

As my imagination ran away with me, you can probably tell that I was hyperventilating like mad. Heh, I was probably a second away from a rolling ball of quivering chitin.

It's a damn good thing that those guards found me at that point.

Said guards were, a few minutes prior, a few hundred meters off, playing Scooby-Doo.

Scarlet and Shamrock stalked forward along the cracked ground, leaning slightly against one another from time to time as they convinced one another that yes, they were still there. Cobalt was up top, ostensibly providing overwatch - but, more precisely, hiding inside his cloud, the very tips of his wings poking out to provide ample proof of its occupant -- as though the sound of wind through his nose weren't more than enough for that.

This sounds like poor positioning, but the Wild Guard actually tends towards rational team layouts in every case. Cobalt's magic suffused the cloud, allowing him to throw off some lightning when he needed to or to bug out if things went south. Scarlet could pull back to provide artillery, fire support and the like, while Shamrock could dive into the furor and manage to survive through sheer good luck and bullheadedness. Or, at least, that's how it usually turned out in the WG.

Consider, if you would, that these three had earned the collective nickname of 'The Bucking Nuts'. And thus are they arraigned to Ponyville.

I'm given to understand the Princesses have a running tally on when they'll lose their heads. Shining has a side bet, as does Mile Stone.

Sooner or later, I inevitably decided to get ahold of myself. "Okay," I told myself, "we can do this. We can handle being... a changeling, in a forest, in a FUCK ME RUNNING there is no way there no way I can handle this on my own and what the fuck am I supposed to do in this sort of circumstance and... and..." Then I paused. I sniffed. I started looking about.

My saddlebags, which I hadn't taken a longer look at, were neatly placed about my ... let's call them sides, I honestly had no clue what they were defined as. They remained with their bulging innards, a happy appearance to any thief who might view me here, and a slightly sad sight to any woodsman. The smell of whatever was going on... no, the aroma, was plenty strong enough to keep me from noticing anything else.

The stream had nothing to do with it: I quickly determined, though I did have another small lap from the fresh water before moving onto my further consideration, that the increasingly aromatic scent was coming from the east. Well, east-ish. Southeast, anyway.

And I was just about to delve out of this seemingly innocuous grove when a pile of three ponies decided that was a good time to tumble in. I barely had the time to even see any of them, before, um... let's just say that they declared their presence in a most spectacular way.

Quoth the profundo, "You have precisely three seconds to remove yourselves from me before I get you thrown into Tartarus." The two - stallion and mare - found themselves quickly excavating themselves from my presence, leaving only the mare responsible for nearly shattering my eardrums.

For a brief moment I considered glorious retribution, but a glimpse at the very obviously military mare, as well as careful and cautious consideration caused me surcease -- or, at least, a few moments to plan my revenge. Instead, I felt it proper to take in the situation, and found the end result to be edifying.

Very rarely have I ever considered my deadpan, almost unimpressionable face to be a blessing, but in this instance, I thanked whatever dark deity granted me that gift. Were I to simply take in the triptych before me, I would surely have broken like a windowpane. That is not to say that any one of these three is comical in their own right -- but that as a set, they dance upon the sublime. Celestia herself must have put them together, there could be no other way.

I could not otherwise have possibly stumbled upon Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Of course, these three aren't those, in any way, but that certainly was the first impression my stunned mind could gather, and their colour schema certainly didn't help. For a full minute, I believe that I had my head tilted to the side, a thin line of drool slipping down the side of my lips as I had my mind blown for the second time in short order. I think that quite briefly, I imagined pink fluffy unicorns.

That was when Shamrock slammed her hoof into the side of my head.

As you might imagine, this lead to a slight infraction. It went something like this:

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?!"

"We're in the middle of a haunted forest, daze out on your own time!"

"...first, ow. Second, fair enough, lead on."

Yeah, retribution was going to come, and it would be vast and sublime, but right now priorities took hoof, such as it were. First and foremost: get the hell out of the damned forest and into something approaching civilization. With a deep breath, I gathered up my materials and materiel - what little I had - and carefully slung my backpack across my withers.

Cobalt, being Cobalt, decided to try a bit of conversation. "Um, what's with the weird saddlepack?" A fair question, but... a difficult one to answer. A human backpack does not look like a pair of saddlebags, nor does it fit over one's withers in the same way.

I wasn't - couldn't have been - the only one of the group who noticed my lengthy pause there. "It's a matter of taste," I finally replied, leading to a pair of snorts and a long huff. The lattermost could only have come from one particular mare, and frankly speaking, I knew that she was already on the verge of throwing me to the wolves, proverbially put. Shamrock was about to give me an Irish kiss, so to speak, and I full well deserved it.

As three of us climbed up the cliff - well, minor steppe - from which my wayward companions had fallen, making our way through the rampant abuse of the world's physics engine (also known as having hooves), we continued to shoot the proverbial tofu. Cobalt lay upon his cloud, being as much of a lazy son-of-a-Discord as he always is (shut up, Cobalt, you know it's true) while we sweated, grunted, and made our way up in turn.

"So," asked Scarlet, "what's the weather like where you're from?"

Here, I had to break out in a grin. "You ready for this one? Gonna come as a shock." To my surprise, all three nodded their heads. "Alrighty. Hooves secured?" Here I gave Cobalt a glare, and he gave me an ordure-munching grin. "We don't handle it. Weather just happens."

That nearly resulted in us going back and resetting all our progress, but thankfully, both of my compatriots managed to recover themselves in time. They did, however, nearly cause a rockslide when they shouted, in unison, "WHAT?!" I swear, it was virtually in sync.

I don't think I had to even bother with the smile, because their jaws nearly rolled off down the forest path when I appended, "Nope, great big Everfree. Which is why I want to get the hay out of here," I extemporized. "I can deal with wild zones, no problem. Wild zones filled with," and here I provided a theatrical shudder, "dark magic and monsters, not so much. Let us be away."

None of them raised any objection to that for the strangest of reasons.

"So, whaddya normally eat?," asked Shamrock, as we finally pulled ourselves over the final ledge and hit the path leading back to town. My back cheered - my legs tried to cannibalize the rest of me for fuel.

"Probably what you get around these parts," I panted, taking a moment to let myself recover from the circumstances - and let my brain parse the fact that I was dealing with someone more clever than the average bear. "Honey and nectar is a major ingredient in a lot of our recipes - it provides a caloric boon, and bolsters many of the carbohydrate-heavy recipes." I took a moment to pause from bullshitting, and rested my forehead against the cool dirt, taking the time to provide myself a heatsink for my horn. Immediately I felt some surcease, and I began to wonder - could I drill into the ground?

A gentle cough broke my concentration, and I brought my head up to look at the three guards. "Something wrong?" I asked, blinking. That was odd. I shouldn't have had a film over my eyes...

"You'd been resting your head against the ground for a quarter hour," Cobalt informed me with a tiny nod and a more sizeable wince.

For a moment I blanked. 15 minutes? That can't possibly have ... actually, it could have been viable. Microsleep is not something I've dealt with very often, but it's a well-known phenomenon, and... for a moment I shook my head. "Okay. If I'm zoning out, then we absolutely need to get to a save point and fast."

"Save point?" queried Scarlet, looking a little more concerned than she otherwise would. Hard to blame her. I must have been... stumbling around and worse.

"Out. of the damned. forest." With a willful gesture, I bit the side of my right foreleg, hard -- and the resultant pain drove a spike of alertness through me, just as intended. Said spike lasted about two seconds before it began to fade, but I took the opportunity to point down the path. "Onwards, marching soldiers," I halfway sang, and the others followed me forth through the horrific forest of despair.

"Please tell me this is it, and we're not just hallucinating."

"I think this is it...?"

With a cry of 'hallelujah' and a dive towards the mossy ground on the roadside, I began to kiss the dirt which was, finally, completely outside the Everfree. The three members of the Wild Guard regarded me in differing ways: amusement, curiosity, and distaste. Shamrock, of all folks, found my ministrations to be particularly concerning.

"I think you were there for... less than twelve hours," she began, considering the second half of my praise: a kowtow to the Sun itself, something which Scarlet and Cobalt regarded with significant amusement. With a sigh, Shamrock simply disregarded the concern, and provided me a poke to the side of the head, which finally brought me from my reverie.

"Come ON. We have things to do and more foliage to watch." Wait. Was that a joke? Surely not. Nonetheless, I decided to follow Shamrock in the hopes, however slim, that I might glimpse such a rare occurrence once again.

And as I did so, I took a surreptitious glance or two at my bangle. Now and then I saw a dark sparkle within the mother-of-pearl, and a light within the opal... and I swear that the ruby and sapphire were likewise lit, and that's to say nothing of the diamond and tiger's eye...

Author's Note

There are three archetypes which produce a party dynamic. They are the Fighter, the Mage, and the Thief. And by and large, this is sensible.

What happens when the thief is too scared to steal anything, the mage rushes into every possible situation, and the fighter is a bit too ready to start a conflict?

Forced Perspective

"Look," began Scarlet as the three heads of the Wild Guard moved towards the nearest town - that, I realized, would be Ponyville - with me in tow. In a way, it was almost kind of cute. In another... um.

"I, um. Okay, look, but, obviously you're conscious, you're sapient, you're sentient, you're just as intelligent as a pony, the--"

"There's a laugh," muttered Shamrock, sotto voce. Yeah, if she kept doing that, I was going to take a hint from a certain American restaurant and mix up a Shamrock Shake. And I almost felt like she was just waiting for me to lash out...

"The question for which you're searching, I think, is what am I?, right?" I replied as archly as my exhausted tongue could muster.

"... yes. Roughly." answered Scarlet.

"An abomination," I chirped happily.

Sometimes, the sight of mental fuses blowing out is well worth the fallout. Sometimes it's just not. I couldn't help it, I snickered for a bare instant before I wound up in the tangle of legs, wings, and the occasional horn which my little snark had produced. All three had somehow managed to get entangled - a rather trickier proposition to escape with four hooved limbs - and I wound up right in the middle.

I think if there were anything more disorienting than slamming into three other folks who were hitherto walking in the same direction, it's suddenly feeling a plain, simple, and mind-zapping shock. Up until now, I hadn't quite parsed the fact that all of a sudden, I was an empath. Resultantly, it took us a bit longer than might have otherwise been the case to get untangled. Thankfully, the three core members of the Wild Guard were wearing their gear, so it was somewhat less awkward than it might have been. Me, I took a moment to lie on the cool grass, catching my breath.

Why did I get the feeling this was going to be a common occurrence from here on?

Five minutes later, once we'd all caught our breath, taken a few moments to relax upon the fine grass, and generally done nothing else, and once it was generally agreed that we were in suitably good health to make the remainder of the journey, my esteemed and well-regarded new friends from the local Inquisition rounded upon me.

I'll spare you the specifics, but the general refrain was a very loud and very bombastic 'EXPLAIN' in six different keys.

After dealing with a very imprecise assault on my ears, one which managed to take my hammer, anvil and stirrup and beat them against each other with a furor rarely seen outside any but the best blacksmith shoppes, I eventually raised a hand... er, hoof... which, amazingly, brought the three to silence. I took in a deep breath, preparing to bullshit them all into whatever I wanted them to think, and...

I couldn't.

I couldn't say it, and this isn't some sort of magic spell or anything. I honestly could not at this point look at them and say, 'just your average Changeling.' See, there are lies and there are lies. The kind of harmless ones are the ones we tell ourselves and each other every day, and... some part of me knew that this wasn't going to be one of them. So I told them at least a piece of the truth.

"Guys," I began, "you've got no reason to trust me on this, but... I honestly don't know what I am."

"And the dietary thing?" Shamrock was giving me the third degree as the three brought me into the local village, a small hamlet named -- oh, you know what it's named anyway.

"Actually, that was entirely true. Honey makes for a very well-preserved simple sugar. Simple sugars as opposed to more complex carbohydrates make up a significant part of our diets. They're easily handled so long as you keep them away from contaminants. That's why they've been a part of major trade routes for ages upon ages."

Cobalt started to chuckle at that, and I gave him a look. It must have been more than I intended, because he immediately shied backwards. "Sorry," I had to counter, closing my eyes, and he chuckled. "No, it's not that. It's just that ... a lot more of Pegasus history suddenly makes sense, pre-Unification. Pegasi need a lot of quick sugars, and..." Here, he cut off, looking more than a bit embarrassed, and I took a moment to grok exactly why.

Oh.

Oh.

For more than a few moments, I was trying to parse some manner of understanding... but thankfully, I was given the sight of my savior just beyond the next bush.

"Hey, isn't that Ponyville?"

Of course, that wasn't the end of it. There was still a ways to walk, glide, buzz, whatever. Not that much buzzing was involved - I still wasn't going to be trying to learn to fly in public. Amidst other things, I imagine that if the sound of a mosquito buzzing in your ear was bad for a human, imagine what it'd be like for ponies and the sort. Second, if there were any changelings in Ponyville, I'd much rather not wind up giving myself away quite so readily, visual cues aside. Finally, I'd gotten the impression that Cobalt was more of a backup pony... and I certainly wasn't going to be seen trying to escape in broad daylight.

Accordingly, I surreptitiously waved a hoof to guide Cobalt down to ear level, or close enough. Here, I did my best to provide an inconsequential murmur on the grounds that he was right there, and that the ponies around us would be happier knowing that a guardsman would be keeping a close eye on me.

"Listen," I started. "It was your great-great-great-however-many grandparents who did that back then, right?"

"...Yes...?" the pegasus responded in his characteristically shaky voice, practically hidden in his ever present cloud. Well... there are worse ways to get started, right?

"And, in turn," I continued, "it was ostensibly my great-great-great-however-many grandparents who retaliated, right?"

Sounding like he was, ironically, on much more solid ground, Cobalt replied, with a slightly less wavery voice, "And what, then, did you have in mind?"

My evil, twisted, vile plan coming close to fruition, I had to respond with a chuckle which sent the pegasus' wings in all directions. I think the other two gave us an odd look, but for the strangest reason, when I responded with an innocent smile, they averted their eyes in shock.

Weird ponies.

"Here's my idea..."

Ponyville, so that you know, is a very quiet little suburb of Canterlot. It's one of those small towns, where people know their neighbors and most of the folks around them, and it's generally far enough from the hustle and bustle of the big city that you can actually have a life for yourself, while still being a sensibly big part of the community in a number of ways. The monkeysphere, as several human researchers have put it, seems more prevalent in smaller communities than larger ones.

If you want a real example of what this is like, ask an empath. From the moment I walked into Ponyville, there was this sense of... I'm not sure how to put it, exactly. Interconnectedness? That could work. Empathy, of course, is right there. Love? Anyone who's read Gaiman and Pratchett's Good Omens knows how much love can be fostered in a community like this. It's not stifling - but it's everywhere.

Imagine if you been invited to a restaurant - one of the finest in the country - and all that they served were foods you... really didn't particularly want. I'd jokingly told the Wild Guard that I was an abomination, and I hadn't recognized how literal I was being. Here was a town filled with love, and I was choking on it in exactly the same manner that someone would choke on raw soy.

Cobalt, bless him, recognized exactly what was going on there, and he gently worked to steer us towards the local library. While the hostile emotions of the ponies around us clouded one sense of sight, I was still able to stumble my way towards the tree which practically defined the township -

And the very moment I stumbled in, and tasted the grey, drained strands that were once curiosity itself, I passed out.

Minimalism

From the very moment I woke up, I knew I would be very upset for the rest of the day.

*Beep*

Being somewhat less cruel than your average hospital staff member - at least, after having to deal with several old farts in one day - I shan't subject you to the vast array of beeps, twitches, twinges, catheter pulses, IV occlusions (and those are the fun ones!) and everything else intrinsic to the experience. Though I do have to wonder how ponies came up with such equipment.

*Beep*

That being the full array of such an experience, I invite you, fine folks, to consider precisely how well I might have taken it to be part of such a remarkable journey once again.

*Beep*

Yes, that was more or less it.

The oft-characterized sight of waking up to 'all one's friends and family members' upon regaining consciousness in a hospital is, of course, a lie perpetrated and perpetuated by the medical and film industries. It doesn't happen. When you're asleep, people have jobs to attend to, families to care for, and of course their own lives to live.

In accordance, I woke to an empty room - well, nearly empty, at least. The bed: hospital regulations, upon which I'd been placed on a set of cushions, standard affair for pegasi or those beings with wings, so as to preclude further damage thereto. The clock: a straightforward round, monochrome affair, the ticking thereof offering a counterpoint to the IV fluid draining into my foreleg. And, of course, the calendar, onto which my slightly disjointed eyes immediately latched.

21 Septima, 995 CE, it read.

The ECG started to beep.

Some minutes later, after the nurses had expertly determined that no, I was not having a heart attack, and yes, the pulse had likely originated when I awoke and found myself in a hospital bed - a fine lie if I do say so myself - I had wheedled myself a small glass of water, a better reclining position, and one of the books from the famed hospital cart. Sadly, it wasn't Daring Do and the Sapphire Stone, as I'd blithely hoped, but an airport dime-store thriller by an author named only 'Persimmons'. Three pages in, I'd identified the villains. Five pages in, I had steadfastly resolved to use whatever wealth I collected in the future to rid hospitals of junk like this and get them actual literature. Ten pages in, I closed the book, set it aside, and went to my own thoughts. They were much more original, after all.

Going in order of importance, then, by 'things most likely to affect me next'. First, what had happened in that library? The Books and Branches Public Library should not, would not have been anathema to me. And yet, practically the very moment I'd set hoof in that place, I'd blacked completely out. I'd even tasted something sour before I fell unconscious, though that might well have been bile of some sort.

With a quiet nod, I resolved to test that locale somehow, with some safety protocols in place. Whatever was going on there, knowledge is power, and I knew that I'd need quite a lot of knowledge to get started with anything, anything at all.

Second point of note: why the heck were these twelve gems and that peculiar bangle still attached to my left foreleg? I might not be entirely familiar with hospital practices, but I knew full well that jewelry and most devices which could cut off circulation were immediately detached upon a patient's admittance, and so...

Well, this was a mystery I knew I could solve right off the bat, or rather have someone else solve for me, and so I lightly tapped the Nurse Call button to the side of my bed.

The Earth Pony nurse went through the motions of checking to ensure that all my fittings were correct, asked me the requisite questions - to which I was very glad indeed that I had the answers - and gave me a quick checkup. My vitals were more than a little bit off, but, she recognized, that may well have been due to my nature as a changeling, and so long as they sounded alright to me, the doctor (upon her arrival) could likely sign me out.

The questions, in case you were wondering, were the average: "Do you know where you are?" (Ponyville General, of course.) "Do you know what day it is?" (7/21/995) and "Do you remember your name?"

That one might have caught me up, I'll admit. I'm wasn't certain if ponies knew whether or not changelings tended to have different names, as I certainly didn't know myself: certainly, there was 'Kevin' from episode 100, but that was a fan nickname. And Stephen Magnet, as fine a gentleman as he was, certainly didn't fit in amongst the crowd anyway. But as paperwork goes, amidst a list of pony names which might well have been Noun-Verb-Adjective, I knew for an absolute fact that 'Jen McAllen' would stick out like a sore hoof. So I just gave her the first name that came to mind:

"Divided Gem," I heard myself say.

"Z'at so?" replied Candy Striper. And yes, as the Nine are my witness, that really was her name. Someday I'm going to pressure Celestia for answers as to how pony names actually work, but the pink-and-white mare in front of me really was named just that. Still... at my encouraging nod, she let out a bit of a sigh and marked it down. "Reads better than Jane Pony again. I swear MPCC has at least fifty of them in their rooms right now." With a final underline, she set the clipboard a bit to the side. "S'long as we get paid, and you don't skip town, that's what matters. Whatcha need, hon?"

With a sigh, I looked at my hoof. "Look, if it makes any difference, that's the only name the person you're looking at has ever been called." As she blinked at my odd phrasing, I continued, "But here's the thing. I know from hospitals, and I know jewelry, watches, anything like that gets removed or cut off if at all possible, so as to preclude any potential loss of circulation in case of swelling, damage or the like. Heck, this thing," and here I poked at the white legband they put on me as a patient identifier, "slips right off if you need it to, and it's made to snap if you pull on it too tight. So what's with the twelvefold?"

Now, Nurse Candy looked really surprised. Still, she masked it well, rubbing a hoof along the back of her neck and trying more to look abashed. Could've been both, come to think. "That... I don't really know," she admitted, as though every word were being dragged out by a pair of needle-nose pliers. "Whatever that thing's made of, it's completely nonreactive. Magic slips off like water from a pegasus' wings. Knives glance off. I mean it, nothing sticks to it. Our entry staffers were pulling their manes out when they brought you in, until they finally decided to give the problem to us.

"You were only out for four hours, by the way. Those three troublemakers who brought you in, screaming something about the Everfree and toxins, had to go and report to their HQ - that's just next-door, by the way - but those four hours had us flummoxed. None of us knew even what you were, until one of our interns took one look at you, went bug-eyed as all sin... er, no offense..."

"None taken," I had to chuckle. Frankly, with all the weirdly straightforward and... non-xenophobic reactions I'd had this day, I was glad to hear someone reacting normally, or at least as normally as I expected ponies would. As for the Three Stooges... well, maybe I'd cut them a break after all. Knowing that even Scarlet and Shamrock were willing to help me out there raised them a few notches on my proverbial tower.

"Yes, well," continued the officious nurse. "He shrieked, 'changeling', and went running down the halls, screaming his fool head off. If you'd like, I can write him up for contravention of doctor-patient privilege."

"Nurse Candy Striper, you'll do nothing of the sort," I replied severely, in my best 'mom' voice. I think I pulled it off alright, because she took in a bit of a breath. "Frankly, while I'll agree that xenophobia needs to be tethered down with titanium bands, I applaud his sensibility and good judgement."

Now the nurse was looking like she wanted me sectioned. Oh, the things my mouth does to me. So I simply sighed, and started digging my hole a little deeper. "Changelings are..." I began, taking a moment to look up at the ceiling. "Not all good. Of course, not all ponies are good either, but we get a fair number more than usual. So I can't blame him for being a bit on the twitchy side."

"Changeling! Changeling! There's a changeling in the hospital!"

"Who let him out of the mental ward?"

"Would you believe he works there?"

"That explains it. Too much of the food there would drive anypony bonkers."

"And frankly," I continued, "being waltzed through Ponyville by three members of the Wild Guard, while carrying on a conversation with them... I'd be a rather silly fool to even masquerade as a pony even if I wanted to. So that's utterly out of the question. No harm, no foul, as they say back home."

Candy Striper looked, once again, quite flummoxed, and I had to give a light giggle in return, leading to the severe glare which she'd been giving me when she came in. With another sigh, I added, "Well, getting back to where we were when we went off..." I paused at the welter of w's, but finally wecogn--RECognized that I'd gotten it right. "Nopony'd managed to get this pretty little bangle off my arm?"

An eyebrow was raised at my mention of a limb I clearly did not possess, but Striper let it go as she gave the offending device a look which, for any lesser piece of fabric, would have torn it from my foreleg in sixteen separate parts. "We have, or rather had, on loan, an adamantium scalpel from the University of Canterlot. After thirteen other knives of decreasing scale were rendered blunt, we attempted to make use of it. It did not survive the attempt."

"Obsidian?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Shattered," her response entailed.

"Moon silver?"

"Sublimated."

I had to pause before I asked this last one, because there's no way, absolutely no way they would do it. "Sun steel?"

Candy gave me another look, but shook her head. "Wasn't worth the risk."

I nodded appreciatively, and gave my shiny little bangle a new look of respect. I'd had an idea that it, or at least the set of jewels attached to it, was something special and capital-I Important, but I hadn't realized to what extent this, well, extended. "I'm not sure if I'll hug the party responsible for this, or beat him until he's halfway to death, but either way, this is quite the gift."

Candy Striper gave a proper 'hmm', then asked, "You're sure it's a guy?"

I had to let out a snrk. "Who else would give a girl something this ostentatious?"

And there we had to break down in general laughter, as I recognized I might just have made another friend, however unlikely.

An hour later, after Candy had detached all the IVs, cleared away the ECG monitors, and generally rendered me fit to go, and I was simply waiting for a doctor's clearance to get me out of this place, who should appear but the three folks who got me to Ponyville in the first place? Of course, I was over the moon to see them, and responded by bounding out of my chair and giving them each a hug - and, in Cobalt's case, a very firm noogie, to which the Pegasus responded by flailing like a medieval weapon. I nearly landed back in the hospital bed, but I let go of the poor guy before too long.

"So, what brings you three down to this old inveterate changeling's room?" I sardonically asked, happy to see that Scarlet had brought up that old backpack. I was slightly less thrilled to see that the bag was slightly more empty than before, and a part of my mind went to the possibility that they'd recognized what my tablet and laptop were. The camera - well, that could easily be explained away, but the other two were a bit problematic. Perhaps they simply thought them a typewriter and writing pad... which, in a general way, they were. Either way, what I was not expecting was for Scarlet to levitate my two cans of diet soda over to me.

"Explain," added Cobalt, in what might have been the coldest tone I have ever heard him produce.

A simple gasp coming from the doorway might, might have saved my proverbial bacon were it not for the simple fact that it originated from the nurse with whom I'd just connected. Candy Striper had reasonably dropped the tray of food - food I'd been quite looking forward to, even were it hospital cuisine - upon seeing the three guardsmen bearding the lion in her own den. And I do mean hers, not mine.

However, before she could manage to summon the hospital staff, the guardsmen, and likely the Royal Guards, my mouth happened to act before my brain once more and call upon the words that would actually shut the whole disaster down. "Candy," I somehow managed to say, "May you please shut the door and close the curtains for a moment? These fine folks have a very good question they'd like to ask, and I'd rather the answer not propagate."

I think her brain shut down for a moment at hearing the Wild Guard referred to as 'fine folks', but she complied accordingly, almost on automatic, as though she was simply solving a puzzle. Secretly, I gave thanks to whatever dark gods of the administration had seen fit to give me a private room, because I knew full well that however this came out, it'd be one hell of a game-changer.

Finally, after all was as secure as could be within a hospital bedroom, even in ICU, I gave each of the four ponies sitting before me a level stare. "Alright. What do you want to know first?"

Author's Note

Well, that escalated rather more quickly than I originally envisioned. But I think that might be for the best...

Hope you folks are enjoying things so far!

Surrealism

I'll admit, quite readily, that me putting the four of them on the spot like that was both mean-spirited and short-sighted. It's one of those things that I've regretted for quite some time, and --

Ow!

Okay, Sham, OKAY. I deserved that punch. Stupid ornery little -- OW! And that one too, but that's the last free punch you get!

...moving right along.

Scarlet, being the sharpest of the bunch in every way, began by asking the one question I didn't want to answer. Specifically, "Where did you come from?" Clever little unicorn, cutting to the point of a dozen different questions that might have been asked, all in five words. She rarely spoke, but when she did...

Well. I smiled, and I glanced out of those tiny teal-blue curtains covering the window, and I said, "Think of a tiny little ball, out there. Somewhere amidst all the stars, just circling one. And it did circle... no princesses to move the sun and moon, they did it all on their own. Think of that. Tiny little ball of mud and rock and water and air. Fire, too. Heh, fire, stone, water, air. Kind of an interesting parallel."

I didn't recognize that my armband had lit up in four points. Not yet. Soon...

"A tiny little mudball, spiraling its way around a star one point three million times its size. But large enough..."

Here I turned to the quartet and smiled, without teeth, simply offering my eyes to them. So why did they take a step back? The world... may never know.

"Large enough to contain seven billion people."

As Doctor Horse entered the room after knocking and hearing a muffled, 'Enter at ye own peril', he couldn't help but look around at the sight that befell him. No fewer than three mares were supine perpendicular to a hospital bed, snoring profusely - including one of his own nurses! - and a fourth stallion was similarly konked out on a cushion on the floor, providing something of a counterpoint to the quartet!

A fifth mare was found tapping at an odd tablet within her hooves, one which - despite all odds and sanity - was playing music, as she sat nearly supine in a chair, with all evidence of enjoyment. Her deep blue coat nearly appeared metallic, before the doctor recognized: a changeling? Here?

"Oh! Hello," she chirped, as she set the tablet in her hooves to rest. "Sorry, I'm your patient. These four might warrant some consideration, though. I was holding a conversation with them, and they just, um." She waved her hooves in a manner which declared the whole room. "Slumped? I figured that I'd put them where they'd be comfortable."

With a quiet sigh, the good doctor turned aside and massaged his horn, a surprisingly common tic these days.

"So," began the puce stallion with the short black mane. "You're our latest mystery?"

"Oh, I'm more than a mystery, I'm an riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a sheet of nori," I couldn't help but reply, giving the stallion another two twitches of his ear and an eyebrow. Yes, I was keeping track. Yes, I was keeping count. You have to find your own fun when you're in a hospital. Besides, how exactly do you define this shiny little sheet of fiber which you can't tear off?

By this point, I was at 150 points and about to earn a new achievement, and by the emotional waves he was giving off, the poor stallion wasn't so much sure if he should section me as he should section himself. On the other hand, he hadn't given me so much as a how-do-you-do before he sat himself down in front of me and began his psychoanalysis. Any pegasus worth her salt would have jumped out a window by now, but I was having too much fun, and what's the point of salt, anyway?

Still... there's a point where you need to cut your losses. So, with a sigh, I slumped in my chair and explained, "Alright. Doc, I've been winding you up, and you know I have. Simple fact of the matter is... well. I woke up in the Everfree in the shiniest little glade I've ever seen in my life, cussed like I've never cussed before, and had three weirdos drop down on me and offer to escort me to the center of a very nice town..."

"If I couldn't confirm a few of those facts," the doctor told me, looking at what must have been a clipboard of insanity, shaking his mane and scratching the back of his head. "And..."

Here I laughed. "And if we weren't in the vicinity of the Everfree? The place Discord himself cursed?"

Here the Doctor practically pulled his own mane out - AGAIN - and started shaking me. "You wake up in the Everfree with this strange artifact that nopony in their life has ever seen before, wrapped around your foreleg! The Princess herself is going to come down and want to see it--"

Instantly, my heart went cold, as did the rest of my body. "Wait, Princess? You mean the... Princess of the Sun, right?"

"Yes! She's going to want to come here and explain why not one but FOUR artifacts of the realm have suddenly been shattered!" Doctor Horse started to laugh like a madman, tugging at his hair and tail, while I looked down, very slowly, at what was wrapped around my arm - okay, foreleg.

"Pause."

The Doctor looked at me like I was about to explode, and then dove towards me like a ballistic missile, his hooves at my shoulders. "Pause? PAUSE? What do you think could POSSIBLY make me pause at--"

"Four of these gems weren't shining before."

Sometimes, there are... circumstances... where even the maddest of scientists will be given to pause. A blinking light, a shining signal, an occasional... beep. "And what exact-- Oh. What do you think it means?"

"I'm not sure... but I have a sneaking suspicion it's Important."

"Important?"

Sometimes, though, you have to use Capital Letters to get your point across. "No. Important."

"Oh Dear."

Author's Note

This one's just a short little plot point following Minimalism, which I felt I should get out during the same night.

(No, don't worry, what kind of comedy story would it be if it did that?)

Prelude 1: The Moon

Let's take a look back and forth.

Back at the things that've already gone, and maybe a bit forth, at the things which are soon to be.

Samuel Algers, good ol' Sokora. He always felt that his life was going to be great and superb - when he was about 12 years old. That's when his good ol' pop got murdered in the streets, by a gang who felt that whatever amount of nuYen he was carrying just so happened to be worth his life... his ol' gal took her own life not long after, after she'd learned that their accounts had been drained by the exact same gang. A gang that spent it on drugs - readily, happily, for just long enough to enjoy it before they learned it'd be the last dose they'd ever take.

Good ol' Sokora, who managed to pop a few heads, then go back to school with the last smile he thought he'd ever carry on his face.

The man played it smart. Never got in above his head, never got in with the wrong crowd where anyone he knew could ever see him. He got an in on the streets, made a few friends too. Bill Burkley, Georgia Winston, they were the players who went where the players don't play. And lemme tell you, they played it smart as well. But everyone who does it eventually learns, 'high risk, high reward' doesn't come without its own penalties.

Sooner or later, Sokora was playing deep in the pits, and I'm not talking about the casinos. He'd gone all in, but at the same time... he was hunting big game. Turns out that gang had been cut loose of nearly everyone they'd been playing. The Triad, the Vory, the MegaCorps... doesn't matter who, they were out for blood. And so Sokora played that one part in the game he swore he'd never play: the Dealer.

Turns out he had a knack for it. Gave the team the resources they'd need, and even cut 'em a good part of the return when they performed well, well above his expectations.

But from then on... instead of playing the dealer, he decided to play the Face. The guy who gets folks to trust the team. He joined up with his old allies, and did he ever perform. Together, they managed to write a new chapter in the history of Denver, even snagging Ghostwalker himself to help 'em out. They had fun. But sooner or later the fun has to end, and Sokora decided, after that one last score, it was time to cut it off.

Seattle seemed nice this time of year.

Ten, ten, ten motherfucking years these assholes have left me alone, and now they decide that it's a good time to send an all-out assault? Who the hell even gave them my address? If it was that asshole Rob, I'm going to throw a pipebomb down his chimney for Christmas!

In case you were wondering, I was in the deep shit. I was just about to open for the night when I got swarmed by a set of what I'd laughably call 'rogue agents' if not for the simple fact that they'd stormed into my bar like the motherfucking mafia, shot my girlfriend in the fucking face, taken two customers aside - very nice customers, by the way, in case that counts - and deftly inserted their knives between two ribs in a manner that implied they would not enjoy their holiday season.

Being 'just' the bartender, I booked it as soon as I caught what was going on, practically flung myself up the fire escape, and caught myself a momentary breath before those sacks of drek had quite recognized what I'd done.

Poor Elise. She hadn't asked for any of this: she was just the girl of the night a year ago, and here I'd been thinking of proposing to her. It was a damned shame and if I had two ways about it, I'd make the motherfuckers burn for her. Something told me she'd smile at the thought, and for a useless instant I took it upon myself to reminisce. Then the sound of sawn-off shotguns drew my attention once more.

"He's up top! Ventilate the damn roof!"

If there were ever a cue to go, I knew that was it. Sorry, Elise: you were already gone anyway. With a running leap, I managed one of those old parkour moves and managed to get myself from rooftop to rooftop - not a particularly difficult task when they were five feet apart, though it still looks damned impressive when you see it done. I considered myself thankful here that I'd picked a neighborhood with close-set buildings, another of which was set nearly below my own position such that I could perform a jump-and-roll with what few acrobatics skills I possessed.

Unfortunately, what I hadn't realized was that the bastards were waiting for me.

The very moment I hit the roof, they pulled themselves off the fire escapes and began a very pointed effort to provide the roof with a new ventilation system. Standing here, standing now, there was no way I could possibly get away, so I began to throw myself to the right - whereupon lurked a very inviting, potentially safe brick wall.

What I hadn't realized, before my feet left the ledge for the last time, was that the distance was entirely too far to jump - the fire escape was nowhere near where my hands could grip - and I was about to do a header onto the street from four stories up.

Evidently some deity had a good word for me, though, because... right after I had let out a gigantic, "Oh, SHIT", upon realizing my error, I found myself hitting the ground with somewhat less velocity than I'd expected.

With a dizzy head, I took a look around at what looked like... ponies? Pointing their spears at me. Spears! Of course, I knew better than to laugh at pointed, sharp sticks - but there was... there was...

"Oh, what fresh Hell is this?" I managed to slur out, before slumping upon the polished cobblestones.

Somewhere in Seattle, a group of thugs with a particular goal in mind looked at each other, scratched their heads, and drove off in their minivan, planning to attend a great concert after their murderous boss had finished paying them exactly what they deserved.

And somewhere in Canterlot, a group of Royal Guards who had been 'guarding' a rock concert - a nouveau wave of artistic expression - looked at the thestral who had just fallen out of the sky, and stared at the three stones residing on his foreleg: a sapphire, an opal, and a tiger's eye. "Get him to the Princess," one commanded, and the other two hastened to obey.

Author's Note

Of course, I never said it would be all comedy.

No, Sokora will not be a main character in this book. He will, however, be showing up.

All Shadowrun details are copyright FASA and Catalyst Game Labs. Sokora is mine.

Lyrics

When you're in an unfamiliar, weird, and almost impossibly frightening situation, the mind goes into a state not unlike shock. It forces the emotional state aside, so that a person can get out of where they are, and into a relatively safe spot, so that they can finally have the mental breakdown which has been impending upon them for the last while, and - possibly - pass out, if necessary. That's why so many people say that they feel 'numb' when they're in a situation with which they're unprepared to deal: it's what one might call a survival mechanism, if that weren't so counterproductive to survival in today's age. It beats the 'fight or flight' mechanism, in some ways, and in others, it falls rather hilariously short.

That's kind of why I hadn't thought on why I could use the zero-point 'hoof-fields' or, as some call them, 'TK fields', which seem to be exuded from the frog of a hoof. Or why I could speak Equish. Or why I could walk on four legs, even. There was no conscious action there, and so the Centipede's Dilemma never even occurred to me at that point. Later on, certainly... well, we'll get to that.

In short form, while half of me was still numb by the experience of landing in a seemingly fictional, alien world, in an abtruse form which, frankly, still annoyed the piss out of me, the other half was delving into the other half of the enigmatic equation which read 'instinct', and it had flipped the proverbial coin and landed on 'flight'. Perhaps this had to do with changeling genetics combined with ... oh, all manner of other things. After all, changelings were pony-formed in nature, hive-based, and more likely to focus on the survival of the hive than anything else. So a weighted coin, but even so, I wasn't even in my right mind in the first place.

Which is why I found myself leaving behind my bag, my tablet, and everything but my chitin and that damned slice of gem-studded nori, and dashing down the halls as though I was about to be on fire.

"Make a hole!", I screamed as I careened down the hallway like a lunatic pinball, knocking over an unattended IV pole or two, disrupting bedpans, and generally making myself seem like someone you Did Not Want To Run Into. Thankfully, and perhaps surprisingly, the hospital staff decided that they would comply with the orders of the lunatic changeling galloping down a straight path with something glowing on her leg. Equally thankfully, I still had the presence of mind to screech to a halt once I spotted a nurse who looked like she knew the layout, nearly coming to a very painful end as Doctor Horse equally screeched past, leading to a painful-sounding crash. Too much on my mind. Don't care.

The powder-blue mare with the lavender mane looked like she was being menaced by a manticore, but I ignored that for the moment. "Nearest exit! Window, door, what!" I shouted with all the literary finesse of an Arts Major. "Th-the stairwell's there," she managed to spit out, shaking like a leaf. With a smile which led her to take two steps back, for some reason, I nodded firmly, and dashed for the aforementioned door. Like all good doors, it opened immediately upon a tug, giving me...

Giving me the view of a stairwell which only led up, and a view of a courtyard unobscured by wires, but rather limited by the stains on the unadorned glass windows.

My eyes widened, my breathing quickened, and then I recognized something I hadn't even considered. With a dash back, I began to engineer my ingenious, magnificent escape.

30 seconds later, those peeking through the windows may have noticed a steel bedpan smashing a stairwell window into dust.

Thank all the gods for safety glass, I muttered to myself, almost wondering how ponies had managed to come up with that particular invention, before recognizing that now was absolutely and completely not the time. I'd found myself in the courtyard of the hospital, the gemstones glowing even more ominously than I'd expected, and... I didn't know what was going to happen next. Couldn't know what was going to happen next.

As loudly as I could, I gave a shout: "Everybody! Get as far away from my position as possible! I'm not going to say that this is going to go boom, but if it does, it goes boom!"

Once again, to my continual surprise, nearly everypony backed off. Everyone who was a patient in the hospital made it a point to get out of the blast range, as best they could, and then a little further if they could manage. Everyone who was a part of the medical staff backed off a little further, but close enough that they could keep an eye on patients if necessary. Sane enough. If anyone got hurt in what I was increasingly sure would be an explosion, one which would possibly involve me...

Well, there'd be no better time to run a destruction test... would there?

The old phrase, 'I never signed up for this', had never felt quite so ... poignant to Doctor Horse. He'd been at Ponyville General for the last ten years, and in that time, as his head physician, had never seen a changeling, let alone one so mentally... strange as this. She evidently genuinely believed that the impossible was a simple puzzle, and talked about things that were beyond even his capacity to describe. The mare was clearly insane, and yet...

Yet, the casual conviction with which she stated her claims shook him to no small extent. In his admittedly limited experience, he had only once met a mare with that peculiar combination of madness and certainty, and what she revealed was... something he felt he should have no further interest in exploring. The pink filly from a small rock farm was eventually released into the general population, as they called it, and seemed to have caused no harm - and yet it tickled a part of his brain, an itch he could never scratch.

At least, he was sure he'd never see her again.

As the doctor finally climbed out of the shattered windowpane, he finally got a good look at the cobalt blue mare, looking murderous at her own arm, before raising up to the heavens and screaming,

"Antipode!"

In an instant, his vision became clouded with fog.

"Antipode!", I shouted, with most of the force I could muster. Not sure why, come to think. It just was the first fire and ice spell which came to mind. A spell which had broken kingdoms, sealed islands, and...

I paused as I observed its effects right now. Fog. A combination of water and fire had formed ... steam. Or, more appropriately, in this case, fog. Well, there were worse options. You could do a lot with fog, after all. And best of all, considering I was standing in a freaking hospital courtyard, it hadn't destroyed anything whatsoever. Right now, though, it was getting in the way. I frowned slightly. I mean, come on. Fog. Really? I'd have to probably do better than that in the future, but right now, I decided to consider myself thankful and move on.

A part of my addled brain decided that I had to continue to be relevant to the situation, or get sidelined, and so I gave a small shout to the gathered crowd. "Is everyone okay?"

"Think so," said a voice I thought I recognized as a particularly ... vocal pony.

With a light grunt, I decided I'd solve two problems at once - and took three small stones from around the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Focusing for a few moments, I took a deep breath, and a small but vocal part of me decided to be a bit more artistic this time. "As the mountaintop crumbles, let Wind and Earth combine."

Explosive as the fog was, this one was the opposite. I felt a small... 'pulse', I suppose you could call it, around the TK field surrounding those three pebbles. One simply crumbled into dust, while the other two became soft sand as air pierced the holes that willingly opened in the rock. After a moment, I felt that stop, and carefully shook some of the sand away, to reveal...

Well. Heh. I wasn't thinking it'd be anything artistic, but I looked down at the two tiny, stone magatamas in my hoof, and had to smile slightly. I'd hardly win the 'artist of the year' awards, but they were cute. Maybe I could put them in amber later or something.

That was when I started to shake.

The good Doctor Horse hadn't quite known what to expect when his patient had gone barreling out the window, wound up in the courtyard, and done... whatever she'd done. Her horn hadn't even gone to a corona, her field hadn't even pulsed, and yet somehow there was what he could only describe as a pea soup fog throughout the courtyard. A stray piece of the bubbled glass crunched underhoof at random, but he disregarded the thought for now, trying to make out what figures he could as he approached the changeling mare.

His ears nearly pinned themselves back as he heard Divided Gem shout out a question to everypony. Well, that, at least, was encouraging: she was still putting the safety of others before herself. His heart gave another thud as she murmured what sounded like a small spell to herself, but... nothing seemed to happen. At least, nothing seemed to happen to anything around her. She shook her hoof, as though shaking off a tiny bit of dust, and indeed, some sand sprinkled to the ground. Then she gave out a choked laugh.

One of the things Horse noticed as he approached was that the gems which were previously glowing with a remarkable light no longer were. Instead, they'd gone to a duller shade, though now and then they still gave off a glint. That confirmed his suspicions that they were enchanted, and possibly recharging at this point. But if that were the case, and they were so weak that this was all they could do, then why...?

With a step or two forward, he noticed that Gem was shaking like a leaf. Again. It was hard to really tell, but she looked like... oh. A panic attack. Or the downfall from... "Nurse! Any nurse around! Get us a chair and some water!" And some painkillers, he carefully didn't say, because not only did he not know what drugs his patient would react negatively to, he couldn't even begin to guess what she was already on.

There are fewer things more terrifying to a doctor than not knowing in the slightest way what to do. They have, after all, been trained for nearly everything. But in every field, in every job in the world, in every life, one does what one can. So... buck protocol. He stepped forward, and, terrified as he might have been of the consequences, he nonetheless gave his patient what she seemed to so desperately need.

A hug.

We like to think we have a pretty good way of holding things back. Don't think about it, we say, just focus on the next objective. Let life swallow the bad things up, think only about the good things that have come your way. Build a dam. Come on, though. Any engineer who builds a dam knows - heh - dam well what happens when it collapses. And that's just what I'd been doing. This rickety structure which dammed out all the memories, all the failures, all the points where we'd already broken.

Amber McAllen, that was her name. My big sister. The woman whose life always seemed focused with pinpoint precision on ruining mine. Sisters, right? She'd walk in with a teasing comment, and ten-- no, let's be honest, three seconds later whatever stray thoughts were in my head wound up consolidating into a steadfast desire to punch her right in the kidney.

Whatever you're thinking: no, that's none of your business.

Moving right along, despite our occasionally fierce interactions, Amber and I were pretty close, which led to a tearful departure indeed when my big sis decided to move from good ol' Toronto to Texas, of all places, to pursue her Masters in construction and architecture. Well, alright, I tell a lie. We punched each other on the side of the head and went out for pizza before she left -- but still! There's gotta be some pathos here, right?

But... here's the thing. Before she left, I gave her one half of a yin-yang symbol, glazed ceramic on the end of a piece of silk twine which I'd somehow wheedled away from the art staff when they were looking elsewhere. I, of course, had the other. I figured that it would be a fitting commemoration to hold the two of us together. We'd both loved the Phoenix Wright series, and a half of a yin-yang symbol looked rather like a magatama. Amber evidently agreed, because she clearly figured that my internal organs would look much better outside, judging by the sheer volume of hug she was giving me.

By the time I'd finished rearranging my ribs so they no longer looked like a demented xylophone, I'd missed my sister skipping down the causeway (so to speak), but I had enough air in my lungs to shout one thing.

"SCREW YOU, AMBER!"

That wasn't the end of it, of course. The two of us kept in constant touch, to the point where more than one ostensible 'friend' of mine around the Toronto School of Art made eyeroll-worthy statements about an 'internet boyfriend'. After the first armlock and noogie - on air, of course, because how could I keep my dear sister from such a delicious sight? - I managed to stave him off for long enough to get some relative peace. It never lasted long, but often the sight of brandished knuckles was enough to get that jerk to leave us alone for at least a decent conversation. (Yes, girls - and guy - I know he had a crush on me, and no, I wasn't interested.)

At that point, though, I know I'd strolled down memory lane far enough, in part due to a CERTAIN MARE deciding to knock her decidedly hard hoof against my noggin. A certain green mare. A certain green mare with decidedly hard hooves and a very firm temper.

When I finally slipped off of memory lane and back into the steadfast hooves of what I'd passingly call reality, I blinked at the faces staring down upon me. I was back in the bed once again, this time with a weight on my head which I might... wait...

With a tilt of my head from side to side, I confirmed that A. the item was near the base of my horn, and B. it was heavy. At that, I nearly laughed, but kept my composure well enough that my companions hadn't seen too much amusement. Well, most of my companions, anyway. Scarlet simply narrowed her eyes, and brought those two damned cans over again.

For a moment, I prepared for an assault. I mean, what would you do? The mare had practically thrown a can at my face! But before Scarlet could do more than hold it an inch from my nose, Cobalt murmured, 'Drink.'

Drink? From a can that'd been that shaken up so thoroughly? Well, I was game, I suppose. But... I was also given towards pranksterism, and such an opportunity could most assuredly not be passed up. I began the prank with a simple, "It's just soda, guys."

Naturally, none of the three accepted this perfectly rational explanation, and the two cans came within millimeters of breaking my muzzle once more. This time, I decided upon a rather more sensible solution. "I'll drink from both cans," I began, before tapping my horn slightly. "But I'm afraid it's Scarlet who'll have to open them."

Surprisingly, the unicorn raised no objection to this, and simply gave me a small smile which had me curling up in my bedsheets a moment later. Ye flippin' gods could that woman project a lot of teeth for a herbivore. Another part of me wished for home, and then yet another - and judging by the two ponies curled up next to the sink, I wasn't the only one who'd gotten the treatment.

"You made her smile," was the only whimper I heard from Cobalt - before I turned my head and all I saw was teeth.

Author's Note

Don't be surprised at the 'gentle' use of the Aspects. There are Reasons.
One more of Jennifer's back issues comes to light.
And don't worry, Crimson knows better than that.

Melody

"My, grandmother, what big teeth you have," I mumbled quietly, staring into the jaws of death. The eyes above weren't much better: every time I chanced to look above those teeth of despair, I was greeted with an equally unsettling sight, with which I shan't invade your nightmares. Suffice to say, whatever Scarlet had come up with had - however momentarily - unhinged her, in much the same way as... well. We'll get to that in time, no doubt.

Sneaking a peek about the room for some - any - manner of surcease, I saw Shamrock, Cobalt and - all of a sudden - Candy almost... no, they were huddled up in a corner, looking as though a vengeful dragon had somehow found its way into the hospital. Not one of them had their eyes turned towards us, as though they knew that catching the gaze of the monster before them would somehow draw her attention to them. Being the idiot that I am, I returned my own gaze to those eyes, and gave a small upwards twitch of a lip, hopeful that I might perhaps distract her long enough to escape... and spoke what might have been one of the last words of my life.

"Parley?"

It had been, needless to say, a long day for Doctor Horse. He had been up and down the hospital at least a hundred times already, seeking out papers, documentation, archived files, the works - and with very little to show for it. He'd been tasked with filing for replacements for not one, but four highly precise medical tools, not to mention the scalpels, when each and every one of them inexplicably failed at what they were specifically designed to do. There was the broken ground-floor window, which he still didn't quite grasp the importance of. He'd had to deal with three children, not to mention his changeling - CHANGELING - patient, who - while intelligent enough, based upon his conversation - seemed to be functionally insane.

Days like these were, it seemed, specifically designed to test the patience of anyone in any sort of workplace, be it a grocery clerk or a politician or the best doctor within fifty kilometers, and the phrase 'testing to destruction' came readily to mind.

A few moments ago, he'd taken the time to pick up a small paper cup of coffee from the local staff lounge, and was casually sipping the beverage as he progressed towards what he was absolutely certain held yet another headache. As with many in the institution, he held the drink with a reverence which most reserved for Celestia herself: after all, while the sun might bring one to awakeness, coffee itself brought one to alertness. Had anypony brought up the idea of a Cult of Coffee, an almost depressing number of students, medical staff, and their ilk would have gleefully joined.

At the moment, though, such thoughts were a mere distraction, and he sipped from his cup with an uncharacteristically somber expression. What the buck am I dealing with?, he thought to himself, weaving his way across the floor. While Gem hadn't actually harmed any medical equipment other than an easily replaced bedpan - a small miracle in and of itself - it was clear that she was in such a state of panic that she'd hardly notice if she had... all for a little bit of fog and two tiny stones which had left her in a practical fugue state. The mare had shattered, then dove out a window, and... had worried about the ponies around her, more than herself.

The good doctor shook his head, then took another sip of coffee. There were yet more problematic concerns. Whatever that legband was, it was obviously enchanted, and yet the weave, both magical and physical, was so tight that they could barely sense it. Magically, from what he'd been told, it felt almost like every effort to manipulate the material slid right off; the way the moonsilver sublimated like that seemed virtually impossible, but he'd witnessed it in action, and that nearly caused him to wet himself right then and there. Another question to be answered.

For a moment he'd felt bad about that series of lies - his seeming madness, his statement regarding the Solar Princess coming to visit, and more - but it seemed the only thing likely to get through to his patient, and it had in fact inspired a moment of what he could only assume to be genuine shock. That, though, was just as non-indicative. There were just too many potential causes: for one, the thought of meeting Celestia herself was enough to make virtually anypony weak in the knees, let alone a changeling. A small note he'd filed away in his brain, though, seemed to beg his attention, and he carefully reviewed it.

'The Princess of the Sun?'

Not 'The Princess'. Not even 'Princess Celestia'. The 'Princess of the Sun'. Yes... that would be worth looking into, albeit later.

With one more sip of his half-empty coffee, Doctor Horse pushed open the door of the room, to see the unicorn mare of the Wild Guard mercilessly torturing his patient, while holding a feral grin upon her face - one which spoke of a madness all on its own, one he'd seen too often. A patient who, despite being under heavy assault, was... laughing?

The cup of coffee dropped to the floor, and began to spill across the tiles. Alas, its time had come.

I won't deny, there are tortures, and then there are tortures. Waterboarding, for example, is particularly insidious: it leaves no physical marks, and can nonetheless cause incredible mental harm. A certain author who often went by the name of 'Pterry' once alluded to a 'ginger beer' trick, of which I shall provide no firm details, save that if you've ever snorted soda up your nose, you might have some small idea. And, of course, for anyone who has entered a public school, or - heaven forfend - had older siblings, there are so many more gentle means of torture which nonetheless cause great, if not particularly lasting, trauma.

In short form, Scarlet had gently set the cans of soda onto a table with her field, and... promptly started to go to work, tickling me fiercely with one forehoof and giving me a very firm noogie with her other.

One might not, ordinarily, expect that this sort of thing would be particularly efficacious, but quite the opposite was true: changeling chitin, while being somewhat harder than normal flesh, nonetheless possesses a great nervous capacity, all the better for ensuring that harm is felt. Pain, after all, is the body's capacity for telling you when you're damaged, or potentially drove yourself too hard (which really amounts to the same thing). And there are few things more hideous than a full-fledged assault of this nature by someone who's already gone through boot camp, and had to endure it herself. I had hitherto thought that, perhaps, my growing up with an older sister may have rendered me somewhat immune to such attacks, and yet...

Fifteen seconds into the torture I was nearly completely out of breath, my skull aching; my screams for mercy, mixed with hideous laughter, went unheeded as the other ponies in the room - traitors, they were! - tried to sidle out before the attention of the vile devil was drawn to them. Thankfully, my saviour arrived before things came to a head, announcing his presence with the splash of liquid and a declaration of horror.

"What in TARTARUS is going on in here?!"

There are reactions ground into us from the very moment we're first aware, such that they're almost instinctual. One does not beard the lion in its den, one does not ignore that tone of voice, and most of all, one does absolutely not ignore a doctor when he's clearly outraged. I swear that Scarlet lept off the bed, and brought herself to attention right alongside Shamrock and Cobalt. Candy was standing there, clearly uncertain of what to do, and I... well, I was trying to recover my capacity for rational thought, while panting like I'd just run a very long sprint. Clearly someone would have to step up to the proverbial plate here, and fortunately for almost all of us, Shamrock was able to stammer out an almost plausible explanation.

"Laughter is the best medicine?" he asked, in very nearly a whisper.

I wasn't quite certain, but I believe I heard the good doctor's eyelid twitch in the resultant silence. My eyes took a moment or two longer to focus, but I was able to catch Doctor Horse point at the three rapscallions with a truly vindictive glare, then point at the hallway outside. Candy was, wordlessly, told to sit down on a chair, an dictate which she immediately followed. As for me... he began to pace back and forth while keeping an eye on me. A shake of my head later, I was at a point where I could at least think halfway clearly, the adrenaline rush finally tapering off.

Barely controlled, Doc Horse took a moment to pull up a seat, and fixed that glare upon me once more. "All right, then. Let us begin from the start. You're clearly not hurt, though your fainting is a concern. I want you to provide me with a short, comprehensible, sane answer to a few questions, and then I want you and those three walking disasters out of my mane, out of my bed, and out of my hospital."

That... was something of a tall order. Right then, though, I'd begin to figure a few things out which had been bouncing around the back of my head, ringing bells which I had been studiously ignoring for quite some time. My mood swings, for example... one moment, I'd been laughing and joking, the next I'd been in the middle of a shock, the next I'd gone catatonic from stress... put simply, I was all over the place, and I think I knew why.

At the time, though, I was feeling too drained. So I gave the doctor a nod, and a tired, "Ask away."

"First off," began the examination, "what is your name?" Ah, simple enough. And yet... names were a difficult thing. You see, in fiction, there are names, and then there are Names. Anyone who's ever read anything about the Fair Folk, who's played a tabletop RPG, or anything like that, knows this: you do not give out your true Name unless you're certain that it can't be used against you, thaumically. Until I knew the rules, or perhaps more accurately, the Rules, I was hesitant. But thankfully, I knew at least one loophole which could almost certainly be applied.

"Before we begin, there's one thing I would like to say." Thankfully, that wasn't enough to set Doctor Horse off again, though he paused before giving me a curt nod. Steeling myself, I took a breath. 'Oh, gods alive, this works in a lot of fiction, let this work here...' "I so swear, by the Sun, the Moon and the Stars, by Fire and Water, by Earth and Sky, and by Life and Magic itself, that the answers I provide during this conversation will be factual to the best of my knowledge, though that I reserve the right to withhold information which could conceivably put myself or others at risk."

The resultant sensation was... odd, to say the least. It wasn't anything physical, not that I could feel, but I believe that there was a very strong feeling of some bond falling over me, particularly my muzzle. While it wasn't painful, it was a very, very peculiar effect, and it set my chitin to tingling all over, almost a full-body shudder.

The resultant effect on the Doctor, not to mention Candy Striper, was far more pronounced. Each of them sat bolt upright as though they, too, were able to feel a sort of static in the air. Ever seen a pony's fur stand on end? Yeah... if I weren't so utterly drained at that point, I'd have almost giggled at the sight. A moment later, the two both let out a hiss of breath, one I'm not sure they knew they were holding... and now they were looking at me as though I was far more dangerous than I initially let on. Well, let it not be said that their instincts were entirely wrong.

"What... was that?" asked Candy, in an almost reverent tone of voice. She was shivering slightly, even as the pulse of thaumic energy dissipated into the aether.

I gave her a wry smile, showing no teeth. "Two points for asking a good question," I started. "I read a lot, and that was an oath pieced together by a number of clues in, of all things, literature, which I figured would apply as a binding to ensure that you know I'm telling the truth. I wasn't sure if it would work, but it seemed like even if there wasn't a thaumaturgical aspect, it'd still be a good start." Here I gave a Gallic shrug, and returned my attention to the doctor. "To answer your first query, the only name I have here in Equestria is the one I gave you: Divided Gem."

Give him points too: he raised an eyebrow at the evasive non-answer, but decided to run with it for now, correctly reasoning that I'd probably run circles around him until sunset if he decided to keep it up. "All right, then." Marking that down on a sheet, he followed up with, "When were you born?"

This one I had to give some thought. "A moment, please..." After glancing at the calendar again, and making a few assumptions which I believe mapped suitably well to the timescale, I replied, "969 CE, the twenty-third day of the fifth month." This earned another eyebrow, but he dutifully jotted it down. "I'm not sure I believe that you're only 26, but you did swear that oath..." he began, muttering half to himself and half to the rest of the room. There I had to chuckle slightly, despite how drained I still felt, but let off when he speared me with another glance. "And where were you born?"

Ah, another tricky question, albeit one which I expected. Thankfully, loopholes exist all over the place, and this one was easy. "A city in the more or less temperate north, whose name doesn't map perfectly to Equestrian, but which could be called 'Wooded Basin'. Natively, it's called 'Toronto'." Literal truth, and utterly meaningless to anyone who wasn't familiar with good ol' Terra. Oh, I was going to give some bureaucrat a nasty headache.

"Are there many changelings within this 'Toronto' of yours?" was his next request, to which I once again shrugged. "Not many," as the number 0 is certainly well within that range, "but it's a fairly cosmopolitan city, with folks from all walks of life." I think by now I was really getting into the swing of things, and I think I heard teeth grinding. Still, on we went.

To the query of what I did, I gave the honest truth: a little bit of everything. I'd never really found a calling, though he did blink as I noted my hobbies in photography, gaming, and the like. I decided there to throw him a bit of a bone, and explained that folks like myself were oftentimes generalists, not having cutie marks. I suspect he went with the obvious explanation that I was a changeling, and left it at that. The question about my family was met with dubious curiosity: he was slightly surprised that I only had one sister, but then, the literature on changelings was practically nonexistent, and what little there was... was so contradictory as to be virtually useless. I'll admit, I felt slightly guilty about this, but I had a sneaking suspicion that a number of changelings had already poisoned that well.

Finally, we got down to the really fun parts of the conversation: exactly what had happened over the past day.

"First off, I'm not entirely certain how I wound up in the middle of that Forest of Illusion and Chaos, over there. One moment I was walking down the street, the next I'm waking up with a nasty headache and a suspicion that something was very, very wrong. After I gathered my bearings and cursed up a storm, I was greeted by those three, who were kind enough to take me to town. I think they were motivated by curiosity as much as anything." Well, that much I knew. I could practically taste their curiosity, and it was quite an energizing feeling, to say the least. "We introduced each other, and I requested to take a gander at the local library. When I got there... erm. Things went peculiar."

Candy, who had been voluntold to take up the position of stenographer for this conversation, chimed in here. "Peculiar? I was told you dropped like a sack of potatoes." I had to nod to her. "Exactly," I replied. "For some reason, something went very, very wrong when I walked in. Barely caught a look around before I found myself here, for which I do owe my saviours yet another debt. Bet they'll be holding this above my head for a while," I chuckled, albeit dimly.

"And their claims that, when you woke up, you claimed to be from another world?" asked Doc Horse, with no small measure of asperity.

Here I had to cough. "That was more or less for the sake of shock value," I replied, another misleading truth. "You... might've noticed that I've been going through some mood swings. Being displaced like that, waking up with this thing," and here I waved my hoof, around which was that strange band, "and basically finding myself a long way from home, I think that shock threw my mental compass so far off course that it's been spinning ever since. Not the best metaphor, but..." Here I sighed. "Anyway, I'm sorry for causing you all that grief."

Here there was a pregnant pause, where both of my interrogators took a long deep breath of the resultant coffee fumes which still lingered, despite the spill having been cleaned up a few minutes ago. They each gave a tiny nod, though, before the doctor cleared his throat. "All right. Just three more questions, then. When I walked in here the first time, you were playing what appeared to be music on a small tablet of sorts. What exactly is that?"

This was the part I'd been dreading. There were three major, unresolved questions to which I wasn't quite certain of the answers, nor how to obscure them properly. Plus, how would one explain electronics in a world where the technological levels were so anachronistic, if not totally bent? Well, when in doubt, start digging that cesspool.

"Maybe the... best way to describe that," I started with a cough of my own, "would probably be a semi-volatile data storage medium. It's a device capable of holding notes, music, and the like, and bringing them back up at whim." Here I gave them a light tilt of my head. "Don't you have unicorns who can hold that sort of thing within a crystalline array?" At their nods, I smiled, albeit thinly. "Then there you have it. It's simply an improvement on the technology."

Perhaps guessing once again that I wasn't going to provide answers beyond that, he asked next, "Alright. Those two cans which evidently caused so much trouble. What exactly are they made of?" At this one, I simply had to let out a quiet laugh. "A thin quantity of aluminium metal, containing pressurized soda."

Candy simply dropped her clipboard, while both their mouths had fallen open. For a moment, all the ridiculous answers I'd given seemed to drop out of their heads, and I think that their emotions were simply scrambled while their brains caught up with their ears. Well, there was another assumption confirmed, at least. Finally, Candy got her voice back, and squeaked, "You're carrying around soda... in aluminium."

"Sure!" I think I was getting another mood swing, because my voice was far more ebullient than it should have been, and I was absolutely enjoying the [System Crash] which I'd just caused. After a moment, though, I was able to recognize it, and took a deep breath. "Sorry. Got a bit caught up there... let's just say that we have a very prominent recycling program, so what aluminium we do have gets brought back into the system after reprocessing."

"But... even so, aluminium..." That came from Doctor Horse, who was still clearly trying to get his bearings around that - so I threw him another metaphorical bone here. "Oh, that reminds me," I began, "in order to pay off the hospital visit, not to mention that broken window and the other issues with that little, er, escapade, for which I'm really, REALLY sorry, would one or both of those be a suitable replacement for fungible assets?"

They both looked at me like I'd just offered a gold bar in exchange for a salon visit.

A quick breather later, during which I carefully opened one of the cans of diet cola with a pair of tweezers and happily imbibed the contents, I offered the empty remains to the doctor. The half-ounce of aluminium present in the can was more than sufficient to cover the costs of my very short stay, hence why he took the prized possession in a shaking hoof. After a few more moments of reflection, he set it aside and asked what we agreed was the third and most important question of the lot.

"Okay... last but not least, what exactly is that thing around your leg?"

Here, I let out one last weary sigh. "Now, that is hard to explain, not least because I don't know for sure. Nor do I know the purpose of all of these," I added, pointing to each of the twelve jewels which adorned that dark band. "The material which surrounds them, well. Does the name 'buckministerfullerine' mean anything to either of you?" Both of them shook their heads, a response I expected. "It's really difficult to describe, but it's a sort of largely hypothetical carbon lattice arranged in the shape of, say, a hoofball's segments. Properly created, it's possible to create a sort of 'tube' out of them, nanoscopic in scale. From there, and this is all hypothetical... well, imagine a fabric so tightly woven..."

I admit, I trailed off there, looking at the thing around my wrist. Well, my foreleg. "A fabric so tightly woven that it can't be made out with the naked eye, and so strong that it can barely be manipulated with the finest tools. Now if one were to weave a series of enchantments into the fabric, and empower it, then that would possibly result in the effects that you saw."

Looking up at the two, I noticed a good bit of confusion in Candy's eyes, but the Doctor looked utterly gobsmacked by the possibilities. I shook my head. "This is all hypothetical. I don't KNOW what this is. For all I know it could be some sort of metaversal vortex which will eventually wake up and devour reality one bite at a time. All I know for sure is that I didn't have it before I woke up in yonder forest."

Taking up the reins from Doc Hooves, Candy asked, a bit less hesitantly, "And those gems?"

I nodded thankfully towards her. "That's a bit less complicated... and a bit more so. There's twelve of them, all different. I've grokked what four of them are already, because they're pretty obvious: diametrically opposed as they are, they represent four... well, let's call them 'aspects'. Fire, Earth, Air, and Water. From there, I can parse that two of the others," and here I pointed at the opal and the pearl, "represent Light and Darkness." I was very careful when I intoned those, because I didn't want those to activate all of a sudden. Thankfully, perhaps in deference to my astounding will - or perhaps because I simply was thinking about them NOT activating - they remained quiescent.

On a roll, I continued, "Assuming that the other six also represent primal aspects of some sort or another, I believe that two of them represent Order and Chaos. The other four... I don't know. Right now there are too many possibilities, and I'm loathe to experiment with them at this point after what happened earlier. For all I know that could have turned out much worse. I think that they act as foci for particular spells. I'll need to do research. A lot of research."

There I turned to the doctor and smiled wanly. That little Q&A had taken quite a lot out of me. I could tell, really, that he was probably gibbering like a madman in his head, but I still had to give him one last glib statement, just to wrap up the day.

"And that's all she wrote. End of conversation, I guess." With that, I felt the oath slide away, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief, as a pressure I'd forgotten about was suddenly released.

Then I turned to the closed door, and spoke up, "And you three eavesdroppers can come in now!" Several muted thuds confirmed THAT little hypothesis, and despite my exhaustion, I had to grin widely at confirmation of a well educated guess.

Author's Note

People react to stress in startlingly different ways. Some, for example, go into a fugue state, some get angry, or weepy, or any number of other things. Others have mood swings nonpareil; some simply shrug it off, and some actually thrive on it somehow. Jen's level of stress is, as you might expect, through the roof, and she's putting off dealing with the real ramifications of what's happened for now, but that's not going to help her for too much longer.

The oath Jen made really was random, and came not from one source, but from several; while it seems fortunate right now that she was able to make use of that little bit of 'knowledge' to back up the veracity of her statements, once word gets out, well...

The etymology of the name 'Toronto' really is close to what Jen provided: it means, more or less, 'Where the trees meet the water'.

No, those weren't all the questions that Doctor Horse and Nurse Candy wanted to ask, but they more or less restrained themselves to the most salient, and the least likely to cause Jen to make use of that fallback clause. On the other hand, neither they, nor the Wild Guard, fell for any of those evasions for a second: the hospital staff are a deft hoof at the bureaucratic order, and the three eavesdroppers know full well how to give a non-answer to a commanding officer.

More answers to come soon. Once more, thanks for reading!

Rhythm

Of course, that wasn't anywhere near the end of the hospital visit. Oh, no. Once we'd finally disentangled those three from one another, the six of us decided to go down the hall to a separate office, though all five of the others stared at how I hoisted up my backpack, with one loop securely around my right foreleg, and the weight across my spine between the wings. I'd made sure that everything was more or less in its proper position: my cameras were there, my remaining soda and granola bars were in their waterproof pouch, tablet and phone and laptop were there, properly sealed, and - yes - even pens, pencils and a charcoal or two, and a sketchpad and notebook. Not one of them reacted to what I'd ordinarily consider a set of alien artifacts spilling from the bag, which led me to the conclusion that either A. they were either as drained as I was, or B. they'd seen it all before. That I knew for a fact that such things weren't so sensibly arranged in the first place led me to point B.

I wasn't terribly surprised that the local constabulary had taken their time to go through my belongings, but I couldn't find it in my heart to get too upset with them. Part of that was the ennui I'd been afflicted with, certainly, and part of that was... well, they were simply performing their duty. So I tried my best to still the simmering in my gullet, a prelude to the ridiculous concern that someone had, against all odds, cracked into that laptop and performed a deep analysis, magically.

Then I had to chuckle as I recognized that, with five nines' certainty, analyzing a binary system that extensive, without foreknowledge of its workings, would require months, if not years. 'Good luck, kiddos, you're going to need it.'

Moving the ugly stuff and weird memories aside for the moment, I followed Doctor Horse down to his office, whereupon he sat behind the desk, I sat before the desk, and the other four sat astride the desk. It was a particularly good desk, too, mahogany, with a sheen of lemon o... okay, I'll shut up about the desk now.

The poor Doctor looked like he had reached the end of his rope, and was dangling by a single thread. I decided to throw him a new one. "Physically speaking," I began, drawing myself up in a not entirely sarcastic position, "to the best of your professional knowledge, am I well?"

I think - felt - that he nearly broke down on the spot, but give him some credit - the good Doctor Horse is made of sterner stuff than that. Instead, he turned my question upon myself: "How do you feel, regarding that?"

"There are no substantial lingering pains, though there is some residual soreness in my shoulders," I expressed, lifting one of my forehooves and bringing it around in an arc. For a moment, everypony else winced at the slight groan I let out at the 130 degree angle. "And that's just a light pain, about two on the ten scale. My wings, horn, and hooves feel entirely normal, and my chitin doesn't appear to be more than lightly buffed due to that... misadventure." Here I counted off on an imaginary hand, tapping my hooves together as though I still had fingers. "My motor control, both fine and gross, appear to be in perfect condition; I don't appear to have lost any sensory abilities, nor am I experiencing rogue synesthesia to the best of my ability to discern."

Both Horse and Candy sent a pulse of curiosity my way as I mentioned rogue synesthesia, but neither reacted otherwise - not even a raised eyebrow. I suspect that I'd simply made their days entirely too long and peculiar for them to even evoke a physical response. That, I decided, would be something to look up - later.

"Then for sake of simplicity," the doctor stated, "I'll give you a generally clean bill of health physically, though I'd like you to come in two weeks from now, then once a month, to determine a baseline. I probably don't need to tell you that today is... not exactly what I'd call a good baseline, considering what's been going on so far."

"No kidding," replied the rest of the room in unison, myself included.

An ear folded back before the doctor let out a forced chuckle, and turned to the next page of his notes. "Mentally speaking... I'm not sure what to put here. You seem like a perfectly normal pony in a stressful situation. The displacement you've suffered may have resulted in some, ah..."

"Inconsistencies," I interjected helpfully, earning myself about a quarter of a glare for the interruption.

"Yes, let's say inconsistencies in your normal emotional state. You did mention mood swings, which often occur under high-stress situations. We can rule out CMFS, because you're not a pony and, accordingly, don't have a cutie mark, thankfully enough." A more natural chuckle sounded from the doctor: "Those aren't that hard to treat, but they're always touchy. The stories I've heard..."

For some reason, Cobalt and Candy looked like they wanted be somewhere else right now. Oh, the stories I would later get over drinks... or at least, I'd try.

Here, Doctor Horse gave me a level gaze which, nonetheless, seemed to bind me to my chair. "I don't mean to imply anything by this, but do you think you're in need of mental assistance?"

That, right there, was the million dollar question, and one I'd been avoiding asking myself for a while now. Were my memories some kind of Last Tuesday-ism? Well, no. The soda, the cameras, the materials, all of those pointed towards my memories being the genuine article. At the same time, my kinesthetics were entirely too polished. Simply walking, let alone using a zero-range telekinetic field, should have been beyond my capacity when I arrived. And that's to say nothing of linguistics...

With a deep sigh, I looked the doctor straight in the eye, and said, "Simply put, I don't know."

"First, I don't think I'm a danger to myself or others. During those fugue states you mentioned, I didn't react violently, instead shutting down... I don't remember a whole lot about those, least of all whatever the hell happened in that library." I glared at the floor for a moment, and added under my breath, "Which I intend to very definitely find out." Collecting myself, I shook my head, and added, "Plus, I did my very best to minimize any damage which could've been caused by these little baubles..." I raised my left foreleg, and chuckled, "Even if they didn't do much."

Here I waggled my eyebrows at Doctor Horse, and grinned, "Second, I don't think I'm insane, though it's of course difficult to say for sure. Isn't the first sign of madness the absolute certainty that you're completely sane?"

At the old joke, the whole room let out a tired groan, and I waved a hoof, growing serious once more, "I don't think that I'm likely to snap and go full Discord on anyone. That said... Doc, I do agree that I may need to come in for a meeting with a counselor, now and then."

At my admission, everyone in the room sat up in shock, as though I'd suddenly declared that the sky was puce. The shock was literally palpable, and I immediately went defensive in return. "What?! I'm following an old precept. The mind's not exactly what most folks would call a battlefield, but I'll bet you three," and here I gestured at the Wild Guard, "know the rule. If you're not sure if you're going to need backup..."

"You're going to need backup," they replied in unison.

"There you go. I don't know what the state of my mind's going to be in a week or two. I might get angry, I might get weepy, I might devour an entire wagonload of ice cream. Having someone at hand to shrink my fat head sounds like a good option." Almost in sync, everyone's stomachs began to rumble, and I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Okay, I think it might be a good idea to stop going off on tangents."

"No kidding," the entire room responded once more.

Everything went fairly smoothly from there, I'm glad to say. Prompted by the length of the day so far, not to mention the skipped meals, everyone was glad to simply fill out the last vestiges of the paperwork and arrange for the scheduled meetings; what information could be added was, and what couldn't was carefully left blank, to be filled out upon a later date.

As the nurse and doctor finished what little remained, I decided to simply take that second soda from my bag and crack it open, this time just using the tip of my hoof. Thankfully, it had settled to the point where what few shakes weren't enough to cause more than a hiss, and I let out a happy sigh as the taste of carbonated liquid hit my tongue. Certainly, I was a little sad that finishing off those beverages would destroy another link to Earth, but on the other hand, it wasn't exactly like they were the world's greatest.

I mean, come on. I'm not about to get all weepy about diet cola.

It didn't take long for things to come to a conclusion, and while my ears perked slightly at the roiling of emotions and light whispers between the Wild Guard, I did my best to avoid eavesdropping on what was a semi-private conversation. The occasional word filtered through, but I took to my own thoughts instead. 'Hmm. Aluminium as a truly precious metal, in contrast to gold. Let's avoid the fact that I've probably got enough aluminium in my pack to drive an economist hog-wild...'

For a while I explored the various possibilities, before a light cough drew my attention. "Oh, sorry! Caught up in a few thoughts, there," I explained to the five who were, currently standing. For a moment I assessed the remains of my soda, then shrugged, finishing it off with a few gulps and crushing the resultant can. "So, is that it?"

"Just a signature," Horse shrugged, leading me to bring out a pen from the side of my pack and fill out the triplicate forms. "And there we go." The signature was about as legible as anyone's - a simple little scrawl, practically indecipherable, but what can you do? With a click, I set the pen back into the pocket, then looked around at the five ponies... who once more looked and felt slightly faint.

"If this is going to happen every single time, this day's going to get even longer than it already is."

A quick non-explanation later ('Metal quill, with an internalized inkwell'), we were finally ready to head out. Doctor Horse and Nurse Striper were, thankfully, able to take their lunch hour simultaneously, so we made our ready departure after I took a quick trip to a sink, to wash out any residue remaining in those cans.

Immediately, upon breaching the stuffy confines of the hospital, there was a sense of... well, it's difficult to really describe in words, but 'cleanliness' seems to be about right. I hadn't recognized it upon admittance, but for empaths, hospitals are not a very fun place to be. Imagine the pervading atmosphere of gloom, boredom, even pain weighing down upon one; ponies might have a slight sense of empathy by and large, but for a changeling, that can really be felt. And so, when I got out into the fresh air, I immediately took a deep breath, both physically and metaphorically, before sighing with a bit of a smile. "Now that feels better."

The others gave me strange looks, but I was happy to ignore them for a bit, taking a look around at the afternoon. A glance at a clock had told me that it was about 4 PM, just the right time to avoid the evening rush for most restaurants - which worked out perfectly well for me, as it also meant that the street was likely a bit less crowded than usual.

"So!" I began with an all too chirpy grin, "where are we headed?" This was met with a collective shrug, to which I simply let out a hum. "Well, Hayburger is usually an option," Shamrock espoused, leading to a few mumbles from the rest. "What?" she asked. "It's cheap, fast, and close," she explained, gesturing to the titular establishment just down the road. "All good things if you ask me."

"As well as undeniably unhealthy, fattening, and generally oversized in portions?" I jokingly parried.

"Of course! All the hallmarks of a great meal. And I don't know about you, but I would kill for a daisy shake." She made a show of licking her chops, while the others just rolled their eyes - well, at least Cobalt and Crimson did, having heard that specific line of reasoning all too often before. Doc Horse and Candy just looked noncommittal about it, just being along for the ride.

"Well, hey, I'm game, then. Haven't eaten fast food in quite a while. Do you mind spotting me for that, though?" That was, I had to admit, a bit of a concern: I didn't exactly have fungible assets just yet, and I wasn't about to throw away one of those two cans just for the sake of a quick meal.

"Sure," Shamrock and Cobalt replied in unison, a similar affirmation coming from Scarlet's throat. "We'll hit up the local bank right after. They've got a metallurgist on hoof, usually; that way, we can get back to the hospital afterwards and you can pay the dues." I nodded slightly there, following eagerly as the viridian Earth Pony trotted down the way.

I won't say that I didn't get the strange glance or two during the procession, but as things went, it wasn't so bad. The occasional mare or stallion raised their eyebrows at me, but I just put it down to my rather zealous escort. Speaking of which...

"Say, it just occurred to me, you won't get into any trouble with your superiors for providing this escort, will you? I'm thankful, but I'd rather not get you folks a black mark or anything." All five of them shook their heads, Scarlet providing an uncharacteristic chuckle. "Not likely. When you were out, I checked with the Sarge. She's fine with us keeping an eye on you."

I had to blink at that - not so much the fact that they were making sure I wasn't a threat, as much as Scarlet being as honest as she was. Still, it made sense, and it was practically a fait accompli in any event. "Just figured I'd check. Thanks for soothing that worry."

There's something to be said for a dose of familiarity between home and Ponyville, and few things are as universal - or multiversal, it seems - as the fast food establishment. Same wiped-down tables, same basic storefront, same persons-in-uniforms, same pre-printed glossy menus. Really, this iteration of the Hayburger franchise wouldn't have been in any way, shape or form out of place back home - well, aside from the foods on the menu, of course.

As we entered, I shook my head slightly at the change in emotional atmosphere. It wasn't as unpleasant as the hospital's, in reflection, but it still weighed a bit heavily. It took a moment to recognize, but once I did, it clicked: an air of boredom, stress, and quiet desperation, all the hallmarks of a customer service establishment. 'The English way,' I thought to myself, idly humming a riff from Pink Floyd as I looked around at the place.

There wasn't much of a crowd, as one might expect, though enough colts and fillies had recently gotten out of class that there was a bit of a lineup, giving me plenty of time to peruse the menu. Sure enough, it was completely vegetarian, but thankfully, there appeared to be more there than just hay. Most curiously, I noted that the prices in bits mapped out more or less to Canadian dollars, or at least did the last time I was in a Tim Hortons. 'Well, that makes things easier...'

"Any suggestions?" I asked of my compatriots, leading to that most common of arguments: just what's good, what's middling, and what's to be avoided at any given restaurant. Shamrock, of course, waxed poetic about the daisy shakes, while Candy had a preference for the apple and walnut salad. The Doc admitted, under some slight duress, that he occasionally went hog-wild on the chips, no matter how fattening -- and Cobalt, showing off his pegasus metabolism, decided upon a burger with all the fixings. Finally, Crimson decided upon the vegetable wrap.

Not sure why, but I decided to split the difference to some extent: a similar wrap and a small salad of that sort. I wasn't quite sure whether I was ready to nom down on hay yet, so those seemed to be the safest options. Of course, upon taking a look at the available drinks, my eyes locked upon that deadliest of substances: yes, the black devil, the bane of sleep, coffee.

Upon voicing my opinion, the collective responded with a unanimous "No." Spoilsports.

As we settled around our table, I couldn't help but notice a certain measure of emotion cutting through the haze of the establishment. Much like before, it felt particularly fulfilling, and I chuckled to myself at the curiosity of the few colts and fillies. Most of them likely had, after all, never seen a changeling before, and no matter how far off the norm I might have been, I was likely still a sight to behold. One or two of them, accompanied by their parents, were quietly told not to stare, at which I felt a slight ping of frustration; some of them exchanged brief whispers, and others simply shrugged, finishing their meals and departing.

"So, I don't think we ever asked, but what did you do back home?" That, from Candy Striper, in between noms and sips.

"Well," I noted, "I'm actually a student back home. And before you ask, well... I didn't really have much of a focus." Here I chuckled mirthlessly. "The phrase is, more or less, 'No Major', a nice way of saying, 'undecided and probably wasting your time'. There was a bit of history, a bit of sociology, a touch of science, the arts..." Here I gestured towards my bag. "I was kind of working on a photography project when whatever hit me launched me here." A quick bite of the wrap soothed a bit of the ache in my stomach, almost daring me to wolf down the rest, but I decided to pace myself in that regard.

Cobalt took a moment to swallow his mouthful of burger, and followed up with, "Do most changelings have a hard time with that sort of thing? Deciding, that is. I mean, I don't know if you get cutie marks..."

I shrugged, taking a bite of the apple salad. It really was quite a nice one, with a light lemon and sour cream dressing. "By and large, most folks figure things out by the time they're ready to go for it. I was always an odd one, though. Some old guy back home once said that being specialized limits one's options, and so you should expand, so that you're prepared for anything." I figured the original Heinlein wording, 'specialization is for insects', would be more than a tad bit ironic given the circumstances.

The discourse went about that way for the 15 minutes or so it took us to finish up; fast food goes quickly, even when a slightly petulant doctor orders the extra-large hay fries. Of course, I couldn't help but notice Candy sneaking one or two of them to help things along, whenever Doctor Horse's attention was elsewhere. The conversation was still guarded, though: none of them asked anything about the odd technology I had in my bag, clearly reasoning that I wasn't likely to answer in any meaningful sense. And so, before long, we found ourselves back outside, heading to the bank halfway across town.

Town Square, such as it were, was a bit more packed than the rest of the streets, but so it always is. The sun, guided as it was on its way, was gradually nearing the horizon, and a few folks were closing down shop at the marketplace as we passed. A bucolic sight, indeed...

Thankfully, the bank was still open for some time later, and we departed in good company from Horse and Candy, the pair heading back to the hospital to finish with their rounds and patients. 'I'll definitely have to look them up on their days off...' With a shrug to myself, I followed the Wild Guard along the way to the First Ponyville Bank and Trust, which proudly proclaimed itself a subsidiary of the Canterlot Financial Group.

Much like Hayburger, the similarites here to a bank back home were about as striking as you could get. Carpeted and polished stone floors, tellers, you name it. And just like the former establishment, there was that sense of ennui, though there was also the undercurrent of... well, I'm not sure how to express it. Greed? Not exactly; certainly there was cupidity there, but very faint. With a slight clink of my bag, I shook myself, heading over to the window where a bronze-coloured stallion waited patiently.

At the sight of the Wild Guard, the stallion immediately perked up, brushing the tips of his black mane from his eyes. "Hello; how may I help you today?" he asked in that polite, professional tone which, in and of itself, carries that undertone of money. As I tried to formulate the best possible response, Crimson stepped up to the plate, such as it were.

All business, she nodded my way, and explained, "Our friend here has a few items of value, and would like to request the services of an assayer; would Rouge Noir happen to be in at this time?" I blinked at the name: certainly not an imaginative one, though there were plenty of possibilities for that. Aside from being obviously French, that really was the kind of name which led one to think of, say, a deck of cards, or alternately a balance sheet. Curiouser and curiouser...

With a curt nod, the stallion led us to an office set specifically aside, knocking thrice upon the door with all the solemnity of an usher. A disgruntled noise was the only response, but we were ushered into a comparatively spartan office, within which lurked a unicorn stallion of some age.

Even as I note this, I'm not quite sure how to classify Rouge Noir. He was one of those stallions who seemed to be as much a part of the establishment as the furnishings, who sat in his chair as though he had been born there and fused to the seat long ago. His age might have been an elderly forty or a youthful eighty; a set of gimlet-coloured eyes gazed around the room, taking in its new occupants with a combination of boredom and slight admonishment. No moustache or facial hair, beyond his burgundy coat, adorned his slightly wrinkled face; his hair was neatly parted and short in that 'gentlemanly' way, though in an odd fashion: the strands faded from an obsidian shine to a lighter currant near the tips.

With a quiet 'harrumph' that nearly filled the room, he groused, eyes lidding slightly as he looked us over. "And what have you three troublemakers brought me this time?" he sighed, giving me the hairy eyeball at last. "Some damn-fool

Crimson, at least, didn't miss a step, taking it upon herself to explain, "She has a few items she needs to be assessed, uncle." Uncle? Huh. "Aluminium items, she says," the mare followed up, gesturing for me to step forward.

A spike of surprise shot out from the old unicorn; physically, the only real response was a slightly notched eyebrow, concealed well enough that I wouldn't have noticed were it not for that empathy. "Hrrmph," he shrugged, standing from the chair and patting down his slate-grey vest with a single hoof. "And she's a changeling, no less. Well, you did do the right thing in coming to me." At his approach, I set down that bag of mine, pulling out the two crushed soda cans... which he promptly ignored, his horn flaring briefly to set them on the desk.

He took a moment to walk around me, giving me an opportunity to spot his cutie mark: a quill on a ledger, drawing a red diamond and a black club. 'Well, that was informative,' I thought sarcastically. After close to a minute, he finally settled down back behind his desk, nodding to himself as though he'd solved a minor mystery. "Very well, then," he coughed, getting straight back to business. "Let's take a look at this so-called aluminium of yours."

His horn flared again, and I blinked twice at the sudden sensation. Unlike unicorn levitation, this felt more... precise, I suppose was the word. I'd absolutely felt magic in use, a sort of tingle which pervaded the air, but this was something different: an actual spell, likely tied to the assayer's cutie mark. Perhaps it was just my own imagination in this, but it felt like someone assessing a balance book with the precision of a virtuoso. Whatever it was, it took him a minute or so to scan the two crushed cans, during which I shifted slightly uncomfortably, but kept mostly quiet.

The spell finished with a small snap of displaced thaums, and I let out a breath I hadn't quite realized I'd been holding. "Well, well. Just like you said. Pure aluminium metal, beneath that little bit of colour. You don't see that very often, let alone in this form." Rouge raised an eyebrow at me, his curiosity another two marks up on some indeterminate scale. "Now, where did you come across these, I wonder?"

I decided to play my cards close to my chest, this time. While this stallion looked and felt trustworthy, I wasn't willing to deprive myself of a few secrets. "When I woke up in yonder wild zone, I had them on me. Granted, they were filled with liquid at the time. I figured that before I jumped to conclusions, I'd see if they would be of any value here."

This time he frowned, taking a glance at the cans themselves, as though asking them to divulge their secrets. Not likely: I'd crushed them pretty thoroughly. "And what sort of liquid was that?" Here, I had to chuckle, and brought myself up, speaking in a faux-scientific demeanor, "A combination of water, some weak acids, flavours, and a psychoactive base."

I suspect a spit-take might have come from someone at that, but to my surprise, Shamrock started laughing her tail off. Rouge seemed faintly amused too, though I'm not sure if it was my presentation or my description. He shook his head, and said in a slightly livelier tone, "Well, that's as good a description of a coffee, tea or soda as I can imagine. Is carrying drinks around in a precious metal quite common where you come from?"

Ehhn. That was a bit of a quandary, so I gave a noncommittal 'mmn'. "It's not as precious there as it is here. There are a lot of explanations there, but I'm afraid that I've never been much for the material sciences." The assayer took my explanation with a slight grimace, but returned his attention to the cans, bringing them over to a small scale.

Grams. I really, really didn't know why these measurements measured up the way they did, but that really seem to be what it was. Something, definitely, to think about. Could my estimations have somehow been toyed with? I knew that linguistically, the chances of an alternate world speaking English, of all things, was next to nil. Whatever the case, I'd have to find out later...

"Well," noted Rouge, "That's 25 grams worth of aluminium. Considering the market price, purity and the state it's in..." He frowned to himself for a moment, then finished, "Twelve hundred bits."

NOW came the spit-takes, or would have, had anypony been drinking anything. I looked back to see Cobalt and Shamrock with open mouths, while Scarlet took it upon herself to provide a mien of composure. Frankly, I was just as shocked myself, but I kept it together for a moment. "Well," I started, "I take it that's somewhat lower than raw market price, owing to the fact that you'll process the metal for reclamation?"

This time I knew I saw a corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "As well as a brokerage fee, correct. Have you dealt in commodities before?" Here I shook my head, and gave him a grin. "Nah, but I kept up with financial news when it suited my fancy. Learned a lot through osmosis, as they say." Also true. The bank crash a few years back provided everyone who paid attention with a crash course in economics and the financial institutions... much to the regret of many.

Of course, I suspected that Rouge was taking a bit of a slice off the top for himself, but I knew full well that I didn't have many options in these regards. Besides, at 5 bits for a meal at Hayburger, that was more or less commensurate with a month of rent, food and the like - all for a brief, unexpected windfall. "So, shall we conclude this transaction, then?"

He brought out two sheets of paperwork, identical, and swiftly filled them out from the quill on his desk. "Here we are, then. Ah, and I do require your name in this regard." Crimson rolled her eyes at the introduction occurring this late in the process, but I wasn't surprised there: the old broker clearly had a lot on his mind. "Divided Gem," I smiled, and brought out my own pen once more to complete the paperwork. If Rouge gave any indication of surprise, it was faint; he regarded that as a mere eccentricity, perhaps. Upon finishing up, he set the cans aside, then brought us back to the lobby.

Everything then went smoothly from there. The bank looked as though it were winding down for the day; the clock on the wall noted 5:30 PM. In return for the metals, I was given a small complimentary bag with a collection of bits, each stamped - though not milled, curiously - with their financial weight. Something to look into, then. A small set of five bits were given to the three in return for the earlier meal, and we took our leave after thanking Rouge and the teller.

As we departed, though, Crimson stated, matter of factly, "You did know that the going rate on aluminium is about 60 bits a gram, correct?" With a pause, I performed a mental calculation - winced - and sighed quietly. "Actually, that's lower than I expected..."

With the sun winding its way inexorably downwards, we headed across the street to the place I knew we would inevitably hit: the local guard offices.

Author's Note

It's been a long day so far, hasn't it? Don't worry, this pace will speed up before long.

If you think Rouge took our protagonist for a bit of a ride, well, you're not entirely wrong. But it's not like he's actually getting 300 bits for a brief conversation: there's a lot involved in the situation.

More inconsistencies and coincidences pile up, and they're going to weigh pretty heavily on Jen's mind.

Prelude 2: The World, Reversed

Chaos had always been the name of the game.

When most think of chaos, they so rarely consider the subtle machinations and manipulations which cause a chip to fall just where it does. The tiny imbalances, the path of the wind, the bumps in the table, all add up in the end to a single, undeniable result. In a way, that chaos was what led him to join the Dragon in the first place; certainly, the highest had made an offer difficult to refuse, to either accept training or fall between the cracks with which the world was riddled... but that feeling of the challenge, that knowledge that he would be more readily able to manipulate that chaos, that was what truly drew him. The dream hadn't even been a consideration: that team which found themselves lost in the subways of Tokyo never weighed heavily on his mind, fore or back.

Chaos, the kind of chaos a person controls, had been his watchword from the very beginning, the scion of a technology magnate specializing in media affairs. A finger here, a whisper there, and people wouldn't merely follow along, they'd have it in their heads that it was entirely their own idea. Those were the days, before the Dragon had taken much of his attention; he had been following the path of his father, amassing a fortune on his own terms, and playing for yet higher stakes every day.

As he basked momentarily in recollection, a smirk drew its way across the side of Alexander Schmidt's face. With what he knew now, the mere thought of money felt comparatively penny-ante.

Oh, it wasn't that money didn't matter, the forty-year-old thought to himself, lounging in a resplendent office chair as he pondered the next series of moves. Millions upon millions of dollars could readily open virtually any door he wanted... at least, in the 'real' world, such as it were, and smooth the paths he was taking in what many others called the 'secret' one. But in comparison, the economy of favors, balances and promises which underlined the darker aspects of the hidden society took precedence, even beyond the wildest imagination of the governments and corporations outside. A complex web drew everything together, and if you tug on just one string... the ball falls into a different slot entirely.

Reminiscing on the events of the past month, Schmidt chuckled darkly. Oh, that was quite fun, he had to admit. While the Tokyo incidents had precipitated a near collapse of the web he depended on, it brought so many possibilities... especially the most recent situations. He'd seen Bong Cha's fall coming a mile away, and while he never really distanced himself from her, he knew that she wasn't long for the position of the Voice of the Dragon. She was so wrapped up in those aspects she could control that she completely ignored the ones outside her grasp, and that left her open to the subtle games played by Daimon Kiyota.

Ah, Kiyota... now there was a grand voice for the Dragon. Alexander had quite an appreciation for the gambling mogul and his seemingly circuitous behavior: the two had gone for drinks here and there, engaging each other in conversations filled with half-riddles and allusions. In another life, in another world, the two would likely have played off one another in the wiles of corporate finance, that elegant dance of thrust and counterthrust - or trust and countertrust, considering - which had so often been compared to a fencing match. For now, he was content to play the willing subordinate to the Voice, applying his own style in various ways.

In a way, he might have been just as content playing along with Kirsten Geary's group. The Illuminati, now they were fun to watch, even if their methods were somewhat less subtle. Oh, they played at being subtle, but in the same way that a kitten plays at being a hunter. Even then, they were much more amusing than the stolid, sledgehammer-swinging Templar, who wouldn't know subtlety if it slapped them across the face. Ah, good times.

And speaking of the death of subtlety, Alexander raised an eyebrow as a crackle of static from his cell phone filled the air. How very, very familiar, this. An old, tiresome refrain...

"Hiya, Chuck. Avon calling..."

The Yamaha purred its way into silence as Alexander stilled its engine. It'd been quite the trek from the nearest link to Agartha, but it certainly sounded worthwhile, if John could be trusted. Of course, John could never be trusted, but every now and again, the entity which cheekily referred to himself - itself? - as the Black Signal would come up with a rather spectacular piece of bait, worth obtaining even despite the certainty that the trap would soon be sprung. If the bait were the trap, that always made things even more enticing for someone like Schmidt: he had to admit, had he a weakness, it would be the need to disassemble and repurpose whatever tricks might be lying in wait.

This, however, was the absolute opposite of interesting. The coordinates which John had given him, promising something well worth his time, led straight to the middle of the Bonneville Salt Flats. Nobody came here, not really: while the flats were used for all manner of racing, testing and the like, that was the full extent of their use. The same went for the creatures on the other side. Salt was a purifier, a well known reagent in numerous spells, but it had the effect of nullifying or redirecting certain energies. A mostly natural salt plain like this was perhaps the least mystical place in the world, from everything he'd researched.

"You there, John?" he asked of his phone, receiving no response whatsoever. In fact, there was hardly even a signal, a rarity in today's world where the ubiquity of electronic communications meant that everyone could be watched, all the time. The evening air was growing chill, as well, and he frowned as he sparked a small spell to keep himself protected from the elements. It wasn't draining even at the worst of times, but here, the very air seemed to interfere with the most basic of spells.

'What a useless place,' he considered, turning to take in a full 360 degree diorama with his phone. No wildlife, no human life within any range, nothing whatsoever. If anyone were lost out here, they'd likely only be found if a satellite were pointed in exactly the right direction at the right time... though their body would be well-preserved. "John," he called out, "if you led me here just to get me out of the way for a few days, I'm going to cram a black hole through your star-eating gullet." Still no response.

"Amazing opportunities, yeah," he muttered, looking up to catch the last rays of the setting sun. It was going to be a long drive back; at least the cycle had plenty of fuel, as befitted such an expedition. "Treasures for the grasping. Last time I ever listen to that Filthy little tulpa." Alexander sighed, then blinked as he took a look back down.

Rather than the desolate and trackless sands he'd expected, the moonlight was starting to reveal... lines drawn within the sand, if that were the right word. They glimmered in the light, the sort of patterns which could only be seen by an eye accustomed to witnessing magic. Sigils of the zodiac were scattered around, twelve of them in total, forming a ring around... around him and his motorcycle...

Before he was quite able to parse what was going on, let alone escape the snare, the spell activated, dragging the businessman and his trusty steed beneath the sands.

As the sigils faded away, their task accomplished, a nascent Dreamer chuckled to himself from afar. Perhaps it had been a bit much for what promised to be a most entertaining obstacle, thought John, but there were plenty of other, less... troublesome friends to play with. Ones who would actually chase down and obliterate that bitch, Lilith, once and for all. Chances kept springing up for him, and he knew that with Sarah unwittingly implanting knowledge of the 'Filth' into so many, they'd just keep increasing.

'Knock, knock.'

Alexander hit the turf hard enough to drive the wind from anyone who hadn't specifically been augmented by the Anima. His head swam for a few moments as he let out a heaving breath, followed by a mouthful of the contents of his stomach; that bacon sandwich didn't taste nearly as delicious the second time around, he thought muzzily. Still, he'd had worse teleports. That wasn't a comforting thought, but it did the trick of centering his mind around the essentials.

'Location,' he thought to himself, jerking to his feet and looking around. The ground was no longer the salt of the wasteland from which he'd been forcibly relocated, but instead a soft loam with grass scattered throughout. Bushes and trees rustled as the wind swept through them, and for a few seconds he took in the sweet air of a much more hospitable environs than that accursed salt flat. Well, that was all well and good, but he still needed to know where he was, and there were no indications of any civilization about. Not even the sound of air traffic could be distinguished, meaning that if nothing else he was well outside city limits.

'Phone.' The GPS would still function here, he was absolutely certain of it: in fact, it would function even quite a ways underwater, although there were obstacles there, of course. However, when he grabbed for it, the sight of his hand stopped him cold. He was absolutely certain that he hadn't had fur before, and that was to say nothing of the wickedly sharp claws at the end of each of his five digits. The grey and black fur wove its way, as far as he could tell, up the arm, around his whole body, and up to... well, what seemed very much like a longer nose than one he was accustomed to.

Heart racing, Alexander switched immediately to the camera app on the phone, barely noticing the impossible 'no signal' and 'charging' icons on the top. The sight that greeted him was decidedly unwelcome: staring back at him from the 'nerd's mirror' was a lupine face, with thick eyebrows, a shaggy head of chocolate hair, two oversized green eyes, a black nose... in other words, a wolf. Nearly dropping the phone, he fumbled with the slightly smaller-seeming device, quickly shoving it into sleep mode so as to block out the unwelcome visage.

"Well. I'll be a son of a bitch," he laughed, slightly giddily, before shouting, "JOHN! When I get my hands on you, I'll make Lilith look like a newborn kitten, do you hear me?! I will get you, and I will stomp you and your little FILTH buddies into a nanoscopic PASTE!" The rant went on like this for a few minutes, his voice rising and falling like a tidal wave until, with a low growl, he leaned against the still-preserved bicycle, out of breath.

"Amazing opportunities. Sure," he panted, not caring that his tongue was hanging slightly from the side of his jaw. With a shake of his head, he snapped his fingers, earning a spark of electricity. That, at least, still seemed to work: elementalism, chaos, probably blood magic were still at his beck and call. Regeneration... he wasn't willing to test that yet. A papercut or two would be easy, but to really test it, he'd need the time and opportunity to cut himself deeply, and now was not the time.

A quick check over his body confirmed the various effects: ears, tail, nose. His physique wasn't noticeably different from where he stood before; a somewhat muscular build was easy to maintain with just sufficient effort, and he'd certainly done enough running through Cairo, Transylvania, Tokyo, and other locales to keep in shape. Fine. He would hold himself together. He wouldn't panic. And he most assuredly would not act like those other werewolves, who took to slaughtering indiscriminately.

After a few moments' more of reflection, he glared at the sky, the sun hanging high above. Without a look at the stars, he'd not be able to determine the full extent of what was going on, but he knew he'd need to get to some type of civilization. From there, even if he had to start over, he knew that he'd be able to establish himself. He was a survivor, and no matter what, once he sunk his fingers into the web, he would make it dance to his tune. A bracelet around his left wrist, ignored beneath his leather jacket, glimmered with three gems: a large hematite stone, an opal, and a topaz each sparkled in turn, as he made his resolution.

Chaos was always the name of the game, and it'd certainly thrown Alexander Schmidt for a loop this time. But Order was always the end goal, and he was ever so good at bringing Order.

Author's Note

Not all of those from other worldlines are going to be good people. We're going to see a few very nasty sorts, both from Equestria and elsewhere.

The Secret World and characters therein are copyright Funcom. As always, Schmidt is my own OC.

Thanks for reading!

Cytosine

Sleep never comes fairly, ever, and the last night was one example thereof. If you'd thought for one second that I was going to get back to resting my pretty little head after seeing the moon completely bereft of Luna, you'd have been wrong -- and from the adrenaline spike I had when I saw that she wasn't actually there, I'm surprised I got as much as I had.

Actually, let's put this in different terms. Let's start with my thought processes around, ohhh... 9:00 PM or thereabouts.

'OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG...'

Carry on from there for about fifteen minutes, during which I was chewing on my own hooves, running in mental circles, and generally being utterly useless while gibbering like someone who'd... er... just been released from the hospital. I was reasonable enough, at least, to keep my mental breakdown limited to a gentle squeak instead of a dull roar, especially after I heard a 'thump' from the next room, indicating that someone was more or less fed up with my shenanigans.

Oddly, I owed my partner in rooms a significant benefit, as that was what eventually shook me from my little miniature fugue state. Once my head was halfway back together, I immediately stopped making noise, silent as a lamb. Well, a lamb who had her pulse hammering in her chest and head like a twin drumbeat. So, yes, very lamblike.

Around ten minutes afterwards, once I'd settled down from a simmering state, I took stock. I was nowhere near as good as planning as Amber, my sister, but I had a few skills imparted to me by college, so...

A. WHERE THE HELL IS LUNA?!

-- A.a. Luna never fell into a Nightmare state, e.g. the entirety of history as I knew it was wrong and I was afloat. Not helpful. Also unlikely because Celestia is in a sensible state on grounds of Ponyville existing and did not become Corona Sun, also Luna is not around. Okay.

-- A.b. Luna fell there, and was purified and/or encapsulated, meaning she was somewhere else.

-- -- A.b.1. Luna is likely somewhere in Canterlot or nearby. Everfree Castle is a good starting point. Great.

-- -- A.b.2. Luna is elsewhere, outside range of intervention. Unlikely, Celestia would probably keep her close at hoof if possible. Sun and/or Moon spiritual factor a possibility.

-- -- -- A.b.2.* Luna is encapsulated in a body outside range. Phobos/Deimos? Outside star? 'Aid in Escape', look into.

-- A.c. Luna is dead. Not helpful. Also unlikely because of A.a. Alright.

For most people, the knowledge that an impending apocalyptic event would have been less than pleasant. They'd likely board up their doors, or barricade, or do some other useless nonsense in order to make themselves feel better. For me, that felt like a lifeline nonpareil: I knew where things were going, or where things were at least likely to go. It was the siren's song of hope, and I wasn't about to let it get away this easily.

With that in mind, I continued onwards, taking a few deep breaths before arranging a few more thoughts. Silently, I cursed: if I were willing to risk my laptop's destruction, I could have brought about this composition much more readily. Still, thinking...

B. Where the hell am I?

-- B.a. Composite hallucination options. Dreaming, dying, coma, dead. Hypothetically useful, but only hypothetically. Ignore until possibilities arranged.

Again, my little mental pattern broke, and I groaned as I considered that. It was the one thing I'd intentionally ignored ever since I woke up in the spooky haunted forest du jour, and it was absolutely not something I wanted to think about, but... there it was, looming at the forefront of my thoughts like an oversized lumberjack.

What if I was dying? Dead? This sure didn't seem like a utopia of any kind, but it could have been created from some wayward patterns, and I might even have constructed this as some sort of comatose dream. For all it's worth, we don't know much about the brain, nor what really makes us... us. The Wild Guard could've just been imprints of my own brain, guiding me ever towards what lay ahead.

In case you're concerned, I was never particularly enamored of that mode of thought. I've had way, way too many dark moments where it practically took over, the whole 'nothing matters, it's all a dream' line. Every time, I've shaken myself free, because of people who I'd already met in that first day. But for that brief instant... well. That thought sank its hook in, and then I ripped it right the fuck out.

-- B.b. Construction arranged by someone else. Low viability.

Virtual reality had never been a thing when I'd been torn outside my worldline, if indeed that was the case. Nor had anything else of that nature ever happened, at least as far as I knew. Sure, it was hypothetically possible to bury someone in a world of their own making, but... well, imagining it as a VR world, a hallucination, or some nonsense someone else put together was barely a step up from a dying dream, and much less likely to boot. Besides, who'd steal an art student off the street just to put her in something like this? Might as well ask a colourblind comp sci major to critique the Mona Lisa. Moving right along.

-- B.c. Reality...

...

Here my attempt at mental order froze, and shattered to the ground. The likelihood that this was all some sort of expensive trick ran up against the wall of reality, and split just as you'd expect. No way was this all just some dream, either... I'd fallen once or twice, and felt the pain of an impending sprain long enough for me to move away. That wasn't just some standard impulse, that was actual pain, and I knew more than enough that you don't really feel pain in a dream.

I was... here, as it were, and in a body which wasn't my own, yet felt as natural as a sheet of cotton. Whatever monstrosity had taken me here, it had left me with all I needed to move and walk and talk, and yet, it hadn't given me anything else. I was... I was...

Well. I don't know how long I was in that mental fugue, but it must have been well over an hour before the rustling of the curtains brought me back to some semblance of reality. With a small smile, I brought up a slip of paper which I had, by chance, torn into a square form, and began to resume an exercise I'd half-heartedly attempted earlier - a fold here, a crease here. It felt somewhat easier, for some reason: there a brief motion, there another, and ... before long, I'd formed from a single square a small, pyramidal box.

My own type of paper crane, the box was barely a centimeter wide, and could maybe have held a marble, but the way it folded up... I smiled wide at the fact that, at least, I had managed to create this. This was simple, and plain, but it was mine, and it was made with my own magic, nothing else.

And then my magic tore it to shreds, by will or by demand or by merest chance, and I threw myself against the wall next to my bed, and I sobbed silently at what I'd gained.

Others, throughout Ponyville, were nearly as bereft of slumber as the newly-minted Divided Gem. Had Princess Luna, at that point, been in possession of her full capacity, she would have seen the pattern between the dreamers, and those who could not, however they might have wished, fall to their own hallucinations. She might have warned her sister. Things might have changed. But all she could do was gently guide the weavings at her disposal, that they not warp and weft indiscriminately, all while the Nightmare continued to whisper imprecations in her ear.

A doctor dreamed of a puzzle box just out of reach, every side painted in a splendid array of shades and hues. He knew the ways in which they could fit, by which they could become whole again, but with every turn of his hoof, the wrong sides moved into place. His eyes always moved to the opposite side he meant, and despite his finest motions, the child's puzzle simply would not cooperate. If he'd a glimpse of the jewel trapped in the well, perhaps he could have worked it out... but no such solution presented itself.

A mint-and-alabaster unicorn tossed and turned in her room, the sound of shouts in an alien language echoing in her mental ears. She hadn't seen the newcomer to Ponyville, but she still felt that the explosion of magic which had laid her out for half the prior day was an ill omen. A song followed those shouts, or perhaps that was backwards... and she found herself humming along to the memories she'd never recognize as such. Outside her dreamscape rested a crystal of purest diamond, the point pressing forth.

A filly dreamt of what she imagined would be her future cutie mark, snoring quietly as she envisioned flames taking over the whole of Equestria. Her tail lashed to and fro, nearly waking her brother as she slumbered merrily, and to her side, an unadorned candle lit itself, harmlessly. In her mind, she would grasp those flames, and bring herself to the attention of the Princess herself, and join in that magnificent flame. On her flank, an image rose, and to her side, a ruby glittered...

A member of the Wild Guard saw herself rising to high acclaim, after having secured a true asset for Equestria. Her dream, at least, was untroubled.

A young nurse paced back and forth in her home, waiting expectantly for the teapot to boil. She hadn't yet gone to bed, couldn't, feeling as though there were something just out of reach. It was pressing at the back of her brain, aching for her to discover it, and yet she was a bare millimeter apart from that. The kettle whistled, but her ears barely caught it, her mind spinning as her body performed on rote, fueled by the thought of a tiny, lavender spinel. She poured herself a cup, and smiled again, turning her thoughts back once more.

And, outside Ponyville, but not too terribly far, an alicorn with a mane like the aurora stared out into the distance, her mind distraught by the image of the Thestral she had visited earlier, and her heart sinking with the concern that maybe, again and always, history would once again repeat.

Day 2: Ponyville

NAAAA, na na na, na-neeah, naah, na-ah...

"FUCK OFF," I shouted as the strains of Great Big Sea wound their way into the air. There were alarm clocks, and then there were alarm clocks, and this was one of the latter. The fact that I'd intentionally set it didn't matter right now: turning it off, on the other hand, was the top priority. That, on the other hand, was about to wait for a few moments.

With a practiced twist, I threw my left arm over my shoulder, slipping out of bed with the casual grace of a master. Or, at least, that's what I'd like to say I'd done. Instead, the blankets I'd twisted upon myself caught on my horn, my hindleg caught another fold, my left foreleg caught another, and in short form, I managed to roll out of bed and impact upon the floor with the casual grace of a sack of raw potatoes.

A knock on the door immediately followed up, even as my tablet continued to blare the aforementioned tune - and while Consequence Free was an excellent way to wake up under most circumstances, it was beginning to get a bit grating. Even so, I couldn't give more than a perfunctory, "MMMF!" towards the door, as the blanket had caught on half my face, and the other half was trying its very best to form into a noose.

Rather than risk the possibility of tightening that even further, I relaxed onto my sore back and leveled a one-eyed glare over at the offending tablet, positioned nicely next to the dresser in such a manner that it'd require me to get up and actually turn the damned thing off. It was an old trick, one which precluded me actually throwing and/or smashing a piece of valuable equipment, and yet at the moment I cursed my own foresight almost as thoroughly as I did that tablet. I should have known...

It was only a few moments before the proprietress came by, knocking thrice upon my door before she unlocked it. My quiet 'mmmf!s' might have had something to do with that, but I did want to communicate my distress as clearly as possible, given the circumstances. Finally, upon cracking open the frame, she gave a gasp and rushed over to me, looking almost as distraught.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear! Hang on, and I'll get you out of there in a flash, all right? Now, just hold still." A pink-coloured -- and flavoured? -- field enveloped me and the blanket both, precluding me from seeing much of the mare who had come to my impromptu rescue... and from letting my deeply sarcastic response escape my mouth. In a mere second, she had me untangled from the sheets, and resting on all four... hooves, though it certainly didn't do much for my empty stomach: I'd just gone through a makeshift tilt-a-whirl, and was not feeling happy.

Disregarding my obvious distress, for one reason or another, the mare slid right over to my tablet, giving the device the gimlet eye. "How do I...?" she asked, leery of touching the likely flashing and moving device, especially when it went from Consequence Free to Yoko Kanno's Tank!.

The audial assault didn't do anything for my sense of disease, and I quickly gulped down through a wave of nausea, before gasping out, "Tap once in the middle of it, then drag that... urfgh... circle to the right." To my distinct approval, the music immediately stopped, leaving the room in a near-silent state which felt at odds with my own mental and physical composure. "Th...thanks," I managed to grind out, taking in a long, deep breath.

Now that I wasn't being physically assaulted by a jazz orchestra, I had the time to center myself and take in the rescuer - or, at least, the mare who I expected was responsible for my reprieve. To a bit of surprise, the first thing I noticed was the pinafore she was wearing, as well as the shirt: an oddity in a society of nudists, though not terribly out of place in consideration. Above that was a kindly, slightly-wrinkled muzzle, with two jasmine eyes framed by a mat of cream fur; her blonde mane was a straight style rarely seen outside films, with a navy blue streak through the center and a bun tied tightly in the back. All told, she looked... very much like the host, which to my mind was a bit of an alarm.

I didn't quite curtsy - not quite sure why I felt a sudden need to, but I did lean down upon one leg, which seemed to meet with some approval. "Thank you for your assistance, Missus..." Here I paused, unclear on how to address her, to which she obliged with an uncertain giggle which might have come from a woman half her age.

"Oh, I'm Ivory Hearth," she introduced herself with a similar half-bow; in the corner of my ear, I caught a half-suppressed giggle from the hallway, but decided to pass on any investigation for now. "My husband says he owns this place," she added, giving a blink-and-you'll-miss-it wink at the very end.

Ah, one of those arrangements... well, I could deal with that. The fact that Ivory was checking me for any sign of twitching, also something I could work with. "Some people think they own cats," I returned with a half-nod, an ear of my own tilting to catch the telltale sign of sizzling coming from my backpack. "Do you mind if I get that? It's my other alarm..." I paused in consideration of the fact that I was more or less handling very advanced electronics, and the way that Mrs. Hearth reacted to an otherwise intricate device put me somewhat less at ease. Alarm two, ringing incessantly. And I wasn't talking about the sizzling of a pan.

"What is this, exactly?" she asked with a tilt of her head while one hoof tapped here and there on the screen, eliciting nothing whatsoever: I'd locked it down six ways to Sunday, and I wasn't about to give my passcode to anyone. With a shift of a hoof I managed to turn the alarm - and the phone - off. The laptop was fine, but these two...

"It's kinda proprietary right now," I replied, lying through my teeth as I wove my story. "Different people react to different, ah... blast it, what's the word...stimuli? For some folks, you get the smell of coffee, for others, the sound of a chime, for me..." Here I waved my hoof at the tablet in question, which she relinquished after a momentary pause. "Some music, and alternately, the sizzling of a pan. And having to actually be awake enough to do more than just throw a clock across the room, or push a button, that helps." I laughed quietly, fully awake now, and waved a hoof at the bed - and at the piled-up sheets next to it. "Sometimes it backfires though."

Another quiet nod and chuckle followed, and the third penny dropped - or perhaps that was the only one. Nothing so weird as myself could possibly have come in through Ponyville, and yet she was treating me like just another guest. Minotaurs, gryphons, dragons -- those were a known factor. Zebras, even. A changeling like myself... that couldn't possibly be average, not from what little I knew. Yet, Mrs. Hearth had been, all along, treating me like a regular guest, and like my cornucopia of impossible technology was just another eccentricity.

Either something was rotten in the state of Denmark, or I was being taken for a ride. Either way, I wasn't about to put up with it.

Shutting my tablet down and tucking it into my pack, I gave her a serene smile, asking of the proprietress (and very carefully not humming Master of the House within my head), "Might you know of a spa within this fine town? I'll of course be returning, but I'd hate to stink up the place any further, and a private bath would suit me better."

For an instant, her smile fell as she saw that I was bringing with me my entire life, but she quickly perked up at the thought of raiding the ponies in question with a patsy right there. "Oh, I can take you right there! Easy as can be, it's just down the street, it'll be barely a minute." Har, har. We can play the game, can't we? Sorry, miss, but I'm not going to be helping you rip off Aloe and Lotus -- or whomever -- that easily.

"No need, thanks a ton, but I think I'm good now... I do have a bit to take care of before I go there, and I'm sure that a quick pick-me-up will do me some good. I can't impose, after all," I added, referring to the fact that brunch, lunch, dinner, supper and other such meals were very certainly not included within the hostel's retrospectively ostentatious charges.

"W--well, then, I hope to see you again tonight!" exclaimed my host, to which I could only give yet another long nod and a smile. "I'm sure you will."

Turning away from the Red Mane, I let my congenial smile turn into something a little more sere. 'Yes', I quietly thought to myself, 'there's nothing like someone really pissing you off to wake you up.' Under other circumstances, I might have been wrong about all that, but one thing cemented my certainty: the fact that I was now an empath, and all I felt radiating from my hostess, dear old happy-to-help Ivory Hearth, was little more than plain, certain greed. Greed which intensified sixfold when she heard 'proprietary'.

And with that, I took my leave towards what I was assured was Sugarcube Corner: a cup of coffee and a scone were calling my name.

Author's Note

Dun dun dun?

Well, no. This isn't a major plot point, this is attempted petty theft. Things'll get rolling for sure before too long. Also, sorry for the wait! I have an idea as to where this part is going, and I hope that it'll get there much faster now.

Thymine

As one might imagine, I was not in the world’s greatest mood when I stepped out of the hostel, nor was I particularly given to listening to anyone but myself. ‘How dare she?’, I thought to myself, as I stomped off into a corner, one well away from the ponies who were making use of their pony street, in their pony town, in their pony bodies. ‘I’d, I’d paid up front, in advance, and she thinks she can take me for a ride, just because I...’

It’s been said that rage focuses the mind, and this is true. But it’s like a laser: certainly, it’s razor-focused, and certainly, it can result in spectacular effects... but that’s all it does. A mind doesn’t work that way. It can’t hold that narrow beam for too long, and if it tries, well... crystals are the end result. And that doesn’t turn out well for anybody, least of all the person who’s fallen victim to that illustration of unbound order.

For all my certainty, for all my surety, a part of me recognized that I was wrong. What person, given the opportunity to help a high-class individual with proprietary material, wouldn’t immediately leap to the conclusion that this person would tip well? What person wouldn’t do their best to assist this VIP with everything they could? The proprietor of the hostel wasn’t being overly greedy, wasn’t being a Threnadier. She was just... doing her best to be a kind and good hostess to some stranger who had come into her hotel, and displayed signs of being a very important pony. And if she could arrange that into being paid very, very well... that was just part of the job, wasn’t it? And I’d dismissed her like a servant, just... run out, as certain a sign of disrespect as you could imagine.

And that self-subsuming part of me slammed into my conscious mind like a battering ram, tore it apart, and flung me into the brick wall like an unthinking toy, as though I was nothing more than a doll, played with by an unrepentant child’s hand.

I’d accepted it. I’d wanted it. And a huge part of me desired nothing else than to take me away from this fantasy wonderland I’d been dropped into, because I didn’t deserve to be a part of it. ‘That’s not how life works.’ What was this Equestria? A happy little playground for my fantasies? A cute little land of particoloured impossibilities where I was the odd one out, and could be accepted in time, because that’s how the world was meant to be? An illusion, a scam, a coma, a spell, a seizure? How many ways could this not be real, compared to the merest, slightest possibility that it was... but it was real. There was no way I could have ever come up with this, no way anyone could have constructed this from whole cloth.

And if it was real, what was I? Just a little smear on the face of the worldline. Every opportunity I’d found, I’d stomped on it, discarding it like a chunk of garbage. And...

Not caring who saw, not minding the pain in my left shoulder, I set myself against the cracked brickwork and began to cry.

Manehattan... she began to see, here, truly see, that the big city really wasn’t the place for her. Looking about with new eyes, she saw the streets of Ponyville with a glance that truly understood the smaller town.

For the ponies who walked through the streets, this wasn’t merely a small villa on the edge of a wild zone. This was a home - no, this was their home, one which they’d spent so many years creating, and which they’d go to the end of the world to preserve. This was the place where ponies had grown up, where they’d made a new life for themselves, and from beginning to end, her family was a part of it.

Even the Everfree was a part of Ponyville, she realized: that wild zone where ponies had set themselves nearby, and where they’d told the impossible forest: this here, and no more. The ponies had taken that as a point of pride, ever since her grandmare Granny Smith had set up the first fields, ever since her father, Johnny Seed, had taken it upon himself to seed the trees themselves.

We’re not afraid of you anymore. Not in the same way. We’ll plant our seeds right here, and you can just deal with it.

That was the song a hundred, a thousand ponies had sung, over the course of so many years, and while she’d never understand how or why, that was the song another race had taken to heart too, in another time, in another place. ‘We’re here now’, sung the tune, and almost all the strings in Ponyville resonated with that melody. ‘We’re here.’

Almost all.

The young filly might not have been the most worldly mare, and she most certainly didn’t have the capacity to understand exactly when somepony was being untrue to themselves... but when she heard the heartfelt sob from around the corner, she knew that somepony was hurting. And it would have been a betrayal of everything her Apple family had ever taught her to deny that pain.

I couldn’t begin to tell you how long I rested against that cracked brick wall, how long I took it as a microcosm of my life. It can’t have been that long: someone must have heard me eventually, and I wasn’t that circumspect. It could have been as long as two minutes, and as short as an hour. I know that it felt like an eternity, nonetheless. Minutes turned into hours turned into seconds... well. You get the point, I’m sure.

I might have lain there forever, the Sobbing Mare, eventually becoming stone and turning weathered and cracked, if it weren’t for the sudden influence of a hoof upon my fetters.

“Miss? Y’kay?”

Those few words managed to pull me from my reverie, and I turned my attention to the orange filly, blonde-maned, young as a bush - with three red apples upon her flank. A jolt ran through me, immediately before realization set in. And the combination did more for my state of mind than anything yet.

Mind, that wasn’t just the fact that this was Applejack, per se. Nor the fact that she’d gotten her cutie mark already -- ahem, Cutie Mark -- but...

Empaths are weird. I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense, I literally mean that natural empaths, like me, are weird. We don’t look at people in the same way. We feel ponies, we almost taste them, more than we actually look at or touch them. Most natural empaths get weirded out by the fact that the vast majority of folks rely upon sight, or smell, of all things. It’s just plain strange. Call it a cultural abstraction if you want.

None of that makes much of a difference, except... when I looked at that young filly, and I actually heard her words, and knew what she meant... the shock, the palpable shock, meant I let down my shields. Vibes will be able to tell you all of what this means later, but for the briefest moment, I could feel everything she felt.

Every quantum of worry, every ounce of self-involved despair, all of that came crashing down in a heap as I looked at that filly and realized that she was worried about me... because I’d made her worried. Not a hint of her concern was due to the fact that I looked like a ridiculous bugpony -- she was just concerned because all of the lies I’d told myself had hit me like the suddenly not-so-proverbial pile of bricks.

Before I knew what was happening, she was clinging to my forelegs, and I was holding her, and we were both sobbing out heartfelt declarations of home - me, with illustrations she’d never hope to understand, and her, with a certainty that she’d never really leave again... and we were both in that same state, wailing and hoping that someone else would understand, when a red stallion walked down the street and pointedly cleared his throat.

“You know, you’re already classified as an B-class Anomaly.”

“I know. I signed the paperwork.”

“If weird events like this keep up around you, we’re going to mark you as Princess-Class. That’s been done once. It led to the resignation of three guardsmen, the impeachment of the Captain and the rehabilitation of six more. It’s already being discussed.”

“Do it.”

“And those discussions are going to become reality i-wait. What?”

I took a moment to give Shamrock the gimlet eye. She recoiled, but I think that must have just been the red around my irises from lack of sleep. “Do it. I walk into your lives with weird technology, more knowledge than I should have, an emotionally unstable state, and a willingness to undergo psychiatric evaluation. Oh, and have we forgotten these things?” For a moment I waved that bangle of mine, all twelve of the gems flaring for a moment due to some pseudoconscious reaction.

I think I took Shamrock by surprise there, as she actually stopped in her tracks, giving me not one, but two raised eyebrows. “That takes a lot of paperwork to do. You’ll have to actually warrant it before I can even start, and hugging a wayward filly isn’t quite enough.”

Even before I’d been let out of the jail cell into which I’d been very carefully placed after the attempted kidnapping of the child of one of the Founding Families, my already salty mood had taken a turn for the worse. My crying jags had left me emotionally drained in more ways than one, a very unhealthy state, not least considering where we were headed. The Wild Guard had been tasked with my care, a particularly unpleasant situation only lightly mitigated by the fact that I was willing to pay for their meals.

The Sergeant had been none too happy to see my face again, and all too happy to sign the paperwork which would take it away from her. I wasn’t quite under lock and key, but it had been presented in no uncertain way that should she catch a glimpse of me once more, she would make arrangements to ensure that she never had to do so again. My status as an Anomaly was merely a happy codicil on that agreement.

As it stood, I was now under the watchful eyes of the Wild Guard, and, in very precisely capital letters, Their Responsibility. If they got a wild hair, and I pissed on a toilet seat without then cleaning it up, they could quite happily have me shipped to Canterlot, with or without my personal belongings. That latter option was enough to keep me on the straight and narrow, though.

“So, why are we going back to the public library?” That from Cobalt, who was at least slightly less annoyed at the three-pony guard I’d been assigned. He was floating around on a repurposed cumulus, recoloured towards a sky blue to show that it wasn’t just your average fluffy bed.

“Something in there resulted in me passing out and damned near having a seizure,” I reminded him with a small sigh. I couldn’t get too upset at the colt: he was doing his best under the circumstances he’d been handed. “If it can be used against invading Changelings, in the unlikely event that they would care to do so...” and here I paused, letting out a moment of derisive laughter, however hollow it sounded to the lot of us. The Changeling invasion wouldn’t happen for half a decade. “Then all the better,” I finished. “Otherwise, it adds to the collective knowledge of ‘bug ponies’.”

Crimson remained as poker-faced as ever, though I could feel a wince from her nonetheless, as well as a much larger one from the other two. With a greatly put-upon sigh, I noted, “I don’t blame any of you for this. And despite my issues... I wanted to deal with this too. Just... not right now. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I really wanted to deal with other things.”

With a momentary groan, I turned to Shamrock. Okay, I liked these guys, and I was fed up with the attitude of distrust. Not only was it unhealthy for me, but... it wasn’t right. “I don’t know if this helps... like, at all... but you can get me reclassified as a Princess-Class Anomaly in seven words.”

In one fell swoop, every ear in range turned towards me. Well, that was only six ears, but that’s still something to behold. Crimson in particular went very, very still, as though she were listening to something beyond the scope of my hearing -- could she have a lie detection ability? Either way, she gave a tiny nod, and asked, “Is this something you can tell us out here?”

I slowly shook my head, and closed my eyes briefly. “No, this is a one-time thing. I could do it in three, but those words aren’t even for your ears. I promise, I will tell you when we have the opportunity. A closed space, thaumically shielded.” It would close a lot of options, but... open a few more, perhaps.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” replied Crimson, looking forth on the path we’d taken. “And we’re here now.”

I began to shake as I beheld the sight of the Golden Oaks library, and the door creaked open.

Author's Note

For all that the Cutie Mark Chronicles describes exactly when the Mane 6 got their marks, this universe has it set when Applejack first sees her home again, rather than when she gets in. That moment of understanding is what really gets her mark.

Anomalies are things which cannot be defined as part of pony, gryphon, alicorn, or other magic. A-Class Anomalies are those which can still be handled by the Royal Guard... all the Royal Guard. Princess-Class Anomalies are those which cannot. Elements of Harmony-level stuff.

Adenine

It's impossible for me to say -- okay, truthfully say -- that I wasn't at least a little bit afraid of what might happen when I walked into that tree. The last time I'd done so, I'd passed out and needed to be dragged to the hospital... although, knowing what I do now, I'm certain I would have recovered in the fullness of time. Even so, that's not the sort of thing one wants to repeat, even knowing that there are good people watching out for you.

Nonetheless, the Wild Guard had done me more than a few favours, and even if some of them were a given considering their job, there were all that many more cases where they could have just stepped aside. I wasn't going to throw that away, not for a simple thing like walking into a library which... well, I'll spare you my thought processes. Just imagine a hamster running in a wheel for a while.

Somewhere around two subjective years later, despite what certain people will tell you, I finally managed to get my shaking under control. About a month later, I turned towards Cobalt, giving him a gaze like a wide-eyed ingenue, terrified that she might be thrown into a meat grinder and fed to rampaging timberwolves.

The pegasus' eyebrow did not approve.

After a similarly failed attempt at garnering the support, or at least concern, of Shamrock, I once more turned towards the gaping maw of the library itself. For all my subconscious efforts to imagine a monstrous beast, it... looked fairly normal, to be honest. Shelves were placed in neat little rows, the walls were festooned with their own niches, crannies, and the like, and some soul had placed beanbags here and there, a splash of colour in the aisles. It looked homely, and even the glowing crystals interspersed around the windows lent a sense of a candlelit air.

The aroma of old, worn paper wove through the air towards me, and for a moment, again, I felt drawn to the innards of an actual library, a place comprised of knowledge driven into page after page by quill and ink. My forehoof stepped over the boundary--

And nothing happened, other than my mouth filling with salt water, a wrench to the side, and my twist to throw up on something other than my companions or the polished hardwood floor.

"What... the hell? You have to be actually playing some sort of weird and twisted game with us. How did a library, of all places, get you to have a reaction like that?"

Shamrock and Crimson were standing well away from me as I took numerous deep breaths, the taste of brine at the back of my throat still lingering. I hadn't actually vomited, per se, but I'd spat up a globule of substance which looked like a cross between honey treacle and Nickelodeon slime, and had turned all the plant matter in a half-foot circle ash brown. Whoever was responsible for this plot of land would undoubtedly have words to share with me, but I frankly couldn't summon up enough effort to care right now, especially as the taint of licorice fused with seven-day-old coffee still refused to leave my tongue.

"Buh," I replied with all the charisma I could muster. "Gluh," I continued, with my characteristic flair and remarkable sense of style. This continued for a few moments before I finally spat out actual saliva onto the lawn - a lawn which did not, thankfully, wither at the very idea - and managed to croak out, "Wauhh."

Cobalt, for all that he was the quietest of the Wild Guard, sprung into action first, and returned post haste with a very angry black cloud which, to my addled mind, read 'thunder'. Nonetheless, a few squeezes later, he had managed to reform the taser-willing-to-happen into a very placid bucket of water, with only a few sparks between his primaries to show how much energy he'd taken on. To this day I'll never understand how he does that, theories aside - and I've promised never to tell what I've already worked out.

While Cobalt was focused on me, though, Shamrock had her own ideas. She took the opportunity, over the course of a half hour, to snaffle a few jam jars from a couple willing ponies in town - including the Apple family, who just so happened to have a few of those double-layered glass jars free and ready for her to take. She wanted me to throw up in them, instead of at random patches of grass that had done nopony any harm. All in all, her response might have been the best of all of them... but, then, so might have been Crimson's.

Crimson watched very, very carefully as my stomach twisted itself into non-Euclidean knots.

A few minutes, and quite a lot of hyperventilation, later, I was once again confronted by the dime-store Spanish Inquisition.

"Okay. Okay, I think I'm fine now," I managed to pant, groaning quietly as I eyed the library with sheer trepidation. At least this time I'd managed to figure out exactly what was going on, and how I might deal therewith. It wasn't pleasant, it was probably unhealthy, and it would be a terrible betrayal if I just left it alone.

"Then explain," ordered Crimson with a look that told me that she was quite fed up with these continued antics, and that she would probably turn me over to her higher-ups if this went on for too much longer. I couldn't blame her: I'd do much the same thing were the situation reversed. Frankly, I took it as a positive sign: she probably wouldn't be so upset if she didn't, on at least some level, care about what was going on.

With a deep breath and a light cough, I cleared out the last vestiges of the scent pervading my throat - a scent which was almost like half-rotted liquorice, and which practically rolled off those jam jars which were set aside for now - and started my explanation. "Okay. This... probably won't make much sense at first. It's one of those things, that... well. Okay, maybe I can explain it." I was repeating myself, but I didn't care too much, I was just trying to parse things. "So, okay," I reiterated. "Cobalt, you're a pegasus."

"Yes, and?" Despite his usually demure characteristics, it was quite clear that he was pretty fed up as well.

"Just imagine. You're going about clearing the skies, right? Or putting clouds together, or setting up the weather for the next day. Sometimes it calls for a rainstorm, sometimes sunny skies, sometimes you need to help fix nitrogen, but it's familiar, it's part of what you do. The rest of the team has set up a really great day for you, an oiled machine which doesn't have any concerns whatsoever."

Here he looked a little surprised, but nodded. "We celebrate those days, when everything runs smoothly. It's pretty rare, but most of the pegasi in the weather business do their best to make them happen."

I chuckled to the other two as my mind came to a better metaphor. "And pretty much everyone in the guard yearns for those days when there aren't any entanglements, when everything is exactly as it should be and nobody has to stress about a change, right?"

Collective nods all around. That wasn't exactly a hard metaphor to pull, not when the Wild Guard was all about reducing those odd instances of chaos and madness, and their jobs were much easier when they didn't have to deal with any of it. The irony that I was, in no small part, a great deal of the stress with which they'd had to recently deal did not escape my mind.

To Cobalt, I pointed out, "Now imagine that, halfway through weather detail, you wind up stumbling into a pocket of Everfree weather."

The metaphor might have been lost on the other two, but it nearly dropped the pegasus out of the sky, his face turning ashen. I realized, then, what a pain it must have been for Cobalt to actually volunteer to make those regular expeditions into the Everfree forest, and how much pain it must cause him. Pegasi don't just control the weather: they actively feel it, and a wild zone like the forest must be like being dropped into a tide pool. In a moment, he'd landed and nodded firmly, understanding just where I was going.

The other two still looked at me as though I was more than slightly insane, and so I figured I'd need to adjust the metaphor more than a bit. "And you two... imagine that you're surveying a long-abandoned building in a city. Someplace that nobody goes to. You're doing your job, making sure that it's not being used as a drug facility or something of the like. So you, with the blessings of the establishment, make a forcible entry."

Again, that collective nod, though Cobalt's was a little more hesitant. Perhaps he saw what I was getting at, maybe not, but either way he didn't let out more than a brief squeak of dismay.

"The moment you walk in, you get a huge snoutful of a weeks-dead corpse."

It was mean. It was unfair, perhaps especially unfair to Cobalt, who had already had a whammy levied at him just a few moments earlier. It was visceral, and visceral by design: I intended for it to shock the three awake, and my words did that admirably. In but a few moments, I was the absolute center of attention, and everyone was staring at me with a combination of nausea and unbridled curiosity.

"It's... I don't want to say worse for me, but even then," I started, looking down at the plush grass beneath my hooves. "A library is meant to be a place for learning, for curiosity, for people to grow and thrive. It should be, to me, like a kitchen in a three-star restaurant: the sort of place where I could... be, while inspiring people to learn. Instead..." Here I shuddered again, waving a hoof at the doorway, from which I could still sense the waves of disease, of boredom, of exhaustion and hatred, emanating. It was much less potent even a few meters away from the doorframe, the lingering feelings diffused by the general emotions of contentment in Ponyville. But it was there, nonetheless.

A grin cracked upon my face, slightly broken and more than a bit fragile. "I know you can't quite feel it yourselves, and I don't want to share that with you. But... even more than finding a dead body, it's like walking into that self-styled fine restaurant and having a skunk shoved in your face. You can't help but find it nauseating, and the sudden shift from zenith to nadir is... well, it tends to leave your stomach in a lurch."

"Like learning that you've acquired a huge sum of bits, but it's because a relative has died?" That came from Crimson, surprisingly, whose eyes were a bit downcast now. That wasn't the most emotion she'd displayed in my presence, but the admitted weakness was a bit more of a shock than anything else. I had to make a resolution to myself at that point: to learn more about the ponies who'd put themselves in harm's way for me.

"Something like that," I concurred, taking a deep breath of the fresh summer air, and letting out a small sigh. "I think I can probably go in there, now, but..." Here I paused. There were better ways to deal with a situation like this than to simply beat one's head against a wall until the obstruction breaks.

"There are things I want to do before I willingly put my health on the line again. And one of those things is to head to the bank and open an actual account, then pay the good doctor and his staff for their time and collective effort in putting up with me." I paused again as a thought struck me, a wry certainty. "And maybe open a tab, because I doubt it'll be the last time they're going to have to put up with me."

Thankfully, the three of my compatriots hadn't taken any offense to my insistence that we go somewhere else for now, though they did insist on taking a detour before we actually headed to the bank in question. A part of that was undoubtedly fueled by hunger; a rather larger part was fueled by the need for something to wake themselves up, particularly Cobalt, who was still looking as though someone had kicked him in a sensitive place and he hadn't quite registered it yet. Having skipped breakfast and emptied my own stomach over the past few minutes, I was more than a mite peckish myself -- especially after having cleansed my mouth with fresh water which still somehow tasted faintly of distilled lightning -- and so by collective agreement, we decided upon a visit to the local patisserie.

The virtues of the shoppe known as Sugarcube Corner were already well-known to me, of course, but I nonetheless paid rapt attention as the trifecta escorting me spoke of their finest muffins, their cupcakes, their full-sized pastries and their beverages - and, of course, of their ever-flowing coffeepots which kept the Guard in general in a continual state of alertness, funded by the mayor's own coffers in a mutually-beneficial arrangement. All told, even if an excess of sugar wouldn't be the world's greatest meal, I was certain that the beverages would more than make up for it.

At this time of day, the shoppe was thankfully comparatively bereft of customers, making it all the easier for me to take in the atmosphere of the building itself - which was, as one might imagine, utterly eclectic. It seemed that the makeup of the shoppe had been decided long before a certain pink menace would ever have come to town: indeed, the hardwood decor in the form and appearance of frosted gingerbread was ever so slightly warped from age and weather, bespeaking that it was more a fixture of the town than a spur of the moment decision.

As I entered the store alongside the Wild Guard, I felt myself relaxing more than a bit: the patisserie, too, had its own sense of emotions embedded within the shoppe, and they were far, far more enjoyable than those which had pervaded the library we'd just fled. There was of course the sensation of hunger, of desire -- and, more palpably, a feeling of joy, a rarity in such a place of business. I still couldn't tell exactly how I felt each of these in turn, but the effect was nonetheless there, and suffused me with a sense of hunger, to partake of what was served there. The aroma of baked goods and fresh coffee simply accentuated that emotion, that I nearly found myself salivating at the thought.

There was, admittedly, one sour note, unfortunately: from the moment that Mrs. - or possibly Ms. - Cake saw us, her usual expression of forbearance and geniality became somewhat more harsh, her eyes narrowing in particular as she took in my admittedly disheveled appearance. I'll admit, I didn't make the most appreciative figure, my hair mussed and my figure more than usually thin - but this felt more like an expression of absolute distrust, even hatred. It was enough to put me off for more than a few moments, even despite the pleasant nature of the surroundings...

For the life of me, it took me more than a few seconds to recognize that the cerulean-and-pink mare was expressing her emotional distaste not for my appearance, per se, as much as a xenophobic backlash -- and that hit me like a brick upside the head. I'd known that ponies in the town were comparatively wary of anything new and different, but up until that point I'd never quite fully recognized this flavour of dislike. Certain forms of phobia for one thing or another are reasonable; I'm not immune to them myself, after all. Ask me about spiders sometime, but mind that I don't have a flamethrower at hand. Even so, being judged on sight for simply being different...

Ever the consummate professional, though, and unwilling to ostracize some of what must be her finest customers, she quickly slipped back into the role she'd chosen for herself: her expression relaxed towards Customer Service Representative #3, the Happy Medium, and she casually asked what we'd like to order. Composing myself in turn, I let the other three make their own orders - orders which, as one might expect, included a few cups of coffee - and requested simply a few cake donuts, along with the same brew. For all that I was mildly famished, I knew that I could always get seconds, and loading upon simple carbohydrates didn't seem like the finest of plans at the moment.

As things are wont to do, as we awaited our orders, conversation sprung up.

"So, what do you think actually caused that reaction?" Shamrock was, as always, as blunt as a warhammer, and just about as subtle. I didn't mind, though: it helped to distract me from a few of the concerns impinging on my brain.

"I don't know what it's called in the literature around these parts," I hedged, toying with a napkin under my hoof as I perched on my seat. "I want to call it something like emotional suffusion. You know how you sometimes feel like a place you walk into has a certain... vibe? Like when you walk into a theater, you can kind of hear echoes of the plays that have gone on before?"

This was greeted with a look of general uncertainty by Cobalt and Crimson, but Shamrock looked like she was actually considering it. "That's not really that out there. One of my far-off cousins does card tricks, plays and stage magic for a living. It's kind of funny, he can pull off tricks that most unicorns wouldn't even dream of. He says that sometimes you can feel how a town's going to react to what you do, even before you have any real proof of it. Like there's, well, like you put it, a vibe."

I nodded firmly, and turned my attention to the napkin, deciding that a visual explanation was in order. "And sometimes if you walk into a room where something awful's happened, you can kinda feel it in the air..." Here I folded the napkin in half, pressed firmly down, then passed it along to Crimson with a flick of my hoof. "Unfold that as best as you can. See if you can undo that fold."

The unicorn looked at me like I'd lost my mind, then shook her head. "That's not how things work. You can't just get rid of a crease like that..." Then the penny dropped. "Ah. So you can still feel that."

"Pretty much," I agreed. "I think it's more complicated than that, though. Instead of just one crease, the whole place... it felt wrong. Like for the longest time, everyone who hit up the library did so just because they were going through the motions, like instead of going there to read books out of joy and the desire to learn, they were bored the whole time. And over time, those emotions kind of got embedded in the woodwork, so..."

Here Cobalt and Shamrock got the idea, and nodded in unison. "Like a pocket of air that'll never feel quite right," the pegasus paraphrased, then turned to the emerald Earth pony. "Or a patch of dirt that'll never really grow anything but weeds."

I waved a hoof idly, shaking my head. "This is all just hypothetical, though. I don't know for sure. It kind of makes sense, but..." Here I took a look at my left foreleg, glaring at the glimmering jewels in the band. "Way too many things haven't been making sense. This whole thing is insane, and I'm... I don't want to say that everything should be perfectly logical, because life doesn't work like that, but there are so many inconsistencies that I feel like I'm off the map without a paddle, a compass, or even a raft."

"You shouldn't be so dismissive of yourself." With a jerk, I looked over at Crimson, who was glaring at me as though she was going to physically assault me again. "I don't know what in Tartarus is going on with you," she continued, "but for all that you're probably completely insane in a thousand different ways, there's way too much weirdness for me to say that you're totally wrong. Ponyville's not the sanest place at the best of times, and enough manticore crap crops up on a regular basis that we can practically use it as fertilizer. Plus, when you're on, you seem to be really on. You might be halfway unhinged, but don't unhook yourself from the cart completely."

I had to grin just a bit, taking the metaphor in the sense it was intended. "Even when the cart's rolling off the edge of Canterlot?"

"Best time to learn to fly," she deadpanned, passing my napkin back with a second crease in it. I hadn't even seen her put it in there -- though I'll admit I wasn't paying attention. With a random hum, I creased an edge, then another, my grey aura flickering over the paper.

"Alright, alright!" I had to laugh, then, and shook my head as the others at the table erupted into a combination of giggles, chuckles, and wry chortles. "But you guys know that this is probably just the start of this weirdness, right? There's no way that the world's fed up with making me its chew-toy."

"S'what we signed up for," replied Shamrock with a cocky grin, and that pretty much set the mood from there. Or at least it would have, if not for the fact that our food had finally greeted us.

Say what you will about the health of the various meals served at Sugarcube Corner, but there was no doubting the fact that it was made fresh, with the very finest ingredients - Carrot and Cup Cake were exceptional bakers, and they kept on the tradition of the founders, whomever they may have been. Cobalt's slice of raspberry pie a la mode was oven-warm, the vanilla ice cream melting alongside in the bowl; Shamrock's cloverleaf and cherry danish practically had a haze of heat over it, and Crimson's dish of espresso coffee cake looked like it belonged in a magazine. Compared to the three, my regular cake donuts looked like an offering that would be best served to prisoners. Nonetheless, they were just as fresh and warm as the others, and a simple foodstuff was just what I needed at that time.

The others weren't quite so sublime about my own choice. "That's all you're eating?" started Shamrock, whose mouth was half-full already of her own offering; I casually ignored the breach in manners, and happily took a slice of the pastry.

"Yeee-up," I murmured, nomming down on my bite with a wave of my fork. Ah, just enough cinnamon and vanilla to truly render it delicious, without overwhelming the taste of the bread and oils. "Even ignoring the fact that, well, there was that whole emetic situation earlier, I've never really been a big eater. Though I certainly won't say no to honeyed bread as good as this." And indeed it was - the texture was just firm enough to make a couple of the pastries a full meal for me, and the flavours mixed excellently.

"Weird way to describe a donut," grinned Cobalt, who was taking the time to dig into his own carbohydrate overload. "But then..."

"Yup, I'm weird," I agreed merrily, rolling my neck to get out a light kink, before reaching for my coffee mug. Which...

'Hmm.'

"Ah, excuse me," I carefully asked, waving a hoof cautiously towards Mrs. Cake, who was currently involved in cleaning a few things behind the counter. Very definitely involved, if one would: she apparently had no attention to spare for the rowdy foursome who had invaded her shoppe, even if each and every other customer had her full and absolute focus. I figured that was simply the cost of being - well - very active, not to mention in the Guard, who undoubtedly emptied her coffeepots on a regular basis. Hardly a concern, really, but...

"Something the matter?" asked Shamrock, peering over the table to take a look at my place setting. She'd already emptied most of her second coffee, black with six sugars, and was likely going to ask for more in a few moments. Pony metabolisms...

"It's probably nothing," I replied quietly, not wishing to make a scene... but I casually pushed my own coffee mug over to the Earth pony, showing her my own preference: two creams, no sugar. That was not much of a concern, but what was a bit of a problem was the thin veneer of film coating the top of the beverage.

It took her a few moments to parse, but when she did, she went more than a bit ashen - and, I must admit, ponies don't have a great poker face. Ears flicked back, nose wrinkled, and she shot me a glare filled with concern. The expression of shock resonated around the table as the other two understood exactly was going on, and registered their own disgust. To grant them due credit, though, none of them reacted with anything more visceral, and instead turned to Mrs. Cake expectantly.

Even with her supposed stoicism, it's impossible for someone in charge of a shoppe like this to ignore a set of customers looking at her like that, not least when -- for various reasons -- we were something of an attention-grabber in the first place. With a quiet sniff, she approached our table as though looking as though she'd rather do anything else today, and asked, "How may I help you?"

Being the ostensible target, I took the lead, and smiled as genuinely as I could manage. Perhaps she had had a hard day; perhaps there was more than one reason for this. "I'm really sorry, but I don't think this cup came out of the sink quite right: it's kind of, well..." I gestured helplessly at the cup, trying my very best to project that it wasn't really anyone's fault, but that it wasn't exactly sanitary. Call it habit from working entirely too long in customer service, and from growing up in a nation where forced civility is a social norm.

With another sniff, Mrs. Cake gave the mug a perfunctory glance, and snipped, "Seems perfectly fine to me."

'Ah.'

My smile turned as brittle as a pressed leaf, my companions' expressions registering shock and disbelief as they caught the true tone of the interaction. I'd known that this was a given - that at some point this would happen, but at the moment I was having a difficult time actually grokking what was going on. To think that Mrs. Cake, of all people, would be... well. This...

For upwards of a half an hour, my mood had steadily inclined, surrounded by people who were honestly curious and did have my best interests in mind, with good food, good conversation, good laughs. But to every zenith, there is a nadir.

I don't think I consciously registered my horn lighting and pulling out a five-bit coin from my bag, but it nonetheless occurred on automatic - something which should not have been possible, but happened anyway. The coin clinked lightly against the wooden tabletop as I stood, and in a voice devoid of any real emotion, stated, "Thank you for your candor." I left the donuts I hadn't eaten -- three of four -- on their plate, where they would undoubtedly go to waste, and I stepped outside, leaving the restaurant buzzing with a thunderous silence.

Amongst the Guard, there are very few words which can rightly be called verboten: prohibited, that is, by anything more than simple habit or social more. Curses, ranging from the ordinary to the sublime, are considered to be much like a punctuation mark, and as frequent as your ordinary comma. (This, of course, remains primarily limited to internal chatter: in the general populace, more normative language is the order of the century.) Very few words will elicit a gasp or even a flick of an ear from anyone but the greenest recruit... though there are, as always, exceptions to the rule.

One of those very few terms which is precluded by collective, if unconscious, agreement, is 'panic.' This is what the Wild Guard were doing at this time, and had they been caught doing so, they may well have been sectioned for the offense... until their superiors found out why.

"Cobalt! Stop it! You're hyperventilating, I do not want to have to drag you to the hospital!"

"I can't help it, we've got a potential Princess-level anomaly who's halfway to the nuthouse already and that just happened!"

"The two of you, shut up already. We're going to find her, and we're going to fix this."

The three ponies... well, it's hard to say that the Wild Guard were rampaging through the streets, but they were driven in a way that they hadn't been for at least a year. It had taken them no less than two minutes for Mrs. Cup Cake (nee Chiffon Swirl)'s actions to fully parse, and that was one minute and forty-five seconds longer than it had taken their charge to vanish into the aether. For the wayward baker, it would take rather longer to understand the full consequences of her actions, but she was currently nowhere on their minds.

Only one thing was at the forefront of the train of thought the three shared, and it was this: somewhere in Ponyville, there was an emotionally-damaged changeling who knew things that she shouldn't and had just been delivered a hammer blow straight to the superego.

At the moment, they were rushing towards the hostel where Divided Gem had purchased a few days of respite, whose owner was more than passingly familiar with everyone. Few folks would accuse either Ivory Hearth or her husband of being on the ball in such a fashion, but they both knew the value of attentiveness, and one or the other would surely have seen if Divided Gem had walked in - or checked out.

Attentiveness does not count for much when you're being screamed at by a guard, though.

"CHANGELING!"

"What?!" Ivory had just come downstairs for a spot of tea, and now she was being accosted by three ponies who looked as though they, themselves, were about to spark a revolution. This was not the way she had intended her day go, and the sudden change of pace left her disoriented, confused, and just a little nauseated by the droplets of sweat and spittle.

"Th," started Shamrock, before Crimson took her by the tail via telekinesis and dragged her a few feet from the shell-shocked mare. "A changeling checked in here yesterday. Have you seen her in the last while?" Nearby, a slightly greenish-blue pegasus hovered, looking as though he was deeply regretting the last few bites of his meal.

"N--no, not in the past few hours. She said she had a lot of business to take care of in town; is something the matter?" Despite her oddities, Ivory Hearth felt as though the curious mare had at least been polite, if reticent: she certainly didn't twig that sense of concern which had, now and again, occurred when a more criminally-minded individual came by.

Crimson gave her a look which was just on the reasonable side of disgusted, the only sign of her unease being an irregularly-flicking ear. "Nothing she did. Maybe something she'll do. We'll keep in touch; if you see her, keep her here, alright?"

The three had departed in a flutter of wings and fur before she could respond with more than a shaky nod.

"I'm going to kill her. I'm going to take her and roll her up into a hoofball and give her to the Silver Strikers to kick around for at least a few games." Shamrock had at least calmed down slightly, to the point where she wasn't lathering at the mouth anymore. This was, however, not an enormous improvement.

"It's not her fault," started Cobalt, before the other two gave him a look. "Not entirely her fault. Mrs. Cake didn't know that she was on the verge of snapping." The comparatively laid-back pegasus, usually the voice of reason amongst the Wild Guard, was of no avail here, though.

"Right now? I don't fucking care. Until we, and especially she, receive a written apology notarized in triplicate, it is now my mission in life to render Sugarcube Corner's business a hopeless wasteland."

"That shouldn't take much from here. Did you see the looks everypony was giving her?" Cup Cake's speciesism might have been a fine mental block, but even she would find it difficult to ignore the sudden loss of business. But that was neither here nor there. "So, what's next? We've checked the bank, we've checked the inn, we've checked the hospital... actually, that should've been the first place we checked. Nobody's seen her in their place of business." Crimson closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as her left ear flopped to the side a few more times, and her tail twitched leftwards.

Shamrock groaned, "If she's made for the Everfree, I'm going to kill both of them." She'd had more than enough weirdness over the past two days, and that would simply make the whole week a wash.

"I... don't think that's going to be a concern," Cobalt pointed out, one wing tilting towards the Golden Oaks library and the black form sitting a few feet before it - a form which was taut as a drumskin.

Annoyance, concern... a bit of curiosity. Those were the emotions I felt from the three ponies who were approaching me from behind. And, well... admittedly, some hope too. Everyone else had given me a wide berth, despite the fact that it was the middle of the day and a pretty good time for everybody to be out on the streets. When you're radiating what I was, though, it's no surprise.

I hadn't quite stomped my way through the streets of Ponyville, but I must have been projecting a huge dose of 'absolutely no fucks to give'. What a capper, right? It's not like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to me, but having that... person give me a mucous-laced mug of something I'd genuinely been looking forward to was that proverbial straw. Well, no. That's not quite what really broke my camel's back.

When it transpired that the event was public, what I felt - far more than the bubbling loathing coming off Mrs. Cake - was a collective wave of disbelief, contempt... and pity.

"You bring a straitjacket?" I spat out, not turning towards the Wild Guard, not really willing to look at them. It was childish, it was immature, it was downright absurd, but... I didn't want to see their eyes right then.

"Think you need one?" Shamrock's voice was more than a bit cutting, but it was hard to blame her for that. Even through my nearly blind rage, I knew that I'd likely caused them to worry needlessly. I wasn't emotionally reckless enough to seek out a manticore or a cockatrice and try to commit suicide-by-monster, but they didn't know that. And...

"Probably not. I'm not that hopeless yet." My own voice sounded alien to my ears, even more than usual. I hadn't gone into a screaming rage, but... even there, I sounded like I was just going through the motions instead of actually talking. "Sorry for making you folks worry."

A bright red hoof landed on my head, though gently. "We were tromping all over the place looking for you. Should've known you'd be here."

I looked up at the tree before me, almost wishing that it would burn. It was a pretty definite example of a failure... and not one of my own, but rather a failure of the world in which I'd landed. "Seems about right, huh? A broken place for a broken person."

That hoof pressed down - not too hard, but enough that it was just a bit uncomfortable. "Seems to me there are a lot of broken people no matter where you look." Crimson sounded faintly amused as she described... well, herself, and the other two, and probably everyone I'd met here so far.

I slowly ducked down and out of her grip, then straightened up once again, my muscles burning slightly as they unlocked. "Yeah, you're probably right. And I know for a fact that one of the most broken people in the entire country is at the very top of the ladder." I started to chuckle, even if it had no real mirth in it. "Look at me, griping and moaning about my life when she's got it a hell of a lot worse."

The three went very still, and Shamrock deadpanned, "One of these days, we really must discuss our sources of information."

I turned, and now gave a genuine grin, wiping away a vestigal tear. "Yeah, and one of these days you might actually believe me. So, now that we've gotten this touching moment out of the way, I think I've a few debts to repay..."

Author's Note

This one was a bit tricky to write. I'm trying not to create drama for drama's sake: Ponyville is to at least a point quite xenophobic, especially before the Zecora incident. But it's hard to express how it affects a character like Divide.

Guanine

I'll admit, there must have been something in my visage which caused just the teensiest bit of concern amongst my fellow travelers, be it the halfway-manic grin I suddenly possessed or the fact that I'd once again gone from depressed to... well, if not bouncy, then at least far more active than I had just been a minute ago. This whole back-and-forth nonsense had to have driven my three minders nuts, even without my monologues or half-twisted diatribes from the past hour or two... and the very instant I realized that, I flinched.

Well, I wasn't the only one to flinch, at least. All three of them took a step back as I shut my mouth with an audible 'smack', closing my eyes and lowering my horn. "H... hang on," I muttered, just loud enough for them to hear, then brought my right hoof to the side of my head.

Cobalt reacted instantly, rushing over towards my side -- or at least a few steps towards me, before Shamrock held him back with an outstretched hoof. I think that Crimson was actually looking at me with more than mere interest, but she's better at holding her feelings back... and with my eyes closed, it was difficult for me to read her as more than an emotional blob. This was compounded by the fact that, with the knock I'd just given myself on the forehead - a small welt just to the right of my horn - the pain was palpable.

In a way, that pain helped me focus once again, and I shook my head to try and clear up the buzzing of hornets which had just erupted in my ears. "I'm fine, just gimme a sec," I started, taking a series of deep breaths as I willed down the panic attack I'd just pushed myself into. "I'm not going to flip out or break down... I think..." Bad thought process at first. I might not have been able to do so with certainty, but as I repeated that mantra a few times, interspersed with a breath or three -- "I think," that is -- I started to come down, slowly.

When I opened my eyes again, it was to the sight of green grass, swaying slightly in the wind, and I took another long, deep breath, trying to ignore the hammering of my much-abused heart. I nodded to each of the three in turn, in between long draws of air, between the moments when I closed my eyes and reopened them. "I think," I repeated to myself, finally settling down and doing so.

Once I finally finished, and my heartrate settled down to a nice mere 90, I looked around at the other three. "Okay. Better... probably."

Shamrock took a step forward, tilting her head about 60 degrees. "Probably?"

"So, you might have noticed I'm just a little bit bipolar."

"Noooooo."

I was flopped out on the grass, certainly able to move, but finding little reason why I should do so at the moment. The Wild Guard were sprawled out around me in their own positions, with Cobalt hugging his cloud and Crimson standing more or less at position, keeping any eavesdroppers at bay with her metaphorical eye-lasers. Shamrock was on her belly, looking at me with head resting on her hooves, as though I was simply the most interesting person in the world right now.

"You don't say," continued the peanut gallery, compatriots that they were. Well, I'd more than earned a bit of sarcasm, sardonicism and general irony from the lot of them. I certainly couldn't give them just a hoofwave and a dry 'eh' after that little histrionic display, that's for sure.

"So, the big thing about that is, I haven't had to do that in years. And I do mean years. It's a kind of breathing exercise and mantra from back when I was in middle school..." Here I paused. "All the folks back home get twelve years of basic schooling, it's a thing, not important right now. Anyway, back when I was twelveish, I was a semi-hyperactive neurotic ball of twine."

Again, my acquaintances provided assorted statements of dismay, express disbelief and outright shock.

Ignoring the irony dripping all over the ground, I carried on. "It's weird. Some folks grow out of it, some don't. Sometimes it's a disorder, sometimes it's just how we're wired, sometime it's even learned behaviour. For a while my parents were considering medication, but that idea never really took off. One thing that really helped, back then, was breathing exercises. When I got a little too far out of whack, I'd take a few breaths and think instead of just acting. Helped kill the highs and the crashes."

"I've heard of something similar regarding the Zebras," volunteered Crimson, who'd been doodling a few patterns in the grass with her field. The patches were starting to look rather like a Zen garden, waves and shifts and neat little lines. "And the Minotaurs do something like that too, breathing exercises to handle their rages and lows..." She trailed off, letting me continue to explain.

"I'd thought I'd gotten through that rough patch, but I guess sometimes, in stress, these things kinda catch up with you... and punch you in the gut, or smack you in the head." Here I gave a genuine - if closed-lip - smile to the three in turn. "I really need to thank you somehow for all this nonsense you've been putting up with... you know, with me. You've really been helping me with all that and more. Kinda part of what I mean by paying off a debt."

The reactions ranged, from a hug from Cobalt, to a punch on the shoulder (ow!) from Shamrock, to a 'meh' from Crimson, who simply swept her tail across the grass to clear away those patterns. "Some of us were a bit more worried about what else you might mean by a debt," stated the lattermost.

It took me a moment to parse that, and then I sprayed a brief, fine mist into the air via raspberry. "What! You think I'm going to seek revenge against someone just for spitting into my coffee?" I did my very best to look shocked, offended and on the verge of apoplexy... well, scratch that. The shit-eating grin on my face pretty much countered anything to that effect.

"The thought had crossed our minds," returned Crimson with a carefully upraised eyebrow. 'Well, Vulcan confirmed, then.' But I shook my head firmly, rolling back onto my hooves and shaking a bit of stray grass out of my hair. "Absolutely not. That would be totally pointless. No, I am already exacting my most hideous revenge upon her."

Confusion reigned for a moment between the three, though after that moment, I caught a spark of recognition in Crimson's eyes... and maybe a little bit of glee. I knew I liked that mare the moment I saw her, and that just confirmed it. "Red here already has the right of it," I grinned, waving a hoof towards her. "Would you other two like to guess?"

Poor, poor Cobalt was just lost. Shamrock started providing me with a list of pranks she'd like to enact in response, to each of which I immediately shook my head, but Cobalt was just too nice of a guy to even come up with anything: when it comes to pranks and the like, he was definitely straight-laced, at least as far as the juvenile stuff goes. Crimson just followed along with a half-smile on her face, the smirk of the just (and the justified, at that).

Shamrock was going a little crazy here, but I decided to let her steep in her machinations, especially as she seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of such juvenalia. Some of what she proposed was nasty: even I wouldn't apply epoxy resin to the ovens of a baker who'd wronged me. I did, however, have fun winding the Earth pony up... and the fact that she was running through her list of ideas meant that I could keep a running tally of things she might, eventually, use against me. Eventually, the others following my lead, we arrived at the entrance to the bank, whereupon Shamrock snapped like an old twig.

"You sound like you're not planning to do anything to her!"

"And finally, the light dawns!" I gave Shamrock a happy grin, this time with teeth, as she just stopped cold. "I don't need to do anything to her. It'd be a pointless waste of time and energy, this is a small town, and I'd look like a heel."

"A heel?" Cobalt asked.

"Old term for the villain of the piece. Contrast the 'face'."

"Ohh," the pegasus responded. "We call that the 'fet' here." The news that professional wrestling was here in Equestria was a bit of a shock, all things considered... but not too far off from all the other similarities between Equus and Earth, and so I could safely put that aside for now.

"Ah well. There is one thing I'll be doing, but it's so small that it's not even a real consideration." I made my way past the bank's entrance, looking back at the others as they followed me in.

"And that is?" Shamrock was nearly vibrating at the thought, the dust near her hooves rising of its own accord as she waited for my response.

"Whenever I see her, I'm going to smile."

"You know, I'm fairly certain that intentional psychological warfare is against at least a few laws." That came as a drawl from Crimson, who was sitting next to me about two body-lengths down the queue, while the other bank customers tried their very best to pretend to ignore us both. Cobalt and Shamrock had just decided to remain outside, the former because the skies were a much more comfortable site for a pegasus, and the latter because there are few things as boring as your average bank queue. We'd somehow managed to hit at just the right time for several deposits to be placed... meaning that there was time to chat before a window opened up.

"I fail to see how this is psychological warfare. I'll smile at her as genuinely as I can, just to show that there are no hard feelings. In fact, I intend to make sure that I avoid the business in entirety until I receive an apology from her. That's it, that's all."

Crimson shrugged, and asked, "I wonder if that'll hold up in court?" A difficult question, to say the least. It would be very, very hard for me to establish legal merit and avoid harassment charges if we kept hitting the same shoppes, let alone running into each other, as the laws of Narrative Causality almost dictate we would. Actually, scrap the laws of Narrative Causality. Even if those weren't in play here, there'd still be a dozen microaggressions a week, just on the grounds that Ponyville is a small town.

With a sigh, I let my head hang, moving forward in the queue, and groaned, "I'm sure we'll find out sooner or later when she starts reporting changeling infiltrators peeking into her bedroom, her boudoir, and her basement. On the other hand, now that I have my very own arch-nemesis, I don't have to wait for that shoe to drop." Another step commenced in the bureaucratic slog. "Anyway. Those other two still outside?"

Crimson took a dutiful look outside, then reported, "Still waiting on us. They're probably running through a thousand ways your little scheme will go horribly, horribly wrong." Her voice implied that they wouldn't think of them all, and that this was what she was there for. Whether this was an accurate assessment, I still have yet to determine.

"Meh," I verbally shrugged. "I literally don't have to raise a hoof, and in fact, things would go worse if I did. Would that all things were so easy." As the line moved forward another ponylength, I took another long, deep breath, carefully ignoring the musk of the stallion ahead of me. Some people should not wear suits, especially in the hot months, and especially with fur beneath that. Oh well, life is suffering and all that. "Your uncle is in today, right?"

"Oh yes. He should be around and about -- but you might need to make an appointment this time," replied Crimson in her usual deadpan, looking at a point beyond my horn.

"Money talks," I started, drawing a small glare from her. "No, I'm not going to bribe him. It's just that this might be a time-sensitive investment. Even without that, though, I do have a point in being here, as I'd like to find out what paperwork I need to fill out for a safe-deposit box."

Her expression lightened a fraction at that, and she gave me a nod, ceding the point. Another ponylength forward commenced, as I drew in another breath via lightly-parted lips. The aroma ahead of me seemed to be increasingly stifling, and I had to admit that the other folks who worked here had to be ... well, their fortitude was astonishing if they had to deal with this sort of thing every summer day. Speaking of which... a thought came to mind.

"Say, out of curiosity, what spells do you know which can muffle senses? You know, your standard ear protection, eye protection, and so on?" 'Scent protection,' I very carefully didn't say, even if I was thinking it so loudly that it should have been picked up a few furlongs away. Crimson was a member of the Guard, so she surely had to know at least a couple, and I figured that every scrap of knowledge might count.

I wasn't expecting any reticence, so I was actually surprised when she raised an eyebrow, with an accompanying pinch of distrust in her emotions. "What do you want to know about them?" was her response, her trademark tone a bit more clipped than usual.

I honestly had no idea why she was suddenly on edge, so I just tried to clarify, hardly realizing that I was digging myself into a bit of a hole. "Just basic things. Mostly how they act, really; I mean, there's a big difference between blocking out all the light that's approaching your eyes for a bit, or shielding against sudden glare, or having what amounts to welding goggles... that sort of thing. And there've got to be variants, right? Nose, ear, mouth."

"There are, yes," she said, her voice a little more strained. A few ponies around were seemingly paying a little more attention, but I just couldn't quite figure out why. "Why do you ask, exactly?"

"I..." Three things happened at once. First, the rather rotund and... musky gentleman ahead of us finally moved to a teller, freeing the queue to move forward, with us at the head. Second, the penny dropped as to just why Crimson was concerned. And thirdly, another teller called for the next in line, as a customer walked away from her with an air of extreme dissatisfaction.

What, you were expecting a bank robbery?

"Look, I'll explain, but I don't exactly want details about how they work and whatnot. Even just a book on the basics would be fine, the sort of spell that's the equivalent of a blindfold or a nose filter." I tried to mollify Crimson as we both walked to the teller, right up until I nearly threw up at the sudden wave of grey before me.

People have their own views on customer service. Some people think that anyone who doesn't cater to them and them alone, with the servitude due a god, is unworthy of a tip or, for that matter, common respect. Others couldn't care less, and just treat the service people as a tool. And still others are the gems in the rough, and treat customer service agents with understanding. Looking at this mare, though... I could start to understand the first two. At that time, I couldn't even tell you what colour her mane was (puce) or her coat (about #CCCCCC), because she was a mare who stood out only in how complete her apathy was. Her whole being was practically anathema to me, but I managed to swallow the gorge rising in my stomach for a few moments.

"How can I help you today?" was the entirety of her spiel, and... ergh. She probably had something going on in her head, but as far as I could tell, it was simply self-reflection and daydreaming - or even just a wave of grey fuzz - as she dealt with customer #918 of the day.

Crimson must have caught something of my revulsion, or perhaps she knew that this was going to happen ahead of time, because her hoof on my withers stopped me from losing myself to something I really shouldn't. That, or maybe she's just that quick. Either way, I took a deep breath. This would normally not have been a good idea, but the acrid aroma of the gentleman who was still too close for comfort worked like a phial of smelling salts. For the moment, I could think.

Give the devil its due, because that at least spurred me to action. "Two papers, please," I stated with all the gravitas my shaken voice would allow: "One for the opening of a new account, and one for the opening of a safe-deposit box." A few more words might have forced their way out of my gullet, but I had to take a pause after that to re-jigger the assorted miasmas into something I could deal with.

A nearly robotic nod -- in every sense -- met my demand as she dug out a pair of triplicate documents from behind her, and while she did I turned to Crimson with widened eyes and a frog in my throat. "What."

"We'll trade explanations." For what it's worth, she didn't look much happier than I was, and I swear I saw a spark flash near the tip of her horn. Might've just been a floater in my eye, though. I caught the gist, though: now was neither the time nor the place. It was hard to disagree.

That psychic anathema, or whatever it was, was nowhere near the level I was getting from the library. This was more like a bucket instead of a tidal wave. On the other hand, this was worse in some ways, because instead of getting near something that should be cordoned off with yellow-and-black tape, I got that bucket splashed in my face, and some leaked into my ears, and my mouth...

And on the gripping hoof, throwing a fit or passing out in the middle of the bank was a decidedly bad idea, especially after we'd waited too long already.

Somehow, my mental pieces managed to work themselves into agreeing with one another - however briefly - in time for the drone to return with my paperwork. I very carefully checked over both pieces, to ensure that they were the correct ones, as the unicorn noted, "We also require the assistance of Rouge Noir."

For a moment, I was distracted from the paperwork by something. I could have sworn that... no, there couldn't have been fear there. Nothing on her face said anything like that, not a muscle moved out of place. It didn't fit, no matter how creepy Crimson's uncle might have been in a few ways. But then, maybe any bureaucrat has some things with which they're concerned. Losing one's job, one's livelihood, is probably enough to penetrate even the densest of fogs.

"I'll see when there's a time for an appointment," the pony replied, heading to the back on stiff legs. As she went, I finally took a less shaky breath, peering at the sheets. Yup... three forms apiece, none of them carbon copies. 'The ink business must simply thrive around here.'

As I regained my mental footing once more -- the rather malodorous gentleman had taken his leave already -- I turned to Crimson, spearing her with a glare... which wilted at her returning look. "What, even," I started.

"Like I said, I'll explain, but later. There are reasons." She looked even more perturbed than before, meaning that a few hairs were out of place; I suppose I should say that she felt perturbed. That was more than enough to stymie any objections I might have had, and I nodded before filling out the paperwork bit by bit.

'Date of birth... well, that's a fun one,' I mused to myself, thinking back before scribbling out, '23/5/969' on each of the sheets. I didn't want to have to think that one over too often, so if nothing else, this would be good practice. I followed suit with the basics: name, gender, race, hometown... though I had to chuckle over the part which read 'Cutie Mark'. "None whatsoever. Perhaps I should make one for myself."

"Hmm?" replied Crimson, peering over my shoulder at the paperwork. "Oh, that," she realized, shrugging. "Non-ponies write N/A, zebras sometimes draw their glyphs because they defy ready translation. I'd been meaning to ask you about that, actually: are you going to come up with a unique mark for yourself?"

I returned the shrug, my mind going a bit blank as I considered for a moment. "If one comes to me that suits my talents and lifestyle, sure. Flash of inspiration and all that." Then I paused, and carefully brought my hoof to my forehead, groaning as Crimson looked at me. "Please don't say it."

"Do I need to?"

"No, no, I think I get the picture."

"You probably will, at least." She looked, and felt, almost as exasperated as I did, and not for no reason.

With a grump, I turned my attention back to the paperwork. "I swear, I don't usually break out the puns without at least two drinks in me." No address of note, that's okay, current address is the hostel, thaumic signature lock... okay, that one stopped me for a moment, before I managed to parse it out. "Glad to see something like that here," I commented, gesturing to the appropriate line.

"That's SOP for any bonded banks. Even the small, dusty places like Applelooza get those installed, otherwise it drives the insurance premiums sky high." Crimson was lounging on a nearby chair now, and the teller was back at her post... having evidently already told the unicorn the appropriate time. Wait, what?

"How long was I filling these out?" I asked dubiously, looking at the spread of papers in front of me. Rather than bother with a quill, I'd been using a more discreet plastic pen, held in hoof - again, something I'd have to look into later - in order to fill out the apposite information. As such, the ink was already dry, and 90% of the forms were done, just needing the final signatures.

Crimson tilted an ear to point at the clock - 15 minutes, nothing spectacular. "Appointment's coming up in a few. It seems he had a slot open for us. That, or some unlucky pony got bumped."

"Hopefully not the latter. Weirdness carries its own privilege, but I'd rather not rely on that." I shook my head -- the thought of displacing someone who might have been waiting for a few days rang poorly on me. I'd certainly had that happen to me often enough.

"Ah well," I continued, gesturing to the papers. "You able to serve as a witness?"

My companion demurred, waving a hoof at it. "You'll probably want to have that signed by my uncle anyway. It's all internal stuff." I frowned in return, thinking of how that might be able to be used for malicious purposes... but shook the thoughts from my head a moment later. 'I really need to start being more trustful. Or at least mistrustful in the right ways.'

Stretching her limbs, Crimson made for the door as I idly watched the time tick down, lost in my own thoughts for a brief period. "Just going out to let the others know," she explained, as I waved a hoof. Sure enough, she popped back in right as a familiar face came out from the back office, looking a bit more neutral than before. At the sight of the papers in my hooves, though, he relaxed and gestured us to follow him into the proverbial dragon's lair.

"So, the rather interesting changeling returns to my domain," Rouge began with just a touch too much gravitas to be taken seriously. We'd quickly been seated, and I found myself holding a cup of coffee between my hooves -- real coffee, the sort that isn't brewed in six-scoop pots. The aroma alone was enough to invigorate me and make up, at least in small part, for the rather harrowing experiences of the past hour. A sip was enough to make me feel halfway like myself.

"Well, it's such an interesting place," I responded with deadpan aplomb, waving one hoof to encompass the decidedly professional office. "I could see myself returning quite often."

"Hopefully not too often," the banker responded with a small smirk. Yes, it was clear where Crimson had gotten at least some of her traits. "My business is, after all, in solving problems."

The subtext was pretty clear, not at all threatening, and very much a pointed reminder that I was problem and opportunity all rolled up in a ball of neuroses. I was just glad for the coffee; it was enough to keep me on that edge of stability. "Don't worry, this should be comparatively simple. The paperwork is just for related matters." With that, I leaned forward on the chair, setting the coffee down and picking up my bag, then pulling out a set of what would look, from afar, to be six linked rings.

In truth, this was something I'd brought with me whenever I'd decided to go around exploring in urban wreckage. I'd never really had need for the things, but they were better to have, as well as the high-test cord I also carried around. That, though, I was saving for myself. These were easily replaceable with much less expensive materials, and so I figured that I could burn one of my assets: hence, I dropped the six carabiners on the table with aplomb.

"Take a look."

The room was quiet before, but I swear the sound of a buzzing fly filled it now. Rouge's eyes were locked on the climbing equipment, and Crimson's breath was very slow indeed. "Those are...?" began the gentleman, though he clearly already knew the answer.

Crimson was, for once, a bit breathless, as she swore an oath that I couldn't quite make out. "I thought the cans were weird, but I thought that was just normal climbing gear. Light iron..."

With a flourish, I gestured at the half-chain. "Aluminium, pure as can be had." Okay, I had to admit, I was enjoying myself. One doesn't get an opportunity like this, but how often do you get the chance to wave literally 350 grams of exorbitantly precious metal in someone's face?

Rouge looked up at me with a glare. Okay, so it was rather rude of me, admittedly, but one has to savor these moments, or lose them forever. Belatedly, I realized that he probably dealt with many, many more bits every day... but even so, there's a difference between seeing a ton of bits on a ledger, and seeing them in person. His voice tight, he managed nonetheless to keep his tone even as he asked, "And how much more of this do you have?"

Here, he had me. I had to return a sheepish grin, one which I was sure I'd be paying for later. "That's the trick. That's... pretty much all I have on me in, ah..." I took a second to think of the right word. "Fungal?"

"Fungible," he corrected archly. "But I see what you mean. The rest of what you have is tied up, then?" He was clearly a little off his groove, but getting that back rapidly.

"More or less," I agreed, looking pointedly at my bag. "So you can see why I also wanted a safe deposit box..." I trailed off as something twigged, and it took all my will (and the reminder of the still-steaming cup of coffee) to prevent myself from slamming my head into the table. Instead, I just groaned. "...instead of, you know, carrying it around in a bag with an aluminium zipper. I'm so glad that's painted."

Crimson got straight to the point, as usual. "I don't care what the chief says, I'm demanding more hazard pay."

"First off, I'm glad you came to me, instead of having these sudden realizations in, say, the middle of the street. In broad daylight. With ponies already clearly watching you." Noir was in fine form, his fur bristling as I took a rapid inventory of what I had on me. The total was both astounding and depressing.

"Please don't remind me. We've had more than enough of that today." Crimson cosigned with a nod as I let out a low groan to punctuate that. "I swear, I'm going to wind up going into the woods and having a screaming fit loud enough to scare off a nesting manticore."

"The hospital has a few padded rooms which some might say are provided expressly for that purpose," he riposted. The gentleman had already weighed the carabiners, and came up with a suitable number - and, I could tell, enjoying the fact that no matter what happened, he was going to be handsomely rewarded for his time. Monetary greed, at least, felt somewhat clean to me, if off-putting. (And, for some reason, tasted green. Don't ask.)

"I should ask about that. I know that I do have to head back there soon to have an opening interview with a counselor." 'I think I've heard of those before... tantrum rooms or something. Safer than many other options.' "Or shrink, or whatever you prefer to call them around here. One way or another..."

"Whatever happens, we're going back on patrol tomorrow." Crimson brought up a point which I realized I should have asked about. "The Everfree won't police itself, and so long as you don't get in trouble..."

"Last thing on my mind," I snapped back, glaring at a USB cable. Copper inside, but the connectors were indeed aluminium too. A tiny amount, but if anyone did a quick scan of me for metallic objects, I would read as saturated with the stuff. "Crap," I sighed, adding that to my checklist. Thankfully, my cosmetics gear was largely free of the materials, being largely comprised of stainless steel; still, with zippers, earrings, cables, and more, things were already a headache.

And then came the laptop.

Ask anyone who goes outside and brings their equipment with them: you want something durable for your kit. Steel is heavy, titanium is a bit much, but brushed aluminium works well for an electronics casing, with rubber on the edges and a coating on the inside to preclude conductivity. And that meant that when I received my laptop as a twenty-fifth birthday present, I was given something truly expensive... at least by this world's standards.

Rouge Noir was looking at it with something between envy and disgust. Frankly, I felt the same way. It was very fortunate that the device was tinted black, because had it looked like aluminium, it would have already been halfway to a dragon's lair. As it was, though, it was still an exorbitant display of wealth, the sort of thing that the nobility would show off to the hoi palloi just to demonstrate how much better they were.

Crimson, meanwhile, felt like she wanted to fade into the wall. She was absolutely done with this, and I could absolutely sympathize.

"Okay, I'm calling it quits," I announced, not even having opened the device which was causing so much consternation. "Do you have anything I can pack this in? Shielded, or whatever? I do have need of it in the near future, but I don't want to get tackled by someone with delusions of a tropical island of their very own."

"I'm not even going to ask what you need it for. Yes, I can come up with something, though it'll be a few days. I do have the measurements now, at least." Rouge shook his head, looking over his page of meticulous notes, quite a difference from my less methodical scribbles. "Let's get to what we were doing here in the first place. These carabiners of yours weigh three hundred and fifty grams. At the going price, I can get you..."

I did a quick bit of mental arithmetic, then smiled mirthlessly at him. "We're dealing in bulk here, now." Well, twelve grams of the equivalent of pure gold - on Earth - is pretty much bulk, at least for these purposes. "I appreciate that you are in this for yourself first and foremost, but moving this, I won't settle on less than 90% of market price."

"Preposterous!" he spat, though I could tell from his emotions that he was actually glad to be back on solid footing. Or hoofing. "Whatever the papers might tell you, it takes a great deal of time to bring this to a suitable buyer, and fluctuations on a volatile material like this could be disastrous." Well, it was hard to disagree with that. I knew from even my meager scraps of research that gold could jump hundreds of dollars in a week, or fall calamitously. Still, I waited for his counter-offer.

"I'll accept no less than twenty percent of the sum, which involves handling the transactions on my part and all of the hoofwork. That, I think, should be fair recompense," he sniffed, his nose in the air as he spun a line of purest bullshit.

Ah, the joys of haggling. I had to admit, I was rather pleased by the fact that he was willing to, instead of going straight out for a flat rate -- one which would undoubtedly be fair, but disadvantageous to me. The benefit of trading in rare goods, I supposed. Either way, I wasn't about to walk away with that little -- and I admit, I was already somewhat annoyed that he'd previously bilked me out of 25% of the previous sum. While I wouldn't hold that against him... well, I would still use it.

"After yesterday? I don't think so." At my repartee, he gave a disappointed look towards Crimson, who simply returned it with a flat expression. She'd have no part in this, gotcha. I continued, "Not only are we dealing with a very rare material, we're also dealing with a matched set of pieces, which I can all but guarantee won't be found elsewhere in Equestria. While an oddity, I suspect you may find someone willing to pay a premium, above and beyond the norm."

His playful sneer redoubled. "And who do you think would pay for a set of aluminium climbing gear?"

I very carefully quashed an impulse to name a certain name, and replied, "Surely there are members of the nobility who take the time to pursue those 'noble ventures', assaying into the wilderness? Even with their retinue, they might seek to look the part, festooned in materiel suited to their station?"

A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, and I knew I had him. "That's as may be, but that still doesn't make it any easier to sell to them. And there's certainly no guarantee on that point."

'Ah ha.' I smiled winningly, "Then let us see, perhaps. If we're going to split hairs... you receive 13% of market value for half the aluminium now, and when these sell, you receive 20% on the remainder. So, that would be..."

"Five thousand, eight hundred and seventy five bits to Gem, eight hundred and seventy five to Uncle Noir, and six thousand, seven hundred and fifty in escrow," came Crimson's calm - well, deadpan - voice. She seemed a bit more like herself now that things were finally wrapping up.

Noir nodded with certainty, doing a bit of mathematics in his head. "And when the items in question do sell..."

"Well, that's all up to you. I'm certain that you can get more than market price." I grinned winningly. "Pretty sure you'll be able to make a killing there."

Perhaps it was the way I phrased it, but both Noir and Crimson blanched slightly. It couldn't have been the teeth, right?

"Hey! You were in there for quite a while!" Shamrock was as exuberant as ever, chirpy and glad to finally get back up and moving after... cripes, it was an hour and a half that we took in the bank. "You fall into the vault?" Above her, a napping pegasus stretched out, giving a rather catlike yawn as he hopped off the cloud.

"Something like that," deadpanned Crimson, giving me a pointed look. "We can discuss it back at the precinct, but it turns out there's even more to our mysterious friend here than we thought." Great. Just what I wanted to hear. Well, I wasn't going to put up with that, not when I was finally back in clear air.

"Possessions," I pronounced archly, "do not make a person. But no, you're not wrong there." I let out a sigh, feeling the curiosity from the other two -- and, indeed, feeling strengthened by that. The second cup of coffee that I'd enjoyed inside also helped to no small degree. "I've got a question, though, while it's fresh on my mind."

"What's up?" asked Shamrock, while Cobalt tilted an ear towards me, still obviously wiping away the metaphorical cobwebs. I tilted my horn towards the bank which we were rapidly departing, while I repressed a shiver.

"THAT teller. Crimson already knows the one I mean, but you two should be able to puzzle it out. I meant to ask Mister Noir about her, but in the confusion, it totally slipped my mind." That wasn't helped by the fact that I wanted to forget her. Most of the ponies probably already had; the miasma didn't let her linger on the mind very long. Still, all three of the Wild Guard gave an 'ohhh,' of sudden understanding.

"Her. Yeah. She's, ah." Shamrock started to explain, then suddenly looked withdrawn, and Crimson wasn't expounding on things... but, surprisingly, Cobalt stepped up to the plate.

"Some ponies, well... we don't know exactly what happened to her, but there was some trauma in her past, we think. She's not dangerous or anything, but she just goes through the motions. Even with her family, they do their best to take care of her. Make sure she eats, make sure she gets out there and does something. Anything, really."

I frowned, as it sounded like he was being a little evasive... but at the same time, I'd met people like that before. "And so a job where the taskwork is simple, repetitive, and can be easily corrected if an error's made..."

"Exactly. Though I don't think she can make a mistake. Her mind's focused on the job, one hundred percent, when she's doing it. She doesn't have the ingenuity or the drive to make mistakes. Most of the bank's customers... well, they don't mind her so much, or they feel sorry for her. She gets the job done, that's all." And now he sounded like he was making excuses. But that wasn't all. "Did you see her mark?" he added, gesturing with a wing towards his own flank.

"I..." I stopped, verbally and physically, right there in the middle of the street. "I don't think I did...?" An image of the puce-maned mare appeared in my head, but all I could really remember were her eyes and the feeling of wrongness that surrounded her. "I know I wasn't looking, but surely I'd have noticed, right?"

"That's just it." Cobalt waved a wing, and I started moving forward again, on automatic. "We don't know what happened in the past, and she's never volunteered it, but either Quicksilver never got her cutie mark, or..." Here he trailed off, but I didn't have any trouble filling in his next words.

'Or something took it from her.'

The conversation rapidly diverged from there, going backwards in time a little to the previous one we'd had within the bank. We carefully skirted around Sugarcube Corner, making sure to give it plenty of breadth so as to avoid any unpleasant experiences -- though the scents reminded me that I'd not had more than a few bites of bagel and a few cups of coffee that day. Still, there were more than a few restaurants along the way, so we stopped in at Hayburger's once more just to get our energy up.

"So you were talking about filters for senses before," started Crimson as we approached.

"Oh! Yeah, I was thinking that since there are spells to deafen, blind, et cetera, there must be one to filter different types of energy. I was a bit distracted in there..." The suited pony's aroma was certainly enough of a disturbance, but I shook my head to file that unpleasant memory in the proverbial bit bucket. "I'm a telempath, so just like getting a faceful of skunk, the wrong emotions can be painful. So I'd like to research ways to block those out. Could be meditation, could be thaumic, could be physical."

"Thaumic," mused Crimson. "You keep using that word. I don't think anypony uses that at the Academy anymore, except the stodgiest professors."

"Guess they'll love what I have to say, then," I snipped. "But surely there's something that could help. Maybe even with these things." I held up my left foreleg, showing off the band of stones. "Not that I'm interested in experimenting with them just yet. Focus on the tried-and-true here, that's my goal."

"Well, we could try a few magical seals, though those have their own disadvantages. Plus, didn't you say you need magic to survive?" Shamrock was walking backwards, somehow managing to evade some obstacles in her path as though she had eyes in the back of her head. There's a stray rock, there's a small jump rope. "I think I remember that, anyway."

"S'trewth, at least as far as I know." I looked up at the sky, taking a taste of the emotions around... hunger, mostly, as befits the area around a restaurant. "I've got a few working hypotheses, but no way to really test them as of yet. Something for later. But either way, let's hold off on large-scale seals. Maybe something smaller, like a horn restraint?"

Here, Shamrock stumbled over a loose stone, and Cobalt broke into a coughing fit. Crimson just stopped cold. "Are you volunteering to test one of those out?" she asked, shock finally hitting her voice. Huh, guess that's what it takes.

"Uh... okay, what did I do now?" I asked in genuine confusion, looking between the three. Of all of them, Crimson seemed to be the most shaken, so I had to guess that she'd had previous experience with the proposition. "I don't know all the details here, is there something wrong with them in particular?"

"You could say that." Now Crimson's voice was cold as ice. "We're going to table this one until we get back to HQ. Let's focus on something simpler, like the fact that little miss Walking Vault here is going to be paying for our meal."

Here I laughed, pushing open the door to Hayburger. "Now that's an interesting name. Sounds more like a minotaur one than a pony one. But yes, lunch is on me." I had, after all, just bargained for a few months' worth of pay in an hour and a half. A windfall like that could scarcely go ignored, especially as they'd been waiting on us for that long.

"Okay, now I have to know. What did you do in there?" Shamrock began to bounce a bit, half from anticipation of a full meal, and half from sheer, unbridled curiosity. I, meanwhile, felt a sudden and desperate need to keep her hanging.

"Oh, this and that, that and this," I hedged, leading the others up the line to the cashier. Unlike Quicksilver, he simply seemed bored, a teenager who was the very stereotype of 'fast food employee'. And while boredom might have been unpleasant, it was nowhere near as bad as that grey nothingness. "There were a few surprises. But yes, I have enough for a few months' worth of rent now."

"More of... that?" Shamrock asked, careful not to mention the metal of choice in front of disaffected youth. I nodded happily in turn, then turned my attention to the menu. An old trope stuck in my head, and I chuckled at the thought.

"I'll have... hmm... tell you what, four double sandwiches with the works, two large fries, and a diet soda."

There are very few things better than feeling replete after a long day, and although mine wasn't completely over yet, I was still much more relaxed, content, and pleasant after having scarfed down an absurd number of calories. I wasn't alone, either: Shamrock had gone with the Earth Pony 'walking stomach' stereotype, Cobalt had ordered three milkshakes on top of more modest fare, and Crimson had decided on a single, oversized burger. On any other day, I might have been a little annoyed at them feasting on my dime, but that wasn't a concern at the moment.

"So, now that you have a small nest egg, what do you intend to do with yourself?" That came from Cobalt, who was half asleep as we all lounged in the sun for a few minutes. Evidently, exhaustion made him a fair bit less shy.

"Good question. I do need to do some research. More than that, is there a lapidary in Ponyville?" I knew full well that the nearby fields were full of gems -- something which would likely become rather more relevant in the near future -- and I wanted to make sure that I got in on the ground floor, so to speak. Not that I intended to go out and spend 5,000 bits on shiny rocks, but it might be helpful nonetheless.

"Not as such, but Barnyard Bargains sometimes stocks decorations like that. Cheap stuff, rubies and sapphires, you know what I mean." Shamrock waved a lazy hoof, her eyes closed as she reclined on her back. "Diamonds too. Some ponies have a thing for them, and they're useful for tools."

"Heh, rubies and sapphires." I started chuckling. "Corundum is a very interesting thing."

All three ponies' ears perked at that, Crimson especially sending a lance of curiosity my way. In return, I let out a small burp, covering my mouth carefully. "Sorry bout that. Okay, this one's not a big secret. Or maybe it is... do you know what those gems are made of?"

The three returned a general 'no', and I felt my tail swish across the ground. "Hmm, hm. Well... that one I'll keep a secret for now, then. Ask a chemist sometime, you might be surprised."

"You mean an alchemist?" asked Shamrock. "Because we've got an alchemist living down the way. Bit of a crackpot, though. Tin roofs and scorched eyebrows all the way." That sounded like she'd had previous experience with him. Then again, considering it was the Wild Guard...

"I'll have to visit him sometime, pick his brain for details. There's mad, there's crazy, and there's insane, but he sounds useful." I filed that bit of information away for later. "If nothing else, fireworks are usually fun."

I suddenly felt a sense of depressing resignation from those three. Oh well, c'est la vie.

It took an hour or so for us to finally finish digesting our repast, and to get back on our hooves and headed to the station. "So, I didn't get you guys on your day off or something?" I asked, hoping it wasn't the case. Putting up with me might have been a full-time job, but it was still a job, and the thought that they'd be doing it for free was disconcerting.

"Not at all!" replied Cobalt, who was buzzing away on a stray cloud. That pegasus metabolism was something to be feared. "The chief said, and I quote, 'The Everfree can look after itself for a day. You've got something better to do.' So here you are, and here we are. Easy day, for the most part."

"Yeah, but in the stories, that one day off is the day that something really bad happens," I wryly said. This was met with general amusement. "Good thing we're not in a story, then."

Shamrock laughed, "It's not like it's one of Yearling's, that's for sure. I don't think she'd be able to get away with half the weirdness you've brought here." Then, she shot a grin towards Cobalt. "And it's definitely not like Velvet's."

The pegasus nearly fell out of his cloud, face turning red. "Hey! Just because I like a good bit of romance now and then..." He quickly shut his mouth, burying his face in the fluff as I let out a bark of laughter. 'Twilight Velvet, romance novelist. There's one more bit of information confirmed.'

"Velvet? I might have to look her up, just to compare how bad those bodice-rippers are to the ones back home. They the sort you get in used bookstores, looking... lovingly read?" Fluff, mass-market, really... some things are truly multiversal.

Another gale of laughter erupted from Shamrock, as Cobalt groaned. "I knew I should never have told you about those," he muttered into his impromptu cushion, the red spreading to his ears.

"Okay, okay, I won't tease you about that any more, at least not right now," said Shamrock. The grin on her face let everyone know that detente wouldn't last very long, though. "What sort of books do you like to read, though, Divide?"

I gave a musing frown as I looked up, considering. "Oh, well... a fair bit of science fiction, some fantasy, bunch of horror. Not much romance, but there's a time and a place for that in every book. I'm more into the former, my sister's big into fantasy..." I paused, thoughts of Amber coming to my mind. Damn.

Cobalt must have sensed the mood shifting - something in the wind? - and took a moment to steer the conversation onto a different tack. "Hey, I noticed something a bit odd earlier. When you were talking with the doc, and the nurse, and with us... you've got a different mannerism. Like you're kind of matching us..." He paused, looking a bit less forward. "At least, that's how it felt to me."

I blinked. That observation... well, I shouldn't have been surprised. Cobalt was definitely a bit deeper than Shamrock, to be sure, but I'd expected Crimson to pick up on it too. Then again, she wasn't the most social of ponies. "Ah. That's... I don't suppose I could get away with calling it a changeling thing, could I?"

The trio shook their heads as we ambled along.

"Damn," I cursed half-jokingly. "Okay, it's a habit I picked up back home. I wasn't the most social of individuals, like, ever. I'm still not, at least I don't think I am." Now that was a worrisome thought. I felt like myself, but the fundamental issue is that the pithos can't hold itself. Something to think about with the psychologist, when I spoke to them...

"I dunno exactly what to call it, because everyone seems to have a different name for it, but one I've heard is 'mirror matching'. Like, getting a read on someone's body language, and matching it," something I still couldn't quite explain, "makes it easier to hold a conversation with them. S'why I don't do so well in crowds, I think: I keep pulling from multiple people at once, and that's exhausting."

Crimson frowned slightly. "That sounds like a very useful ability for an infiltrator." Oh, gods alive.

"Yes," I simply agreed. "You'd definitely think so. It has its downsides, though." All three nodded, and I blinked as I realized that we were at the guard house already. Time flies, but that was ridiculous.

"C'mon, then. We need to catch these two up on what's happened." Crimson marched into the building, and we followed along, my thoughts suddenly churning once again as the faint tide of suspicion washed over me.

The room we visited this time could potentially have been called an interrogation room, but if so, it was a much more welcoming, homey interrogation room than most. 'Debriefing, that was the word I was looking for.' There were plenty of cushions, with a chair or two in the corner; a jug of water sat to the side with some wooden mugs. The lights, instead of being glaring, were turned down, with a window to let in natural light alongside that, and if they'd been opened, a light breeze would have allowed the stale air to circulate better. As it was, Cobalt gave a few flaps of his wings, to air the place out a bit more, before the door closed.

Instead of sitting at the table with those three clustered around, with me on the opposite side, the others elected for a square sitting position, and we quietly look those mugs before a word was spoken. A few sips of water assuaged my suddenly somewhat dry throat, as I looked back and forth between the three. "So. Anyone bring a deck of cards?" I joked weakly, feeling like I was in a rather precarious position.

"Not exactly," replied Shamrock, suddenly all business. It was almost scary seeing her like that, as though she'd suddenly come into sharp relief. "But it is cards-on-the-table time. From what I can tell, you've not told us a single outright lie. That, or you've said nothing but outright lies. Either way, that's a mark in your favor."

"'There are only two ways to lie artfully,'" I quoted absently, "'by either telling only part of the truth, or by telling the truth in such a way that nobody will believe it.' Robert Heinlein. Though I probably mangled that." I frowned at the second part. "Wait, how is telling nothing but outright lies a good thing?"

"Because it means that you're not being cagey, you're literally insane, and that means that none of this on your head. For what it's worth, I'm more likely to believe that you've been truthful." Shamrock stared at me, and I found myself averting my gaze in return. Whatever she was on, it was intense.

"There are several corroborating factors to what little you've actually told us. The fact that you had fifteen thousand bits worth of fungible aluminium," Crimson emphasized, getting a wry chuckle from me, "on your body means that you're definitely not from around here. Especially in that form. Then there are those devices. They're not magical, not for the most part. The only part that is are those tiny things on the side, and they don't seem to be doing much." Ah, those.

"That much I think I can explain. When my stuff's turned on... active, I'm pretty sure they power them. I've been keeping them mostly turned off." In case my hypothesis was wrong, I didn't want them to suddenly drain themselves, not without the potential to transcribe much of what I had on them.

Now it was Cobalt's turn to speak, and if Shamrock seemed intent, Cobalt seemed razor-focused. The shy pegasus from not long ago had a stare which made me wonder if he was related to a certain yellow and pink mare, and his voice was tinged with... something. I wasn't sure if it was just stress.

"Your behaviour can be excused by the shock of finding yourself in the Everfree, thrust into an unfamiliar situation. But there are a few things I can't explain from that alone." The pegasus tapped a hoof on the table. "First: you have wings, but I have yet to see you fly. Your pack doesn't seem designed to allow that in any event, but in that case, it's odd that you have it and that it still fits you. When you need to grab something," here he gestured to my mug with a wing, "you don't rely on magic, like a unicorn would, but instead on your hooves.

"When you're fidgeting, your posture's off - not by much, but enough to be noticeable to an observer. This is especially the case when you're thinking about something, probably yourself. You've occasionally tripped over things which are easy to spot and avoid, but everypony does that from time to time. Some other aspects of your body language are different, too. I don't know enough about changelings to say for sure, though.

"You're good at spotting when someone's feeling off, that... telempathy? Whatever you mentioned earlier, that makes sense. But then you miss obvious physical cues and tells." He flicked an ear in annoyance to demonstrate, and though I caught it now, I wouldn't have noticed it a bit ago. "Microexpressions, the way your eyes move, the way the rest of you reacts. It's just 'off' enough that you seem a bit weird to an outside observer, even discounting your form."

The fact that Cobalt was spot on about all this, the fact that he was calmly detailing everything here... well. I knew that pegasi had good eyesight, but this was something completely out of the blue. He didn't seem like the shy pony with whom I'd made friends... and his position in the Wild Guard suddenly made a lot more sense than it did before.

"That mirror-matching thing is a good explanation for some of this, but even that's flawed." As I started to make a protest, he held up a hoof to forestall it. "I'm not saying you're lying. I've seen ponies do that before... though it's mostly limited to con artists and salesponies." A slightly less grim chuckle sounded across the room. "And you're not selling us anything, or trying to swindle us. At least, I'm pretty sure you're not."

Shamrock chimed in, "Some of your expressions - vocally, I mean - are a bit odd, but that can be explained from just coming from far away. It all makes sense, if you think of it in that light. So. To sum it all up..."

Crimson took the point. "Who, and what, are you?"

Author's Note

Long time coming, this. Stresses of a new job, work on a lot of things. On the other hand, when I write, I write. Half this chapter was literally written in one go.

Don't worry, the Wild Guard are pretty much as they were depicted. But when they're on, they're on. They've kept their positions for a reason.

More will come soon!

Prelude 3: The Hanged Man

When the first portal opened, it seemed like such a little thing.

The Rikti invasions, once so frequent, had been tapering off for the last long while, perhaps owing to the actions of the heroes - and, yes, villains - responsible for keeping the world together. After all, while the villains would make use of the Rikti technology for their own ends, they had no particular desire to see the world destroyed, or, worse, subjugated by someone else.

Well, okay. Most of them had no such desire. There were always the loonies.

There were better targets in the universe, even the multiverse, which the Rikti could capitalize on instead. So while the slow withdrawal of the invasion fleet had been considered a blessing to the denizens of Primal Earth, they knew another shoe was going to drop very, very soon.

Unfortunately, that also meant everyone was looking in the wrong direction.

The shadow war, such as it were, between Prime and Praetoria had also been escalating to no small extent. Tyrant's activities had increased in weight, his desire to subjugate the two worlds leading to a string of disasters which left no one unscathed. While not as severe as the Calamity which had occurred some years back, the events nobody believed were at all isolated were driving people to seek shelter throughout the world, with heroes and villains joining together to push back at the site of every new omen. Gaia's vengeance had made itself clear, the corrupted elementals streaming out en masse, wild magic breaching the veils of reality, warping, twisting.

And yet, everyone was still looking in the wrong direction there.

Excursions through time itself had been limited to those stable events, at least by Ouroboros' hand. Nobody was stupid enough to believe that there wouldn't be rogue excursions, or even incursions, from alternate timelines; the continued existence of the Fifth Column had put paid to that. The only question is who would be fool enough to play their hand first. So plenty of people had their eyes on that red herring.

A dozen and a half disasters of a magnitude like that, every day of the week, every week of the year. That was the situation on Primal Earth, and on Praetoria, and on a half a dozen other worlds. Every one of them seemed like they would spell the ultimate destruction. And that meant that when the portals started, everyone started to yell, and shout. Some pointed fingers, some cast spells, some sought guidance from higher powers.

Nobody looked in the right direction.

Not one.

One started in a fight between two gangs, the Trolls and the Hellions, in Perez Park. Really, where else could it begin? The two had been forever vying over turf supremacy, only joining forces briefly to chase out the Circle of Thorns when the mages got too big for their britches. Besides, fighting over drugs and power was great, but sacrificing people is just sick.

If nothing else, Jerry Bienvenue was having a fine day. The oddly-named Hellion had taken the opportunity to lead his pack of scofflaws straight into Troll territory, a thumbing-of-the-nose which couldn't help but be answered, and answered with force. That suited Jerry just fine. The person who threw the first punch had the advantage, and he was certain that the Trolls, their minds riddled with holes from all those damned drugs, would happily follow them into a waiting trap.

The Trolls, to be sure, didn't have much in the way of imagination, tactical insight, or for that matter brain cells; Superadyne was a drug which encouraged none of that, to be replaced with an entirely different kind of muscle. Nonetheless, they were possessed of a sort of brute cunning, and the trap was sprung on two sides. A flanking position ambushed the ambushers, and so they took the fight.

Destructive as the fire and fury might have been, both sides were having quite a fine time of it: the Trolls were in their element, rampaging away, and the fire-slingers were painting the town red. So neither side noticed, at first, when the portal - the rift, whatever it might be - opened in the middle of the festivities.

Nonetheless, once the portal became evident, both sides called a quick halt to observe the event. Something so blatantly magical could only have come from the Circle, and so teams were quickly assembled and dispatched - in opposite directions, just in case - to root out and eliminate the interlopers. Still, there were no Thorns around, not here. Quite the contrary, at that moment, they were running in the opposite direction, screaming at the images in their heads.

The Troll commander, who'd eschewed his own name for the rank of 'Caliban', took position on one side of the anomaly, while Jerry took the other. They exchanged rough nods, accepting each others' presence for the moment, then gradually circled the rift, keeping well on the other side of one another. They certainly could notice something peculiar about this one: while most rifts opened were perpendicular to the ground, this one was askew, almost 30 degrees from the vertical. And it seemed to be... moving, spinning even, in ways which hurt the eyes.

Curiosity killed the cat, though. The Troll commander knew of a few ways to hurt something back, and the biggest one was, of course, brute force. And 'brute force', to him, meant he would go up and punch it.

The rift punched back.

When the pink smoke had finally dispersed, Jerry and the remaining Trolls and Hellions set up an impromptu party around it, some of them guarding it for the sake of guarding, others sharing drinks - though not Superadyne, at least for the Hellions. It had been an interesting day, and Jerry wanted to know what was going on. So he set up camp, and went for a five-minute nap.

The second rift opened up inside Jerry. Then, everyone decided, it was probably time to stop celebrating.

This is Isabella Indigo, reporting for Paragon News.

Casualties continue to mount across Paragon City as the spread of the 'Wounds', as they have now been deemed, progresses with frightening rapidity. These tears in space, first spotted in Perez Park a week ago, have seemingly doubled and redoubled with no end in sight. Civilians are still advised to remain indoors as researchers attempt to determine the cause of these wounds, and how to stop it.

Tyrant has stated openly that he has set aside his plans to subjugate Paragon City, and by extension Primal Earth, citing a similar event occurring on Praetoria. His statement has been met largely with disdain, but Sister Psyche, taking the time to interview the despot, has publicly confirmed his intent.

[Clip: Tyrant Speaks to Both Worlds]
Tyrant: It is clear that whatever the cause of these wounds, they are a threat which cannot be outmatched by the Rikti, nay, by any monster who might exist on either of our planes. We must set aside our differences this once, for without cooperation, we can only worsen these tears in the fabric of our very reality.
[End Clip]

No response has yet been received by the remaining members of the Eight, who are still reeling after the demise of Statesman earlier this year. Despite their shaken faith, they continue to hold a vigil against the portals, cordoning off areas and evacuating survivors from areas which have already been consumed.

A vigil has also begun in Atlas Park, outside City Hall, with candles placed to commemorate the many who have fallen victim to this calamity.

This is Isabella Indigo, signing off.

Ouroboros had seen better days. Or millennia. Either worked, really.

The tears in reality which had been continually opening throughout the timestream were taking their toll on the floating sanctuary, one where previously heroes and villains alike had gathered for safety and the preservation of their world. The Menders were doing their best, but even their prodigious powers over their fortress could only slow, not stem, the tide of destruction. Shunting the wounds out of time was one way, but it was a temporary stopgap. Two Menders had already been lost, working themselves literally to death in a last ditch effort.

One man stood tall in the center of it, his robes stained through with sweat, his voice quiet as he muttered to himself. Now and again, he would let out a quiet giggle, or a low moan, or a few words which weren't entirely relevant to the situation.

"This isn't one of my plots, at least. None of my plots would ever do this. I was never this." Words which were pretty meaningless to anyone who would care to listen, at least on the once-shining island.

Mender Silos held fast, and continued his brutal vigil, even as his mind slipped further away.

The candlelight crowd had grown to encompass the entirety of Atlas Park. The birthplace of so many heroes, or at least the area where so many found themselves at last, it was undeniably the safest place in the whole world, at least at the moment. The air was thick with the sound of capes, with spellslingers warding the district against any who might cause it harm. The looters and miscreants who would normally be breaking glass had stopped entirely, as everyone held their breath. Everyone who cared, everyone who was anyone, everyone who was left, was here. Except one.

A man who had grown to the highest echelon of power through the course of years was missing, as he was so often wont to be. He couldn't be found there, or in Ouroboros, or even in the base of his small group, of his closest allies and compatriots.

He wouldn't be found in Praetoria, alongside his fellow in that world -- one who had grown rich with excess, but had finally lost himself to one of the wounds. His brother from another world, Righteous Voice, had sacrificed himself for Tyrant to gain another few minutes. That was all, there.

He was elsewhere, and he was looking in the right direction.

'So, here we are again,' thought Pelonius Zhintel to himself as he strolled down the path towards the source of so much pain. 'How long has it been...?'

The mutant who was missing from Atlas Park, from everywhere else, took a few steps on digitigrade claws towards his destination. He could feel the weight of the being within on his mind, as always: a constant lust for greater power, for growth towards an impossible ideal, was the price one paid when supping from the Well. But now, he thought to himself, it felt different. It felt like it was laughing.

The path leading to the Well of the Furies had always been a trial, but for one accepted by the source, it was nothing but a garden path. He carefully sidestepped the obstacles both with practice born of experience, and the guiding light of the worm in his head, the one who had destroyed Statesman and Recluse both. The Well had been responsible for so much destruction. Surely it had something to do with this.

When he entered the chamber, however, he stopped cold, awestruck by what he saw.

Where once the Well seemed a placid pool, inviting, in the midst of a darkened chamber, now it pulsed with light of an impossible origin. Flesh, quivering with the drum of some hidden heart, rent in parts as all-too-familiar wounds appeared across its surface, only to disappear to somewhere else. Somewhere, he was certain, was not too far from Atlas Park.

"What in the world...?"

'The world.'

A step backwards, a glance around, was all it took for Zhintel to realize that the voice was inside his head as much as outside. A glob of protoplasm dripped from the side of the well, falling from another wound, and as he looked through the hole in reality, he thought he could see an eye turning to face him.

'The world's end.'

He'd heard that voice before, in part and in whole, in disjointed fragments which cried out in vengeance for all that had been done to it. The unstoppable monster, one which could only be eliminated temporarily. And now it had merged with the Well of the Furies. Somehow, impossibly.

'They have finally abandoned us.'

"WHO? Who has abandoned you? We are still here, and we still fight for you!"

With a desparate cry, Zhintel took to the air, diving forward, but it was entirely too late. With a soundless scream, the rents in the Well multiplied all at once, one of the Hamidon's 'eyes' bursting before him -- and then there was nothing left.

Dreams turned to ash as Pelonius Zhintel awoke in a dead land. 'Wake up. Take stock. Know your surroundings.'

It could very well have been the rising sun, finally peering over a pillar in the distance, which awoke him; it certainly wasn't anything else around. The soft rustle of scales against leather merged seamlessly with the rattle of desert snakes and the whisper of an ancient wind.

'Know yourself.'

His scales had never been so pronounced - never spread from his lower legs, digitigrade though they were. His hands, more like claws now, were covered in the golden weave, and from what little he could tell, it didn't stop there. His slender body had become almost serpentine, yet covered by the grey fabric he had commissioned so long ago; his face, previously that of a mature gentleman, was now a long muzzle.

But he didn't feel any different from before, somehow. Perhaps, like Stheno, he had been changed by the Well. Perhaps not, however: its singing voice, ever echoing, called to him no longer. Instead, there was a blessed silence, one he had desired for so many years.

"I am," he murmured, his voice unchanged from its baritone, at least as far as he could remember. And he was, finally, alone. What happened to the place he had been, he would have to learn... but for now, he would need to move forward. There would be answers, somewhere.

With a graceful leap, Zhintel took to the skies and looked for the right direction.

Author's Note

City of Heroes was an MMORPG run by Paragon Studios and owned by NCSoft, who shut it down without fanfare well ahead of its time. Zhintel was my character there.

What does it look like when a world ends because its creators wanted to end it? It's not pretty.

Uncertainty

Crimson took the point. "Who, and what, are you?"

For a moment, I sat there, quietly counting to ten as the question resonated in my mind. All those inconsistencies had been just thrown down on the table before me, by a group of three ponies who I wouldn't have assumed were quite so competent as I'd just witnessed. It made sense, in a way, though. Here you had three folks who were well enough regarded that ponies would put up with their shenanigans on a regular basis, who regularly patrolled the Everfree...

Really, I should have seen it coming a mile away. Still, you live and learn.

That having been said, it was taking all my effort not to apply hoof to forehead as I mulled over what was, under the circumstances, one of the stupidest questions I'd heard in my life.

"...Gem?" asked Shamrock with a smirk as I remained silent, one ear twitching. "Is there a reason you're having trouble answering that?"

"Well, yes," I started, my voice grinding slightly. "I suppose I am, because you already know the answer to that question. And you should know that it's the wrong one entirely."

Crimson let out a chuff of air, tapping her hoof on the table. My attention was briefly drawn to the rippling of water in the cup before me, and I drained it in a quick motion before it distracted me too much. Some things, I swear.

It wasn't even so much that I wanted to throw up at the focus, but... you know the feeling, I'm certain, that chill of ice water down your spine when you're confronted by an unpleasant need. 'Bite the bullet and be it, Jen,' I thought to myself, groaning as I gestured over to my bag. "I'm going to grab my things, I think. It'll make this easier to explain... make it easier to answer some of the questions you should be asking."

If they felt slighted by my insistence, they didn't show it, and I slid out of my seat to grab the bag. I still didn't trust my horn enough to use telekinesis on the stuff, for the most part, but I figured that a hoof-field could compensate. If nothing else, a pair of styluses would work for manipulation. As I did, I explained, "Who I am, what I am, well. What you see is what you get. My name's Divided Gem, and I'm a changeling, who woke up in the Everfree and was escorted here by a pack of guards." My brain, rebelling against the idea of explaining more, tried to nitpick on the details. 'Is it styluses, or styli? Stupid language.' It didn't take long for me to unzip the bag and start pulling out the essentials: phone, tablet, laptop. The lattermost in particular earned a hiss of breath from the two who hadn't seen it before, as they recognized the shell for what it was. Bully for them.

"I'm going to start with the assumption that all of this is going to the top." I didn't have to explain further there, as all three nodded solemnly. "As such, then, my past in a nutshell. I am -- was, maybe -- a student at a not-so-prestigious school, no major but leaning towards arts. One sister, both parents still living. Extended family's all through the country. Not rich, not poor: very middle-class. No pets right now, and thank the gods for that." At the random blasphemy - maybe? - an eyebrow or two was raised. Crimson had taken out a small pad of paper, which my wandering mind took some interest in: it was much rougher than my own A4 copy. 'Standardization still not quite there...'

"Right," Shamrock cut in, adding, "I think you said you came from a city named Toronto. I did some looking about. There's no city of that name -- anywhere. At least, not in Equestria, not in Minos, not in Gryphonia. There might be something of that name in the Zebra territories, I don't know."

"And no records of a country named Canada, nor of the United States of America, nor France or Germany or anything else," I guessed.

"Prance and Germaney are Equestrian territories," corrected Shamrock, leading to a slight wince from me.

"That figures. Parallels abound..." I sighed, and this time I did cover my face, at least in part, with a hoof. "That's neither here nor there. Well, it's both, but..." I trailed off, met with a glare from Crimson. Ah, right, puns. Collecting myself, I added, "What I'm about to say is unbelievable, the things you get in fiction, most of it badly-written stuff. Pulp pap. The existence of these," here I gestured to the laptop, "corroborates part of it, and it's part of what makes me certain that I'm not just a changeling who's had her memories altered as some kind of sick plot."

The three perked up expectantly, and I lifted the lid on the laptop, continuing as I did. "How many of you are familiar with the basic idea of the 'multiverse'?"

Surprisingly, it was Cobalt who answered, though I could tell Shamrock had something to say too. "Anything that happens could have happened a different way," the pegasus spoke up. "When it did, both things happened, just in different timelines. Some collapsed, merged, or were too similar to really make a difference."

"Anything that could happen, happens," finished Shamrock. "Wait, how do you know that? Was it something in one of those terrible romance novels?"

"Egk," choked the pegasus, then sighed. "Yeah. You don't want to know. That one was really bad."

"Anyway, you got it in one," I noted, pressing the power button. The 'beep' of the laptop finishing POST startled the three, but it wasn't loud enough to cause too much consternation. "There's more to it, and also a corollary to that which... it's not relevant, really." 'Heinlein's Corollary,' I considered. 'But I've already had enough of existential dread to last me a lifetime.' "What is relevant is... well. There's very strong evidence leaning in favour of the position that I come from an alternate universe, timeline, reality, whatever you want to call it. Almost impossibly strong, to be honest."

"A place where there are seven billion people," muttered Crimson. Ah, good, so she'd picked up on that. Her eyes narrowed at me. "You said you told us that just for shock value."

"And that was the absolute truth," I grinned, though a bit sheepishly. "Both of them were. I wasn't really thinking then, and I am sorry... but I wasn't in any frame of mind to explain much of anything then." Here I looked over at Crimson's notes, and opined, "If you're going to send those off, please don't omit anything. I don't want to have to explain any of this multiple times."

For what it's worth, Crimson just nodded, turning back to her paper. Cobalt, meanwhile, took the opportunity to fly before the computer, hovering in the air as though it was going to bite him. "What's a ... Jennifer? Or a qwerty?"

"Qwerty's just the name of the layout," I explained, gesturing at the keyboard with my horn. "And... well. The other thing. That's my birth name. Part of it." I waited for expressions of shock and dismay, but none seemed forthcoming. Still, I felt a need to explain a bit further. "And please don't ask for the rest of it right now. That bit of sorcery I pulled in the hospital is about the only magic I really know, but there are weird stories about Names."

"Weird how?" asked Shamrock, watching with some interest as I picked up a regular plastic pen in my hoof. The aluminium one, I left be for the time. "And how did you do that? Oaths are one thing, but that was a lot more than a mere promise."

"Lucky guess," I admitted, earning a flinch from all three. "Yeah, I know. I wasn't playing with fire, I was playing with explosives. As for Names... it varies from time to time, or place to place, but the general gist is that a Name is a person's identity, and when freely given, it can then be used to ensnare or compel. I have no intentions of testing that," I added to forestall objections, as I typed in my password. 'Caps lock, letter, number, letter, lock, symbol...' I paused, then picked up another pen in my second forehoof to hold down the shift key for that one. Then I paused again as a thought struck me.

"I'm changing this immediately after we're done today, by the way."

Crimson, who'd been watching intently, let out a huff of displeasure, and I knew I'd struck a note. "That's fine," she blatantly lied in that deadpan way. "We don't need whatever that is, anyway."

I nearly had to bite my tongue to still my first retort. 'Oh yes, you do' wouldn't go over well, and would probably be suicidal to boot. Instead, I cleared my throat, and held the pen over the return key. "Out of curiosity," I asked, "what do you think this is?"

Cobalt spoke up now, hesitantly. "You said it was... information storage, right? Like a book? I seem to recall that, anyway..."

I gave a nod, and withheld pressing that last button, instead opting to rummage through my pack for a second. Finding my goal took a few seconds, but shortly thereafter, I held up the item in question triumphantly. "Alright, then. This is a high-density storage device. it operates in tandem with this laptop, but not with the other two - there's nowhere to plug it in on them." I showed off the thumb-drive to each of the three ponies, in particular the '128 GB' on the top. It was around as long as the frog of my hoof, which made it even easier to compare sizes.

Doing a bit of mental arithmetic didn't take long, and I mused over plaintext... then remembered seeing a few ePub files. That made things easier. "Now, I want you to imagine a book. Let's make it a small one, like, oh, a penny-dreadful paperback." I shot a wry grin at Cobalt, who flushed once again, ears tilted back. "Somewhere along the lines of fifty thousand words, right?"

"Thereabout," replied Shamrock, stepping in. "So about two to three hundred pages. A quick night's read." I hummed in appreciation of the fact that she was at least avid enough to ballpark that figure. "With a good hard spine to beat a changeling's head in if she doesn't get to the point." Ouch.

"Okay, okay, I'm getting to it! Sheesh, police brutality," I riposted, my acidulous grin mirroring hers. "So with that in mind, how many books do you think that this thing," and here I let the drive fall on the table with a light 'click', "can hold? Average size, nothing more."

Crimson spoke up this time. "What does 'GB' mean?" She was a little more active than I'd seen her before, so something I was doing was at least sparking interest. Inside, of course, she was burning with curiosity, but she did have to put on the 'great stone face'.

"I'll tell you, but for now, just give me a guess," I returned. I wanted to know what they thought. Cobalt was muttering something about 'alien technology', and I think that Shamrock was reciting a line from a Daring Do novel about the wonders of ancient civilizations.

Crimson refused to rise to my bait, however, and after a pause, Cobalt finally raised a hoof. "About... a thousand?" He sounded decidedly unsure, probably imagining things like microfiche. As I looked around the table, the other two gave a nod, though Crimson's sharp retort was more of an 'n'.

"Not a bad guess," I smiled, and it wasn't. "That would probably very well have been the case... a few years ago. But I'm afraid that you're off by at least a factor of three."

"IMPOSSIBLE!", Crimson exploded, slamming her hoof against the tabletop. The various devices rattled and shook, the phone almost sliding off the table before I stretched out my leg to catch it. A cup fared somewhat worse, spilling water over the floor -- but it was thankfully out of the way of the delicate electronics. "There is no way - no WAY - that thing can hold a hundred thousand books! That's... that's half of the Canterlot archives!"

I grinned, and swept my hoof over to pick up the flash drive. "That's all in plain text. Adding pictures, adding extra notes and characters, adding everything brings it down to maybe... well, about a tenth of that. Still pretty impressive, though, wouldn't you say?" Heck, if all the illustrations were in greyscale, and granular to boot, then that would bring it back up quite a ways... probably.

Crimson looked like she was going to reduce me to a smear on the wall, but I knew she had better control over herself than that. Well. I hoped she had better control over herself than that, anyway. After a few seconds, thankfully, I was proven right, as she closed her eyes and slumped back in her seat, breathing heavily. The other two just looked awestruck.

"We've gotten off track, anyway," I brought up, though I was ever grateful for the brief reprieve. It was time for me to answer... "For the second half of that question, what I was, I'm going to bring up a few pictures." I tapped the return key, as the machine had gone into sleep mode, then typed in my password again... this time without such a willing audience. They were just on tenterhooks, and I think I might have been getting high on the curiosity all three were exuding.

Of course, nothing happens instantaneously, and I waited as patiently as I could while the spinning circles did their thing, Windows taking its time to load up as always. At the boot chime, Crimson finally opened her eyes again, turning her attention to the screen as it displayed a backdrop of an alien planet, all purples and greens. The fidelity of the image seemed to have its own impact on the trio, but none of them spoke up, just waiting for me to do my thing.

Thankfully, the tip of a hoof was good enough to actually manipulate the mouse cursor on the trackpad. I wasn't sure why, but for whatever reason, it responded just as readily as the phone and tablet... something I'd have to look into in the future, much like a million other things. For now, though, I brought up the Pictures folder, looking for a good portrait.

"I think I'm starting to see why you said this would be useless to any thieves," opined Shamrock. "Even if they could get into this 'vault', they wouldn't have the first clue what to do from there." She was idly poking at the phone as though she expected it to bite.

"Yeah, but security through 'what the crap do I do next' doesn't usually work. People push buttons until there are no more left to push. Mind, if they wiped this thing by accident..." That didn't bear thinking on, and I finally found the image which I sought. Turning the laptop so they could get a better look, I brought up a picture of myself from a year ago.

As pictures of humans go, it really wasn't much to look at. Caucasian female, about 165 cm, standing in front of the Leviathan coaster at Canada's Wonderland. Mussed brown hair, shoulder-length; grey eyes, white teeth, a bit of an offset jaw. It'd been a cold spring, so even near the end of it I was wearing an autumnal jacket and blue jeans... well. If you've seen one pic, you've seen them all. In the background, the standard assortment of fairgoers, tourists, et al.

Amber had taken that picture. I had to remind myself that I could think about that later. It wasn't important right now.

"And that's... you?" asked Cobalt, reaching out to the screen with a hoof, as though he could touch the picture within. I wasn't surprised; someone was going to do it anyway. He seemed a bit disappointed as the hooftip just touched plastic, rocking the screen slightly. "You look almost like a minotaur."

"Close relative, possibly," I explained, not getting distracted by the ramifications. "Or something. But yeah. That's what I used to look like." 'Damnit, that had been an awesome day, too. Good memories shouldn't hurt so much.' "And then... this." I gestured at myself with a hoof, letting out a winsome sigh. "Not much of a resemblance anymore, huh?"

"I don't know about that," noted Cobalt with a small chuckle. "That smile looks pretty familiar to me." I blinked in shock there, gazing at the image myself. I didn't see it, but... well, maybe it was still there. A part of my old self that I hadn't lost, despite everything.

It felt good.

"So!" I could have gone down memory lane for hours, but I decided to put that garden path on the sideline for now, or whatever metaphor you prefer to use. Instead, I clapped my hooves together, bringing everyone back to attention. "That's me, the dreaded vanguard of a hypothetical alien invasion, who has no clue how she got here, why she got here, or what she's going to do next."

"Nice try," drawled Crimson. 'Wait, what?' My puzzlement must have shown, because she expounded easily. "This explains a lot, and opens up a lot of questions. For example, if you arrived here from a different planet, how do you know about Equestria? If you were in a different body, how are you walking like you were born to it? How do you speak our language?" She frowned, and gestured at the keyboard. "And how does that have Equestrian on it?" 'Oh.'

"Good questions," I nodded. "Language first. I don't know. Something about the multiverse -- in every sense of that phrase -- conspired to bring me to a place with enough parallels to my home. Prance and France alone. Las Pegasus, Las Vegas. Canterlot, and..." Here I considered. "Well, Camelot, but is there a parallel to Albion?" At their headshakes, I continued on. "Vanhoofer, if that exists." Nods this time. "I'm going to put that all down to multiversal weirdness for now. Though we'll get back to that soon."

"And your knowledge of Equestria?"

"Small things first," I demurred. "Kind of small. The change from my other body to this one, I... have a few ideas. I'm pretty sure humans don't and/or can't exist in Equestria, something about the magic field? If so, then when I was transported here, then I assumed the shape which was the closest approximation to what I, myself, am. Or it's possible that if a sapient being shifted me around, then they had a sick sense of humour."

"Why not a minotaur, then? You don't look much like the person on that... thing, no matter how close your smile might be. Wouldn't it be easier to adapt to something like that?" Cobalt spoke this time, after taking a sip from his mug -- which he'd refilled after studiously wiping up the spilled drink.

"Laptop. It's called a laptop, and this," I gestured to the top part, "is called a screen. Probably because people used to project things onto screens, like in movie theaters." Cobalt gestured slightly with a wing for me to get on with it; gradually, the three were getting back to themselves, as opposed to the rather creepy 'professional mode' they started the conversation in.

"I don't have any proof of anything, but I think what happened is a little more... existential? Spiritual? Instead of physical. Like, more a changeling in mind and mannerism, or even in spirit, and that translated here?" I frowned, a lilt after each of those sentence fragments. "That mirror-matching thing, for example, or how I adapt," I added a bit more decisively. "Or it could have been some sick freak who thought it'd be funny to turn the introvert into something that subsists off emotions. Either way, my brain got rewired to fit."

I was being cagey again, and I was starting to hate myself for it, but there were some things I wasn't going to bring up. The mirror portal to the Equestria Girls universe, for example, was not something that I could possibly have known, and that would probably have gotten me locked away for observation for a good long while.

The three looked a bit disconcerted by my casual, even flippant attitude towards magical brain surgery, but I waved a hoof to the side, dismissively. "Look. If it hadn't happened, I'd be flopping about like a fish on dry land. Unable to speak, unable to walk, probably unable to even breathe. I won't look this gift h--" I cut myself off, with a coughing fit. 'Bad Jen. No cookie. THINK before you speak, please.' "Sorry," I added, taking a gulp of my water. "I'd be happier with an answer, but I won't stress over it right now, not just yet."

There was one of those lulls in the conversation, which I took as permission to refill my cup. Shamrock had taken my tablet, and was poking at the buttons on the sides - volume, power - very gingerly indeed, while Crimson was studying the picture still on display on the laptop, as though something were just barely escaping her. As I returned, though, it hit.

"So," the unicorn began, gesturing at the picture. "Roller coaster, it's an amusement park, we have them too. But all I see in the picture are these... monkeys. Is that normal?"

'Ah.' One of those big questions. "Y...es. 'Humans', by the way, please don't blame me for the name. Okay, remember, different worldline, different rules." As far as I knew, anyway. Shamrock looked like she was going to ask something, but let it go for now. In lieu, I rallied, taking a deep breath for what felt like the hundredth time today. "Back home, there, ah... weren't any pegasi, or unicorns. There were beings which were similar to earth ponies, in form, but they were non-sapient. No minotaurs, no dragons, no hydras, no diamond dogs... and no changelings. Just humans."

"Seven billion of them," muttered Crimson, and I nodded in agreement there. "You said your city was pretty cosmopolitan?"

"Yeah, but that's..." I frowned, then tapped my hoof on the table. "It has people from all over the world. All walks of life. Anyway... this ties back to that other question," I realized. "How do we know about all those? And not just the sapient races, but hydras, basilisks, cockatrices, all the beings of the Everfree and more. And then, how do I know about Canterlot, the princesses, even those minor things..."

This was going to be a tricky explanation, and my indecision must have showed, because the three shifted nervously in turn. Damn.

"Okay, metaphors. Or similes. Or something," I hedged. "Okay. So, first, we have absolutely no way of looking in on other worldlines... that we know about. I'm going to chalk many similarities up to the multiverse being just that huge. First, I want you to imagine a universe in which Daring Do is a real pony."

The three glancing between each other told me all I needed to know, and I barely resisted slamming my head into the table. "For the love of-- okay. OKAY. Okay." I think I felt a hair twitch loose, and sighed, trying to recollect myself. "Let us imagine a universe in which A.K. Yearling is not, in fact, an Agent of the Crown. She just writes about someone who is."

That revelation didn't spark any huge reaction, which showed me that the others were feeling almost as drained as I was. I was almost tempted to demand we take a break, but I decided to power through instead. Thankfully, a spark of realization I felt from Cobalt helped me rally.

"So, he's got the general picture," I ground out, gesturing to the pegasus, who seemed confused for a second. "In this alternate universe," I explained, "it's all fiction. Both universes are 'real', but one has a writer who somehow describes the other, purely by chance."

Crimson wasn't having it, and her frustration spiked as the penny dropped. "Yes," she began, more monotone than usual, "but the fact is, the odds are far higher that some agent is involved in the process. Natural or sapient, there was a link that led here."

I gave a somber nod. "What, or who, I don't care to guess. I'm not in the business of second-guessing the mental gymnastics of a being strong enough to yank someone between the worlds, especially as I don't know how much energy that would take, other than 'lots'. I do know, though, that if there is an active link between my world and this one, it's very limited, a pinhole rather than a window."

Crimson's left ear perked slightly, but that was the only physical result she gave beyond a slightly more intense stare. The others just looked at me questioningly, implying that they weren't quite following along. Still, the unicorn gave me my next line: "And just how do you know that?"

"There are..." I paused, scrabbling for words. "...enough similarities to get the 'big picture', but details are wrong. Part of that's for ease of illustration: stories, remember. Other things, well... it's more likely that someone only caught glimpses, enough to fill a few stories, as opposed to the stories of everyone. And there might have been some drift, some off-target assumptions. Plus, if anyone had seen an entire world, everything happening at once..." Bringing up Nightmare Moon seemed like a poor idea at this time, and the nod from the others showed me that I'd made the right decision.

"So little things not adding up. Like what?" Scratch that. I'd made the wrong decision, and Shamrock's innocent question managed to deflate that balloon. At least I could recover. I sighed, then took a sip of my water.

"I... don't have enough information yet to really say, but those nagging feelings keep happening," I hedged. "Like a certain pattern of shadows not existing on the moon."

"Oh, that?" Shamrock perked up a bit. "The Mare in the Moon only appears around the solstices and the equinoxes. One of the Princess' habits, I think."

'Wut.'

"Y... es. Let's call that a habit." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and all three perked up.

"What aren't you telling us?" asked Cobalt, suddenly sharp once more. I couldn't easily help it: I flinched, and everybody picked up on that.

Best way to counter that? Stall. "Nnnnothing immediately relevant. Trust me, it will give you headaches and won't solve anything."

Surprisingly, it was Crimson who simply nodded there, letting it go and bringing back her previous question. "So what did this 'pinhole' focus on, then?"

Here, I was happy to get back to stable ground. Cobalt and Shamrock were less focused, but for the moment I let them stew. "The lives of six civilians," I explained, "from various walks of life, their friendship, and how it was tested. The Princess didn't feature that heavily therein, but she came up often enough." There. Perfectly accurate. The fact that it also - at least in part - described the old show 'Friends' didn't bear thinking on.

"Uh-huh," muttered Shamrock. I could tell she was already exhausted by this little Q&A -- hell, all of us were -- so I decided to take things on a different tack.

"We need a break."

Water might have been simple stuff, but constantly draining cups certainly made one piss like a ra--yeah, let's not go there. Come to think, I wasn't going to think about those... biological necessities... until I absolutely had to. What worked, worked. That's all I'll say.

"So, magic," I started off as we all took our seats once more, having stretched, taken a breath of fresh air, and, by unspoken agreement, not said a word to one another during the break. None of us had grabbed a bite to eat, as it was barely an hour and a half past when we'd trudged in from lunch... and I'll admit, I was feeling full on a few different levels there.

"Magic it is, then," snapped Crimson, suddenly upright. "We'll leave off on the oath thing... though we'll come back to that later. What about those other two spells you cast?"

I blinked, before memory came rushing back and smacking me upside the brainstem. "Oh, those two spells!" I shook my head, recalling the whole event with a broken window, a bit of fog, and two pebbles. "Okay, those... I'll admit, I don't even know." With that, I tossed my left hoof lightly down, showing off those twelve gems in their neat little array. "These things are responsible for that, I think they're guided by will, and that's literally all I know. Oh, and that they're part and parcel of whatever brought me here."

I waved that hoof for effect. "No magic back home, right? No freaky elements, or aspects, or artifacts, or the sort, and I'll bet my left ear that these aren't technology." That neat little black wrapping, on the other hand... I wasn't going to draw attention to again. "I don't even know if those were spells, so much as..." Here I coughed, trailing off, before muttering, "Some sort of sorcery or something. I'm just glad they didn't do much. And before you ask," I snapped upright, giving them all a look. "I'm not going to be going about the business of testing these little baubles for whatever reason, without proper supervision and a field free of potential collateral."

The three relaxed then, albeit minutely, and I thought I saw the hint of a smirk cross Crimson's muzzle. "That's good to know," she drawled. "So we'll be scheduling a trip to Canterlot, then?"

Some days, I really need to think before opening my big mouth. I don't know if they saw any of my flinch -- no, scratch that, they definitely did -- but my hesitation spoke for itself. Cobalt, in particular, gave me a calculating look; rather off-putting on a cute face like his. "Gem, why don't you want to go there?"

With a sigh, I crossed my hooves, letting my chin fall upon my forelegs. I shifted nervously, then groaned, "My mind is running through the million and a half excuses right now. None of them would hold much water, all things considered." I brought one hoof up, circling it through the air. "Fear of change, fear of imprisonment, fear of crowds, fear of the Princess..." I scoffed, shaking my head. "That one I like the most. Barring some outrageous lese majeste, I'm probably inflating these possibilities beyond any sense of reason."

The three looked kind of like I'd hit them with an inflatable frying pan, and weren't quite sure how to respond. Finally, Cobalt let out a snort. "We've met the Princess, you know. It's part of the whole Wild Guard thing. Perks of the office: sign up for duty patrolling hazardous regions and reporting back, meet high-profile celebrities, ambassadors here and there, the occasional alien."

I couldn't help a few barks of laughter escaping at that. "Okay, okay. Plus, there's the whole 'oh, will my worst fears come true, it's better to sit here and do nothing' bit. You guys know that one."

All three of them gave a nod at that, reminiscing about some choice they'd made - or hadn't made - in the past.

With a drawn-out groan, I drew myself back upright. "Okay. So, what else is there to know? I mean, we've gone over who I am, where I came from, and what I've been. You guys know that I don't really have a plan for going out there, beyond 'find something to do'." I waved a hoof in circles for a second - my right one. "Changelings are ostensibly shapeshifters nonpareil, but I have no clue how to do that yet. I've figured out a bit of magic, simple telekinesis, and I do intend to learn more. And I do have a scheduled appointment with a shrink." Strangely, I did. It was two days' hence, but it was there. "And that's it."

Shamrock nodded, then reached over and poked at the laptop's screen, thankfully quite lightly. "Well, I think the only thing we need to know is what's in this thing, after all?"

"In basic terms?" I chuckled. "A couple of movies, a lot of pictures, some books, a game or three. An encyclopedia, as well." I would have hidden that, but it'd come to light eventually. Everything would, and I was now feeling a lot more resigned than before. "It's kind of archived on there, but I can pull it out eventually. Aside from that, there are some programs that won't work without a connection to other computers, an--" I paused, an ear flicking as I felt a sense of urgency radiating from the door, a moment before the knock came. How convenient! Right when we were about to get into fun things...

Shamrock was the one to answer, revealing a beleaguered pegasus guardspony in what I assumed as the standard outfit - a lanyard and light barding, in other words. She spoke a few quick words under her breath, gesturing to me, to which the Earth pony nodded and turned to the room. Thankfully, she looked amused more than anything. "Hey, Divide. You aren't suddenly a master of curses, hexes, and dark magic, are you? Or have a twin that looks exactly like you?"

I caught the general gist immediately, and hummed introspectively, bringing a hoof to tap the side of my chin, my gaze fixed at the ceiling. With a lilt, I mused, "well, I won't deny that I dabbled in the black-candle-and-cloak scene in my wayward youth, but that was mostly childish flights of fancy... I can't deny the possibility of a twin, separated at birth, though!" With that, I turned my attention back downwards to the very amused three, and the somewhat bemused pegasus. "So, no. Is this about a certain confectioner?"

"Good guess," drawled Shamrock, as the three of us removed ourselves from our seats -- though I took the opportunity to close the laptop's lid and ensure that the phone and tablet were at least in sleep mode. With nary another word, the four of us shuffled out of the room, Crimson locking it up with her keys and flicking a card on the doorknob back to 'in use'.

I'll admit, the tinge of curiosity provided by a good bit of street theater is quite a snack. This is more so when everyone in the room is trying to get on with their day, but can't help but wonder exactly what's going to happen next. Such was the atmosphere in the station downstairs, and it was a bit rejuvenating, moreso when everyone's attention focused on me.

The flame of rage coming from one particular Earth pony, on the other hand, was a little bit distracting.

"YOU!" Such was the first word out of the mouth of a rather bedraggled-looking Chiffon Swirl, who looked like she was about to haul off and punch me through a wall.

Oh, the openings. And who, really, would I be if, after the day I'd had, I didn't make an already amusing situation worse? So I turned my focus over to Crimson, and deadpanned, "Wow. Clichés do happen in real life. Who knew?"

Chiffon looked -- and felt -- like she was barely holding herself back from lunging at me, though the movement of the officers in the room very carefully solidified into a state of readiness, annoyance and amusement resounding in equal measure. Everybody loves to watch a smartass... until they're drawn into the whole situation, at which point it just becomes obnoxious. So, I relented, and affixed the mare with a steady gaze instead. "Okay, what's this all about, now?"

"You CURSED ME!" she snarled, lips drawn back and ears pinned to that curly mane of hers. Okay, I'll admit, the flecks of spittle on her lips were a little bit disturbing, and I found myself taking a step back. Not a good position of strength, to say the least. Still, I rallied, bringing myself back to a neutral expression... and raising an eyebrow. If that impacted her at all, she didn't show it, instead continuing onwards. "Ever since you left, everything's been going wrong! The lunch rush was a trickle! My ovens overheated or underheated! My souffles, every one of them fell! And it's all YOUR fault!"

Oh wow. Okay. "I was not expecting things to happen that fast," I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for Crimson to fix me with a look of absolute disbelief.

"WHAT did you just say?!" demanded the irate mare in front of me, stomping forwards and practically spitting in my face. In fact, when I drew my fet against my face... yup, that was some saliva.

Okay, that was it.

"I did nothing to you," I informed the mare before me in my coldest tones, my muscles locking to turn me almost statuesque -- in a mechanical sense, not a charismatic one. "How am I to have cursed you? To cast a jinx, or a hex, or a spell upon you? In what way have I caused you any harm?"

"All this happened after you left! None of it happened before! Everypony knows that changelings are evil! That you'll curse anypony at a whim! You're going to get RID of it!" Okay, she was really riled up. In fact, I wasn't sure I could even defuse the situation.

Thankfully, I didn't have to: Crimson stepped up, her horn aglow. "Alright, step back," she ordered in such a tone that both Chiffon Swirl and I took two steps back. Well, it took me a second for my muscles to unclench and let me do so, but I still followed suit. With an approving nod, the unicorn followed up. "First off, we're going to do this like adults. You, you, sit down." My rump hit the floor obediently, though this time it took Chiffon a few seconds to respond appropriately. "Now. Let's deal with the facts. You," she gestured to the nearly-vibrating mare, "say that this mare cursed you." There was a similar gesture in my direction.

"Yes," was the reply in a voice so coarse that it could have jammed a spice grinder.

"How?"

Chiffon sniffed, dismissively, at what she likely felt was a stupid question. "How am I supposed to know? I'm an Earth pony. We don't do magic."

I was suddenly struck by a coughing fit, as a bit of saliva went down the wrong pipe. Absolutely innocent, I promise! But it was enough to turn everyone's attention to me, even as I waved a hoof and got myself under control.

"...right," Crimson said after a second. "Then would you accept the input of a unicorn, someone who does do magic, in determining whether or not you're cursed, as you say?"

"So long as it's not you," sneered Chiffon. "It's already gotten to you."

I think everything stopped at that moment. Breath, the rustle of paperwork, the regular hoofsteps. Everything just... came to a halt, and the clock ticked down a full fifteen seconds before Chiffon realized what was going on, realized that everybody was staring at her.

"What?"

Then the shouting started. That was decidedly less pleasant than the curiosity.

By the time everything came down to a dull roar, I had learned a few important things.

First, everybody in the Guard undergoes a regular course, meant to short-circuit any attempts at potential mind control. This is doubled for the Wild Guard, who are stationed in areas where, to borrow a phrase, 'Weird Things Happen'. It is not strictly public knowledge, but anyone with the desire to learn that fact can do so, by the convoluted and difficult process of 'asking'. (As a codicil, I made a note to myself to audit a course and see if I could spot any loopholes. There were probably a few.) These courses aren't particularly enjoyable, and walking into a police station and suggesting that they're worthless is a fine way to lose what little credibility you have.

Second, a department full of people whose entire purpose revolves around the sharing and confirmation of information? It turns out that they tend to gossip. A lot. And that little incident from earlier was plenty enough for the gossip train to start rolling. The fact that these were police officers didn't make the game of Telephone any less interesting: in fact, half of them had likely heard that I'd been physically chased from the premises, covered in cupcake batter.

Third, when officers are accused, with any legitimacy, of being under the influence of mind control, they are suspended -- with pay, because Equestria is reasonable in at least a few ways -- until a scan can be done. The questions asked went somewhere along these lines:

"And what makes you think that these three are mind-controlled?"

"They went into the Everfree, and now they willingly spend time with that thing."

Yeah, the pointed racism was starting to be less piercing and more grating. I think it was the shock the first time it happened that drove me out, but now that it was happening over and over again, I was swiftly becoming inured. More to the point, I was growing disappointed.

That having been said, there were enough statements along those lines to establish reasonable doubt. I'll admit, freely, that it did look just a little suspicious that here I was, palling things up with the Wild Guard. But then, if they usually had to deal with things like rampaging hydras, bunny stampedes, wild manticores... not exactly the greatest conversationalists, those. And someone weird like me just had to be more interesting than the usual fare. So that was a perfectly rational explanation, instead of discarding with Occam's razor.

Speaking of, as one of the last questions was asked of Chiffon Swirl, I cut in. "Pardon, but do you even have Occam's Razor here?"

Everyone looked at me like I was a bit crazy, and Chiffon seemed like she was going to cut in with something, but I shook my head. "Might be called something different," I corrected myself, and quoted, "All other things being equal, the simplest solution is the most likely one."

There was a general noise of understanding from that, and Shamrock pointed out, "Dunno who Occam was, but I think Aristrotle was the first to put that one forth. That was after the Discordian era, though." Most everyone nodded there, and I let out a sigh of relief, not to mention a shiver at my own stupidity. Of course they'd have some formulation of the famous quote when the police were involved.

"Why do you ask, though?" asked one of the other officers, a burnished-copper Lieutenant whose name I hadn't quite gotten. She'd been shooting brief glares at Chiffon with every little dig, and evidently wanted to turn the discourse to more reasonable matters.

I gave a shrug in response. "Just wondering if the idea of mind control is even worth consideration in comparison to the idea that maybe I'm more interesting than manticore droppings."

There was a general bit of laughter there, and one scoff, but the Lieutenant shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, it's de rigeur for any cases of this nature. You are a changeling, changelings do have potential mind control abilities, therefore we've gotta get these preliminaries out of the way and get a specialist in from Canterlot."

Well, if there was no hope to be had, then that's all there was to it. I gave her a thankful nod, then posed the question delicately, "Will I need to be here for a comparison of any sort? Detained or otherwise?" I didn't exactly have a lot to do, but I had been somewhat hoping to get the bearings of the town a bit better, maybe solve some minor mysteries which had lodged themselves in my brain.

"Not exactly. You'll probably be asked a few more questions, but the biggest thing we do in that case is a full purge." She gestured at the Wild Guard, who looked more resigned than anything. "If we do find anything, then you'll be detained, but..." Here she shot a glare towards the acidulous Earth pony. "I don't think that should be a concern. Are you all right, though?"

I admittedly felt, and probably looked, more than a bit green. I'd seen the effects of magic depletion in the show, sure, but the idea of that happening to some folks I knew... "It's... fine. The idea of a purge just doesn't sit well with me."

"Hah. More proof that it's guilty of everyth--" That was it. That was all. I cut her off with a glare, and very carefully stayed exactly where I was. Moving would have shown intent. Lighting my horn would have shown intent. I decidedly did neither, and instead locked my gaze on hers.

"Miss Swirl," I began, my voice taut as a drum. "Were I the monster you claimed me to be, the vile beast that you scream about from the rooftops, I would have a wide variety of options open to me. An array of possibilities, in fact, so profound that you would never, ever dare think about the exploration thereof. I could destroy you and yours in a million different ways, and nobody would ever know -- if I were a monster. I could send you to a lunatic asylum, or drive you howling into the wilderness, or simply break you... if I were a monster. There would be nowhere in the world where you would be safe from my vengeance... if I were, as you so demand, a monster."

I gave another smile, through tight lips, barely showing any teeth at all. "The fact that you are here, and that you are insulting me in a million different ways, shows that you don't believe I am. If you thought for one fraction of a second that I was capable of doing those, then you wouldn't be here, pushing my buttons, trying to get me to slip up and say something objectionable. And fortunately for all of us, you're entirely correct on that point."

There was a small release of breath around the room as I started to relax, fractionally, and from the emotions I was feeling, there was a distinct sense of 'stepping down'. That didn't exactly feel good, but I had to admit, it was exactly how I'd feel under those circumstances. At the moment, though, I still had that dynamo humming away within me, and I very slowly drew a hooftip across the floor. "So. Would you like to have a discussion as calm, rational adults, or would you like to continue trying to turn me into a monster?"

And I wanted nothing more than for that to be the long and the short of it. I really did. But Chiffon Swirl, who had tromped into the guard's HQ, who had immediately insisted that I be arrested, wasn't quite done. Her eyes wide, her breath coming in tight gasps, she broke eye contact with me and started looking wildly around the room. "Wh... why aren't you doing anything? It threatened me just now! You heard all of it! It said that it'd send me to the asylum!"

Okay, this was bad. Her emotions were running out of control, fluctuating like a wonky gyroscope. I couldn't help but take a step back, but that wasn't enough for her -- she started to rear, looking around at the ponies in the room, staring at each in turn as though they were all out to get her, all laughing and jeering. None of them were, and a private near the door shouted, "Call the docs, code 8!" to a pair of runners I'd seen earlier. Everybody else was stock-still, and as Swirl's hyperventilation grew to a fevered pitch, so too did her rantings.

"It's... it's gotten its hooves on all of you, you're all under its control, none of you, I can't believe, how did," she started, her eyes rolling around the room as of their own accord. The Lieutenant finally stepped forward, her Earth Pony muscles visibly bulging under the jacket, and she started to gradually make an approach to the more pudgy baker. Still, that wasn't quite fast enough, and Swirl tried to make a run - bounced off one wall, then another, as ponies all around her tried to get out of her way.

Earth Pony constitution warred with her hyperventilation, and with her spiraling emotions, and I knew what was about to happen barely a moment before it did -- as I clapped my hooves over my ears, she let out a steam-whistle shriek which resonated off the poured-concrete walls, and collapsed into a limp, boneless heap.

"So, how much of that did you plan?"

Crimson's question was met with a glare of my own, but it was half-hearted. I just shook my head in response, nursing the cup of industrial-strength coffee between my hooves. The cream was a little off, but I didn't care; it was more the familiarity of the drink that helped than anything resembling flavour.

"None of it. My statement from earlier... that one you caught?" Crimson nodded, though the others looked uncertain. We'd found ourselves outside, resting in the cooler air now that it was about 5 PM. "I'd thought guilt was going to be the biggest cause of her grief. That, and small-town social pressures, and the like. You see it a lot back home. Racist decides to say, do, something objectionable. It gets out, people decide that it's not the sort of thing they want to be associated with. Problem corrects itself."

A collective 'mm' of understanding went up. We'd been joined by two other officers who decided that relaxing in the plush grass was a good choice. One was the lieutenant, Burnished Badge, who'd figured that after having a troublesome citizen go plumb loco, she needed a freakin' break. Probably a drink, too. Her stainless-steel eyes looked a bit unfocused as she went through the mental ramifications, and the paperwork.

The other was the force's on-call psychologist, Dr. Veritas, who had actually gotten a referral from the hospital. I was due to meet him later on in the week, but circumstances simply dictated we meet now. His bubblegum-pink hair and lavender coat made him something of a girlish sight, but colours weren't really that big a deal in Equestria, and I just let it blend with the rest of the insanity. There'd been altogether too much of that today anyway.

From the moment Chiffon collapsed, everything had sprung back into action like a well-oiled machine. Two orderlies from the hospital arrived, as well as the doctor; with a lack of injuries, they simply strapped the mare onto a gurney and brought her to the hospital. I didn't pry, but I had a sick feeling that this wasn't the first time they'd seen her. Or the second.

The argument that the Wild Guard needed a purge did pass muster, and so that had been set up as well, for two days' hence. It was just those three, though: there were other officers who did patrol the Everfree now and then, and so the team wouldn't be totally short-staffed. I would've been offended, but it really was de rigeur. In the meantime, though, I wasn't being sequestered away or anything, nor was the purge being extended to everyone I'd had contact with. Bureaucrats hate complications, and I'd just be one more snarl in a Gordian knot of royal proportions.

"I really am sorry about the whole need-for-a-purge thing. Had I known... well... You going to be bored over the next few days?" I looked over at Cobalt, Crimson and Shamrock, who all gave a light wave of their hooves. It really was a resigned emotion coming from them, and they all demurred.

A thought struck me all of a sudden, and I turned my attention to Veritas. "Stupid question. You've got an appointment with me in the afternoon, but that's the same day as the, egh, purge. Is that going to clash?"

He looked a bit surprised, then shook his head. "No, that shouldn't cause any issues. I'm surprised you caught that, though. Have you had experience with this kind of practice before?"

"I've spoken with a few psychologists before. Aside from that..." The Wild Guard chimed in, and we all spoke in unison, "[I read]/[She reads] a lot." We all shared a bit of a laugh, before I turned a bit more serious. "Hey, I know that professional privilege means you can't say much here. But..." I frowned, and dragged my hoof over the grass. "That reaction of hers. All her reactions to me. None of them were rational, or even close to. There was a lot of hate, and fear, and ... especially uncertainty. She was stressed as hell. And most ponies don't seem to have that reaction."

The doctor waved one hoof in turn. "A lot of ponies would, if you weren't in the company of these reprobates." He gestured at the three, who gave a collective snort. "They make things just normal enough. But you're right, that was beyond the pale. Most of us would simply hide from the unfamiliar and strange. She went out of her way to attack you, and..." He shook his head. "I can't comment, like you said." But I didn't have to belabor the point to hear the worry in his voice, or feel it in his own emotions.

"So, what now?"

An hour had passed as we shot the bull, and the sun was gradually making its way downhill. I, for my part, was stuffed still from the lunch earlier; I suppose one of the advantages of subsisting partially off magic was that I didn't need to eat that much physical food. Positives and negatives, but at least, unlike Celestia, I'd never be accused of eating my own weight in cloud cake.

The Lieutenant and the Doctor had both taken off on their own tasks, the former to finish up a bit of the ever-present pile of paperwork, the latter to get home and meet with his wife and kids. So, the four of us were just lounging around outside the police station, waiting for something to happen. Hence, Shamrock's query.

"Well, now that we've had a bit to digest," I offered, "I could get my stuff from inside. I think I was going to show you folks one or two examples of what those can do." If nothing else, it'd be a nice distraction, and it certainly wasn't official business with me.

"Say, yeah. You got anything romantic on there?" asked Cobalt, to a grin from Shamrock and a shake of Crimson's head. And with a set-up line like that, well... my mind went immediately to one of my favourites of all time.

"Are you kidding? I have everything on there. 'Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles...'" A quote like that sticks in the mind, and I asked in turn, "Anywhere we can get popcorn?"

"Yeah, but it's all going to be human stuff, isn't it?" asked Shamrock. "It's just that, well..."

"Oh, ye of little faith..."

Author's Note

Writer's block sucks. That's all I have to say about the delay. On the other hand, it gave me plenty of time and opportunities to revise. From here, things may be a bit more laid back for a couple chapters, so hopefully won't take as long.

The Oldest Story in the World

Stop me if you've heard this one before... actually, don't. You probably already have, you just don't know it yet. It's one of the oldest tales, maybe the oldest, but... ah, I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Once there were twelve children playing in the sand, on a beach. Siblings, all of them, though whether they still had parents or not, whether they were adopted, well, time simply doesn't relate. Good kids, all, though every now and again they'd get into a squabble, just as kids are wont to do. Some were thick as thieves, some were a bit standoffish... well, you got all types when you look at a family of twelve kids.

One day they decided to build a sand castle. Not just any sand castle, but the biggest, shiniest, most intricate sand castle they ever could. Of course, it'd take all twelve of 'em to build it, they reasoned, working together. And so they did. One of 'em built the foundation, packing the sand into a dense rock that everything could be built on. One watered the sand to help it stick, one blew away the packed dirt to form crenellations and more, and one used their heat to give it a nice sheen.

'Course, that was only four. Two of them, pair of twins, used their light and darkness to give it a nice impression, showing off the occasional grain like works of art, giving shadows where needed, brightening things up here and there. Four others made figurines, but like no figurines you've ever seen: they had their own thoughts and emotions, and marched through the castle like it was a play, occasionally living, occasionally, well, ahem, and, yes, occasionally dying, because these are kids, and what's the fun of a play if someone doesn't get a sword through their chest now and then, right?

And the other two, well, sometimes they'd take a bit of the sand castle away, and sometimes they'd add on new ones, and sometimes they'd do nothing more than watch. Every good play needs an audience. They'd mark the passing of hours, and there were ever so many of them.

For a while, there, it was good. Great, even. It was the tallest, grandest, shiniest little sand castle that any of the twelve kids had ever made, and it was a brilliant little thing. But... every kid knows, when you build up a sand castle like that, sooner or later, the tide comes in. And they were fine with that - they were old enough to know that impermanence, too, is part of life, and all things do crumble away in the end. They could always build another, after all. That, too, is a pretty big part of life.

You know where else this is going, though. When you get a pack of kids building things like that, sooner or later, a bully's going to wander through, kicking things to dust, time and again. Not for any reason - just because they can. The ones who'll spark arguments just because they figure it's a neat idea. The ones... well. You know the type. And you probably already know what happened next.

Everyone's got a variant of this story. See what I mean? You already knew it. The gryphons have got one, the ponies, the minotaurs, the zebra, the camels, the cats, the dogs... there are a million variants under Sun and Moon and Stars, and there'll be a million more in the future. Everyone writes one. Heck, you've probably got one of your very own.

Some are a little closer to the truth than others. Who knows? Maybe this is one of them.

But take it with a grain of salt, my companion, a very large grain indeed. Or, perhaps, a grain of sand...

Coda

Second only to the hospital and doctor's office, in places people generally Do Not Want To Go, is of course the local police station. It's a public necessity for any town, of course, ranging from the simple sheriff's office in places like Applelooza to the more... let's say well-furnished places like the Manehattan PD. Ponyville's was somewhat closer to the former: a comparatively small building near City Hall which more or less served the multiple purposes of the guard's watchpost, corrections facility, et cetera. Despite its size, it was done up in that style which basically screamed 'secure building': the concrete walls, the hardened doors, and so on. Then again, considering how Ponyville butted up against a wild zone, that was probably just reasonable. No sense in having a criminal escape processing next time a manticore roams through town, right?

I'll admit, I was tense when I wandered through the doors, following my erstwhile compatriots; they, for what it's worth, immediately relaxed a bit, while I wasn't quite sure whether I'd get hit by a burst of emotion or not. When much nothing filtered through but a sense of latent camaraderie, though, I was pleasantly surprised: evidently, a small town like Ponyville didn't exactly get much in the way of crime, violent or otherwise. Ponies wandered from desk to desk just past the lobby, filtering what paperwork they had between them; the day had nearly wound down, and the feeling of relief at the end of the day was palpable.

That's not to say that the tension wasn't there, though. After that sort of a day, I was absolutely feeling like my nerves were about to snap like an old guitar string; thankfully, this was indeed tempered to some extent by the knowledge that soon I could likely get some actual rest. The others felt about the same, I could tell: they were looking just run-down enough that the day had obviously worn on them something fierce.

So it was that the three gave a passing nod to a few of their fellow guards, making their way to an office inset in the back and collecting a middle-aged mare along the way: her cerise hair, shot through with streaks of silver, made her stand out to an extent, but the first thing I could tell you is that she had that air of weary competence around her, a badge which she carried much more obviously than any mere sheen of pot metal. The sergeant in question, a unicorn named Gleaming Stock, gave a sigh of some small relief as she escorted Cobalt, Shamrock and Crimson into said office, curtly stating that I should wait outside as they took part in the after-action report; with some small lingering trepidation, I took that as permission to slump down onto a decidedly uncomfortable office chair.

Now, as I wasn't party to that little conversation, I couldn't say exactly what went on, but I can tell you that Sergeant Stock didn't raise her voice within the room; there were the occasional mumbles, and some spikes of concern from within, but the conversation was quiet enough that all which could really be made out were some sentence fragments, if that. Rather than publicly eavesdrop, I decided to take a quick look at a note or two on the wall, mostly the assorted detritus of old announcements and the like.

Thankfully for my low level of patience, they were in there for merely 15 minutes before the Sergeant came out with a small stack of paperwork, looking relieved that it was likely to be the least batch for the day. "Alright," she began, "Divided Gem, yes? I'm just going to need you to sign a statement here, and then you'll be good to go. Just verifying what happened today with these three."

I had to chuckle at that, nodding at the demeanor. "Gotta sacrifice that ink to the bureaucracy demons, right? I'm sorry if I caused any concerns today... it's been really, really messed up." Here, Stock's eyes softened just a bit, and she shook her head ruefully.

"Nonsense," came the reply: "It's just that whenever these three get into something, anything, something almost inevitably goes wrong. Frankly, I'm glad that nothing actually exploded." The way she said that... well, the implications were clear, as was the half-hidden warning. I had to admit that that 'explosion' was a near thing, that's for sure... even if it didn't actually happen.

A brief glance over the paperwork pretty much confirmed everything she'd told me: it was just a statement of the facts, nothing substantial. Three copies, of course - signed already by the Sergeant as the staff officer, and by the three troublemakers still waiting in the room. With a shrug, I penned my own, taking the quill she offered, and mostly-happily accepted my own copy to tuck into my bag. With a roll of my shoulders and a stretch of my legs, things finally felt like they were reaching a sensible point.

"So, I have to ask, what brings a changeling into Ponyville in the first place?" requested the Sergeant as the Wild Guard slipped out of the well-lit office. "You hear stories about changelings all the time, usually the kind of ridiculous faff that the newspapers think will sell copies; nopony really believes them, but even so."

There, I had to shrug. "Woke up in the Everfree without a clue how I got there. This looks like a nice town, really, so I might just have to stay a while. No place really else to go, at the moment." The knowledge that the newspapers were rather less than informed came as no surprise whatsoever: I suspected at that point that the Weekly World News had its equivalents in this world as well. "So, you know, might as well put a few of my skills to use, find a job, that sort of thing." Here, I waved a hoof. "And never really been great at shapeshifting, but I figure, act normally and folks won't be too terribly xenophobic. You hear stories about small towns all the time..."

This was met with a rueful grin on the face of all four ponies, though Cobalt answered first. "It's mostly not true, those stories... Ponyville's a pretty nice place. Though there are a few fillies who tend to delight in reacting to the smallest thing with overblown panic... some of us have a hard time stopping that herd reaction when it starts."

"I completely understand... as the old saying goes, 'When in danger, when in doubt...'"

"Run in circles, scream and shout," we all finished in unison.

The comparatively painless task of paperwork handled, with a few plans in place for the morning, I set out on my own from there. The town square was mostly empty at this point in the evening, with the sun hanging low in the sky; most ponies were almost undoubtedly at home, cooking their dinners and generally settling in for the night. A few foals and fillies played around here and there, kicking a hoofball around or playing tag, but even they were setting back; the lamps weren't lit, but they'd soon spread their light in lieu of the day.

To my pleasant surprise, the police department did have a few spare copies of a map or two of Ponyville - hardly substantial, but enough that I was able to figure out a good direction to head in. I had to admit, an early night sounded precisely like what I needed at this time, and there was a plain, simple bed and breakfast just down the way. The Red Mane, as they called it, was more or less the spitting image of a small-town hostel, right down to the rosebushes outside - though a part of me did wonder if that was part of the brunch, or simply there for decoration. In any event, with a comparatively calm heart I made my way in.

I won't say that with the ring of the bell, all discussion stopped within, but there was a decided decline from what was hitherto a lively conversation between a few of the guests. I could hardly blame them: I wasn't exactly the image of a regular pony, after all. My odd pack, my chitin, the odd hole here and there... I did hear the muttered word 'changeling' once or twice, as from a distance. Thankfully, this was definitely muted: in a travelers' accommodation like this one, surely the sight of an odd traveler, like a gryphon, yak, or zebra wouldn't be too terribly out of place.

Making my way over to the register, I gave a light nod to the folks who had turned their attention towards me, redirecting their stares back to the conversations in which they were taking part. I wouldn't say that the place was extraordinarily crowded, but there were about seven or eight ponies there, not counting the staff... a surprising number passing through, if that's what they were.

If the proprietor of the inn, a slate-grey and lemon-maned Earth Pony stallion who looked like he was a regular fixture of the establishment, noticed anything peculiar about me, he certainly didn't let it show. The stalwart gentleman simply raised an eyebrow at the sight of my pack, chewing gum with a scent of mint which I could easily make out from halfway across the room. "Staying with us?" he inquired simply, gesturing to the ledger. "It's thirty bits a night for a single, twenty if you're just bunking."

For a few moments, I balked at the expenditure, but prudence won out over thrift in this regard; a single room seemed much more like my style, however small that they might be, and I certainly didn't want anyone rummaging through my pack again. Once or twice was enough, and no matter how much the Wild Guard had given me reason to trust them, even in a town like Ponyville, I would expect that things might go missing from time to time. Plus, even disregarding the technology I had in my bag, there were also the well-over-a-thousand-bits, and I wasn't about to lose those if I could help it.

"A week, then, in a single," I replied, "if you have the space." It was perhaps a bit much, and 210 bits was quite the quantity... but at the same time, having a space in which to relax was important, and as they say, one has to spend money to survive... let alone to make money. The innkeep gave a slow nod, and noted, "Seventh night's free, then," accepting my 180 without much of a change in expression and providing me with a small, steel key in return. "Breakfast's at eight o'clock. Other meals you cook yourself, or eat out." A curt nod was my own response, and I dutifully placed my name down in the ledger, trying to ignore the small spike of curiosity coming from two of the stallions on the other side of the room.

Looking around, I took in the atmosphere - a straightforward lobby, ornate wood finishings and comfortable, but not extravagant furniture - and decided to simply head upstairs for the moment. I had things to sort out, after all... and I doubted that the conversations, no matter how scintillating they might have been, would help at that point.

True to form, even for a hostel, the room in question where I would be sleeping was tiny. I hadn't expected a substantial amount of comfort, but it really was about as minimalist as one could get. The bathrooms down the hall were completely separate, though thankfully there were more than one of them; similarly, there were a pair of communal showers for the sake of simplicity. Briefly, I considered how much hot water they had, but set that thought aside for the moment.

Bed, desk, small closet, window. That's about all one needs in a room, aside from a small lamp which appeared to function magically. Of the amenities, such as it were, I was most thankful for the desk, which appeared to be just large enough to contain that laptop of mine... and nothing else. The walls were a mere cream shade, the bedsheets and pillow a similar yellow, and a mirror hung at more or less eye level on the door. All in all, I'd slept in smaller and less comfortable spaces, from time to time.

"All right," I muttered to myself, withdrawing that small paper notebook from my bag. "First things, first, the elephant in the room, so to speak." With a twist of my hoof, I was able to tear an unused page free, glaring at it slightly as though willing it almost to explode. "Zero-range telekinesis is one thing, but if I'm going to be able to even use my computer, I'm going to need to deal with ranged manipulation." Smashing on a keyboard with hooves, after all, wasn't any way of going about it, not if I wanted the trusty equipment to remain intact for more than a few minutes. At the same time, if I started tapping away with a telekinetic field I wasn't familiar with, that could be even more destructive... and that's something I wasn't going to abide.

"What I know about telekinesis... basic unicorn, alicorn, changeling power, projecting a field onto an object and manipulating it from there." I gave my horn a light tap, the sensation of bone against bone - especially on one's forehead - an alien and not entirely comfortable one. "Okay, that's sensitive..." Feeling almost like I was about to sneeze, I shook my head with some small irritation, then returned my attention to the paper in front of me.

'Hum, wonder what colour my field is. Hopefully it's not acid green, let alone octarine... well, let's find out.' Throughout the day, I'd felt a bit of an odd sensation, even more so than the functional empathy I seemed to have been given: it was as though there were waves of energy running through, well, everything, intrinsically permeating every object within the world. That energy was much more notable, of course, outside the Everfree, but it still existed there, albeit in a wild form. Not surprising, to be frank.

Manipulation of that element, such as it were, seemed as though it would be a difficult task, not unlike trying to handle phlogiston or the luminous aether. I had to chuckle, though, as the latter seemed to be as good a fit for this as anything. I had also noticed that the energies in question were handled in a much different manner by pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies... though each clearly did handle those energies, directing them to certain tasks. Intrinsic vs. extrinsic...

Pushing my woolgathering aside, I started off by closing my eyes and taking a long, deep breath. The first step was likely to push some energy into that horn itself, letting it flow freely there. Just a little bit, not too much: I knew full well that telekinesis could be easy to overdo, at least if the show's illustrations were in any way correct. With a small hum, I heard the sound of thaumic resonance starting up, and opened my eyes to see what sort of a colour I was emanating.

Hmm, light grey, almost a silver - I could work with that.

With another mental twist, I focused on exuding that aura, pushing it over to the piece of paper in order to, say, 'grab' it safely. In a way, it felt a lot like reaching out an arm or leg, but without that physical sensation. It wasn't quite the same, but there was a reactive sensation, too, almost like brushing a fingertip over a carpet: I could feel the resonance in the air, affecting the field in its own ways. While unique, I quickly set that aside as well for the moment, finally encapsulating that piece of paper in my aura.

The paper immediately crumpled up into a tiny ball.

The surprise at the result was rather palpable, and my field cut off as I nearly jumped out of my skin - well, chitin. That wasn't supposed to happen... and it was probably not a good sign. On the other hoof, I was suddenly very glad that I didn't immediately try that with something more potentially harmful, like anything electronic... or even a bit coin. Having metal coinage flung around would likely not amuse the other tenants, let alone the owners of the Red Mane.

With a sigh, I reached over to uncrumple the paper. This would take quite a bit of practice...

Two hours later, I had more or less exhausted myself, at least in a few ways. Magic, as many know, is handled like a muscle, and it takes long practice to get that muscle up to snuff. I was more or less just a filly trying to use a new skill for to get her cutie mark, though thankfully without the disasters inherent.

A few of the paper balls had indeed reacted in expected ways, by which I mean that they attempted to impact themselves in the walls, ceiling, floor, and my face. On the positive side, they were just paper, not exactly the sort of material which is likely to put holes in even insubstantial drywall. About 10 pages had been pulled out, eight of which had immediately crumpled upon my efforts to lift them... though two sheets were still more or less intact after I'd started fine-tuning my capability. I hadn't been able to use the telekinesis to fold them yet, not with any regularity, but I'd been able to lift the sheets without damaging them, a rather substantial mark of progress.

Having locked the door the moment I entered, I stood and stretched, my legs creaking slightly as a few joints cracked. That, I supposed, was as good a stopping point as ever, and while I didn't feel exactly hungry, I knew that I'd be wolfing down breakfast the next day. Once the telekinetic field was finally handled, I'd be able to make some good use thereof, not least regarding making notes on the whole situation... notes which I would encrypt, on the grounds that they'd likely make me appear to be a deranged lunatic.

Plus, there was the study of magic, and the question of what happened to me... how did I have such excellent capacity for kinesthetics, when I literally should not have been able to even crawl around with impunity? It should have been impossible for me to even utilize this body, let alone the zero-range TK field inherent to all ponies; while I hadn't flown yet, I had a feeling that would be almost as simple as walking around, and that went well beyond impossible. How was I even speaking the same language? All of this added up to something meddling, something huge. "It is a mystery", as they say, and I knew I'd have to solve that if I had any chance of staying sane.

A sigh quickly divorced me from that train of thought, and I turned to close the curtains around the window, packing my belongings into a small foot locker - well, hoof locker - at the end of the bed. Sleep, a night's sleep, that would undoubtedly have a beneficial effect. That and food in the morning.

"Goodnight, Ponyville," I finally yawned, turning to the bed with an odd feeling that I was forgetting something. "Goodnight, Luna," I added, looking up at the unadorned moon in the deep sky, surrounded by constellations.

I had nearly gotten to sleep when I jerked full awake, spilling out of bed like a sack of rice and rushing back to the window. Unadorned?!

"Oh, shit."

Author's Note

And there's the end of the first day. Quite a long ride so far! Don't worry, things will speed up as far as that goes: I can't keep spending a dozen chapters on such a short time period. Hope you folks enjoy!