There were certain things one had to do to stay balanced and healthy in the noggin. Doctors, for example, worked around the stress of handling death and suffering by warping their minds and outlook on ponykind. Teachers did what they did either out of love, bless them, or through much denial and a sort of rosification of the rest of the world. Labourers drank and ate heartily, and while smoking was an edgy activity done only in the hush-hush parlours of polluted city-states, the chewing of betel leaves was not uncommon in the region.
And here was Celestia, who handled the lifeblood of the nation's activites, who taught ponies everywhere to live and love for harmony's sake, and laboured, because by her swirling mane the Sun was not as light as a ball of gas should be.
Yes, there were certain things one had to do to stay balanced. Ponies in the hospitality industry were a great example. They slipped in and out of a smiling, helpful persona as easily as they did their uniforms. Celestia, too, was like this, in that she slipped in and out of her virtuous, maternal, patient self for her shifts.
It was night time now. Dinner was to come upon her. Celestia didn't have to be patient.
Seeing Twilight nervously twitch about, fumbling for conversation pieces with the three uncooperative characters opposite her, was a dose of sugar-laced schadenfreude. Today had been a particularly long day, because she had had to meet Parliament and explain why it was that she allowed the Crystal Heart to shatter. Yes, fine, the Crystal Kingdom was a domain under Equestria, which meant she, Princess of Equestria, was custodian of all important artifacts. They had groused like no other when the original stone casing of the Elements of Harmony had shattered, too. But it wasn't as if she could have asked it nicely to stop shattering!
"No, Princess, with all due respect"—how she hated that phrase—"it is not fine just because everything 'turned out all right'. The loss of the Crystal Heart is a devastating blow to the history of ponykind!"
The loss of the Crystal Kingdom would have been a devastating blow, too, but Celestia had kept her mouth shut. She had replied with a controlled word of thanks. She knew it ticked them off, but it brought her no joy. Not today.
Celestia picked up the cake fork, and watched at the edge of her sight as Twilight's face paled a little more. Did it bother her that she had picked, of all the utensils on the table, the third last in the sequence? Not the first soup spoon, nor the last tea spoon, but a completely arbitrary selection? Some ponies were obsessive like that. For a while, Celestia had thought Twilight was too, but that wasn't the case, thank goodness.
Not that she didn't pity those who were. She had, over the millenia, a few advisors who were like that. She could no longer remember their faces or the colour of their coats, but she remembered the crying, the frustration, as they paced back and forth, sometimes up to hours, in front of a door knob or stack of paperwork divided into twenty five.
She continued watching Twilight as she spun the fork around perfectly along its axis, at a carefully jarring rate of 0.6667 rotations per second. Slightly tilted, just like the globe, though she wondered if only her and Luna knew that it was slanted like that. "But Princess! Wouldn't all of us be tilted then? Why are the buildings and the trees and the mountains still straight?" Thinking about it made her want to sigh, but it wasn't sighing time yet. Too much, and she could lose it.
After a thousand years of being on around the clock, thanks to Luna's absence, being grouchy was an awkward state for Celestia, especially when it was in front of her dear faithful student—no, former student. She didn't want to hurt her. But it felt good to stop trying to tiptoe around her feelings, especially after that draining dance of diplomacy in the courts. And Twilight didn't have the thickest skin, either.
So Celestia said nothing, satisfying herself with spinning the fork around and around.
To be fair, it was a pretty fork, polished very nicely. The aura of her magic made it shimmer even more, and it twinkled as it caught the light from the chandelier overhead. She thought about how cold it must feel to the touch, how sterile... and how thrilling it would be to run it across her tongue.
Steel. Fascinating evergreen malleable useful steel. In the shape of a fork.
From the depths as humble ore, dug up by hand or claw or hoof. Trialled by pickaxe and fire. Sent across hundreds of miles, worked through machinery that itself took centuries to be conceived, all for this, that she did not have to touch her lettuce with her hoof.
You couldn't even eat soup with it. Why did they even have forks in Equestria?
Twilight had mentioned something about going to the kitchen to look for artichokes? Whatever the case, she was gone, leaving her behind with the three amigos—rather, the three uhmiagos.
Celestia smirked inwardly. It wasn't even funny though.
The one thing she knew she wasn't going to do was initiate conversation because, again, long day, no tiptoeing. But it was unbecoming to rant too because one of them might be a journalist, even if none of them fit the profile. The course of action was either to sit silently in the comfort of her own presence, or to stare imperiously at them until they grew antsy and had to take a bathroom break.
The donkey was staring at his plate with a rich, practiced scowl. The music pony was in a sensory cage of her own design, what with her dark sunglasses blocking her vision and her headphones blocking her hearing. And the gray pony...
She was familiar, somehow. It felt like she had known her. From way back. Possibly in Canterlot. Though that couldn't be, because such ponies never really left the town they were born in. It wasn't a judgment on her appearances, no—even if she wasn't forgiving of irritants, she was still justice and fairness incarnate—but that such ponies were content to stay forever. They didn't need to move up social or corporate ladders; they didn't feel the urge to expand their ownership; they didn't get crises driving them to radically alter their lifestyles by changing everything except themselves.
They were happy with who they were and what they were. Well, she seemed happy, at least.
And she was staring right at Celestia. Somehow the stare was even more prominent now that it was done through those crossed eyes of hers.
Celestia remembered not to stare, so she resumed her analysis of the fork. Centuries of practice had meant that her use of magical power was as efficient as it could get. In terms of practical effects, it meant that the fork was as cold as it was when she first picked it up. No excess heat. Just positioning. Equal amount of thrill should she choose to run it across her tongue.
She peered through the gaps in the prongs. Every rotation cut the scenery behind it—in this case, some kind of potted plant—and the deeper she stared, the more jarring the cutting became, like incoming rolling clouds on a sunny day casting their shadows on grassy plains. Or the eclipse dawning, instilling a sense of dread not taught from any social construct. Every time the fork's prongs drew closer, they devoured the scenery, leaving nothing but gleaming harsh silver. Every time the fork's prongs aligned, the oppression was contained, forced back by nature's cycle into the cramped centre of the pot. Every time the fork's prongs spun perpendicular to her sight, the world resumed its normal state of separation. The west and east halves of the pot were segregated now, free from their individual politics, influences, cultures. Free until the oppression returned. Because the fork was tilted, the west side was always the first to fall. They resented the east side, for when you and your family faced the brink of extinction, even a fraction of a second more mattered. Even that fraction of a second was a privilege that you did not have, that you resented others for having. But they could not move over, because they were proud. So, so proud. And what was the good of a side if you didn't have pride—
A loud harrumphing cough startled Celestia out of her trance. The fork almost dropped to the ground. She could feel her eyeballs receding back into her head, and realized how dry they had become.
It was the donkey, who had the audacity not only to break her gripping narrative, but to actually glare at her. As if this were her fault!
Stab the donkey, cheered an inner voice from nowhere.
Celestia blinked. No. I am not stabbing the donkey.
The glimmer reminded Celestia that her fork was still in the air, hanging by a sliver of power. She kept it there, meaningfully.
What was taking Twilight so long?
While the music pony was still busy bobbing her head, lost in her own world, the gray pony had taken to holding up her cutlery, too, and was spinning it around with her hooves.
It was like watching a weird split astral projection of her, distorted through some crazy lens. Add in the donkey with his grumpiness and you actually had the whole package.
At this, Celestia stopped and laid her fork down gently. What was she even doing? Was this what she had become?
No, reminded the inner voice. This is what you always were.
You're saying that right now, I'm little more than background scenery?
You are a visual gag to the casual observer of this party.
But I am—I am Princess Celestia! Co-ruler of Equestria! Lord of the Sun, Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Guard—
To you, yes. But you can also be merely a visual gag.
Celestia glanced at the ponies opposite her.
It is fine for you to be less than the sum of your parts sometimes. That is what relaxing is.
The gray pony smiled at her.
Relaxing means you don't need to be more than this. This... is okay.
The donkey coughed again.
After all, you're off work now.
And the inner voice was right. Celestia wasn't here as a princess. She was here as Twilight's former mentor, on an invitation between two friends with a close relationship. So here, she didn't have to be a princess. She didn't have to feel offended because others were not looking at her as a princess, either; she didn't have to feel ashamed because she didn't look like a princess to herself.
All she had to do was relax and meet Twilight's student, and her new friend. And have dinner.
Celestia prepared a brave face. Yes. This was a good resolution to end it on.
And perhaps—perhaps these ponies (and donkey) were more than met the eye. Maybe they were more than just background scenery or visual gags or whatever. Maybe they had deep stories and histories to them. The donkey, likely, but perhaps even the gray pony with the endearing and oddly maternal smile. Maybe she could strike up a conversation, not because she had to, but because it was going to be fun. And maybe she could have fun.
"How do you get your hair to do that all the time?" exclaimed the donkey suddenly.
Now. Now was sighing time.
So Celestia sighed. Because she could, and because she wanted to, and because she didn't have to hold it in.
And as her worries faded, so did her sigh, transforming into the tiniest smile.
Author's Note
Post-production blog is in the link. Check it out for behind-the-scenes stuff and my thoughts on the value of fluff.
Thank you for reading, liking, fav'ing, commenting—the whole shebang. I appreciate it!
