It's All Duck Soup From Here
There were many ponies who expected the Diarchy's taste in entertainment to be rather old-fashioned, and Luna took it as a grievous insult.
To allow one's taste to become fixed, calcified into place within a given square on the calendar, never giving a full chance to anything which might come after whatever had been decided as that ideal moment -- there were greater mistakes which a pony could make, but few would be more painful. Choose that moment as the perfect one and nothing which came after would ever be able to satisfy. Anypony spending part of their lifetime in longing for the past would only waste those years with regretting the forward-moving moments they actually had. The sisters needed to try and gallop in pace with the centuries, for to stop moving was, in a very real way, to choose a form of soul-death, and so Celestia had done everything she could to keep up.
For Luna... there had been abeyance, and all which it had stolen. And upon her Return, there had been a thousand years of change to try (fail) and catch up with, something which had kept her almost entirely out of public life for over a year as she tried to wrestle with the sheer scope of all that she'd missed, forcing herself through book after book, sometimes managing to turn her head just before the tears hit the pages. It was future shock, and it had yet to completely depart. Perhaps it never fully would. For just about everything had changed, and there might not be enough books or personal lectures in all the world to allow her proper mourning of every loss. She was trying to personally reconstruct the best of it, but... it had been so very long.
But at the same time... things had been gained.
Music: there were instruments in the orchestras which she'd never seen before, and there was the chance to hear them stretch for the notes in new ways. Different kinds of music had risen and fallen (with some of those plummets deserved) -- but now there were more ways to create permanent recordings of those sounds and that meant going forward, it might be possible to preserve it all. Whole new genres of books had been born: she was still trying to gain the foundation which would let her explore thaumic fiction. However, she was one of the few ponies in existence who understood that sequential art had begun from those who risked travel through the chaos of the Discordian Era, found sapients whose language was unknown, and desperately tried to sketch their explanations in the dirt before something went wrong: it was a strange origin point for what had recently been reborn as graphic novels. And of course, the most skilled illusion-caster in the world had been quick to see and fully embrace the endless possibilities of the cinema.
Things changed, because they had to: it was the natural progression of life. And the sisters, who could once again gallop at each other's side, did their best to move with the times.
However, that didn't mean all the changes were positive.
Well over a millennium ago, Luna had established the ideal way to be brought into attendance at one's first opera: dragged by the tail, with teeth and hard-spiking dark blue field desperately reaching for anything she could use to anchor herself and delay long enough for the experience to merely be inflicted upon everypony else. She still maintained that it was the only way anypony should attend, and that only if all other measures failed. (Regicide had been out of the question, and passing off the tickets didn't mean much when there were only two ponies in the world who would have been booked into the Royal Box. It had only gotten worse when she'd personally translated the twenty-minute aria which made up Sombra's Lament and realized the singer had used nearly all of the time in having the dictator rage against tepid bath water.) There was a current incomprehensible fashion for torturous romance on the fiction market, which came in two simultaneous flavors: physical pain inflicted upon the characters who were going through what was supposed to pass for the plotline, and mental agony brought to anypony with taste who tried to make any sense of it. And when it came to the stage...
Saratoga Way was the traditional residence of major theatrical plays in Canterlot. (Smaller productions used whatever venues they could find, and some of the oldest stages were fighting to keep the cinemas off their street.) Luna had been there when those stages simply consisted of any space which could be cleared, and now she found herself occasionally visiting the few buildings which had survived the time of abeyance. Having the vast majority of places hosting regular evening shows helped.
She'd missed the birth of many of the (supposedly) great plays -- which, when it came to the ones which were supposedly built around the Discordian Era, at least meant she hadn't had to initially deal with the lies. There was something called vaudeville and Luna generally enjoyed that: the sheer variety of acts offered in a single night meant she could usually find something to appreciate, although she understood that her sister had once wound up going into something very close to war with a particularly vicious booking agency. It was easy to find a concert in Canterlot, the creation known as a comedy club wasn't too hard to come by, and if she truly searched, she could go all the way back to her youth: the single performer, weaving a tale out of nothing but voice and memory, creating worlds which rose and fell with the syllables.
There were many forms of entertainment available in Canterlot, even for a pony who sometimes wondered if it would ever be possible to fully catch up -- but even after more than a thousand years, for theatrical plays, it was still Saratoga Way, and it felt as if there was a little comfort in that. But on this night...
They'd been invited to the grand premiere of a new performance, something which had partially debuted in front of Celestia during one of the elder's Open Palace sessions (and for that, Luna was still fuming with envy: her sister might get sneak previews, but it was a good night when Luna found herself stuck with nothing more than performing an endless series of non-binding arbitrations for ponies too stupid to seek out a civil court: it wasn't as if she'd taken up that bench again...). They had been granted the theater's Royal Box, because every theater had a Royal Box, just in case. There was enough room for the sisters (and oversized, plushly-padded couches were always placed in a Royal Box, because) and a small complement of Guards. There were even a few benches available for any guests which they choose to bring, although those were unoccupied on this particular night.
Their Box gave them a little altitude over the one containing the various newspaper reporters who had come to review the play, and prevented those parties from directly seeing what they were doing. They had an excellent view of the stage, were at the receiving end of the acoustics, and had plenty of space, which still didn't seem to be enough to hold all the foreboding.
Luna's horn had ignited at the partial corona level, with her field flicking through page after page of the play's program. In the modern day, that meant photos of the actors, captures from small events on the stage, both likely taken during rehearsals. There would frequently be something which, at least in theory, was probably meant to be a brief synopsis of the plot. Endless lists of sponsors. And at least for her, there was also a slowly increasing feeling of dread vibrating its way up her legs, one strand of fur at a time.
She hadn't felt like this since Celestia had announced the invention of opera.
The elder had noticed. "You're a little twitchy." The tones were soft: there were reporters below and unlike the Guards, they would not pretend any overheard words hadn't been said at all. "And we're at the start of your hours, without your having been under Sun too much over the last two weeks. What's wrong?"
"I am uncertain," Luna half-lied. She almost felt as if she knew what it was: there was something in her which could feel it coming -- but she didn't have a visible source to press under a hoof yet, and so she flipped a few more pages. "This title..."
"The Cocoanuts," Celestia quoted, having taken the trail-off as a prompt.
"Yes. They have misspelled it. It is 'Coconuts'. If one cannot even be bothered to check the printing on the program..."
"It's deliberate," Celestia tried to reassure her, while accomplishing exactly the opposite.
"Deliberate," Luna slowly repeated.
Eventually, "...yes."
"And why would somepony made a deliberate error in their spelling?"
"It's a comedy, Luna."
"Be glad your student is not in attendance," Luna softly snorted. "I believe she would regard it as more of a tragedy and, should the play's creators fail to fix the error upon her demand, just might create one. And what is this play about, exactly? Because I was not so fortunate as to be there when the brothers performed for your benefit and their own self-promotion -- possibly not in that order -- and any synopsis which might be contained within this program appears to be mobile."
"Well..." Celestia visibly considered her options. "...technically, it's about the land boom which took place when Horselando opened up as a settled zone."
Whenever that was. However it truly happened.
"But there's also supposed to be a swindle," the elder went on. "And a hotel. Plus a romance. And I think there's gangsters in it."
"Gangsters," Luna tried. "Having a swindle of a romance in a hotel during a land boom."
"Well... not quite," Celestia admitted. "It's hard to classify, really. From what I've heard coming out of the rehearsals, the brothers change a lot of lines while they're performing."
"...really." So the original lines had been of such poor quality as to require revision before reaching the stage.
"The rumors said it's never the same play twice."
And apparently one could say the same of the script.
One of the theater's servers entered the Royal Box, or rather, waddled. A normal earth pony would have needed some skill to climb the ramps while keeping the tray balanced on their spine: this one's central contribution to the profession was a back which was considerably wider than it should have been. He wheezed slightly as he made his way around the plush benches, allowing the attendees to take what refreshments they liked, and the slow shaking of his legs told Luna just much of a burden the tiny cakes had been.
She silently provided him with a mental transfer to her childhood, imagined him within the lowest-risk of the pastures, and began counting the time until the inevitable. This turned out to be twelve seconds, and that only after what she felt was some extremely generous rounding up.
He would have died.
So many of them would have died.
"The brothers," Celestia continued (because she had no way of knowing that Luna's imagination currently contained bloodstains soaking into that one too-peaceful patch of grass), "are actually rather skilled. And it feels like a new kind of comedy, Luna."
Well, at least it was new to both of them. Although the elder had been on the receiving end of a sneak preview...
"New," Luna repeated.
"I think you'll enjoy it," Celestia said -- but those were not the true words. They were siblings, and so there were times when it was possible to hear the meanings which lurked within.
"I hope."
Luna didn't snort. She simply waited and in time, the devices which served for the house lights dimmed over the audience, brightened along the stage. It didn't matter much to Luna, who had been able to see perfectly in the dark since the moment her after had begun -- but it was the signal.
The curtain rose, the play began and, right on schedule, so did the torment.
"Why," Luna whispered, "is that one wearing a crepe-paper mustache?"
"It's part of the style," Celestia whispered back. "Just listen --"
"-- there are spells to create temporary mustaches. There has recently been a refinement which allows one of those workings to function upon scales. And he is using paper."
"Greasepaint," Celestia softly volleyed, "has a way of soaking into the fur."
"But --"
"-- I'm trying to listen," Celestia declared in what she probably felt was a concluding tone. It wasn't.
Time passed or, for Luna, dragged.
"That stereotype," she whispered, "is offensive."
"Luna, look down at the audience. The ponies from Maremmano are the ones laughing the hardest --"
"-- and chasing down a mare who does not wish to be chased is supposed to be funny? Spot me a mare in the audience who has been the target of such a pursuit, sister: tell me if she is laughing." Which brought her to the next offense on the list. "And where did that trumpet come from? There was no conjuration, not that he could! That trumpet has no reason to be there!"
"It's just sleight of mouth," the elder softly said, and now the worry was sinking into white fur. "Luna, just watch..."
She did.
"This romance," she eventually declared, "as with the music, has been lashed to the cart against its will. A cart with irregularly shaped wheels. A cart which continually swaps out its wheels for worse. They are nearly running on squares."
"Luna..." Desperation now. "It's funny."
Quite a bit of the audience was laughing: she couldn't deny that, and they were doing so loudly enough to drown out her sister. (Which was actually fairly easy: when in public, the elder had a rather soft laugh.) But she didn't understand why. It wasn't comedy. It was like entering a battle by randomly kicking a thousand pebbles into the oncoming army and, when three of them happened to somehow lodge in the opposing general's nostrils and throat, declaring not only victory, but strategic genius. It wasn't funny, at least not to her. It was chaos, and...
...chaos wasn't funny.
"Why are they bringing a harp and a piano onto the stage? There is an orchestra pit. There are sufficient instruments there. A harp and a piano would have no part to play in any plot we might happen to -- oh, so they are stopping the play for the instruments," Luna softly fumed. "At least that means the supposed jokes will cease their assault for a time."
Celestia, who had galloped well beyond desperation, seemed to have found herself in a landscape barren of words.
"And I see the sheet music is also soaked," Luna noted. "Just like every other piece of paper displayed upon the stage. At least the writings know enough to display flop sweat."
The elder located a single green sprig. "It's to keep the paper from audibly crinkling."
"Truly."
"Yes."
"How strong a sonic defense would it provide against a member of the audience screaming?"
Eventually, it ended, if only because the laws of time said it had to. Strictly speaking, the only thing which was capable of filling eternity was eternity, and so the play had not taken forever -- but there was a part of Luna, still dizzy from exposure to comedic incompetence and nowhere near getting past the pain, which was darkly curious to try measuring the exact fraction of forever which had been consumed before intermission. She was estimating something close to fifteen percent.
The second half had taken somewhat longer, mostly due to nearly everypony's complete failure to pronounce 'viaduct'.
"Why a duck?" Celestia giggled as they made their way out of the theater via currently-private hallway.
Luna said nothing.
"Because if you're speaking with the classic Maremmano accent, only ramped up until it's nearly funny all by itself, the word almost sounds like --"
"-- sister?" The elder listened. "The play has ended, yes?" No answer. "Then let it end. We have made our appearance." And when it came to any future performances for this quartet of siblings, Luna had already decided to never make another. "There is paperwork I should be reviewing, and your next duty is taking to your bed. That is the exit before us. I am using it."
Her horn ignited, and a dark flare of field yanked the door open and provided a gateway to what Luna was hoping would be escape.
But she had merely opened the portal onto the press, and so ponies began to shout questions. Many were about politics, others policy, a number were circulating rumor, and some of the reporters didn't bother to listen for answers before jotting things down. Not that answers were really coming, because nopony was asking after anything which the sisters cared to talk about: one had enjoyed the play and was trying to hold onto that feeling, and the other had... not.
"Is it true about --"
"Princess Celestia, do you have any response to --"
"-- and if you would just admit --"
They mutually ignored all of it. There was a time and a place for such things, and this was neither of their Courtyards. The press could wait until they were in the proper conference area. Luna simply wanted to go home, and continued to feel that way right up until somepony asked The Question.
"Princess Celestia," a pegasus mare called out, "what did you think of the play?"
Her sister paused.
"I think," the elder said, with her expression just a little too neutral, "that for ponies who like this sort of thing, this will be the sort of thing they like."
All four of Luna's legs locked. Her wings nearly sagged at her sides. Only her neck seemed to be working normally, and that merely allowed her to stare up at the mare who'd just said the most overtly political thing she'd ever heard. And when it came to Luna, that really meant something.
Her sister, who was looking at the reporters, missed the reaction. The press didn't.
"Princess Luna?" somepony else inquired.
She automatically turned in that direction.
"What did you think?"
And so she told them.
She told them exactly what she thought. In great detail, with references, subclauses, and a few portions which came very close to requiring their very own hoofnotes. She expressed her opinion in the appropriate vocabulary, with authority, while deliberately ignoring every attempt the elder made to get her away from all of those fast-filling notepads, and did so for forty minutes before finally heading back to the palace alone.
Afterwards, she felt somewhat better, if only because the reporters had at least been willing to present the illusion of listening. Her paperwork almost seemed to fly off the desk, and the routine convolutions of the Night Court were dealt with in ease. She met the sunrise with an odd relaxation still permeating her skin, took her last meal alone so as to keep the precious peace away from sisterly arguments, and finally settled down to sleep.
Even the dreams were good.
Luna generally sat down with the evening editions of the city's various newspapers before taking her first meal of the cycle. When dealing with the typical quality and accuracy level of those writings, doing so counted as a risk -- but that risk would have come during any part of the night, and it was better to give the nausea a little time to fade before eating than to chance swallowing a small portion of the same meal twice.
She began with the Palace Bugle, caught up on their version of current events (because at least that was possible) and jotted down notes on the references she didn't understand, which only took up five pages this time. Then she turned to the Entertainment sections and found, as might have been expected, a review of the play.
The exact wording was instantly familiar.
...what?
At which point, there was a knock on the Moonrise Gate's left door.
She knew the source on sound alone. That particular Guard had a way of knocking which suggested that at some point in his life, a door had caused him great personal insult and because he could somehow never return the favor to the originating party, he would simply punish all of them. "Enter," she told him, and watched the armored blue-speckled earth pony come in. "A matter of importance, Thundersnow?"
"I'm not sure," the stallion admitted. "I can send Mr. Bite away if you're busy, but he really wants to see you." An awkward pause. "And with him, if you don't want any of us present, I'd normally understand: he'd never attack. But he might... well... again..."
Luna repressed the sigh. Sound Bite was the Bugle's lead editor -- the head of the most-irrationally pro-Diarchy newspaper in the city. For the siblings to accidentally raze a building would be for Sound Bite to compose an op-ed piece on the need for land clearance, and Equestria losing a major war would undoubtedly see him declare that he, like the Diarchy who had so obviously failed on purpose as part of a larger plot, openly welcomed their new Tartarus-freed overlords.
She didn't hate him: in many ways, he was a hard pony to even dislike. She just wished he would stop. Those of the Murdocks Press Corps, forever determined to find (or, more frequently, invent) the worst in everything she did, were bad enough. Being given praise for things she'd never done or even thought of was no improvement.
Speaking of nausea before eating... Another thing she might as well get over with.
She managed to keep most of the reluctance from her tones. "Send him in."
"Do you want me to stay in the room?" Thundersnow quickly asked. "And with how much company?"
"Yourself and Nightwatch," she decided. "That should be enough to keep him from looking for another --" and the words were justifiably spat "-- holy relic." Unwarranted praise was, at the minimum, unnerving. Unwarranted worship would forever be horror.
Her Guard nodded, left, and returned three minutes later with his pegasus coworker and the white-and-black unicorn whose awe practically radiated between them.
"Sound Bite," she greeted him, and braced for it.
"Princess Of The Night," the pony who looked so much like a trotting ink splash began. "Our Lady Of The Evening, Custodian Of The Stars' Memory, The Mare Of Dream, High General Of --"
"-- as always," she managed to cut him off, "'Princess' will suffice."
He beamed. He always beamed when she told him that, and she suspected it was part of the reason he always tried for the full title: the experience of being put on a very-slightly-less-formal footing with that which he could not see as a pony. "It will be my honor, Princess."
I wish you weren't honored. Or anything else. But it was better to see what he wanted than to let him invent stories out of private visions. Ones which never did anything but glow.
"Your purpose in coming here this evening?"
He nodded to the copy of the Bugle which her field had placed next to the throne. "Dare I hope you've read the Entertainment section yet?"
"I have." Leaned forward slightly. "I found myself quoted there. Extensively. Given the sheer amount of quoting, some might claim abandonment of fair usage while crossing the border into plagiarism."
He flinched. "If the Bugle has offended, Princess --"
It would be the usual front page retraction. Also up to the next six pages, mostly so everypony who wasn't involved could say how sorry they were anyway. "It has not. I am simply unaccustomed to having the press listen so closely."
She'd meant it, for the lone royal party capable of recognizing the humor, as a dark joke. But as she said the words, Luna heard the truth within, and tightly pressed her semi-tangible tail against her right flank just before the first lash could appear.
"Good, good!" Sound Bite sweated. "I'm glad you're happy about the article!"
I didn't say I was happy. But it had felt so good to express herself about that horror of a not-play. And to know somepony had listened...
It was Sound Bite. If she had said Moon was now Sun, he might have eagerly nodded before rushing to the planetarium and personally correcting their mistake.
"We published it in the morning edition too," he declared as Nightwatch took a tiny hoofstep to the left, just enough to let him sweep into the instinctive forelegs-bent bow without hitting her armor. "And we've already had some feedback on it. Very interesting feedback. More than we've seen on any Entertainment piece in some time. And... the office talked about it, it started as a joke because of course we can't ask you to do something like this, not the Princess, but... well, I'm a pony who comes through on his humiliations when he loses a bet. And I lost, so..."
He hadn't straightened up yet, and part of Luna wondered if he ever would.
"...I have to ask," he said, and that lowered head glanced to both sides. "With witnesses."
"Make your inquiry," she told him, because it was that much closer to getting him out.
"Well..." and now he was dripping sweat onto silver-flecked marble. (Luna watched him intently, alert for the dangers of froth.) "...as you noticed, we -- quoted you. A lot. And our readers responded to the article in a way I haven't seen before, so... just because I was stupid enough to make the bet and lost it..."
She looked at the phantom version of the editor which she'd placed in the pasture of memory, then generously gave it eighteen seconds.
"...would you be willing to -- write reviews?"
Luna blinked.
"Because it's clear you have a lot to say," he perspiringly continued. "And for that play, said all of it. From a unique perspective, something no other pony can match. Our readers are curious to see more of that, and..." Stopped, but only for a moment.
Write -- reviews?
"Well, there's my piece," Sound Bite told the floor. "With witnesses. So I'll leave. Thank you for your time, Princess. Thank you for every moment of every night we --"
"-- theatrical reviews only?"
His head came up, and black eyes displayed the blank state of a pony who'd just been verbally knocked into concussion.
"Or just to start?" Luna asked. "For there is also cinema. And literature. Among other things. But I am willing to begin with the theater."
It gets me out of the palace more.
It lets me attend shows by myself. Without feeling like I'm being foalsat every time there's a simple evening out.
It makes ponies... listen.
"...Princess?" the rather stunned editor tried, while her own Guards stared at her in shock.
She ignored all of it. "Now," she decided, "as sufficient ponies would already declare that the palace directly operates the Bugle --"
"-- it would be our honor if the palace --" Sound Bite automatically began --
"-- we will need to establish an open boundary. That I write for the Entertainment section, and nothing more. I am simply your critic, and you are my editor. Correct?"
"Yes," and the shocked lie gave her no comfort -- but she could try to moderate his impulses from her end. "Princess, you're really going to --"
"-- and to keep this formal," she added, "it will be a position where you employ me. A salaried one." Which briefly intrigued Luna: the law stated that the sisters were paid for their work -- but each received a strictly average salary. In fact, Luna collected the average salary for a working pony in Equestria, which made it rather hard to gain a raise. Extra spending money was always welcome. "Exactly how much would that be?"
The reeling editor, who still hadn't straightened up, named a figure.
"Ah," Luna eventually said, some time after the last numerical comma had finished marching past her in strict procession. "And in order to keep you from selling the Bugle itself in order to offer compensation for a single paragraph, how much would that be for any other pony on the continent?"
He'd had a typewriter delivered to her study, and typewriters were... new.
Before abeyance... mouthwriting and fieldwriting, for so much of it. The Discordian Era often saw the surviving books copied out one letter at time, and anypony who wished to publish something new would do so for a rather small audience. A few barricade points had hung onto (or rediscovered) engraving, and that was what Luna was most familiar with: etchings in metal, covered in ink and stamped onto pages: incredibly durable, and rather costly in correction time should the engraver make a single mistake. She was also capable of setting block type, plucking letters out of printer's boxes and arranging them along the grid. But typewriters...
Pony anatomy didn't lend itself to pressing on multiple tiny panels: to use a typewriter for composing something in a symbol-heavy language like Minotaurus was effectively impossible, as the typist would have their hooves impacting a dozen keys on every stroke. But with Equestrian... the written form of the language only contained so many shapes. A given letter might be a line here, added to a curve there. And so between floor-level pedals and elevated key-panels, those letters could be assembled. A pony typist could use their limited panels to create every word there was. It was, in its way, a little miracle.
It also required that typist to sit in what Luna regarded as a completely unnatural position, one where her rear didn't find sufficient support, her hind legs were being asked to dangle awkwardly, the fore had been requested to maintain a position which she generally only briefly saw before crashing those hooves down on a combatant's head, and nothing would have made her talk about what was happening to her semi-tangible tail. There were many requirements to mastering typing, and Luna was starting to suspect the primary was a certain degree of double-jointing.
There was also the size issue. Out of necessity, the typewriter was of adjustable height and due to standard manufacture, it wasn't adjustable enough. Luna was hunched in a way which threatened to turn her silhouette into a brand-new letter, and was probably an extra hour of experimentation away from visiting the Royal Physicians for a wrenched back. She'd been trying to master the art for hours, was already into daylight, and thus far had done nothing more than learn about the dubious art of the typo.
She awkwardly glanced down at her latest effort.
The hick round lox bumped clover her hazy log.
So there's one word right.
Sadly, this constituted improvement.
I can just write normally and ask somepony at the Bugle to transcribe it. Ordering a custom typewriter would probably be a tremendous expense and besides, if basic writing had been good enough for their parents, then --
-- she heard the hoofsteps approaching her study, and the weight of them narrowed the possibilities down to a single pony. Luna, who hadn't seen her sibling in over a day, got off the bench and spent the scant remainder of her private time in stretching out two of approximately eight hundred muscle cramps.
Celestia's approach stopped in the doorway.
The elder stood within the frame, quietly looking at Luna. A brief glance went to the typewriter, and another to the errors scattered around the floor. Back to the younger.
"I read the Bugle's morning edition," Celestia quietly said. There wasn't much tone in her voice, and it felt as if that was being done on purpose.
"I have yet to see it," Luna replied. "I generally consult the evening printing. Also, I have been somewhat busy --"
"-- it's their front-page story," the elder evenly continued. "Of course it would be, when you think about it. The continent would need to split in half to get a secondary headline. Princess Luna, their newest theater critic. They're very proud."
"I spent some time with the conflict-of-interest laws and wrote the contract myself," Luna proudly stated, mostly because the neutrality from her sibling was starting to get on her nerves. "Legally, we are safe. At worst, the newspaper has commissioned an opinion piece." A dark field bubble went for the most intact paper in the room. "Sound Bite already sent over a copy of this theater season's premiere schedule, along with suggesting that I catch up on older shows. I am planning on going out this very evening --"
"-- quit."
It had not been a statement. It had been something all too close to an order.
"Repeat that," Luna softly requested, even as her left forehoof scraped at the floor.
"You have to quit," Celestia said. "Immediately. Tell them it was a mistake, that you found a clause in the laws which won't let it work. Write one if you have to. I have some ideas there --"
"-- no."
That had been a statement.
Purple eyes widened. Then they narrowed.
"Listen to me --"
"-- I listen to you rather often. Everypony does, do they not? Some to obey the words and others to distort. And some of them treat my statements in a similar manner. But this is something else, sister. This is --"
"-- it's not --"
"-- a chance for me to express my opinion. Another theatergoer among many, discussing what they had just seen while on their way home. Or in the case of our most recent evening, what they had suffered through. A chance for ponies to listen to me."
(She had stomped her right hoof to punctuate the words, and it would take many nights before she realized it.)
"Legally," Luna continued, "there is no reason not to do this, and as the laws which cover writing are in my dominion, you shall not create one to stop me. I will be seeing the latest efforts of our playwrights and performers, for the shows I wish to attend. I will be out among the citizenry, more than I have in some time. And then I shall tell ponies what I thought of my experience, or at least those ponies who read the Bugle." And with her words becoming louder, with two hooves now scraping over and over, "You can tell me to quit, sister, and I shall not. There is no reason to do so, unless you are trying to order me out of jealousy. The arts were always mine more than yours in the first nights, were they not? And that still maintains. You have never been able to cast more than the most basic illusion, for anything more would be art. Perhaps you will never be capable. And to have others listening to my words, reading them --"
"-- it's what you're saying!" The elder's words had finally increased in volume, and Luna briefly treated it as a small victory. "It's telling them what you really think! You can't do that! We're not the same as --"
-- which was when Luna's head dropped into the pre-charge pose.
"-- be careful," she softly said. "You are, after all, speaking to the press, and I have been informed that to directly quote another's words against them can be the most offensive act there is. We have freedom of speech laws, sister. Freedom of expression for everypony. And as a pony, I claim protection under those laws. The right to write. I will not quit. And there is nothing you can say or do to make me."
In some ways, Celestia's response was a familiar one. They were words which the sisters often spoke, a reminder of duty -- and so it felt like an odd time for angry, twisting dark ears to hear them.
"We guard each other."
"And what," Luna demanded (and the floor was starting to show scuffing now), "is that supposed to mean in this context?"
Desperately, "That there's something to guard you against. Luna, please, if you'll just listen --"
But she'd heard enough.
"I have heard your opinion, sister," she stated. "The one which feels that for some reason, I must be silenced. And in what you may regard as a rather odd decision, I have rejected it, for that was my option -- as well as my opinion. If you wish to see another, pick up tomorrow's edition."
The ability to teleport came with a number of risks, along with several inherent problems. But it also offered advantages and in Luna's opinion, there were few better ways to trot out on an argument than to never actually trot at all.
She appeared in her bedroom, locked and magically secured the door by every means she knew. And then she went to bed, fuming her way into dream, because Celestia didn't understand. Luna didn't know why the elder wanted to stop her, and no longer cared. She would write. She would speak, and she would be heard.
She didn't understand, not on a conscious level. But within the only nightscape she would never be able to control, she trotted through groves of trees, regarded the strange new colors of their leaves. And as she did so, they withered, drifted to the darkening soil on currents of smoke.
It was the first time she'd ever had that dream. It would not be the last.
There was a musical about a fire-scarred pony who played up the part of a ghost, one which haunted an opera, and it allowed her to finally speak her mind on several subjects. This naturally began with Opera, Abolishment Thereof (If Not For Our Very Sensible Freedom Of Expression Laws), and then went into how anypony of sense would have recognized that ghosts didn't exist in the first place. Also, nightdresses. Nopony wore nightdresses like that unless they either were on a stage or had issued an open invitation to have the thing come off their body, which could easily happen from the mere act of breathing. Plus in terms of scarring, potions and zebra ointments which anypony should have been familiar with would have eventually turned the supposedly-hideous results into a minor disruption of the fur grain, which was just about all the makeup artists had managed anyway. Now, turning to the fact that the average sewer was not large enough for a pony to move a boat through...
The one about the griffon who had to conceal his identity after an act of rather understandable theft wasn't bad, but the depicted historical period had been one during which Protocera's society was having revolutions every other week (as opposed to impeachment attempts every third moon), so what was so special or dramatic about this one? Plus the pony who was chasing him down was clearly insane and if there was going to be a griffon as the lead part, then shouldn't there be a griffon actor in the part? The clacking of the artificial beak was just annoying.
There was a play about a rather odd assemblage of family members, whose motto was apparently that when entering the shadowlands, one could not take their material things with them. Luna stopped just short of suggesting that the playwright test his theory personally.
For the comedy musical about Sombra's takeover of the Empire -- she repeated that description three times in the review, and requested a steady-increasing intensity of disbelieving italics -- it took about five minutes of the first act to realize that this was a play destined to have its opening night and closing one occupy the same space on the calendar, and she for one had absolutely no problem with that.
She never received an editor's note. She generally found that her words had been transcribed exactly, and the one exception was the time when she, curious, had made a deliberate minor error just to see if it was fixed on the other end. (It had been, but the sweat stain which had fallen upon the master version had somehow been copied into the entire print run.) She had initially expected requests to dumb down her vocabulary for the common pony -- or, failing that, at least to include the occasional contraction -- and such never arrived. She put it down to Sound Bite, and realized she'd been asking too much. (The contractions could have been negotiated. The dumbing down never would be.)
But she was going out. She was among the citizenry --
-- actually, she was mostly sitting in various Royal Boxes and as critics shouldn't meet the actors, plus she couldn't talk to other critics lest their feelings influence hers... most of the citizens she was truly among were Guards. They quietly watched as she took notes throughout the performances, because there were things in those plays which she was an expert on: for so many of the oldest historical recreations, she had been there at the true events and so corrections had to be offered. With others... yes, there were things which confused her and she wasn't always able to research them before the deadline, but her opinion was what was required, yes? The ultimate importance was how she felt.
She created a ratings system: full Moon best, new Moon worst. (For Moon itself, they were all equally important, but she'd wanted a first-glance way for a reader to quantify her final conclusion.) She was writing and outside of legal matters and her diary, she hadn't done that in... a long time. And she was speaking directly to the citizens, or at least the readership. Admittedly, it was one-way communication: anypony writing back would have been sending their reply to the Bugle, and it would be another two weeks before anypony could use an Open Palace session for the chance to drop in and talk about her work. But at least some degree of communication was taking place. A chance for them to see her as a fellow theatergoer, and one who had something to say.
Luna went out night after night. She made sure to get her proper duties in, as the reviews weren't exactly her full-time profession, much less her biggest responsibility. Still, multiple theaters were visited and in order to keep any disruption created by her arrival to a minimum, she would either touch down directly in front of the doors or, if such was available, use a rooftop entrance: for a pony whose column title was Regarding Saratoga Way And... (insert title of production here), she didn't spend any real time on the street itself.
It was something to do. It was fun. It was telling ponies what she truly thought, and that filled some of the void during the hours when she wasn't speaking to her sister.
And day after day during her sleep, the leaves fell.
The seasonal employment statistics were in, and Luna spent some time in reading them over or, in this case, frowning.
That's an odd little unemployment spike for Canterlot... She had been expecting a decrease, especially with the amount of hiring which had been done to clear some land to the city's west: the future sports facility required a lot of ponies just to get it set up. Yes, some of those specialists had come in from other settled zones (which, in this case, included some Ponyville commuters), but a number had been locals.
Maybe it's Ponyville. All the old protests I read about -- well, not too old: the trains just barely predated the Return -- those citizens taking Canterlot jobs, jobs which so many Canterlot residents couldn't be bothered with anyway, and that's why commuting is the worst thing ever... maybe they were predictions, and it's finally coming true. But in that case, Ponyville unemployment would be down. Her field seized that set of documents, floated it forward. No, Ponyville's normal. So to speak. Thanks to the Bearers and some rather active years, it was the current heart of the (re)construction industry, but otherwise... We should track that down. Maybe Celestia --
But they still weren't speaking. (It had become painful days ago, and Luna was willing to let that pain go at the exact moment the elder admitted that the younger was right.) And they certainly weren't going to do it tonight, because it was well past midnight while being nowhere near morning: her sister needed rest to deal with the duties of the day, and the hours Luna was currently occupying were the worst for the elder to see. It was fine for one to be up a little early or somewhat late -- but unless there was a crisis brewing, the center of each sibling's opposing portion for the cycle was generally off-limits. Even being within an ongoing (and, as far as she was concerned, stupid) fight wasn't enough for Luna to consider waking her sister up.
The huge yawn which sounded from the opening Moonrise Gate established the local definition of 'crisis' as a variable.
She didn't have to look up, not initially: not only was the number of sapients who could approach her throne room without being announced a rather small one, there was only one pony rib cage in the world large enough to produce that yawn. But then the significance of hearing the yawn at that hour hit her, and Luna's gaze jerked away from the papers as she scrambled to her hooves. "What is wrong?" Many things were suspended during a potential crisis, and that included stupid fights. "Brief me, and we shall --"
Tired, sad eyes looked up to where Luna was no longer entirely resting on her throne.
"Would you fly with me?" Celestia quietly asked. "Please?"
Slowly, Luna's fur settled back into its natural grain.
"There is no crisis."
"That's..." The white head dipped. "I just want to fly with you. There's something I want you to see." And for the second time, "Please."
"I know," Luna firmly said, "when I am being led. Did you also wish me to fetch a ring so I might place it through my snout? Are reins available?"
Celestia, who was looking at the silver-flecked marble of the floor, said nothing.
Luna sighed.
"And whatever you are trying to lead me towards," she went on, "you feel that it is important enough for you to be awake at --"
"-- nearly three in the morning," the elder finished. "It... has to be now. And we have to leave immediately. If you'll come."
She just barely managed to keep the hope out of her next words. "Are we ending this pointless fight?"
"I hope so," her sister quietly said. "Luna --"
Who felt the third 'please' coming, and decided that was enough. "Very well. Let me assemble a few Guards --"
"-- no," the elder broke in. "Just us. Nopony else. And you'll have to give them the orders for that." Another yawn, which lost none of its force as it transmuted into a sigh. "We'll... guard each other."
It was Manehattan which never truly slept, or so Luna had seen quoted in one of the many books she'd used for history review. (She had yet to track the origin of that saying, and had barely spent any time in a settled zone which hadn't existed before... it had happened.) But in some ways, that was true for every city. There were always ponies who had custody of the night, for the night existed. Even in Canterlot, outside of the palace's Lunar shift, there were ponies going about their lives. Police officers moved through (and over) the streets, mothers tended to foals too young to have a true sleep cycle yet, storekeepers took inventory during the quietest time and -- editors reviewed articles before they went to print.
She was half of the Diarchy, the leader of the Night Court and final authority for those categories of law which fell under her dominion. In that sense, everypony in Equestria was a citizen of her nation. But for Luna, the truest members of that populace were those who shared her hours. Who felt the call which waited within the night, understood that shadows could bring comfort and found welcome within darkness.
There were more of those ponies in this age. Their population now included the press, and she sometimes wished she had more of a connection with them, as so many shared her time -- but a number had declared themselves to be in loyal opposition to the Diarchy, while others took the near-constant inability to see her as a pony and took it much too far. She was closer to those who looked after the sleeping world. Officers and guards of all sorts.
Mothers...
She pushed the thought away: she always did. To let it linger would be to have too many others follow, and so she turned to one which was just about as old.
We birthed a nation. That was enough.
Canterlot never truly slept: no city did. But portions of it... businesses which had yet to cater to those who walked and flew through the night, residential zones -- those were asleep. They flew in silence under waning spring Moon over patches of darkness, with each tiny point of light indicating a life.
Her sister was on her left. Matching speed. Saying nothing, and that had maintained since they'd left the palace.
"You are rather quiet," Luna stated, having become fed up with it.
"I'm waiting," the elder replied.
"For a destination, I expect." It got her a nod. "Very well."
She looked up at the star-filled sky, automatically picked out multiple constellations.
"Above you, sister," she softly said. "They are all visible tonight, and you are seldom present to see them. Offer greetings."
The elder looked up. Two ponies thought of the lost. And they flew on.
Eventually, the white wings slowed, started into a descent pattern. Heading for a familiar part of a city, the very last part of a path which Luna hadn't even realized they'd been following.
Here? I was here two nights ago --
But Celestia was already touching down, and did so without anypony else witnessing the act, for Saratoga Way was truly asleep.
The plays had evening shows, for most ponies worked during the day and so took their entertainment in the earliest part of the night. A few theaters had begun to offer the occasional morning matinee for the night folk, but... for the most part, shows began after Sun had been lowered. And by three in what had somehow been termed 'the morning,' somepony had swept under the audience benches, another had counted the receipts, and everypony had gone home.
There were a few lights, of course. Not many: after hours, the majority of places would shut down the spells which made signs glow in different hues, or created flickering illusions which showed a few seconds of the best scenes. But a small number left them running, just in case anypony wandered through and was inspired to make plans.
A few, really. Perhaps three. And it seemed to Luna that the number was smaller than it had recently been.
The devices mounted into the street's night lamps created more shallow pools of illumination. Sometimes, a light which had been left on inside tried to get through a window and met the opposing force: it turned such surfaces into poor mirrors. Weak reflections of Luna watched her land, and presumably felt an equal amount of frustration with her sister.
"We have come to the plays," she said, "in order to speak about my reviews. And why you still feel I should quit. Would that be correct?"
Celestia, trotting forward towards an especially-dark theater, quietly nodded.
"Then we accomplish nothing," Luna stated. "Our argument stands on familiar ground, and you without a body length of fresh earth to claim." Trotting closer, all the better to get the next verbal attack into short range. "Simply because I choose to say what I feel, when on our last outing together, you --"
"-- I said what was safe," Celestia softly replied. Nearly at the doors now, with the sheer size of the white body blocking so much of the view.
"Safe." It was expressed, and meant as, an insult.
"With the brothers in front of me during that Open Palace session," Celestia quietly went on, "I could tell them I approved of their work. I laughed, because to me, they were funny." And before Luna could break in, "I know humor is subjective. I found them funny. You didn't. But even with Wordia and Raque in the room, representing their respective publications -- I laughed, because they were so funny to me, I forgot the press were even there. And ultimately, any story about my reaction got lost because of what happened with the old coins. But it was the first time I'd had reporters present for an Open Palace, and if I'd thought about them being in the room... I don't know if I would have laughed. Not as loudly. Nopony would have known what to do if I'd done something so pony as just giggling. So I would have acted -- safely. But you, Luna... you decided to tell everypony exactly what you thought..."
She stepped away from the doors, revealing the sign which her body had hidden. And Luna, who could see perfectly in the dark, read every word.
The Cocoanuts has closed.
Please apply to the box office for advance ticket refunds.
And in smaller, tear-stained letters:
Thank you for your patronage.
"You wanted ponies to listen to you," Celestia quietly said --
Her horn ignited. Yellow glow indicated the doors of theaters up and down Saratoga Way.
has closed
we regret
final performance on
"-- and they did."
Luna pulled back. She hadn't meant to: legs had moved without her consent, wings nearly flaring. It meant she needed to recover, visibly so, and she hated that, she hated looking weak when
I'm not weak, I'm small but I'm not weak
she wasn't.
"That..." She swallowed, knew there had been enough light to see it, hated that. "The script was inferior! The performance was chaos, and humor in --"
"-- that's you," Celestia cut her off. "That's how you feel. And you're allowed to feel that way. But when you say it... Luna, you've resumed just about all of your duties, and you've still told me that you don't feel like you're all the way back yet, that ponies don't see you as equal in the Diarchy." The next words were pained. "And that's probably true, because for so long, it was just me. Nopony alive, not even Cadance, is used to hearing a second voice. They may not see you as equal to me -- but they do see you as a leader. The one at the front of the herd, the pony they have to follow. Where you lead, Luna, others go, and when you veer away from a path, the herd follows. So many of them don't think about where they're going. They just move."
The purple eyes briefly closed.
"You're not just another theatergoer," the elder said. "You can't be, any more than I am. Because the herd doesn't think. Individual ponies do. But when everypony starts to move at once --"
"-- you are saying," Luna choked out, "that I closed these shows."
"I saw the paperwork around your throne." So very soft now, completely controlled. "You read the unemployment numbers. Actors are in and out of jobs so often that they barely show up in the statistics, but when that many are let go in a short time --"
"I do not speak for others! Not when away from the throne! And even if I did... there are those who disagree, who would flock to anything I hated just because I hated it --"
"The self-titled Loyal Opposition," Celestia sadly said, "while controlling a disproportionate number of publications, is still representing a fairly small minority of ponies. If you gathered them all, yes, any show could be kept going -- for a few weeks, as I doubt they'd wish to keep buying tickets just to spite you. But they're scattered across the continent, Luna. They weren't enough to balance it out."
Her legs only wanted to work in reverse. It was taking an act of will to hold her ground, even as she saw the leaves fall around her.
"When it comes to entertainment, unless it's something which hurts ponies, I say neutral things," Celestia softly went on. "As much as I can. Because that way, ponies can hear what they like in them. That's -- safe. Everypony has different tastes. They shouldn't follow me."
Her wings wanted to spread, every feather was trembling...
The elder's head had now dipped in misery. "I can barely say I like something most of the --"
"-- and never admit if you love!"
There was nopony else awake on Saratoga Way. Nopony who could have listened, and so the shockwave was mostly absorbed by a single mare, accompanied by signs and false mirrors.
"Luna --"
She cut off the open desperation: she didn't want to hear it. "So I cannot express a honest opinion in this modern age, can I? Not when the press exists to let others know what it was? I cannot feel, I cannot adore, I cannot --"
"-- this isn't about that! You know it isn't! And you don't even understand half of what you were criticizing! I read your reviews every day, Luna, and you got that historical play shut down for so-called political inaccuracies because you were acting like the Great Eastern Shift never even happened!"
And with the cold dropping into her soul, Luna softly said "What is the Great Eastern Shift?"
Silence closed in.
"It's..." the elder shakily began, verbally staggered. "Back in..."
"Oh," Luna quietly cut in. "Something else I missed."
"Luna..."
But she had turned. Began to trot away, even as the words continued to emerge.
"Yes," she steadily said, even tones failing to conceal the storm within. "I should stop. Not only do I replace the opinions of others with my own through merely stating them, but I do not have the grounding in the modern day required for any opinion at all. I do not even possess the proper sense of the past, having missed so much of it. I will end my reviewing, sister. Of everything. I have no right to speak critically on any subject in the world."
And stopped, in front of glass.
"Well," she added, "one subject. The topic I am most expert on."
"Luna." From well behind her, with the desperation closing the gap.
The younger stared into the false mirror.
"That horn," she told the reflection. "It should not be there. It is -- it's stupid. It isn't deserved. Can't you see how wrong it is?"
"Please..."
"And the wings!" Almost laughing now. "Who told you that you should have wings? What idiot made that decision? This isn't who you're supposed to be! This isn't anypony you ever should have been at all! There's only one thing you're supposed to be, and that's..."
She almost held it back.
But it was a night for old thoughts.
"...dead. You're supposed to be dead. You should have died centuries ago, just like everypony else. You should just..."
The wings, suddenly foreign again, locked. The horn was simply weight on her skull. But her legs, even at this size, remained her own, and so when she broke, Luna galloped into the night.
Her sister caught up with her in the nearby park, and it was a sign of just how fast the elder had been moving that the white body bore traces of froth.
"Luna..." Gasping. "I..."
She had slowed down after a little while, once she was within the greenery. The park was old, old enough to remember its presence and follow a familiar path. But new trees added their shadows, and she didn't know when the pond had been dug out.
"I will tender my resignation in the morning," she quietly said. "There would normally be a certain period of advance notice required, but I am certain Sound Bite will be unwilling to enforce it. Should you have any plans for reopening those productions, this would be an excellent time to speak of them."
A brief pause.
"With the exception of that Sombra musical," Luna added.
Her sister matched the pace, trotting on her right.
"I don't have a plan," Celestia finally said. "Some things aren't that easy to fix."
More guilt to live with. She didn't have the money to personally sponsor new shows, and channeling an extra portion of the budget towards the arts wouldn't bring jobs back. There were many times when all power meant was the ability to do things which couldn't necessarily be undone.
"You could have told me earlier." And knew she was trying to pass the blame -- but continued anyway. "Before so many lives --"
"-- a lot of them had enough advance ticket sales to stagger on for a while. A couple went down immediately, and I was hoping they were shows that would have closed anyway -- but then a whole group dropped their curtains at the same time." A little sigh. "But yes. I could have."
More trotting, passing the pond.
"Can we talk about --" Celestia tried.
"-- not at this moment," Luna interrupted. "Not... just let me trot, sister. Please. Stay with me, but... trot."
She looked at the wildflowers, fully capable of seeing their true colors.
"You can always talk to me," Celestia quietly said. "When you're ready. But... just before you ran... those were the words which terrify me, Luna. They're --"
"-- old thoughts," Luna finished. "Yes."
They both paused, looked at a pair of benches. Far too small.
"It will not happen again," Luna said. "It cannot, with the Nightmare dead, and my having come to better terms with my duties. With -- hope so close. But the end of it does not mean the end of thoughts, Tia. There will always be times when I wish to go back." Turned her head, just enough to look up at the elder. "And if you were honest with me, you would admit the same."
Dark memories moved under Moon.
"Yes."
No benches were suitable, and that was a standard thing. They eventually lay down in the cool grass.
"You can always talk to me," Celestia told her. "I hope you know that."
Dryly, "And when part of a hypothetical given problem is you?"
It got the expected response. "You need a seneschal."
A confidant. "I have had them before. And as with all others, they pass into the shadowlands --"
"-- I know I'll probably outlive Fancypants," Celestia said, and her gaze briefly sought the sky. "I'll mourn. I'll think of him over and over for moons, and then... less and less. Eventually, it'll be every season or so, if I see somepony who reminds me of him. But I'll always remember him, and that he was there for me when I needed somepony I could talk to. Eventually, I'll find somepony else like that, and... we remember them, Luna. Until our duties end, it's all we can do. You remember Diviner. Now find somepony you can talk to about her."
Just before it all started...
There were many beginnings in Luna's life, and that particular death had been among the worst.
They listened to the water lapping at the edges.
"I was hoping," the elder admitted, "that you'd choose Rarity."
Luna blinked.
"One Generosity to another," Celestia explained. "It felt like a natural match. I thought -- she'd be good for you."
She conjured the inner image, regarded it for a while.
"She is... perhaps not ready to fully see me as a pony," Luna began. "You told me of how she kissed your hooves, sister. How she had some difficulty in stopping. She may not worship, but -- I believe she perceives divinity in us. I can break that illusion, but should she not be ready... it would make things more difficult. And..."
A long pause.
"...sometimes," she softly confessed, "when I look at a modern pony, so accustomed to comfort, to weather which is controlled, settled zones which are safe, a world which does not actively take joy in trying to kill them... I picture them in our era. Not in immediate danger: simply in what passed for our everyday life. And I wonder how many seconds it would take for that life to end. It is rare, to reach so much as a full minute. And when I first came back to the Lady Rarity, after I had recovered and the stars were in my mane once again... I gave her six seconds."
And Celestia, her tones completely dry, said, "Sounds high."
Luna giggled.
"I was rounding up."
Celestia solemnly nodded.
"But since then..." A deep breath. "She survives. All that they have been through, my Return and beyond, and she survives. Eventually, I noticed that I had come to think of her as the Lady Rarity. No noble, no House... but I had given her that internal honor, as a means of elevating her. I had seen her as weak, just as so many saw weakness in me, and... I was wrong. She would survive. Disoriented, distressed, desperate to find some way of securing comfort again -- but she would survive. And even were she as weak as I falsely perceived her to be... we fought for a world where one did not have to be so strong, or so cold. Their softness, their freedom to exist with gentle hearts -- is our victory."
"Yes," Celestia simply stated.
"There are times when it can still be somewhat annoying, though."
Silence.
"Sister --"
"-- you are," the elder said, "getting nothing out of me on that one." But she was smiling.
Luna wasn't.
"It hurts," she softly admitted. "Not being able to express myself freely among others... it hurts, Tia. There are times when I am missing the information required to provide an informed opinion, and that may never fully end. But there are others when I feel that I do know best, and to not express that..."
"You have a throne," her sister pointed out. "So you get to tell others when you think you know best, on some things. But it's not a perfect outlet. And..." and she forced the yawn to become a sigh. "...you're one of nature's critics. I know that. It's been part of your personality from the start."
Luna couldn't argue, and so didn't try.
"The reviews are finished," she said, with her gaze regarding the grass. "And I am not certain the apologies will be enough. There is no other outlet."
"Maybe there is."
She looked up.
"You've told me how frustrating your Open Palace sessions are," Celestia reminded her.
"Yes." With some bitterness, "Some of us get sneak previews, while others, who were tricked into starting their own sessions, merely find themselves with a never-ending series of idiotic non-binding arbitrations, and that is on the best nights --"
"-- I think that's most of your problem with it."
Luna blinked.
"Your meaning?"
"Non-binding," Celestia clarified. "You've taken up nearly all of your duties again. But there's one thing neither of us did much, something you enjoyed a lot more than I ever did. Something you haven't done in a very long time..."
The purple gaze briefly flickered towards the nearest too-small bench.
"Before we proceed to my conclusion," said the mare on the very large, rather special bench, "I wish to be certain that we have finalized the earlier stages. The plaintiff has fully presented his case regarding why he and he alone should have custody of the patent, despite his having merely sponsored the inventor?"
A heavily-sweating stallion just barely managed a single nod.
"And the defendant has concluded her display of why she should collect every last penny of income, regardless of somepony else having paid for all of her expenses across the many years of time required before perfection occurred?"
That party took a little more time before echoing the first, as she had paused to take a nervous glance at the presence which was occupying most of the spectator's gallery. A very white presence.
"And of course," the mare on the bench concluded, "the one topic you continue to agree on is that the lover's quarrel which took place just before the company fractured had nothing to do with it."
There was a long silence, and it only ended when both of them noticed the dark field which had just appeared around the gavel.
"...yes?" the inventor finally tried.
"Very well," Luna stated. "In that case, this is my official ruling as judge of this court: you are both idiots. The details of how we are going to settle that stupidity are as follows..."
She spent twelve minutes laying down the law, along with a hefty dose of purest criticism. And Celestia, who had appointments with multiple theater booking agents in Manehattan regarding their potential fall season, quietly teleported out.
