It was bigger than he'd imagined.
Dream Catcher had had a rough week. His acceptance to grade 11 of Celestia's School for Gifted Equines, and under full scholarship no less, had come as an immense surprise to his entire family. He was no slouch in his studies, of course; indeed, he was easily the best in his class. But that was back in Vanhoover. Canterlot was of an entirely different standard. It was the home of the unicorns - the richest, the elite, and by virtue of that the most well-educated. Intelligence came easily to them, much like snobbery and elitism did. Rumour had it that the reason why Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns had persisted for so long was because of a few well-placed, hardcore unicorn supremacists. True, most of it had died out decades ago, but the fact was that there simply weren't prestigious schools for other races. There was only one for Gifted Unicorns.
But recently, with the blessing of all three of the Equestrian Princesses, and the commendation of the Crystal Empire, Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns was turned into Celestia's School for Gifted Equines. And suddenly, the earth pony Dream Catcher had a chance.
He was not a silly pony. He knew that chances were only chances, and nothing more. He had sent in his application and his student record. He hadn't invested too much time in it, either, since the chances were small. Besides academics, his record was fairly unimpressive. But apparently academics had been enough, and the acceptance letter came in the mail only days later. His family scrambled to put him on the direct train to Canterlot, where he would settle into the promised student hostel, receive the most advanced education money could buy, and become successful and rich beyond his wildest dreams.
At least, that was what his family was convinced would happen. But Catcher didn't want to count his eggs before they hatched. He was, after all, not a silly pony.
The ride had been rough. He was not used to the bed moving under his body. When he disembarked, he was in pretty bad shape. Only his carefully prepared checklists and inventory accounts had saved his luggage from being carried off to Baltimare. Still, he was awake and equipped with a map, and that was enough to guide him to the little six-pointed star that the map had chosen to indicate the School.
As he stared up at the gargantuan, palace-esque building, sporting the fresh sign proclaiming Celestia's School for Gifted Equines in large gilded lettering, he surmised that the star did not do this place justice.
He looked down at the map, then back up again at the sign. Vanhoover was a smaller town, with buildings he knew - objectively - were smaller than the Equestrian average. It was only reasonable that the size of the major buildings would shock him. But, just in case, Dream Catcher checked the map again. It would not do for him to stumble accidentally into Canterlot Castle.
He looked around. Ponies of all colours were milling around the entrance. Some were wearing the purple-beige vest that he recognised from the brochures as the School's official uniform, though policy indicated that there was no compulsory dress code. Most of the ponies around him weren't wearing anything at all. That was good, he decided, since he wasn't wearing anything either. He hadn't been able to buy a uniform. At least he wouldn't stand out.
A loud, low series of chimes struck somewhere in the heart of the School. The milling crowd hesitated, then gradually gravitated towards the oak double doors yawning open beneath the Celestia's School sign. That, Dream Catcher presumed, was the start-of-school bell. That meant it was eight in the morning. According to the first-day itinerary he had been mailed, the first order of the day was a school-wide briefing. Some of the other scholars might have had a chance to move their luggage into their dorms already, but he was too late for that. He'd simply take care of it later. Unpacking was something he didn't want to rush, at any rate.
He followed the crowd unassumingly through the doors. Despite his best attempts at subtlety, however, his mere presence garnered some thoroughly unsubtle whispers and pointed hooves from the unicorn cliques. It wasn't racism, he guessed; the majority of unicorns were probably longtime students of the school, having studied here since foalhood. They were just gawking at the new ponies. As much as he hated to stand out, he couldn't do anything about not having a horn on his head.
He opened his map of the school and buried his face in it. They were in the massive purple-beige atrium now, stairs running up and down and corridors stretching out in every direction. The assembly hall was in the Solaris Block, which was up the stairs and to the right, down thirteen doors, and... everypony was heading there already, so he needn't have bothered. And more ponies were staring at him now that he had the map out.
This was going to be a long day.
It took him a few minutes, in the unhurried flow of the crowd, to reach the assembly hall. It was large, as everything seemed here in Canterlot. There were two levels. Catcher found a thoroughly average seat at a thoroughly average position, in the middle of the first level seats. He settled comfortably into the cushion as ponies came crowding in around him. He kept his luggage close by. Damage to his prized possessions was something he both figuratively and very literally could not afford.
He took advantage of the dim light to close his eyes and fold his ears down. He'd had assemblies before in his old school in Vanhoover, but none had been quite so... loud. Or hectic. The ponies here chatted away like nopony's business. It was the same in Vanhoover, naturally, but there were ten times more students in this one hall than there had ever been on the running track that passed for his school's assembly space. He could barely hear himself think.
Then a noise, the microphone-amplified clearing of a throat, cut even above the deafening chatter. The noise died down. Standing on the well-lit stage was a silver-coated, golden-maned unicorn mare, wearing a sleek lavender-beige dress, a sharp set of glasses, and a stern look.
"Good morning, students." Her voice was severe, not at all welcoming. "Most of you already know me. But for the benefit of our new students, I shall introduce myself." A small murmur began at a far corner of the second level. She rapped her hoof fiercely on the hollow wood stage and the murmur stopped immediately. "I am Ms Sharphoof, principal and disciplinary master of this school. There are many reasons why you could become acquainted with me. I trust you will choose the right ones." Her gaze roamed the crowd. "Celestia's School for Gifted Equines is nationally acclaimed for more than its standard of education. Since our founding in the seventh century of the Summer Sun, we have prided ourselves on our excellent moral education. As our longtime students know, we have a variety of classes and activities specifically to aid in our moral education policy, such as extra-curricular service opportunities and, once you receive your timetables, the Personal and Social Education class. But there is one programme you absolutely have to know."
Her horn began to glow a gentle argent. A sheet of paper slipped out of her dress and floated up to her. She readjusted her glasses. "The CIIP: Community Involvement Initiative Programme."
To Dream Catcher, Community and Involvement translated usually to chores. He knew they were necessary, but ponies his age tended to complain about such things. He expected some noise of protest, at least among the new students (wherever they were). But instead, there was a general murmur of approval and - could it be? - genuine excitement.
Clearly, Canterlot was very different from Vanhoover.
"This particulars form is your CIIP record." Principal Sharphoof pointed her horn at the paper. An enlarged image of it appeared on the large, flat white wall behind her in strikingly enhanced detail. The entire sheet was filled with lines and boxes, in a way that was almost artistic to Catcher - that is to say, abstract art. He couldn't make head or tail of it. "By the end of the year, this form will need to record one hundred hours of community involvement, which includes participation in official school clubs and activities, approved student initiatives, and supervised external service projects. If you do not complete all one hundred hours, you will not be allowed to promote to the next grade or graduate."
Oh. That... will be a problem.
Already somepony on the second level, an earth pony like him, was beginning to ask, "But what if we—"
"No. Exceptions." Sharphoof rapped her hoof on the stage floor again. The earth pony shut up immediately. "That will be all for now, students. Scholars, you will have the next hour to move into your rooms. After that will be the briefing on subject combinations for both scholars and new students. The rest of you, lessons begin at nine. Do not be late." Tucking the paper back into her dress, she announced, "Dismissed!"
Catcher waited for the ponies around him to stand up, and then stood up in turn. CIIP had been in the brochure but he'd paid it little attention. It seemed irrelevant, an accessory to the important academics, just like PE and student clubs. But one thing he was sure he didn't see in the brochure was it being a requirement for promotion. Maybe they were afraid it would make the school unattractive. It certainly was a lot less attractive to him now. He could see how much trouble it would be. He was not a silly pony.
As he followed the gentle flow of the crowd towards the exit, he set his mental resources on arranging a solution to this inconvenience. He would have to find something, of course. He needed those hundred hours. But preferably it would be something he could do with minimal trouble, cutting down on inefficiencies like travel time. That meant external service was unfeasible.
"Hello everypony! Would you like to join my musical?"
Student clubs or campus-based initiatives would be best. But he imagined a lot of those might involve travel time of their own, probably out to old folks' homes or orphanages or something of the sort. They were for service, after all. What kind of activity would be completely based in the campus?
"I'm looking for scriptwriters! So long as you meet the deadlines, you can work on your own free time and anywhere you want!"
There was also the concern of hidden conditions, like CIIP. If an official organisation like Celestia's School could avoid declaring critical facets of their programme, what would keep small student-run initiatives and clubs from doing so? He needed something concrete, something like an information slip and somepony he could interrogate for further details and hidden caveats.
"Please take this brochure if you're interested! If you have any further questions, feel free to ask me whenever you'd like!"
But what were the odds that something like that existed?
Somepony tapped his shoulder and pulled him out of the crowd. "Hi, would you—oh."
He snapped out of his reverie. He was just at the exit, standing in a small alcove in the wall. Beside him, looking at him with a disappointed expression, was a white unicorn mare with a well-styled red mane. A picture of two silhouetted theatre masks - one happy, one sad - was marked on her flank. She was holding out a brochure of some sort towards him, but she was already in the midst of drawing it away. Catcher quickly scanned the most apparent details.
The Musical!
Do you need a CIIP activity? Do you like creative writing? Then the Musical is for you!
Hm.
"I'm sorry," Catcher said, "but what were you saying?"
"Oh, um." The white unicorn bit her lip. "It's just, uh, I was just looking for scriptwriters for my musical, but I can see you're really busy and I don't want to disturb you, so, yes, sorry about that."
"No, it's quite alright." The gears in his head clicked and clacked into furious motion. "It's a CIIP activity?"
"... Yeeeeeeeees." She winced. "But I'm not sure it's your type of thing."
"I'm interested, actually." He had some experience with writing. He imagined he might be able to do it. "Could I have a brochure?"
"Um, sure." She hesitantly hoofed the proffered brochure over to him. "But keep in mind that you'll... have to pass a hard writing test first." Her pained expression morphed into something she probably hoped looked confident. "Yeah. It won't be easy."
"Thank you for the information." At least she wasn't in the habit of hiding important details, he thought. "I'll consider it. I'm grateful for the opportunity."
"Yeah, no problem. Now you'd better be on your way, you don't want to be late." She ushered him back into the moving crowd and gave him an awkwardly big smile. He smiled back politely. Canterlot ponies had a strange mode of behaviour. When he rounded the corner and she disappeared from view, her exclamations began again: "Looking for scriptwriters! Scriptwriters for the Musical!" But she sounded decidedly more subdued.
Dream Catcher was in his small hostel room, preparing to unpack his fragile luggage, when the white unicorn came by again. She'd knocked softly, almost inaudibly, on the door. He'd barely heard it. There wasn't another knock, but when he cantered over and opened the door she'd still been waiting there. Her head had been hung abashedly, and she fiddled shamefully with the tips of her hooves. It was as if she had something to be sorry about. Dream Catcher didn't know what. But he'd invited her in anyway.
Now she was seated on the edge of his modest, lumpy bed. He'd taken up a comfortable position on his swivel-cushion at the tiny work table at the end of the room. She hadn't talked for about one and a half minutes, judging by the wall clock above the toilet door. He understood. Sometimes you just had to arrange your thoughts before you said something, to avoid saying something you didn't mean or indulging in tautologies. He'd waited patiently for her to speak.
"I'm sorry," she finally blurted out.
Catcher tilted his head curiously to the side. "Sorry? For what?"
"For how I acted around you just now. I was wrong. It wasn't fair to act like that just because you were... you know."
He was drawing a blank. "I'm afraid I don't."
"Well, like..." she twiddled her forelegs nervously. "An earth pony."
"Ah." He paused to reorganise the facts in his head. "So your behaviour wasn't typical of Canterlot ponies?"
"It... wasn't typical of anypony, I guess." She looked a lot better now. The guilty posture and expression had melted into relief. "It's just that, I know earth ponies are really traditional, and I didn't really want a... traditional feel for the script."
"Traditional?" he asked. "In what sense?"
"You know. 'The good old ways'. No technology, no changing ideas, and no youngsters exercising independence and discovering themselves and..." She coughed. "You get it."
"I do," he said. He thought back to his family and Vanhoover. "I suppose that you're right, to a certain extent. Most are less extreme than that, though."
"Yeah. It was hyperbole." She smiled weakly. "The musical involves some family trouble, and I didn't want traditional family values to interfere with the power of the scene."
"Don't worry," he said. He knew what he believed in. "I'm not traditional. I'm just practical."
She laughed. "That's a relief. I'm sorry again about the whole thing. I'm just not used to earth ponies, I guess."
"Not to worry." He dismissed her concerns with a wave. "I understand."
"Thanks," she replied. "And welcome to the musical, by the way. The thing I said earlier about the test - I was kidding. We're too short on writers. Everypony wants the glamorous roles. I've had fifteen ponies ask me when auditions for the leads are coming up. Nopony wants to be the one behind the scenes."
"Behind the scenes?" Catcher asked. "That sounds great to me."
She smiled back. "I'm glad. We're having a crew meeting after school in the cafeteria. Do you feel up to it? I know it's your first day here and all that."
"I'll manage," he said. "Thank you, uh..."
Her eyes widened. "Oh! I can't believe I forgot to introduce myself." She extended a hoof. "I'm Scarlet. Scarlet Heart."
"Pleased to meet you, Scarlet." He took her hoof and shook it. "My name is Dream Catcher."
She blinked. Then, suddenly, she chuckled. "Oh, I get it. Because dreamcatchers are like, those things with the nets and..." She trailed off as his blank stare began to sink in. "Um, never mind. See you after school!"
"Yes, of course, see you then." He got up to open the door for her, but she magicked it open on her own and slipped out. She forgot to close it. Catcher sighed, walked up to the open door, and shut it himself.
Perhaps Canterlot ponies were strange after all.
The subject combination lecture was useless to him. Dream Catcher was well aware of the importance of proper subject choice for future university course applications, and he had studied the syllabus outline for every subject Celestia's School offered. He was hoping the lecture would impart some new information, but with each subject head that trotted up the stage it became clearer and clearer that they were just advertising their subjects and nothing more. It was not a holistic evaluation. He would have to rely on his own research.
The lecture alone took up the whole day. By the time the last teacher had finished her recommendation of Philosophy, the clock read well past two in the afternoon. It was a Friday. Everypony was given the weekend to decide on their subject combinations and then dismissed. Most of them headed back to the hostel or, for the rare new students who weren't scholars, to whatever homes they'd managed to acquire in Canterlot. Dream Catcher headed to the cafeteria.
Celestia's School's cafeteria was, in keeping with the rest of the building, absolutely huge. There was a veritable sea of tables and chairs between the entrance - where he was - and the stalls. And what a selection of stalls there was. There was a vendor for local food from each of the major Equestrian regions. Dream Catcher took note of where the Vanhoover stall was, slotted it into his mental map of the school, and marked it with a little mental star.
"Dream Catcher!" somepony called. "Over here!"
He turned to the source of the sound. Scarlet Heart was waving at him from one of the tables pressed up against the wall. Seated at the same bench were a quartet of mares, two unicorns and two earth ponies, who waved at him too as he approached.
"Hello, Scarlet." He sat down opposite her, on the same side as one of the pair of unicorns and earth ponies. The unicorn had a white coat, like Scarlet, but a shock of electric-blue hair instead of Scarlet's red. She wore a pair of purple shades, though they were indoors, and cyan headphones around her neck. Her earth pony companion was a smooth slate grey, with a dark well-groomed mane and tail. They were an odd match. But the way they sat seemed too intimate for strangers. They must have been friends. Curious.
"So." Scarlet clapped her hooves. "Welcome to the meeting! Everypony, this is our new head scriptwriter, Dream Catcher."
"Hello, Dream Catcher," the four of them chorused.
Scarlet grinned. She gestured to the earth pony on the other side of the table, a mare with a dull yellow coat, a curled blue-pink mane, and a kindly smile. "Catcher, this is Bon Bon, our director and publicity manager."
Bon Bon nodded politely. "It's nice to meet you. Would you rather I call you Dream or Catcher?"
"Catcher will do." For some reason, her voice sounded off to him. Like it was too deep for her. Then again, what did he know?
Scarlet turned to the lime-green unicorn beside Bon Bon. "This is Lyra Heartstrings. She's a musician and a writer."
"And head choreographer!" Lyra added.
"I'm still not so sure about the dance segment," Scarlet said uneasily.
"Head choreographer!" she insisted playfully.
Scarlet sighed and rolled her eyes. "And head choreographer. Anyway, the mare sitting beside you is Octavia Melody, musical director and musician."
Octavia offered Catcher a hoof. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
He shook it. "Likewise."
"Hey, Tavi, he sounds just like you!" The not-Scarlet white unicorn beside Octavia slapped her lightly on the back, to which Octavia responded with an annoyed glare. "Like, stuffy and all that."
"This," Scarlet said, gesturing in the unicorn's general direction, "is Vinyl Scratch, tech manager and musician."
"Yo," Vinyl said, cracking a lopsided smile. She put out her hoof towards Dream Catcher, like Octavia had done, but the positioning was slightly different. He wasn't sure if she wanted him to shake it. It looked almost like she was pointing at him.
"Uh..." he said.
Vinyl snickered. "It's a hoofbump, dude. Like this, see?" She reached out with her other leg and lifted his. She bumped his hoof and her outstretched one together. "Bam. Hoofbump."
"... Ah." Catcher didn't know what to think. He tried smiling gratefully, but that just made Vinyl chortle more.
"Oh," she said, lowering her shades to wipe tears away from her cerise eyes, "you guys are all the same."
"And," Scarlet added pointedly, prompting Vinyl to shut her mouth, "I'm the producer and lead. Between us we cover all the positions we need to, except stage manager, so if nopony else comes along then that position's yours too, Catcher."
"I see." Catcher paused to think. "I have a few questions."
"Go ahead."
"How is this qualify as a CIIP activity?" he asked.
Her eyes lit up. "I'm glad you asked! We will be charging entry fees and asking for donations, and all proceeds will be going to the Canterlot Institution for Criminal Rehabilitation."
"Oh, I see." He smiled, for once without forcing himself to. Smiling on command had become a habit. It had been a while since anypony had been able to make him smile genuinely. "That's a clever loophole exploitation. I'm impressed."
Scarlet frowned. "Loophole?"
"Yes," he said. "CIIP has to involve service, but evidently any activity can qualify so long as it assists the community. If you satisfy that condition you can engage in any activity you please. It's very clever."
Vinyl cringed. Beside Scarlet, whose face was rapidly darkening, Lyra inhaled sharply and clamped her hooves over her ears.
"I'm not trying to cheat," Scarlet growled. Her teeth were bared. "I want to help society. I actually want to do something for the ponies of Equestria, to the best of my abilities. I'm not like some ponies I know."
Apparently he'd hit a sore spot. That was the danger of spontaneity; you ran the risk of saying not only something unnecessary, but worse: something wrong. He did not like being wrong. It was thoroughly unpleasant. He needed to correct his mistake. "I'm very sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to imply that you were cheating. I just meant that it was smart of you to find a way for you to serve society with your skills and passions. Not everypony can do that."
She blinked. Slowly, gradually, her lips closed back over her snarling teeth and her eyes softened. "Oh. I see," she murmured. She shook her head exasperatedly. "I'm sorry... Again."
"It's fine," he said. He monitored Lyra and Vinyl's expressions out of the corner of his eyes. In contrast to Bon Bon's neutral expression and Octavia's confused one, they looked very, very relieved. He chose to take that as a good sign.
She shook her head, massaging her forehead with a hoof. "I just hate it when somepony accuses me of faking my decency. I try my best to do the right thing. But she..."
"She?" Catcher inquired.
Scarlet smiled humourlessly. "Just somepony I don't like. You reminded me of her for a moment. It pressed the wrong buttons and, well..." She wiped the smile away and lowered her head apologetically. "Yeah."
"I understand," he said. Of course, it was a lie. There was a lot about equine psychology that he didn't understand. Nonetheless, there were a few things he did. Society was like a waltz; most ponies danced to a vast net of social expectations and unspoken rules so complex as to be nigh unlearnable. If Scarlet felt uncomfortable around him, she would dance. And if she danced, it would become that much more difficult to accomplish anything productive with her.
"If it makes you feel any better," Dream Catcher added, "I wholeheartedly accept your apology."
"Thank you." Scarlet bowed gratefully and gracefully. She did have the elegance of an actor, he mused, as her cutie mark suggested. Then she stood up. "Well, there's not much else to say for now. We meet during lunch every weekday, at this table. You and Lyra can work on the first draft of the script over the weekend and we'll gather on Monday to see how it's doing. Um..." She awkwardly scratched at her temple. "I'll just get out of your mane before I have to apologise to you again."
So his attempt to halt their dance had not been a complete success. Catcher allowed his line of sight to wander as he sifted through the limited social knowledge he had, searching for the perfect words to cut down the inefficiency. And then he noticed something, something at the edge of his vision, which caught his attention. A yellow something stared at him through the porthole window of the cafeteria double doors. Yellow eyes. But in an instant they met his, and they disappeared as quickly as he had noticed them. It could almost have been his imagination.
Hm.
He stood up. "I suppose this is the end of today's meeting, then. Good day."
The others loitered around to say their goodbyes. But Catcher strode briskly to the double doors, threw them open, and scanned the surrounding hallways.
Nothing. Nothing at all. He looked down, where the pony must have been standing, and he found the only hint that somepony had ever been there: a curved, roughly hoof-sized piece of translucent yellow plastic. He looked at it. It stared back up at him.
Well, there was nothing he liked so much as a mystery to be solved.
Somehow, despite the hectic rush of problems and solutions the day had thrust upon him, Dream Catcher had not rested. Instead, when he returned to his room, he found himself idly studying the piece of yellow plastic he'd found that afternoon in the empty corridors.
He turned it up and down. It reminded him of the lens on a pair of spectacles. It was nearly transparent, as lenses were wont to be, and tinted slightly like some were. The tint was almost nonexistent in the centre, but further outward a ring of near-solid yellow enclosed the see-through middle and stretched all the way to the circumference. They were too curved to be spectacle lenses, though. Too curved and too thin and too flimsy.
It occurred to him that he had been contemplating this single object for hours. He had scheduled his time carefully. He was supposed to be unpacking what little he brought with him. But this mystery had captured his attention so fully that he had wasted away the entire afternoon on it. Outside the tiny window of his tiny room he could see the moon rising high into the darkened sky.
He sighed and climbed off the bed. It was irresponsible of him to derail his plans like he had, and he knew it. Only his curiosity compelled him to ignore the guilt. He set the plastic aside reluctantly and trotted over to his unopened suitcase.
He only just managed to input the combination on the lock when somepony knocked on his door.
He sighed again. Inefficiency lurked around every corner. He left his luggage to let the visitor in.
He opened the door. Lyra's grinning green face peeked in. "Hello! Is it too late for a writing session?"
"I would think so." Catcher wasn't sure if social grace demanded that he let her in. He stepped back from the halfway opened door to leave it up to her. Lyra swung it open the rest of the way and trotted in cheerfully, shutting the door behind her.
"Really?" she asked. "But night is the best time for inspiration. I do all my best work at three in the morning." She cantered to the bed and flopped unceremoniously onto it. She winced. "Geez, what did they put in this thing, rocks?"
"Not as far as I know." He imagined that that would be a terrible waste of rocks. "By the way, I believe there's some sort of curfew for the scholars. You may not be allowed to be here."
"They never enforce it. We're all good responsible ponies anyways." Lyra turned her head and noticed the yellow piece of plastic. "Hey, I didn't know you wore lenses."
His ears perked up. "So that is a lens after all?"
"Not sure what else it could be." She picked up the lens in her telekinetic grip and spun it around. "Yeah, it's obviously not yours. These aren't even powered. It's just colour-changing."
He frowned. "Colour-changing lenses? How does that work?"
She laughed. "Har har, very funny. I get it. 'Hurr durr, us mudponies are dumb as bricks, we don't know how contact lenses work, hurr...'" Then she noticed his blank stare, and she cringed heavily. "Oh horsefeathers. You actually don't know, do you?"
"Don't know what?" he asked.
"Agh." She facehooved so violently that Catcher momentarily wondered if she'd just given herself a concussion. "I'm an idiot. Sorry about the slur. I thought you were making a joke."
"It's fine," he said routinely. "But what don't I know?"
She floated the lens over to him. "So, this thing is a contact lens. You're supposed to have two of them, one for each eye. Some of them work like glasses, which is to say that when you put them in your eye - that's how you use them, by the way - they correct your vision."
He took the lens carefully and examined them again. They did look about the size of an iris. "I see," he mused.
"But this one is cosmetic," she explained. "It isn't powered. It just changes the colour of your eye."
He cocked his head to the side. "That sounds extremely unnecessary."
"S'why I don't use them." She shrugged. "So what, you just found them lying around?"
"I did." Catcher set the lens down carefully on his study table and sat down at its seat. "Outside the cafeteria, after the musical meeting."
"Huh." Lyra narrowed her eyes in thought. "So somepony was spying on us? Somepony with yellow eyes. I wonder..." She stopped. Rolling her eyes, she let out a huge groan and flopped back onto the bed. "Of course. Of course freakin' Ciara would be coming after Scar again."
"Ciara?" Catcher inquired.
"Yeah," she said. "Scar's archnemesis. They've been at each others' throats since they were foals. I dropped out of school three years ago to live with Bon in Ponyville, and even now they're still at it." She gave the ceiling a slow clap. "Bravo, Ciara and Scar. The two of you just can't grow up."
He felt like he was piecing together a puzzle that he didn't know the least thing about. "Why are they enemies?"
"I can't even remember. It was so long ago. They had a fight or something. And they've just been going on ever since." Lyra rolled herself off the bed and landed inelegantly on her two hind legs. "Vinyl will know more than me. She never dropped out. Frankly I'm more worried about Ciara sabotaging the musical."
"Is her hatred of Scarlet that severe?"
"If I remember right, pretty much." She wobbled for a few moments in her inequine posture before dropping back onto all fours. "They hate each other like two manticores fighting over territory. It's not gonna end until somepony dies."
"That does sound severe," Catcher agreed. He presumed that was hyperbole. Nonetheless, if this Ciara was so intent on interfering with his acquisition of CIIP hours, then it was necessary to investigate her further - if, for nothing else, to confirm the validity of Lyra's claims. "I should find Ciara to return this lens."
Lyra snorted. "Why bother? Let her come to you. I'd rather she confess to spying on us."
"We don't know that for certain," he reminded her.
"Well it sounds like her," she said crossly. "Look, I have nothing against her personally, but I really want this musical to be great and I don't want her to muck everything up because of some stupid feud."
"I'm sure we can find a peaceful resolution," Catcher insisted. "Feuds are built on nothing more than a perpetrated cycle of revenge. They exist only to fuel themselves. I'm sure Scarlet will understand if we explain the futility of it."
"Not everypony is logical like you, Catcher." Lyra sighed. "Of course the most unicorn of the bunch of us is the earth pony."
He almost decided to protest at that. But he held his tongue. Racial stereotypes were embedded in culture. It would have been fruitless and time-consuming to correct her. There was nothing unicorn about him. He simply was not a silly pony.
"I suppose," he said instead. "But an attempt is better than none at all."
"I guess so." She turned around and headed back for the door. "I'm gonna find her and have a chat. We can write tomorrow after lunch, okay? I'll bring Scar too. She can brief you on the character bios and we can plan out what we want to do then."
Catcher looked back out at the starscape beyond his window. "Will she be awake?"
"Probably. We do our best work at three in the morning." She opened the door and waved. "See ya later Catcher."
"Goodbye." He watched as she swung the door closed. By the time the door clicked shut, a plan had formed in his mind.
He had to forgo unpacking that night. There wasn't enough time. He slept as early as he could, got a full night's sleep, and woke up at the crack of dawn. He moved his luggage bag so that it was right in the middle of his room. Then he grabbed the contact lens, put on a pair of plain saddlebags, and slipped out the door. He trotted down the narrow common stairwell and out the front doors of the student hostel.
Normally, in the Vanhoover mornings, he would have woken up long before the sun was due to rise to get to school on time. This was his first luxury, he supposed: the hostel was only a five minute walk away from Celestia's School. Also, unlike Vanhoover, he knew from the brochure that the School's general office was open during working hours on every day except Sunday. He knew what kind of information they would be keeping. What information they would give away was a different story, but he was confident the office staff would be reasonable about it.
So he tried. He trotted up to the counter and explained his situation. He found a contact lens belonging to somepony at the school, he said, and he wanted to contact her about it. He needed her mailing address. And thus he came into possession of the home address of Grade 11 student Ciara Mardrey, index number 4 of Tutor Group 5.
He returned to his room and wrote two letters. One he sealed in an envelope and delivered to Ciara's mailbox. The other he pasted on the outside of his door. Then he strolled down to the school garden, sat beside the cool blue pond, and waited for lunchtime.
It didn't take very long. His preparations had been long and time-consuming. Noon rolled around quickly and passed him by. He finished off an alfalfa sandwich from the cafeteria (it was open on Saturdays, too). Eventually the clip-clop of hard hooves on stone cut through the tranquility of the garden, and he turned around to meet his first visitor.
"Good afternoon," he said.
"You're Dream Catcher?" Ciara asked curtly. She was a unicorn, of course, but that was the end of how much what he thought of her meshed with what she was. Perhaps Scarlet and Vinyl had played too heavily into the conception of his assumptions. Unlike either of them, or Lyra, Ciara's coat wasn't bright or perky. It was a dull charcoal grey. Her mane and tail were a dark shade of emerald, and combed in a messy fashion. A long bang hung over one of her eyes. The other open one was, as expected, yellow. Catcher's eyes flickered to her flank, but her cutie mark was hidden under a simple dress.
He met her gaze. "I am Dream Catcher. And you are Ciara Mardrey?"
"Yes. I'd like my lens back." Her wary eye gave him a once-over, probably evaluating what he might be trying to do. She was a suspicious person. He might benefit from that sort of cynicism.
"Of course." He opened his saddlebags, retrieved the piece of plastic, and hoofed it over to her. "I found it outside the cafeteria. Perhaps you could explain why it was there?"
She didn't answer straightaway. Instead she floated the lens carefully over to her, lowered her horn to it, and cast a spell on its surface. Then, with a flash, her lens disappeared. She swept the obscuring bang aside and fixed him with the irritated glare of two yellow eyes. "I was cleaning them in the bathroom. My teleportation spell didn't go right."
"And teleported your lens all the way to the cafeteria doors?" he inquired.
"Accidents happen." She spun around and strode toward the garden exit.
"Wait," Catcher called out. She stopped. "Perhaps you should wait."
"For what?"
"I had a few more questions," he replied. This was a suboptimal outcome. Of the two ponies he needed here, he was hoping she would not be the one to come first. He'd thought he'd be able to make do if she did, but he might have overestimated his skill of stalling. "I don't believe you've told me the whole story."
Ciara slightly narrowed her eyes. Her expression barely changed, but her stare was so intense that Catcher could practically feel the temperature drop. "I told you everything you need to—"
"Catcher!" Lyra's sing-song voice called out. Catcher smiled. Ciara froze. "We're here! Are you ready to do some..."
She rounded the corner, Scarlet in tow. She noticed Ciara and her face contorted in an instinctive cringe. Beside her, Scarlet had also noticed Ciara, and she was undergoing an incredible series of rapid-fire emotions: first, confusion, then shock, then anger.
"What are you doing here?" Scarlet demanded.
Ciara rolled her eyes. "Not your business, hornhead."
"You're a unicorn too, you dunce!" Scarlet snapped.
"My horn's on my head. Yours is in it." Ciara pushed past her and made for the exit. "I'm done here."
"Stop!" Catcher ordered. Ciara didn't turn around, but she did slow her pace. "I brought the two of you here so you can settle your differences amiably."
"Catcher, what are you doing?" Lyra asked, horrified.
"Fixing this problem," he replied. "Scarlet, Ciara, from what I know the two of you have disliked each other for years. Do you even remember why?"
"Yes," the both of them said simultaneously.
"Excellent." He nodded. "Then you two can talk about it and we can resolve this dispute."
"I'm not talking 'about' anything with her!" Scarlet jabbed her hoof into Ciara's side. "We have nothing to discuss. Nothing."
"The hypocrite's right for once," Ciara said. The barest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. Nopony else noticed. But Catcher did.
"Who are you calling a hypocrite, criminal?"
"She's playing you, Scarlet," Catcher said.
"Playing?" Ciara asked, the ghostly grin stretching out just a little further. "Who's playing? I'm not the one who lied to her friends about setting up a CIIP activity."
Silence. Scarlet opened her mouth to snap back a harsh reply, but the retort died on her lips. Lyra's eyes were darting between Catcher, Scarlet, and Ciara. Her mind was still processing the development. But Catcher was faster.
"Perhaps you'd like to clarify that," he said to Ciara.
She turned to face him. "The musical hasn't been approved for CIIP yet. You think you're going to get hours out of this? Think again."
"How dare you!" Scarlet hissed. Her face was almost as red as her hair. "You know as well as I do that this'll be approved. One hundred percent!"
"Do I?" she challenged. "Do you? Because I wouldn't want to count my eggs before they hatch." Her eyes hovered over to Catcher. "Especially for anypony who may have signed up just for the hours."
So she knew. Who else?
Catcher turned to Lyra. "Did you know?"
"Catcher," Lyra said weakly, "Scar didn't mean to—"
"I see," he said. So she knew too. "This is an unpleasant revelation."
"I'm sorry," Scarlet whispered. Her eyes were downcast. Perhaps she was afraid of how he would react. She did seem genuinely penitent for her other mistakes. It was plausible that she would be penitent for this one too. Still, he could not deny that he was disappointed, both in the lie and in her for telling it. But hating her was unnecessary. He was not a silly pony. He would not start a feud. He simply had to be sceptical of what she said in future.
"It's fine," he said. And then his trademark lie: "I understand."
Ciara raised an eyebrow. "You do?"
Scarlet's lips wavered. "You do?"
"I do," he lied again. "But I hope you will understand too, Scarlet, if I resign from the musical until it is confirmed as a CIIP activity."
Lyra gasped. "Catcher!"
"I'm sorry, Lyra." Catcher shook his head. "I need to be sure. Perhaps Scarlet and Ciara can work on resolving their difficulties in the meantime."
"Does the musical mean nothing else to you?" Scarlet asked hoarsely.
"When will you get it into your head, Scarlet?" Ciara questioned. She stamped her hoof firmly on the garden stone. "No one cares about your stupid charities. Not him, not me, not even you. Stop lying to yourself and admit you're as selfish as the rest of us. You're doing the musical for yourself."
"Nopony is selfish here but you, you mule," Scarlet hissed.
"Keep telling yourself that, hypocrite." She idly inspected the bottom of her hoof. "Well, my work here is done. Lyra, be a dear and bring her home before she explodes, please? Or don't. It might be interesting to see what the inside of her head looks like." She lowered her hoof back onto the ground and turned to leave. "Pleased to meet you, Dream Catcher."
"Likewise," he replied politely. He took one last look at Ciara's retreating figure. Then he gazed at Scarlet, ruined mascara leaking down the corners of her eyes, while Lyra stood by and comforted her. It didn't seem to be doing much good. Then again, he could never tell. He could only watch and guess. He never could understand. Maybe he was a silly pony after all.
He watched for a few more moments. Nothing changed. He watched for a little while longer. Then he turned around and walked away.
It was time to unpack. He no longer had any excuse to delay. But something, an inexplicable feeling in his chest, kept Dream Catcher from getting up from his bed and tending to his schedule.
Perhaps it was the understanding. He had always been able to understand anything he set his mind to. Math, science, languages, humanities, it was all the same. Theories and concepts and skills. He could understand those. But ponies? They didn't come packaged in a textbook. They couldn't be taught in school. They were impossible to understand.
It never mattered to him before. But it mattered now. He had been tricked twice already, once by the School and once by Scarlet. His lack of what his brother might have called 'street wisdom' was biting him in the proverbial butt. It was a vulnerability that couldn't be resolved. Maybe that was what the feeling was. Or maybe it was...
No. It couldn't be anger or irritation or a general feeling of betrayal. They were inefficiencies. He had learnt to deal with them a long time ago. They didn't trouble him anymore. But then...
A knock. In the past few days, he surmised, he had been visited more times than he would normally be in a year. Vanhoover was no Canterlot. Things were so different here. He got up to answer it.
He opened the door. Behind it were Vinyl and Octavia. The former wore a sheepish grin. The latter's expression was neutral, save for a remorseful droop at the tips of her mouth.
"Heya," Vinyl said. "I heard about what happened. Lyra told me."
"Did you know about the non-CIIP state of the musical as well?" he asked.
"Yes." Octavia bowed her head low. "We're sorry."
"It's fine. I understand." He held the door wide open and let them in. "Take a seat."
"Thanks." Vinyl walked over to and sat down on his bed. Octavia hovered around her but never actually sat down. They looked at each other quietly. "Look, dude," Vinyl began hesitantly, "I need to ask: are you actually gonna leave the musical?"
"Only temporarily, I assure you," he answered. "I will rejoin once CIIP confirmation comes through."
"So, you aren't like angry at Scar or anything?" Vinyl asked.
"I believe not," he said honestly. "Though I am not particularly in tune with my emotions, so it can be difficult to tell."
Octavia nodded. "That is something we've noticed. We were afraid that you were bottling your feelings up. I can tell you - through experience - that that isn't healthy."
"I'm fine. I really am," he said. "Although... I am a little curious about Scarlet. Specifically why she chose to lie to me."
Vinyl and Octavia exchanged knowing looks. Vinyl sighed. "It's a long story. Basically we were desperate for writers. We tried asking last year, but nopony volunteered. Everypony who wanted in on the musical wanted an acting role. And everypony else had their own CIIP to worry about. So this year she lied a little, said it was CIIP to attract the new students."
"How many volunteers did she get?" he asked.
"Well." Vinyl smiled wanly. "You."
"So... it didn't work then."
"Not really, no. And..." She averted her gaze towards the floor. "Well, it was kinda my fault. That she lied in the first place, I mean. I convinced her to do it. She really didn't want to. She hates lying. But I sorta guilt-tripped her with the charity. Said we needed to get this off the ground if we were going to make enough for them." She took her head in her hooves and started banging it against the nearest wall. "Ugh. Stupid, stupid Scratch."
"Vinyl!" Octavia grabbed her shoulders and forced her away from the wall. "No. This is not your fault. I gave you the idea."
"And I made it happen," she retorted.
"Wait," Catcher said. The pieces were falling into place. He was beginning to understand. "You guilt-tripped her with the mention of the charity?"
"Yeah." Vinyl gently nudged Octavia away and turned back to him. "She would've given up the whole musical, y'know. Even though it was her passion. But the charity stopped her." She sighed. "I wanted the musical more, I guess. She's the best of all of us. A real Celestian. She really wants to do the right thing."
But what was the right thing? he mused. Who defined what the right thing was? Could she? Could he? Could anypony? Everypony had their causes, their personal crusades to fight. Some adhered more to conventional morality than others. But Catcher was not one to debate right or wrong. He was concerned with efficiency. Everypony did what they had to to win their crusades. He did. Scarlet did. Was that something he could fault her for? Conventional morality dictated that he could. But conventional morality mattered little to him.
Perhaps that meant that he could easily have done what Scarlet did. That made him uneasy. The discomfort fluttered around in his chest, sprouting doubt and more discomfort. That was what that feeling was.
"I would like to talk to Scarlet," he said suddenly. His two guests reacted with surprise. They had not been privy to his thought processes. "Do you know she lives?"
"Uh, sure." Vinyl turned to Octavia. "Right?"
"21st Mane Street," Octavia supplied. "But why did you want to know?"
He committed that address to memory. "Thank you. I just have some questions to ask."
By tonight, he resolved, he would understand everything.
