Memoirs of a Minutor Crystallum

Chapters

Ch. 1 - Fall from Grace
Ch 2 - New Mission
Ch 3 - New Mare in Town
Ch 4 - Craft Therapy
Ch 5 - Cheater Cheater
Ch 6 - The Status Is Not Quo
Ch 7 Coping Mechanisms
Ch 8 - Confirmation & Crisis

Ch. 1 - Fall from Grace

Near Oxandria, Eqynt
Sunsday, 16 Rain Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

“Wake up, sweetie,” my father said as he shook me awake from particularly erotic dream in which I was sparring with a stallion who for once in my life seemed to be holding his own.

“Nooooo, go ‘way... that stallion was so sexy!” I groaned as I rolled away and covered my ears with my pillow. “I was going to fuck him into the ground.”

“Well, when you’re done with that, I’m afraid I’ll have to actually put him in the ground,” my father chuckled as he nudged me again. “Now come on. We’re close to Oxandria.”

Sighing and stretching before rolling off of my bedroll, I mentally reviewed why we were out in the sand and the heat, as we broke down camp. Specifically, the importance of the city that my father had just mentioned; Oxandria. Once a shining jewel in the crown of Eqynt, Oxandria was named for an ancient Equus General, Ox Head the Great, and was supposedly the final resting place of Snake Bite, the last Equus Era ruler of Eqynt and supposed final holder of the Amulet of Life. Needless to say, we weren’t here for the sights, but rather to search for that tomb.

Once we finished packing away the last bits of our camp, my father pulled a map out of his saddlebag, which we had acquired from a very cranky librarian in Canterlot. Steady Quill had only relented after presenting proof to her that we were sent by the order.

“Well I have good news and bad news,” my father said without looking up from the map, “The good news is the thermals will be perfect and take us right up to the temple, the bad news is that we still have to deal with this blistering heat until we get there.”

“If we’re gonna get cooked, why don’t we just walk… It might get us to ‘well-done’ faster…” I moaned in annoyance.

“What? And have the cooking be lopsided? No wonder your mother never lets you near the kitchen anymore,” my father retorted.

I rolled my eyes and muttered, “set fire to the kitchen making toaster pastries one time…” My father either didn’t hear or ignored my comment and took off into the air in the direction of Oxandria, with me following behind. Despite my complaints, the airborne trek to the temple didn’t take too long and, save for the heat, was pleasant and allowed me to clear my head.

Hopping from thermal to thermal, the currents took us high over the dunes and afforded us quite a view of our surroundings. A river glinted like a silver thread between two verdant ribbons of fertile land. In an instant, I folded my wings and dove towards it, leaving my father high above as I skimmed my hooves along the placid surface. I dodged and wove between the low-hanging branches of desert trees and the occasional boulder that broke the surface of the estuary. My fun had, I tensed and aimed directly at one such outcropping, using it as a springboard to send myself back into the sky, laughing with the rush of joy such ‘antics’ (as my father would call them) gave me.

“Hope you had your fun because it’s time to work now. We’re here… and it looks like we aren’t alone,” my father said the last part in a hushed tone as he pointed to the ruins of the once great city of Eqynt.

Beyond the next line of dunes, cradled in what had once been a large expanse, we came upon our goal. Stretching almost as far as I could see, the ruins of a once thriving metropolitan city filled my vision, the toppled stone archways and ruined stone houses and streets broken up only by the occasional near-dead looking tree or bush.

Oh, and there were also a collection of what seemed to be JSS soldiers, complete with what looked to be one of the largest and most brutal ponies I’d ever laid eyes on: a Jaeger. This development really just underscored my whole feeling on this trip, which was to say I hated it. Its helmet and large armored form concealed any trace of equinity of the super soldier as it hefted its automatic bolter, the large pneumatic tanks giving the weapon a phallic appearance that would have been humorous had it not been an instrument of death and destruction.

Jaegers were created by JSS during the Griffin-Drake War, and the last three known to exist died at the Smoking Snakes River Valley, wiping out scores of griffins. So I was understandably surprised, and more than a little concerned, to see one of these supposedly extinct hulking masses of muscle literally tearing down the walls of an ancient burial site. Despite the very limited information available on Jaegers, there was one thing that was made abundantly clear to me: AVOID AT ALL COSTS! Thank the Virtues we had smoke bombs.

“When the smoke grenades go off, we won’t have much time, so move as quickly as you can,” my father instructed in hushed tones as we took cover behind the jagged ruins of a wall. “And don’t follow behind me.”

“I know how to use a distraction, Dad,” I retorted, almost petulantly. There were days when I wondered if he actually acknowledged that I was no longer in training, even if I still had to report my doings to him. I’d worked my ass-end off in Coltenhagen to become an Aeris for the Minutor Crystallum. He had even acknowledged that when the council presented my copper medallion! So why did still he treat me like I’d only just qualified for my iron badge?

Sighing, I rushed to grab the non-lethal bomb to catch up with my father, lobbing it over the wall just a second behind him. Thick clouds immediately started billowing from the projectiles, providing the cover we needed to try to make a break for the tomb. We had everything going for us; concealment, knowledge of the location… All we had to do was use them.

My dad took wing, jumping to the top of our ruined wall and pushing off, making an arc that would clearly curve out to the left as he vanished into the smoke. I peeled right, a breath behind him. I rolled to my side, darting between ponies and buildings barely visible in the obscuring cloud.

Suddenly, I felt a clip at one wing that turned rapidly into a crushing grip. I couldn’t stop the cry that escaped my mouth, nor the shriek it quickly turned into when my other wing fell into that vice-like grip and I was thrown into the ground. I couldn’t breathe to cry out more. The wind left my lungs and the world went white as pure agony seared through my nerves.

Color bled back into the world slowly, and still swirled even as the armored monster drew its hoof back to crush my skull. I tried to force myself to move, to roll out of the way, to do anything but simply lay there, staring up at this herald of death given pony form, but nothing in my body would respond to my desire to survive, caught in the paralyzing fear of my oncoming demise.

I was going to die. That was all there was to it. The Minutor Crystallum would give my family some story about a tragic accident abroad… Perhaps a terrorist bombing in Iraquine? But the truth would be that I died on the scorching sands of Eqynt, and only one pony, my own father, would know that.

Through the ringing tinnitus and my pulse throbbing in my ears, I flinched away from a sudden change of air pressure and a muted thud of an explosion. The sudden presence of a warm fluid on my face jerked my eyes back open in time to see the Jaeger slowly tipping to one side, a jagged piece of shrapnel sticking out of its forehead like some sick and twisted imitation of a unicorn’s horn. As my vision grayed and faded, I saw the ruptured and smoking tanks of the bolter, and my father’s terrified face as he scrambled to get to me.

“Hold on, sweetie. We’ll get you home.” His voice faded with the rest of the world into blissful nothingness as urgent hooves lifted me from the sand.

I woke several times over the next few days, but never for long. My few waking moments made me wish I had not. The doctors kept me strapped down, but even the slightest twitch near my shoulders and wing joints sent waves of agony down my spine. I didn’t need to see the doctors to know how dire my condition was. I could feel it.

I always feigned sleep when my family came; my mom, my brothers and sisters, and my nieces and nephews. Uncle R.B. came once even… But I couldn’t stand to see the pity in their faces, hear the regret in their voice. What good were those feelings? Pity couldn’t fix what had been irreparably broken, and all the sympathy in the world couldn’t return what was now irretrievable.

Worse than the pain I was in, perhaps, was the look on my father’s face on the few occasions I was awake when he visited. I could see guilt clearly in his green eyes; the self-recrimination for me getting caught and not him. I’d always been considered the precocious baby of the family, the one always carefully guarded from the mistakes of the older siblings. It’s why my father hadn’t let me try for my apprenticeship with the Minutor Crystallum until I was sixteen while he’d let my oldest brother, Red Sky, join the librarians of the Vicus serve the order at twelve.

I would never change my decision to join the Ipsum spies of the order… but perhaps I’d wish that part of that exploded canister had found its way into my body as well. Death was better than a life without wings.

Canterlot General Hospital
Canterlot, Equestria
Watersday, 26 Rain Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

I woke groggily to the feeling of warm light on my face. Irritably, I brushed back a lock of my mane out of my face and looked around slowly, trying to ignore the dull throb emanating from my back near my shoulders. The solid architecture was a dead-giveaway, along with the view outside of mountains and the spires of what appeared to be a castle, that I wasn’t in Hurricane Memorial as I’d expected, but in some land-based hospital.

‘Probably Canterlot… It’s the only city that has a castle shy of the Crystal Empire’s capital, and since everything’s not made of crystal, that’s safely eliminated,’ I thought to myself, frowning at the puzzle of why I would be far from pegasi doctors that specialized in…

I broke my thoughts off quickly then, unwilling to consider the reason for the muted pulse of agony along my spine. I heard the door then, opening to admit somepony to the room I occupied. My first glimpse of the pony was of a clipboard surrounded by a silvery-blue halo of magic that hid the pony’s face, but not their grey body and blue hooves, nor their mane of sky and deep cobalt blue or the white doctor’s coat with blue frames sticking out of a pocket.

As the clipboard floated over to the bed to hang from a hook on the footboard, and the magic pulled those blue-rimmed glasses out of the pocket and placed them on their face, the doctor smiled slightly in greeting, her sapphire blue eyes gentle behind the lenses of her spectacles. “Good afternoon, Monkey Wrench. My name is Witching Hour and you’re at Canterlot General. I requested your transfer from the hospital in Cloudsdale.”

And that’s how I met Doctor Witching Hour, then-scion of House Grey and Princess Luna’s student. You could say now that the rest is history, but history leaves out so much.

Author's Note

SO! Here we go again!!! :pinkiecrazy:

Yes, it's a bit of a back track on the timeline... but a while ago, I realized that if I was going to give Monkey as much screen time as I was planning on for the Sequel of DoOoM, I'd need to develop her a LOT more...

In trying to flesh her out more, this happened... :derpytongue2:

I've already got chapter 2 written, but it will not be posted before I've gotten chapter 3 finished... Gods know when that'll happen. :twilightsheepish:

Anyways! Hope you enjoy!

Ch 2 - New Mission

Canterlot General Hospital
Canterlot, Equestria
Starsday, 29 Rain Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

I was in my room at the hospital, still vibrating from the exhilaration of my… test flying earlier when my father appeared at the door, poking his head into the room. His worried green eyes darted about the room until he saw me, sitting upright in bed. Anxiety quickly turned into surprise as he took in the sight. I’m sure it looked more than strange to see his previously morose, grievously injured daughter smiling and waving to him as I did then.

“Monks!” he exclaimed, restraining himself only long enough to close the door behind him before zipping across the intervening space and nearly hauling me from the bed into a crushing hug. His grip loosened only slightly at my muffled squeak of protest, partly from surprise but also because the muscles across my back still ached from the residual trauma and the workout I’d given them just that morning.

“Oh Monkey… I’m so glad she was right…” my father whispered fiercely near my ear before he finally released me enough to pull away and look at my face. It seemed like a brief glance was all he could handle before he pulled me back into his arms, and his breathing rattled his whole body as he shook from the emotions that clearly rocked through him.

Part of me wanted to comfort him, reassure him that I was fine in spite of everything, but the part that won was the battered teenager who’d spent the last two weeks one step short of death for a pegasus. I clung to him, ignoring the discomfort of battered and stiff muscles, burying my face against his shoulder. “I’m okay, Dad.” My voice shook even though I bent my entire will to making it come out evenly.

“You’re okay now, you mean, Monks,” he retorted, running a hoof through my mane comfortingly. “Thank the gods you are…”

I tried to hold back the wave of what could have been, of relief so keen it was agony. For twelve days, I had tasted the abyss, and it still clung to me. I fought that darkness with the knowledge that just that morning, I had been in the air again. True not open air as the therapy room was indoors, but still, I’d flown. Erratic as those short flights had been, I’d flown… and there was one pony to thank for it.

“Thank Doctor Witching Hour, you mean,” I corrected with a sniffle, finally getting some control of myself and relaxing in my father’s embrace. “Dad, lemme wipe my face. I don’t wanna get your shirt all crusty.”

With a laugh that was part sob, he let me go and passed me a tissue from the box on the bedside table. “You are alright though? She said there weren’t any other complications, but…” he trailed off anxiously.

“No, nothing else… Well, unless you count reverting to a filly trying out her wings for the first time as a complication?” I offered, tossing the used tissue into the waste bin.

“What part of the reversion would that be? I seem to recall several reverberating shouts of joy at just getting your hooves off the ground moments before crash-landing into your mother’s herb garden…” he chuckled lightly, as though trying to keep his worries at bay.

“Think worse than that,” Monkey grimaced and, unconsciously, her hoof rubbed the top of her head where it had frequently met the ceiling. “Like why Mom banned flying in the house after Red destroyed that hanging lamp in the living room.”

“Never liked that lamp, if I’m being honest. It always made it a pain in the neck to get coffee in the morning, often quite literally if I was particularly tired.” Dad chuckled lightly, taking a seat in the nearby chair.

I shrugged, then winced as my shoulders protested against the movement. “Mom has her quirks… but I’d gleefully maim someone for her massage right now. I spent all morning trying to not crash into every surface down in the therapy room. I think there are still a few parts of the ceiling I’ve missed… I’ll probably get them tomorrow.”

“Don’t rush yourself on that. I’m sure that everything will be fine while you take a few weeks to tag those last few ceiling tiles,” Dad laughed as he leaned back comfortably in his chair.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was being far too casual about my recovery now. “Dad… You’re hiding something, and not very well, I’ll add… What’s Aunt Moira wanting me to do now?” Part of me was irritated, but not at my father particularly. Honestly, I was cranky that I couldn’t take more than a day to basically catch my breath before the Order flung me head-first into yet another mission. And yes, I was cross about my father trying to dance around the subject like I was still too young, or fragile, or any other thing, to deal with such things.

“… Dammit, you were always too clever for your own good. It’s why we gave up hiding Hearthswarming gifts for you and your brother after a while. Well, I hope you liked talking with Doctor Hour, because she’s your next assignment,” Dad sighed, reaching into a satchel to withdraw a written set of orders. My eyes widened as I saw the seal of the Capo Minutor on the orders, glancing back to my father to confirm this wasn’t just a mistake or an elaborate prank.

“It’s real, no question about that,” Dad confirmed. “Honestly, I would have been skeptical myself if it weren’t for the wings on your back right now. They aren’t just magical constructs, Monks. I’m sure you’ve realized it by now, or can at least feel it… They’re Hope Magic, plain as day. And I’m sure you know what that means for the mare who made them...”

I blinked and realized that he was right… Only not about when I’d realized the very special quality of my doctor. “I knew… At least… I suspected before she did… Whatever she did…” I stammered, still trying to organize the sudden jumble in my brain. “But… There hasn’t been any sign of Hope since the Crystal Empire disappeared… Why now? Why not sooner? And how is she doing it without the relic???”

“Does it matter? With Hope so close to returning again, we need to make sure that nothing happens to her, hence why your orders come from the top. Honestly, if it were anypony else but the good doctor, I’d be out of my mind in worry right now, but thankfully she’s the least likely to put herself in danger. Gods help us if that Sparkle mare was one of the Virtues…”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle is important to us; Virtue or not, Dad,” I retorted, exasperated. “She and her friends use the Elements of Harmony.” Did I really need to remind him? Probably not, but he was making it sound like she wasn’t important at all because she wasn’t a Virtue.

“Oh I know, sweetie,” Dad sighed, resigned. “But if you were set with her instead, given how often she’s at the center of a weekly maelstrom around Ponyville, I wouldn’t even be considering letting you go, even if you would have that reckless cousin of yours around.”

“I still haven’t forgiven her for calling the Air Guard nothing better than Wonderbolt wash-outs,” I grumbled sourly. “Does she even realize how hard you all worked to even get to reservist status?!”

“She was five, Monks,” Dad chided me flatly, even though I knew that instance had rankled on him too. He’d offered to teach my cousin and I some tips on stunt flying, and she’d dismissed the offer with a scoff that there was nothing a ‘wash-out’ could teach her that she’d be able to use.

“And she never apologized!” I protested.

“And she’s probably forgotten all about it by now,” my father countered. “Besides, kiddo, she’s probably learned by now what it takes.”

“All the more reason for her to apologize now…” I grumbled under my breath.

“The point is,” he continued firmly, raising his voice a touch to drown out my muttering, “no familial relation in the area would’ve made me consider allowing this if it were anyone else, loyalty to Aunt Moira or not. Your doctor is very likely the key to what the entire society’s been looking for since Sombra fell, and you’re in the best position to stay near her. You’re also well prepared to protect her if we’re not the only one’s looking for her… and you know we won’t be once she starts coming into her full power as Hope.”

“Are the… the Vices going to move again?” I asked hesitantly, not relishing the idea of being the only thing between a fledgling Virtue and those that would attempt to corrupt her.

“Possibly… They lost their hoofhold a year ago when Luna was redeemed.” Dad shrugged and sighed. “But with how much has gone on since then, with Chrysalis attacking the royal wedding, and Discord on the loose, to say nothing of that minor scuff-up with the corrupted Amulet of Compassion, I’m almost certain we’ll see some other power-crazed maniac try a stunt or five…”

“You realize that now you’ve said that, I'm gonna be up to my eyeballs in ponies wanting to either kill or corrupt my doctor, right?” I asked dryly.

“Of course,” Dad conceded, sighing heavily in resignation, “but this is too important, Monks… Honestly, if it weren’t this important, I’d tell them all to shove this order somewhere unpleasant, and I’d be hauling us both home as soon as Witching Hour said you were clear for release.” He sighed again, scowling unhappily at the scroll. “I’d tell them to find someone else to do this, to Tartarus with the delay it’d cause… But it is that important… And I have to let you make the choice yourself, however much I don’t like it…”

“Is this another ‘my baby’s growing up’ moment, Dad?” I queried, trying to bring a little levity into the situation. “If it is, Mom’s gonna be pissed because you’re getting another one over her…” He leveled a stern look at me and I backpedaled quickly. “Okay okay… I get it… You don’t like it, but it has to be done. To be honest, I’m not keen on being shunted into this almost immediately after what I’ve been through for the past two weeks.” I sighed heavily, my dad’s resignation infecting me. “But it does need to be done, and I am the best positioned to do it… What do we know about Witching Hour? Other than the obvious, of course.”

“For being the first known student of Princess Luna, Doctor Hour is surprisingly ordinary, at least according to her dossier,” Dad mused lightly, pulling said dossier from his bag and flipping through it. “Only granddaughter to the current Earl and Countess Grey, though reports seem to indicate some strain on that relation- something to be aware of. Unsurprisingly earned her Doctorate of Medicine from Canterlot University, although without any support from her grandparents- further evidence of that aforementioned strain. A friend of the family who’s a nurse here wrote her recommendation. Unremarkable work at a few clinics in Bromley and Sutton districts prior to transferring to Canterlot General- oh, now that's interesting. Seems the good doctor was part of the team that worked on First Commander Soarin of the Wonderbolts after that fracas in Ponyville with those Shadowbolt mercenaries-”

“I told you that doesn’t sound like their Modus Operandi…” I interjected, grumbling.

“Organizations change, sweetie,” he countered.

“Not that much and in only two years…” I retorted.

“Well, would you like to go and ask- no, I take that back, don’t ask them…” he sighed, facehoofing. “What with all the time you spent in that hole Coltenhagen, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could…”

“Actually, I can’t… Haven’t seen hide nor hoof of them since the dust-up involving the Olympia.” At that, I sighed. Charon had been quite the hunk of stallion, even if he wouldn’t have given me the time of day in a clock factory if not for him needing my assistance on occasion over my perceived youth.

“Well, with this recent move by them, that’s all the more reason to not see them,” he commented dryly. “And I know that sigh, Daughter Dearest… I do hope that you didn’t complicate matters with one of them.”

“Not for lack of trying…” I grumbled. “Had more success with that in one night than I did in the several months I’d been there, but not with the one I was looking for…” I shook my head. “But no… It wasn’t complicated… just fun.”

Despite the skeptical look he gave me, he let the matter slide. “In any case, I figured you’d agree with me that this is necessary, however unpleasant it might be for us, so I’ve already made arrangements. Victoria Veritas is going to be your mentor while you’re in the city, and Capo Toffee has arranged for your housing. It’s not the best of places, but it’s what we could do on short notice. It’ll be up to you to arrange your reason for staying here though.”

“Oh sure… Leave the hardest part to me, will you?” I groaned, not really meaning it.

“It’ll sound better if you come up with it rather than just spouting off lines fed to you and you know it, Monks,” Dad retorted, missing my facetiousness.

“I know, I know.” I waved a hoof dismissively at him. “I’ll figure it out…”

‘I hope…’ I thought then, wondering if there was any excuse believable enough for a pegasus voluntarily leaving Cloudsdale for Canterlot.

Canterlot General Hospital
Canterlot, Equestria
Moonsday, 2 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

My doctor stared at me with wide blue eyes that clearly showed her confusion at my latest pronouncement. “You’re sure about this, Miss Wrench?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

“Yes I’m sure,” I responded firmly. “No pegasus, nurse or doctor, at Hurricane Memorial will have the first clue about what’s gone on with my wings. You do, and you’re just as capable as any of them there in physio, right? So what’s the problem?”

“Canterlot is…” Witching Hour started, fumbling for the words. “It’s not an easy place to live if -”

“If I’m not rich and a unicorn?” I offered dryly, making my doctor recoil slightly.

“I didn’t say -” she protested but I headed her off again.

“No, you didn’t… but you were thinking it, and I’m well aware of it. However, this is my health and my ability to fly on the line here, so if it means I have to deal with some snotty cone-heads looking down their high-on-the-smell-of-their-own-rose-scented-shit noses at me, then so be it,” I announce, resuming my firm tone.

Though her eyes still betrayed some trepidation about the decision, Witching Hour nodded acquiescence. “I like that attitude, Miss Wrench. Let me know if you need help with anything,” she offered, smiling slightly.

“Well… Do you think you could arrange for someone to show me around town? And maybe introduce me to the Weather Team captain?” I asked hopefully.

Immediately, the doctor slapped her hoof to her face. “Not even out of the hospital and already trying to find a way to go back to work. Celestia preserve the breed,” she sighed heavily. “Alright, I can at least arrange for a tour of the town… Whether he’s fool enough to introduce you to Captain Merryweather against your doctor’s recommendation is another issue completely.”

Author's Note

ROUND TWO!!! ((cues ring bell))

Alright... So... I do have Ch3 done... which is why I posted this... however, you'll have to wait a bit for me to post it because I'm not putting it up until Ch4 is DONE... and Ch4 is a DOOZY...

Ch 3 - New Mare in Town

Canterlot General Hospital
Coltden, Canterlot, Equestria
Firesday, 3 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

Not for the first time, I was glad that my father had insisted on getting me legally capable of signing my own paperwork. The nurse gave me a skeptical look over my release orders, her graying blond mane falling into her aqua eyes.

“And who did you say was coming to get you?” she asked, her tone clearly brooking no nonsense.

“Doctor Witching Hour said she was sending someone to pick me up. I don’t know who it is,” I explained, again. “They should’ve been here by now,” I muttered, turning to look around the station before returning my attention to the nurse. I noticed then that her badge read “F. Cure, DNP”.

Nurse Cure sighed heavily, looking over my shoulder at something or someone behind me. “He’s here.” She then muttered several oaths under her breath. “Listen… He’ll knit you a sweater from the yarns he’ll spin, but don’t believe two-thirds of it and be skeptical about the rest. And for the love of the Royal Sisters, don’t let him talk you into doing any foolhardy stunts.”

Her magic took the discharge papers and the folder of exercises to do at home and shoved it into my chest, almost pushing me back a few inches from the force of it as the nurse dashed away, leaving me baffled, and now trying to pick up the mess of papers scattered on the floor because Nurse Cure’s magic vanished before I grabbed them.

Sighing, I scooped the lot up under my wing. I’d sort it out once I met this random stallion my doctor had recruited to show me around Canterlot and figured out why the nurse had felt so strongly about him being a braggart. I turned around and saw a pegasus I’d only glanced over before, but he now had a sign that read “Cloudsdale Clutz” on it. I rolled my eyes, remembering now that my injuries were supposed to be from an accident in one of the weather factories.

He wasn’t bad looking, with a deep wine red coat, white hooves and a messy pink and purple mane cut short in a style that reminded me of my brother, Pine, if he’d not gotten to his mane-care products yet. He wasn’t particularly tall or short, heavy-set or slender… He was average for a pony, if a little more well-toned, and certainly stockier than most pegasi ever got outside militaries. Whatever this stallion did, it kept him fit. I wandered over to him, idly wondering who this stallion was that he knew Witching Hour and if she’d be upset if I made a pass at him.

“You Witchy’s newest lab rat?” he asked, casually folding up his paper sign and tucking it into a pocket of his khaki vest. I chuckled a little at the description.

“I suppose you could say that,” I agreed amiably. It was then I noticed the heavy scent that clung to him like a cape - like old wood, pine and flowers. It was an odd smell to hang around a stallion, and certainly around a pegasus. “I presume I’m in a fellow lab rat’s company?”

The stallion laughed heartily, and it was a rich sound, but not overly loud. “Oh Witchy’s been using me as her test subject for years,” he said, waving the status away. “I hardly notice anymore… Don’t worry, anything she removes grows back… Usually.”

“I’m rather more concerned about the things she grows back falling off unexpectedly,” I retorted, amused at this stallion’s cavalier attitude.

“Well, in any case, best not to infuriate the good and honorable doctor by disobeying orders and I’ve been instructed to show you the parts of town where no self-respecting… What did she say you called unicorns? Cone faces?” he trailed off, looking to me expectantly.

I laughed outright, then corrected him, “Cone heads.”

“Right! Where no self-respecting cone head dare set hoof, lest they be disowned by their high and mighty families!” he finished his declaration with a flourishing wave of his hoof and a bow that wouldn’t have been out of place in the courts or mansions of the elite of the city. “I, my dear lady, am Leaf Wind, your tour guide and stallion for all you could possibly want in Canterlot.”

Smirking, I allowed myself a long, lingering perusal of his body. “Oh really? Everything I could want?” I purred, finally bringing my eyes up to meet his.

He coughed, his blush turning his face almost black, and I could see his wings fluttering as he attempted to rein in automatic reflexes. “Sorry, Miss Wrench… I fly solo,” he managed to sputter out, clearly made uncomfortable by the look I still gave him. I relented, chuckling.

“Ah well… Was worth a shot,” I shrugged and started for the doors. “Well c’mon then… I don’t want to risk Doctor Hour’s wrath any more than you do, I’m sure…” He staggered after me a few steps but managed to catch up with me at the doors.

“Well… that aside…” It seemed my guide was finally getting his voice and blush under control as he came up beside me. “Was there anywhere you wanted to go first?”

“Well… I could use some real food after all the hospital crap I’ve been choking down for two weeks?” I suggested hopefully.

“Follow me then!” he proclaimed, grinning fit to split his face. “I know just the place…”

Fine Brew’s Tea Room & Pub
Oxton, Canterlot, Equestria
Firesday, 3 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

So…

No shit, there I was, sitting at a table in a cozily lighted pub, sipping on some very excellent cider, nibbling on a fried halibut sandwich, and watching as my ‘guide’ got teased mercilessly by a dark grey unicorn and a white earth pony who were, judging by said guide’s protests, his mother and father.

“MOM!!! DAD!!! For the last time, she’s not my date!!!” Leaf wailed plaintively. “Witchy asked me to show her around since she’s moving to town to keep up with her therapy!!!”

I set down my mug and coughed to catch the attention of the parents. “He really is just showing me around town. I mentioned I wanted real food after a long stay at the hospital, so he brought me here.” I smiled sheepishly at Leaf now. “Sorry for not stepping in sooner… I was rather enjoying the show.”

Leaf groaned theatrically while his parents chuckled appreciatively. “This is the last time I’m doing Witchy any favors -”

“Famous last words, son,” the earth pony stallion chimed, smirking.

“- for her patients…” Leaf finished, doing his best to ignore his father’s comment.

“Don’t you have any siblings, Leaf? Geez.” I shook my head at him. “I get worse than this from mine… and my parents too.” Three sets of eyes, one pair a vibrant blue and the other two a deep amethyst, stared at me as I reached for my mug again, making me pause. “What?” I demanded, and that set the parents laughing again.

Leaf groaned, leaning heavily on the table and burying his face in his hooves. “Monkey… Didn’t Witchy tell you?” he asked, almost comic in his exasperation.

“Tell me what?” I retorted, now getting a trifle cross. “She said she’d find me someone to show me around. Tartarus, I didn’t even know your name until you introduced yourself!” This appeared to only amuse the parents further, and they were now wheezing while attempting to support each other from falling to the floor in their fits. “Can someone please enlighten me?” I demanded, now truly vexed at the comedy of the parents and the drama of Leaf.

The unicorn, brushing laugh-tears from her eyes, finally calmed down enough to respond. “Witchy… is his sister…” Which was all she could choke out before collapsing against her earth pony husband again, the pair of them laughing like hyenas.

‘I’m going to strangle whoever made that damned dossier,’ I thought venomously, mentally adding information to it with large, red capital letters. Doing my best to keep the ire from showing on my face, I blinked once or twice then sighed. “Well, I suppose that makes sense… What’d she blackmail you with then?”

“Probably that she’d make him see Nurse Faith Cure instead of patching him up herself the next time he came back from some tall-tale adventure,” the older stallion chuckled, finally regaining his composure, though his white face was still almost red enough to match his mane. “Though why he thinks it’s necessary to go all the way to Vietmane just to get yellow lilies and dayflowers is beyond me. He could just as easily pick them up in San Franciscolt…”

“Dad,” protested Leaf again, “I pay my own way there so it’s not cutting into the apothecary’s profits, and if I didn’t go, my friend would wind up with a mouthful of buttercups!”

“Ah yes… Your mysterious travel companion…” the mare mused thoughtfully. “And just when are you going to introduce us to him?”

“Her,” corrected Leaf, seemingly out of reflex because the moment the single syllable hit the air, the color drained comically from his face as the mare got an almost predatory gleam in her violet eyes.

“Oh a her, is it?” she asked, grinning ferally.

“Horse apples,” Leaf cursed.

Before either parent could start in on Leaf again, I coughed politely. “As entertaining as this show is, I think I’d like to wait a week for the next installment, if you don’t mind?” I took a quick sip of the cider from my mug and added, “And also, proper introductions, if you please… Not that I didn’t already gather that your Leaf Wind’s parents… and also apparently my doctor’s. I’m Monkey Wrench.”

The unicorn seemed to flip a switch in her mind and suddenly she was all professional courtesy. “Do forgive the family banter, Miss Wrench. I’m Fine Brew. I own and run this pub and the tea room on the other side of the kitchens.” She made a vague, waving gesture over her shoulder towards the swinging double doors before then indicating the earth pony beside her. “This is my husband, Holly Sweep.”

Deciding to play dumb, I hummed thoughtfully. “Fine Brew… Why does that name sound familiar?”

“It was on the sign over the door as we came in?” Leaf suggested dryly, earning himself a swat on the back of his head from his mother.

“Leaf Wind Grey!” I flinched in sympathy at Fine Brew’s use of Leaf’s full name. No one messed with a mother who was angry enough to use more than a familial nickname… Especially when she could call on three names as they could in the noble families of Canterlot. “You know perfectly well why else my name might be familiar, even if my parents, being who they are, like to remind us all on a regular basis that they don’t consider you or your father up to snuff.”

“Ah… Nobility… Say no more, please!” I held my hooves up in mock-surrender. “I spent enough time over the last two weeks with my head splitting. I don’t need an encore.”

“Of course you don’t… And nor do I, really,” Fine Brew sighed heavily and leaned on the table, for the moment every inch the friendly barkeeper. “So… This was your first stop then? Leaf? Do make sure she at least passes through Hyde Park. I know the snots like to prance around up there, but the grounds are lovely and they can’t make too much of a scene if you’re just walking through… say… to visit Miss Haze in Bromley.”

“Why would she need to visit Nurse Haze? Seriously Mom.” Leaf was baffled. “She’s already gonna have Witchy breathing down her neck, and her nurses will likely be not far behind her. Do you really need to sic another medical professional on her?”

“I don’t recommend a visit to Miss Haze just because she’s a nurse, Leaf,” Fine Brew retorted stiffly, looking every inch her rank as a viscountess and heiress. “Never underestimate the value of a good network of ponies you can rely on, and you know very well how reliable Emerald Haze has been to our family, as a customer and as a mentor to Witch.”

Another notation, this one in blue ink instead of red, added that information to my mental notes on my doctor. “Actually, where does the weather team operate out of?”

When Fine Brew opened her mouth to reply, Leaf groaned again, this time more comically. “Mom… Witch’ll make sure I’m the next one in line for that new spell of hers if I show her where she can get a job her first day out of the hospital! Please spare me that!!!”

“Alright alright!” I conceded. “The procedure wasn’t so bad but the time between is what I’d not wish on anyone… So how about a safer idea; where’s Kazoozles Commons in Hackney?”

Fine Brew made a little scowl at the mention of the district. “You couldn’t get anything better?” she asked.

“Oh come now, love,” Holly Sweep chided her gently. “She’s just a youngun, and I’ll bet you a pound of my best herbs to an ounce of your best tea that it’ll be her first time living away from her parents. It’s a commoner right of passage to live in a shitty apartment for at least a few months while they get themselves established in a new place!”

“Holly!” protested Fine Brew, now frowning fiercely. “You have never been a commoner.”

“Tell that to Grandmother Grey…” Leaf grumbled under his breath.

Apartment 2B, Kazoozles Commons
Hackney, Canterlot, Equestria
Firesday, 3 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

It was an intricate juggling act that finally allowed me to open the door to my new living space, since Fine Brew had loaded me down with not only the leftovers from lunch but also what seemed to be at least a week’s worth of meals and several canisters of several tea blends she was absolutely positive I would like. Leaf had offered to help with the bags, but I needed to make notes and I couldn’t have him around for that since they were notes on his sister. So, using what I’d learned from his reaction to my particular brand of flirtation, I drove him off. Honestly, with how fast he skittered away after that, I was surprised he’d not left a dust replica of himself behind.

Sighing heavily, I finally closed the door to my new apartment, tossing the keys onto a table near the door that looked as though it would fall apart with anything heavier set on it. With that in mind, I moved towards the kitchen with my impromptu groceries, intent on seeing that they were all put away in the ice box or cupboards before I fell over from exhaustion. I may have spent the last two weeks in a hospital, but the lack of use plus the fact that I was only walking around meant I was feeling at least three times my meager twenty years of age.

Before I made it much beyond the entryway though, the sound of a throat being cleared made me jump nearly out of my skin. Only very well honed reflexes kept my bags from dropping and scattering their contents all over the floor as I whirled around towards the noise.

“Oh I do apologize for startling you, Monkey Wrench, but I felt we should meet face to face,” the voice of an older stallion said from my living room. My eyes finally settled on the speaker, a caramel colored unicorn in a bright purple jacket sitting in an armchair that looked like it needed new upholstery and possibly new everything, given how it creaked with the stallion’s movement to stand.

“Well Miss Wrench, I’ll go ahead and get straight to the point, since you’ll be quite busy as soon as I leave here; I wanted to check in with you to see if there’s anything you needed right away that I could cut the red tape for?” the stallion asked frankly.

Immediately and without even thinking, I opened my mouth to reply. “Tar, feather and fire whoever gave you that damned dossier on Doctor Witching Hour. It makes NO mention of any other members of her family beyond her mother and maternal grandparents. I want a better grasp of her entire family and that… that…,” I stammered, fumbling for some accurate way to describe how terrible the file was. “That might as well be an excerpt from an index! It made no mention of her father, or her brother, which nearly made me step my hoof in it earlier today!”

I finally took a second to breathe, and then realized I’d just been going off at the Capo Minutor; the pony in charge of all Minutor Crystallum activity in Canterlot. ‘Me and my big mouth…’ I groaned mentally, now cringing at the prospect of potential punishment for being out of line. I’d seen ponies get sent on clearly goose chases just for this sort of thing and I did not relish the prospect of spending at least two weeks beating my head into a wall. I was doing that enough at my physio as it was.

“Chicken or goose?” the stallion simply asked with a serious nod.

I blinked. Then blinked again. “Wait… You’re taking me seriously about this?”

Earl Toffee frowned briefly and gave me a curious look. “Your father did brief you on this assignment, yes? Especially on the fact that this involves the Return of Hope herself?”

“Well… Yeah… He did…” I stammered, now fully confused.

“Good, so you realize that as the pony assigned to monitor Hope, if you say that a pony must be tarred and feathered for their shortcomings in preparing you for said mission, I’m going to ask you whether we use chicken feathers or goose feathers, and then see that the error is corrected and the pony properly feathered, yes?” the Earl asked earnestly.

“Make it pheasant feathers,” I responded, deciding to roll with this line of logic. “And maybe just use honey instead of tar… But still fire them. They’re shit at their job.”

“Excellent choice,” the Earl nodded, making a quick note. “Now, you mentioned a lack of information vital to doing your job, to the point that the exclusion of said information from the dossier almost caused you to fail the assignment before it could begin. Please compile a list of everything that you think you’ll need and get it to Victoria Veritas as soon as you are able, and we’ll make sure to get you the information by sunrise the next day. If at any point you do need something else right away, mark it Priority One and give it to Miss Veritas, and we’ll rush deliver that as well. Now, any other questions for me?”

I looked around the apartment, bemused. “One thing for the urgently needed list; I’m presuming someone can get me the contact information for the weather team captain? I know Doctor Hour said I shouldn’t be working too hard, but weather patrol’s a cakewalk, whatever she might think. And I’ll need a job to keep up reasonable pretenses of me staying in town. No one would doubt my parents fronting the first month’s rent, maybe even paying for the whole term of my rehab, but this is gonna be long term, and my physio won’t last forever.”

“Very well… I’ll see that it’s gotten to you… In a week,” Earl Toffee responded smoothly.

“WHAT?! A WEEK?!” I protested angrily. Fortunately for me, whatever punishment I might’ve gotten for such an outburst to the leader of my organization in the city was preempted by my wings making a fool of me. On reflex, my wings flared to full spread, not only sending a gust of wind around the apartment but also making me drop all my bags when I lifted from the floor and nearly took out the one ceiling light in the room.

“And that, Miss Wrench, would be why you’re waiting a week for that information,” Earl Toffee commented dryly, a slight smile on his face as his magic levitated the bags into the kitchen area, apparently having caught them before they could hit the ground. “You should be more careful with such parcels; Lady Grey’s finest is not something to waste.”

Author's Note

Update: 14 April 2021
OOPS! Totes forgot to say something here! Welp! Here's chapter 3... Shenanigans ensue... I'm sure you all may recognize a certain pony that appeared in the last bit of the chapter from Sylvian's story Canterlot in Flames. Admittedly, Earl Toffee of House Cane didn't get much airtime in that story, but rest assured, you'll be seeing MUCH more of ~~Wonka!Pony~~ him here!

Ch 4 - Craft Therapy

Grand Canterlot Station
Oxton, Canterlot, Equestria
Sunsday, 15 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

“So… Why am I here again?” I asked my doctor, pulling my cloak further up on my shoulders. It wasn’t necessarily that it was cold in Canterlot, though certainly the breezes were chilly, whipped down from the mountain tops, but in the two weeks since my release from the hospital, I found the stares my wings got were more than the typical unicorn elitism.

“I told you, Miss Wrench,” Witching Hour responded with a tired sigh. “Part of your recovery involves a psychological component. You need some time away from relearning your wings.”

“And you’re sure of that?” I retorted dubiously even as my companion yawned widely.

“Yes, Miss Wrench…”

“I’m impressed, Witchy,” commented a new addition to our party. “I didn’t think you’d make it this early. It usually takes five alarms, four cups of tea, three wake-up calls, two blanket pulls and a bowl of your father’s ginseng-infused oatmeal before you’re awake with plenty of time for the eight ‘o clock train…”

I eyed the new unicorn curiously. She was shorter, and definitely stockier than an average unicorn, with brown eyes set in a rounded pink face. Her tawny mane was pulled into a sloppy tail, while her tail was coiled into an equally messy bun.

“You’re one to talk, Rosy,” Witching Hour almost snapped back, but the harshness is softened by the smile in her eyes. “I seem to recall several times where I had to wake you up before the crack of noon.”

“Touché, mon amie,” ‘Rosy’ chuckled. “At least we’re not going to your aunt’s place again…”

“She really has mellowed since she went into the ambassadorial service instead of law!” protested Witching Hour.

I quickly found myself struggling to keep up with the banter between the unicorns. “Um… Hi! I’m Monkey Wrench, the good doctor’s sorta-unwilling hostage for this adventure.”

The new unicorn laughed again, turning a bright smile on me. “Sorry, I’m Chère Rosé. Witchy and I have been friends since…”

“Forever,” Witching Hour interjected, smiling as well. “Her father’s a writer, so he was constantly coming to Mom’s tea house to get his thrice-daily dose of muse… It didn’t hurt that when Mom started the shop and we moved in upstairs, she saw us with our carts of boxes, somehow managed to see some of my old toys and immediately knew there was a girl close to her age moving in. She strolled up to Mom, bold as you please, and asked where the filly was.”

“I don’t remember that!” protested Chère Rosé.

“Mom does!” countered Witching Hour.

I was spared from further Third Wheel status by the train whistle sounding the boarding call. “Welp, Craft Day awaits!” Witching Hour declared, and led us both into the train to Ponyville.

1000 Emerald Lake Drive
Ponyville, Equestria
Sunsday, 15 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

“Well this is a hike to make just to play with things for a few hours before you go home again…” I commented as I followed Witching Hour along a road outside Ponyville. It was a nicely wooded area, but the houses were few and far between out here, like they were all recluses that wanted to be close enough to a town to get supplies easily, but not so close as to be involved in all of the town’s events.

“It’s less about the actual crafts and more about spending time with the family,” Rosé replied with a gentle smile. “Mom and Dad used to make a full weekend trip to Manehatten when Aunt Olive was hosting… but that only happened a few times since Grandma and Grandpa have a better space for it.”

“It was less suspicious for my other grandparents though,” Witching Hour sighed wistfully. “As it is, I’ll probably have some accounting to make tomorrow about this trip… Thankfully, I have a handy explanation in Miss Wrench here…”

“Oh now I’m an excuse???” I protested. “I thought you said this was actually part of my treatment!”

“It is!” countered Witching Hour, smirking with an almost evil glint in her eyes. “Which is why it’s a handy explanation to give Grandmother about what I was doing in Ponyville.” She then grimaced. “Of course, she doesn’t much care for the fact that I’ve chosen a profession instead of being some witless noblemare, good for naught but to be waited upon and to marry… But she can’t afford to alienate me or Mom, even if she can annoy the piss out of us without doing so, since it’s a case of dealing with our ‘eccentric’ behavior, or the House goes to Grandfather’s brother.”

“I still think it couldn’t be that bad for you and Mom to tell them to take a long walk west of Kensington…” Rosé grumbled, half under her breath.

“Oh trust me, Rosy… It would be… Uncle Tie is so much worse than Grandfather…” Witching Hour responded morosely.

“So… Can I ask a question here?” I jumped in before the pair of friends could digress further. “Chère Rosé, I get that you and Witching Hour have been friends for a really long time, but… You’re talking like you’re a member of the family… and forgive me for saying this, but you two look nowhere near related…”

Both unicorns shared a look and then laughed at this. “That’s because we’ve been friends for so long, she practically is family,” Witching Hour replied, smiling fondly at the pink unicorn.

“My family’s more than a little weird anyways, what with my parents divorcing and remarrying… What’s another set of honorary parents?” Rosé then smirked at Witching Hour. “Or another daughter hiding at our house to escape less pleasant relatives?”

We turned off the neatly raked path onto one paved with decorative cobblestones to face a rather pleasant red house with a well tended garden under the large front window. Blocking the house from full view of the main path was a large oak tree that seemed to grow out of the center of a red brick patio with chairs and small tables in a conversational arrangement which were occupied by a trio of mares, all with yarn and knitting needles in hoof or magic. The drab-green pegasus and muted-orange earth pony both looked much older than the unicorn of the group, and simply looked up and smiled briefly when they heard us approach before returning to their knitting. The deep violet unicorn, though, grinned broadly and let her magic set the needles and yarn down on the table beside her chair before standing and crossing the neatly trimmed lawn to hug both Witching Hour and Rosé.

“Glad you could make it, Rosy, Witchy! Going to join us old biddies for knitting this time, Witch?” she asked with a laughing twinkle in hazel green eyes. “And who’s this?” she asked, looking past the two unicorns to me.

“Aunt Vel, this is Monkey Wrench. She’s a patient of mine. I prescribed some crafting and relaxation as part of her therapy,” Witching Hour replied, smiling. “Miss Wrench, this is my aunt, Velveteen Oracle. My other aunts over there are Pumpkin Carol and Olive Virga.” Witching Hour nodded to the earth pony and pegasus in turn. “And not this time Aunt Vel, Grandma wants me to work on that embellishment for Zetta’s uniform to get it done before she goes off to Junior Officer Camp this summer. If I don’t, you know she has to attempt fine needlework herself and then it won’t be finished until the poor girl’s nearly of age to go to the Naval Academy.”

Velveteen Oracle chuckled ruefully. “Mom is a bit of magic in the sewing room but gods save her if it’s more than fitting pieces together. Alright then, but only because it’s for my daughter… And I know you are not allowed near knitting needles, Rosy… My poor Gold still flinches every time he sees me crocheting… What about you, Monkey? Do you knit?”

Put on the spot, I stammered briefly before finally answering, “Um… I don’t really do anything crafty like that. Witching Hour said I should look around and see if anything caught my attention.”

“Sage advice.” Velveteen Oracle agreed with a solemn nod belied by the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Well then,” she said, turning her attention back to Rosé and Witching Hour. “Mom and Dad are downstairs with Zetta already, and the useless males are out on the back porch, putting dents in Dad’s supply of banana wine again. Even money says another inter-branch pissing match will start or Astro winds up building another Lake Catapult Slide.”

“Lake Catapult Slide?” I asked, already trying to figure out how that’d work in my brain.

“Don’t ask!” chorused all three unicorns and the two mares who looked up from their needles to do just that.

“It was stallions being idiot adrenaline junkies, and we’ll leave it at that,” Rosé added, not at all helpfully, since now I really really wanted to know what had happened. Maybe if I didn’t find anything to my liking downstairs, I could join the ‘useless males’ on the porch and get the story out of them…

“C’mon, Miss Wrench,” Witching Hour said, and headed for the open door to the house, Rosé following after her. Giving Velveteen Oracle a sheepish nod and a smile, I followed after them. In the house, Witching Hour quickly followed the wall on the right around a corner and another door opened, revealing a long stairwell going down and turning right, leaving those upstairs blind to the happenings below. “Grandpa! Grandma! I’m here!” she called before taking the steps quickly.

Witching Hour was already rounding that bend before I’d taken the first few steps down, all the while, I was cursing that wretched dossier to the deepest pits of Tartarus and trying to keep track of the doctor’s family relations. As far as I could tell, all these ponies were from her father’s side, and I could easily believe the displeasure of Earl and Countess Grey at their heiress marrying such a mixed family. Both Velveteen Oracle and Olive Virga had the same facial structure as Holly Sweep, but none of those three were the same breed of pony. I could only imagine what was waiting for me in the basement.

My imagination fell short by a country mile. There was an old dark green earth pony mare with a silvering black-brown mane pulled into a sensible bun working on what looked like a version of the Royal Equestrian Navy’s dress black uniform, and a much younger ivory earth pony mare with a messy and almost blindingly electric cobalt mane was fiddling with some weird contraption that had wires sticking out of it at odd angles. The last of the ponies was what made me stop dead in my tracks, staring out into the large work area that was part woodshop, part sewing room and part distillery.

Standing there, embracing my doctor in a familial hug, was an old grey-green pegasus stallion, like the clouds right before a tornado formed, with his black mane and tail streaked with white like lightning. Dimly, I heard him greeting Witching Hour and Rosé, but my mind was still going through all the facts I knew about this stallion without ever having met him. He joined the Wonderbolts at the start of the Griffin-Drake War, and leapt up the ranks to become the Commander of the Second Squad under Lead Captain Storm Surge and Second Captain Blizzard.

“C-c-c-c-c-c-c-co-” I stammered, still gawking at this pegasus who, despite having a bit of a potbelly and far more wrinkles than the promotional posters and personal photos in my father’s collection of memorabilia, was still clearly Commander bucking ANVILHEAD.

“Oh dear…” the older mare commented dryly. “Fluffy-love, I think our granddaughter inadvertently brought a fan of yours.”

At that, my brain truly broke. “Fluffy?!” To my dismay, my voice came out in a cracking squeak.

“Aw Tartarus, Ivy… Di’ja hafta say that name in front of a fan?” Commander mother-bucking ANVILHEAD asked the mare with a groan.

I nearly tackled my doctor and dragged her back up the stairs. When we finally got up the steep flight, and I closed the door behind us, I whirled on her. “Witching Hour, why didn’t you tell me your grandfather was Commander bucking ANVILHEAD?!” I demanded in a harsh not-whisper.

Witching Hour blinked several times before smiling sheepishly and shrugging. “I honestly forget about it most of the time. He doesn’t like a lot of attention over it and he’s always been just ‘Grandpa Fluffy’ to me…”

I could feel the gears in my brain screeching and grinding over this. At this point, the mental copy of the file I had on her was just one big red scribble and something about writing a better one later.

“Witch, go help your grandma. I’ll deal with this.” The spectacled pair of sapphire blue eyes staring at me were replaced by another pair of like-colored eyes, set in a much older, and masculine, face. “Now, Monkey Wrench was it?”

“Gah-” I was screaming internally. Face to face with one of The Wonderbolt Greats and there I was, gaping like a fish out of water.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Anvilhead chuckled, his country drawl thick. “Honestly, you’re taking this better than some of my more avid fans. You haven’t fainted yet, or asked me to bear your children.”

My mouth moved of its own volition. “It’s hard to consider offering my womb in sacrifice now I’ve heard you called ‘Grandpa Fluffy’…” Immediately, I clamped a hoof over my mouth. I was seriously considering just curling up and dying right then and there from sheer mortification.

“Well, yes. Not to mention I’m sure my wife would have a thing or two to say about it,” Anvilhead offers with a smirk.

“Doooooooooooooooooooc…” I wailed, turning to the stairwell and hoping my voice would carry far enough. “Get back here!!!”

After a long moment, an unfamiliar and rather young voice called back, “You dug your grave! So either take the rope he’s throwing you or start filling it in!”

“Zettabyte Oracle!” exclaimed Ivy. “Do I need to speak to your mother about your manners to guests again?”

“Ignore her. And by her, I mean Zetta, not my wife,” Anvilhead offers with a small laugh and a wink. “Anyway, you’re from Cloudsdale I take it? I was always rather popular up there.”

“Uh… Yeah…” I managed to stammer coherently. “And my dad got into the Reserves, and then joined the Air Guard.”

“Ah yes… Many Reservists go that route, even picking up and moving there to do so.” Anvilhead commented thoughtfully. “I’d half a mind to do the same when I got forced out… but no way Ivy’d be happy there, even if we’d be closer to Flash Chinook and his family.”

“You?! Got forced out?! Sweet Celestial Sisters, WHY?!” I sputtered indignantly. “You were one of the youngest Commanders of an upper tier squad in a century!!! The only reason you and Captain Blizzard were Second Squad was because Blizzard didn’t want the top job!”

“Don’t get him started!!!” chorused unfamiliar male voices from beyond the living area. A moss green stallion with frosted pewter mane and the family sapphire blue eyes peeked around the corner. “Love ya, Pops, but save the rant about Flashwind and Blazetail for when and if she joins our merry band of maniacs. Leaf Wind or Flash Gale look the right age for her… But Gale’s besotted with Sugar Spoonful -” I heard another male voice make a protest from further away but the stallion ignored it “- and the day Leaf stops playing fly-colt, I’ll turn in my stars.”

“Keep your stars, sir… He’s already turned me down flat,” I commented dryly. The stallion barked out a laugh, shot a knowing smirk at Anvilhead and then disappeared back around the corner.

Anvilhead chuckled ruefully. “Alright, I’ll spare everyone that story. Needless to say, it’s a sore point… Now, how about you tell me how you know that much about my old Captain?”

“Oh… My dad told me loads about you and Captain Blizzard from when he first made the Reserves! He stayed with them for a bit, what with the Griff-” I trailed off abruptly, seeing the sadness and weariness suddenly in Anvilhead’s eyes.

“The War,” Anvilhead finished for me, flatly, before he seemed to shake away the mood with a quick toss of his head. “Come to think of it, I do remember a reckless and headstrong colt with the same red mane as you causing all sorts of mischief amongst the non-comms. It doesn’t surprise me he didn’t advance though, the new Leads wanted… something new…”

The bitterness which colored this explanation made me reticent to pursue the subject further. Anvilhead spared me that choice by ushering me back through the door to the narrow stairs and following me back down to the basement. “Now… If I’m not much mistaken, my granddaughter brought you here to take a look at what sort of hobby you can take up for the day.”

Once we were both back downstairs, the ivory earth pony, who I presumed was Zettabyte Oracle, was looking rather despondent, poking at her strange contraption while Ivy was nearby, cutting pieces to a pattern. Witching Hour was over at the poniquin, a needle flying through the fabric to add gold stitches to ornament the black uniform, while Rosé was at a small desk against a wall, twisting wires and stringing beads together. “So what’s your flavor, girl? I don’t think you can help Zetta with her contraption much, unless you know how the engines on the Navy airships work, and you don’t strike me as the sort to muck about with fancy stitching like Witchy, but Ivy’s got sewing, Rosy’s making jewelry, and I’m just whittling some things for the farmers market.”

While I did actually have a fair bit of knowledge about the airship engines, thanks to my father, and had a fair amount of aptitude working with machinery, I was uninterested in whatever Zetta was working on. Almost in spite of how far down my throat I’d shoved my hoof so far, I found myself following him over to his woodworking area. “If you don’t mind, I’d probably fair better with you than attempting anything fine like your wife or Rosé.”

To my intense relief, Anvilhead simply laughed and beckoned me closer to his table and said, “Well come on then. Take off your cloak and I’ll get you started.”

I hesitated then, but shook my head to dispel the unease I’d felt over revealing my very attention-grabbing wings. Witching Hour had already seen them, and wasn’t bothered by them since she’d made them. Rosé probably wouldn’t care either, since she seemed to be entirely focused on creating some kind of beaded chain. Zetta and Ivy, likewise, were equally absorbed in their tasks. It was just Anvilhead who would see… And he didn’t have to know what the crystal iron did to my flying capability. And so, with that thought firmly in mind, I grabbed the cloak at one shoulder and pulled it off, draping it over a nearby chair.

Anvilhead let out a long, low whistle. “Damn girl… I ain’t seen wings that needed that much work since the War.”

Like a shot, Zetta perked up and stared at me. “Sweet cous! How’d you do that?!” she exclaimed, turning towards Witching Hour.

“I’ll send you a copy of my notes, Zetta,” Witching Hour replied distractedly. My brain briefly seized up.

“Wait… You actually understand her when she starts spouting off her mumbo-jumbo jargon?” I asked the young mare.

Bright blue eyes blinked at me in a brief moment of disbelief at being asked such a strange question. “Well, yes… Don’t you?” Zetta retorted, her tone one of complete seriousness, as if any non-unicorn could - and indeed, should. I did, of course, understand Witch’s magical ramblings, but that wasn’t something I was about to advertise, lest she question how a pegasus got so versed in arcane metaphysics.

“Nooooooooooooooooo…” I drawled emphatically. “The moment she starts going into it, the hamster quits turning the gears in protest.”

Zetta snorted derisively. “You let a stranger do something to you without understanding it?” She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Zetta,” Ivy said, the warning clear in her voice. “Don’t think I won’t be speaking to your parents about this.”

“Less crazy and more lassitude as long as I could fly again. There was also a significant amount of trust in her professional standing. She studied for years to get to the level she’s at, so of course I’m not going to understand it.” I countered easily. “And don’t worry, ma’am. I’m not offended.”

“Whether you’re offended or not isn’t the point,” Ivy retorted, though her icy stare full of matronly disappointment was directed fully upon Zetta. Even my brashest brother would’ve quailed under that gaze… And yet the teenaged earth pony merely shrugged and went back to fidgeting with her device while looking at me, as though nothing more than a strong gust of wind had suddenly rattled the windows.

“I’m more impressed that it was a machine that did that,” commented Anvilhead, his gaze lingering on my back and wings. “Only time I saw wings torn up that badly was when I was in the service… And it wasn’t any machines the weather factory had access to doing the tearing.”

In spite of myself, I shuddered, recalling vividly each moment of agony in that smoke-filled Oxandria street. I shook my head to clear the memory away, only to be confronted by two sets of very concerned and almost identical blue eyes; one set behind blue plastic frames in a pale gray face, the other set staring at me from a gray-green face. Witching Hour blinked once, looked at her grandfather, then smiled slightly before retreating back to her needlework. Anvilhead, on the other hoof, stayed where he was, looking down at me intently.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly. Try as I might, I could hear no pity, nor any emotion whatever, in his voice. I’m still not sure I could’ve handled either of those from Commander Anvilhead…

“It just… happened so fast…” In spite of every instinct telling me to keep the events hidden, the words tumbled from my mouth. “One moment, everything’s going well, and the next… It’s got me by the short-feathers and everything’s blazing white agony…”

“You’re talking about this machine like it’s alive.” The sound of Zetta’s voice near my shoulder startled me out of the half-trance I’d slipped into.

“That project of yours? That’s an analogue module for the gearshift computer, right? Battleship class? Then you know just how alive engines can get,” I retorted. “Why should the machinery in the weather factory be any different?” I asked with a shrug.

“Oh no…” Anvilhead groaned. I barely heard it before the young mare had shoved her way between me and the old pegasus, staring at me with wide, almost starstruck eyes.

“You know engines!? MINE!” she declared, dragging me away. “Sorry, Grampa! I’ll let her carve with you next time!”

“Zettabyte Oracle!” Ivy reprimanded sharply, standing in the young mare’s way of hauling me off to her corner. “Miss Wrench chose to work with your grandfather today. If she wanted to work with you on your gadget, don’t you think she would’ve chosen otherwise???”

Finally, Zetta was cowed by Ivy after the several scoldings she’d already gotten. “But Grandma! I never have anyone to work with me! And no one understands what I’m working on…” the teen wailed piteously.

I couldn’t help it then; I laughed. “Tell ya what, girlie… I survive another month in the death trap I call my apartment building, and I’ll work with you on your engine part then, okay? I’m sure you can’t blame me for thinking your grandpa’s pretty awesome and wanting to spend time with him.”

“Where are you living anyways, Monkey Wrench?” Witching Hour asked over her shoulder, the needle still flitting through the fabric even as her attention wandered. “My mom wouldn’t explain beyond a disdainful sniff that she usually reserves for the peerage, and that if you ever missed an appointment, I should check the morgues. Then my dad started teasing her about being stuck up and having no appreciation for the struggles of the commoner youth.”

“It’s no manor estate, but I’d hardly call it a ‘struggle’ by any means.” I shrugged, taking a seat next to Anvilhead. “It’s one of the apartments over at Kazoozles Commons.”

“You’re living in Hackney???” both Witch and Rosé exclaimed, nearly in unison.

“My parents got us out of there as fast as they could once Dad’s books started selling!” Rosé continued, almost in awe of how I’d somehow survived there.

“Oh… It’s not as bad as -” I cut myself off sharply. I didn’t need to tell them about all the places I’d been, and telling them about Coltenhagen would certainly get them questioning me. “As some places I’ve been. Reino for one. Dad took me with him on a bunch of Air Guard trips.”

“Still… No wonder Mom thought you’d wind up dead,” Witching Hour commented dryly. “Listen… I’ve got a line on a place close to the hospital… I was going to make the second bedroom into an office, but if your parents wouldn’t mind splitting the rent, I’d let you have it instead. Do you think you can afford to break your lease?”

My eyes briefly glazed over at the onslaught of information my doctor had just unloaded on me, as well as trying to figure out an appropriate answer for the question. “Oh! Um… I think my parents signed me up for a month-to-month lease, since they didn’t know how long I’d be in Canterlot… I’m rather liking it though, so I mean… If you don’t mind?”

“Why would I have offered if I minded, Miss Wrench?” Witching Hour asked, genuinely baffled at the thought.

I blinked and grinned, not only because I’d managed to get out of the shitty little apartment my dad and Earl Toffee had arranged for me with this assignment, but because my assignment had just gotten loads easier. “Thanks, Doc… I’d like that a lot…”

Ch 5 - Cheater Cheater

The Royal Library, Canterlot Castle
Kensington, Canterlot, Equestria
Sunsday, 22 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

Hidden away in a study room of the Royal Library, I groaned and stretched, using the motion to shove the pile of records away because I couldn’t stand to look at them any longer. I had some experience in making information packets on ponies, but none that lived so low-key as my doctor… It seemed she was absolutely determined to not draw any attention to herself, despite her ties to the Peerage and her prestige as Princess Luna’s special student.

Needless to say, my work on making a new dossier on my doctor was going slow, so I pulled out the small note I’d gotten the day before.

The typed note had shown up out of the blue, delivered with my mail like it wasn't actually courtesy of a Minutor Crystallum courier. With my move in less than a week to live with Witching Hour, I’d have to make arrangements to continue such benefits outside of an apartment owned by the Capo of Canterlot. It was certainly a surprise, since I’d not even heard a whisper from Rat or Charon since they’d bailed out of Coltenhagen. They’d had good reason to maintain the silence until I’d left as well, what with Charon’s sgradito status at The Olympia, but they could’ve at least dropped a line once in a while in the two years since then.

“Not even so much as a ‘get well’ card, and I know they know about my injury…” I groused, not for the first time. It was a common hazard of my presentation as an ‘independent’ contractor; no love from the big ‘companies’.

Regardless, I wasn’t about to turn down an easy payday. Sure, I had enough to live comfortably, what with the ‘salary’ I had from the current job of maintaining a relationship with Witching Hour, but it never hurt to have a slush fund stashed away for any surprises… And the good and Honorable Doctor Witching Hour had thus far been rife with them.

Scribbling the name down on a scrap of paper, I rose from my seat and stepped back out into the main library. Navigating the shelves, I got to the main desk where Steady Quill, the head librarian, sat, glowering at all in her domain with watery blue eyes behind bright pink catseye frames. Those eyes focused on me, making me feel like an errant school filly again… Or like I’d just botched one of my reports to the Minutor Crystallum.

“Um… Madam Quill…” I started hesitantly, clearing my throat quickly and as quietly as I could. “I need help finding information on someone… For an independent project…” I explained, setting the piece of paper on the desk before her.

Steady Quill scowled at me again, her frown deepening the lines on her teal face. “And is Sergeant Veritas aware of your independent project?”

I cringed, not for the first time wishing my father hadn’t held me back so much. In Coltenhagen, I’d had to work under his constant supervision, which, as a mere Ferrum initiate, I had to swallow, but the fact is that he hadn’t let me start working on getting out of the grip of being a Ferrum until I was almost seventeen! After my year in that cesspit of a city and I’d finally made Aeris, he still hadn’t let me work alone much, despite even acknowledging that I’d worked my hind-end off to get a longer leash!

“Yes, she is,” I sighed heavily. “I told her on my way in.”

The librarian lost some of her scowl at my reply, but it wasn’t enough to completely erase the expression from her face as she took the paper in her magic to look at it. “Very well… I’ll send what I find to your study room.”

I smiled in gratitude, and nodded before beating a hasty tactical retreat. Vicus of the Minutor Crystallum were prickly in the best of times, but Steady Quill was the head of that part of the Order in this city, which made her even more so than the other historians. Back in my study room, I closed the door and scowled at the mess of papers. That wretched file I’d been given initially had at least given me a couple of starting points, added to my own experiences with her extended family in Ponyville.

I’d gotten another few pages done, detailing her father’s side, when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” I said as I looked up, expecting to see the irritable Steady Quill… What I saw instead was a somber Earl Toffee quickly entering the room and taking the chair across from me. For a moment, I gaped, slack-jawed. After years of not dealing with much, if any, of the hierarchy of the Minutor Crystallum, having had not one but now two face-to-face visits from the Capo Minutor of Canterlot was a bit much for me to get used to.

“You’ve made some rather intriguing inquiries, Miss Wrench,” Earl Toffee proclaimed as he tapped a file folder against the desk. “Inquiries that, if related to your present mission with Doctor Witching Hour, raise a great many concerns.”

I blinked, finally regaining my composure. “Um… I swear I’m just making a new dossier…” I explained. “As I told you before, the one I was given is little better than toilet paper.”

“I can see that, and while I’m quite certain it will be magnificent, I must ask how Kayn Ost is relevant to the good Doctor’s dossier?” replied Toffee.

“Oh.” I was eloquence itself apparently. “Um… That’s for a side job I got through some of my old contacts from Coltenhagen.” In explanation, I slid the note from ‘Shirogane’ across the table.

“Hmm… Ah, yes; ‘Rat’ and ‘Charon’ from that business in Coltenhagen two years back, I do remember the report.” mused Toffee as he glanced over the note before setting it off to one side. “Well… I must say that this is rather curious, then, and another thing for you to keep an eye on while you’re here.”

“Oh no…” I groaned. “Why do I feel like this job is quickly turning into a sand trap of problems? What’s this guy have to do with the Vices?”

“Considering that this individual hired the Shadowbolts to assassinate the Elements of Harmony twice, and someone affiliated with said Shadowbolts is hiring you at double pay for information on this individual?” Toffee asked rhetorically as he opened the file folder on my desk. “The concrete intel we have on Kayn Ost is all things that your Shadowbolt contact would already have; a train derailment and that Ponyville debacle that nearly killed the Wonderbolts Ace Squad. Everything else is merely speculation based on the common threads between these two events. What we do know is that, whoever they are, they have powerful connections and they seek to take the Elements out of play. Normally, I would suggest telling this contact you weren’t able to find anything and playing this close to the vest, but there’s already so little here, I would say that it wouldn’t make much difference. What I want to know is how far we can trust this ‘Shirogane’ and their associates? You’ve worked with them before, however briefly. What are your thoughts?”

“If you had the report from Coltenhagen and The Olympia, then you’d know we owe them a solid,” I retorted iritably, and then bit my tongue with a wince. One day, my knee jerk responses to Earl Toffee would get me in trouble and it’d be better if I stopped such a bad habit before then. “I’d trust them. At least Rat’s crew and Charon… I can’t vouch for the whole organization, just them,” I added, my tone more moderate.

Toffee merely nodded, unperturbed by my outburst. “As long as we are not bashed over the head with said ‘solid’, I wholeheartedly agree. Go ahead and share what we have, and keep me informed. We may need to get eyes inside of that flying fortress of theirs-”

“They have a flying fortress?!” I asked eagerly. “Dammit, now I wish they could afford me!”

“... Perhaps they might, should the need arise,” smiled Toffee. “The good doctor is our priority, of course, but you may wish to nurture this ‘friendship’, if the ‘Get Well’ gift basket waiting at your apartment is anything to judge by.”

“Oh sure… Now they send one…” I grumbled. “By the way, let the couriers know I’m moving into the Mayfair apartments at the end of the week.”

“Already noted when a certain Doctor inquired about adding you to her lease,” smiled Toffee as he stood up from the chair. “A pleasure as always, Miss Wrench.”

As he left, I snagged a clean sheet of paper and quickly wrote down my reply to ‘Shirogane’. I’d leave it in my dead drop on my way back to my apartment.

Summer Fun Fly-Meet
Wonderbolt Stadium
Canterlot, Equestria
Moonsday, 7 Rose Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

I eyed the various courses dubiously, feeling my nerve failing again even as my heart ached to go through the twists, turns and crazy obstacles on them. “Doc… I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“Nonsense!” protested Witching Hour beside me, shaking her head. “Look, Miss Wrench. There’s not much more we can do in the physio room at the hospital. You’ve managed to get a grip on the strength you need to fly normally, but we need to find out if that control extends to all aspects of your flying. We won’t find that out any better way than here… and don’t even try to tell me you don’t like the idea. If your conversations with my grandfather weren’t any indication, the fact that you come from a long family tradition of Wonderbolt Reservists is a clear sign that you love stunt-flying. So… This is how we find out if you’re still up for it, right?”

It really wasn’t fair of my doctor to know me so well already. I’d barely known the mare a month, and she still remained something of a question mark in my books… but there she was, calling me out on my shit.

“Couldn’t we just wait until the next Craft Day and see what your family can cook up? Between Anvilhead, those three uncles of yours, and Zetta, I’m pretty sure they’d come up with something comparable…” I asked, mostly shying away from the idea of going through this test publicly.

“What? Being my test subject wasn’t enough for you, now you want to subject yourself to the rest of my family?” Witching Hour teased. I wasn’t sure I’d get used to that, after being introduced to her as my somber and cautious (if painfully optimistic at times) doctor, but I took it as a sign that I was developing a good relationship with her. “Besides, this is just an amateur fly-meet right? Lots of pegasi have mishaps here… So even if you do, and I doubt you will, it won’t be out of the ordinary. So no reason to fear, right?”

Grumbling, I let her herd me into the lineup for the obstacle course. I wasn’t about to admit that the thought of the challenge was appealing… Gods knew it’d make her more insufferably right than she already was. However, there was a large part of me that was afraid these new wings would fail, or that I’d go careening wildly out of control, and generally make a fool of myself. Two months was not enough time for me to feel comfortable with how the reconstruction had affected my flight.

I shrugged off the windbreaker that I’d been using to conceal my wings up to this moment, thanking Celestia that today wasn’t a bright and sunny day. Honestly, in that one moment, I felt more naked and exposed than at any other point in my entire life, and having wings that flashed light just like a conehead’s horn would have brought far too much attention. Witching Hour’s magic quickly caught the discarded jacket and folded it into her bag.

“I really don’t know why you insist on wearing things that cover your wings. Don’t pegasi hate having their wings constrained?” she asked, even though I knew full well she already knew the answer to that. I mean, how could she not, with her family littered with pegasi? And we both knew why I was willing to sacrifice that comfort.

“Witching Hour… Really… If you insist on asking questions you already know the answer to, I’ll tell Her Ladyship, the Countess, how much you moan in bed.”

That meeting had almost been as interesting as meeting her father’s family, but not nearly as pleasant. The Countess Grey, Sweet Tea, had marched into Fine Brew’s tea shop, cornered Witching Hour and I at our booth and interrogated us for over an hour over our ‘relationship’, which really didn’t exist in the way Sweet Tea had built it up in her head, but apparently Leaf Wind had thought it funny to make a joke about us moving in together within earshot of the matriarch.

“All non-contestants please make your way back to the stands! The Final Heat is about to begin! Contestants; get to your places!”

The look that the good doctor gave me as she made her way back to the stands did not bode well for me later, but I honestly couldn’t care less as I took my mark on the track. Four other pegasi stood to my left, three well-toned stallions and a lithe willowy mare, all stretching and preparing for the announcer’s call. The older stallion had a voice for radio and lungs to match as he prattled away on the five of us and the current best times. I let the words wash over me, since there was nothing useful there. I’d watched the course dozens of times in the past hour. I knew what I was up against. I just didn’t know how much my new wings would bring to the table.

The announcer started his countdown. Three: I extended my wings and waited, my eyes closed as I focused my mind. Two: I inhaled slowly before releasing out through my mouth, letting the cold shock of adrenaline wash over. One: I opened my eyes. The airhorn blared, but I never heard it. I was already on the move.

The double slalom came up first, side to side, then up and down. I couldn’t exactly place where my mind was at during the quick turns and the rapid climbs and dives, as I was too busy savoring the feeling of truly letting loose in the sky again. It was intoxicating; the wind in my face, the tingling burn of my wings, and the pounding of my pulse in my ears. Any pegasus would tell you that soaring in the Open Sky after being ground-bound for any length of time was better than booze, better than drugs, hell, even better than sex; I was inclined to agree, in that moment at least.

The triple hairpin came next, and I couldn’t keep my grin from spreading wide across my face. I could hear the announcer shouting something as one of the stallions spun out and crashed into one of the safety clouds, unharmed but disqualified. Honestly, I didn’t comprehend a word of it, and that was fine by me. Gods, I knew the Doctor was going to give me the worst ‘I Told You So’ look later, but the feeling in my soul at that moment might have been worth a thousand of those looks.

By the time I reached the Oscillating Rings, any remaining thoughts of anxiety had melted away. I was swiftly catching up to the leader, twirling and dancing my way through each ring as though they were standing still. I passed the mare, tucking into a spiraling roll as I threaded the needle through the ring we were both aiming for. The lead stallion flinched as the ring he was passing through shifted, causing him to clip his left wing on the edge and slow down as he tried to regain his rhythm. I turned sideways to avoid him and glided decisively through the last ring into the lead.

Back in flight school, I never did like the “Buffers”, especially when they followed my favorite sections like the Rings or the Slaloms. They always seemed so crude, rebounding off a cloud barrier at just the right angle to strike another one, and another and another, on and on down the line like some living pinball or billiard ball. The artful threading of needles was always my passion, but even my distaste for the crass bouncing was dulled in that moment on that course. As I rebounded off the last buffer, the sky gleamed a brighter blue than I’d ever seen before, as if urging me on to the finish.

The final set on the course was simple in concept, deceptively so, and had disqualified more contestants than the previous four obstacle sets combined. The Over/Under/Over Barriers were three solid cloud walls marked with boundary markers and spaced close together. The goal was to climb over the first, dive under the second, and climb over the third before a controlled dive through a narrow checkpoint at the end, but the rules were strict. Touch any of the walls in the slightest way? Disqualified. Drift out of the marked boundaries? Disqualified. Miss the checkpoint at the end? Disqualified. It was exactly what it was advertised as: a Wonderbolt-Tier obstacle.

Years later, I’ve gone back to that moment and that obstacle, trying to remember what went through my mind as I made history, but with little luck. Speaking with a few track designers, Wonderbolt engineers, and even the Doctor about it after the fact, the speeds and wing-power levels that I breezed through the Barriers with were theoretically possible for a pegasus to achieve while still maintaining complete control through the course, but the margin for error was somewhere around 0.0037 percent. At the time, I had no idea that I’d performed the perfect ‘textbook’ run and set a new record time for the Barriers that wouldn’t be broken for decades, nor did I care. To me, in that moment, I was one with the Open Sky, shining a wonderful blue, and she was smiling with me.

I barely felt the tape at the finish line as I briefly skidded before my wings halted my motion. The crowd was screaming in a fever-pitch, and the announcer was losing his mind with his fellow commentator, but my pulse was pounding too hard in my ears. I collapsed to my knees with a brief sob as my mind finally turned back on and the implications of what I’d done hit me in that moment: I was as good as new, maybe better. After living through the worst nightmare a pegasus could have, I was back in the sky the same as I’d always been. Tears of relief fogged the inside of my goggles as I took in the fact that flying with these new wings didn’t feel the slightest bit different than how I had before. These were my wings, not ‘replacement wings’ as I feared they would be, but mine. Trophy? Who cared about a trophy? I had my wings back.

And then the bottom dropped out.

“CAN’T YOU SEE SHE CHEATED?!” demanded one of the stallions in a harsh bellow.

In an instant, the applause and cheers from the crowd silenced, replaced by hushed whispers and mutterings. Most seemed shocked that somepony would have the audacity to make such an accusation. Witching Hour seemed to be torn between medically disassembling the offending stallion, lecturing him into the next century, or possibly both.

“Mares and Gentlestallions, let me assure you that any accusations of cheating are baseless and-” began one of the announcers.

“THEN WHAT’S WITH HER WINGS?!” demanded the stallion again. “FREAK FROM NOWHERE SHOWS UP WITH FREAKY WINGS AND SETS A NEW RECORD?! I CALL BULLSH-”

“Oh give it a rest, you featherbrain,” sniped one of the other mares. “If anything, it’s a miracle she can even fly with wings covered in garish crystal like that…”

The stallion seemed to turn a brand new shade of purple as his three brain cells worked overtime to find a rebuttal. In all honesty, I was so worried about how these wings would feel that I never considered how they would perform.

“WHAT ABOUT MAGIC?! IT COULD BE AN ENCHANTMENT! REMEMBER THAT UNICORN WITH THE BUTTERFLY WINGS?!”

“Are you having a laugh?” snorted another stallion. “We were all placed through the same dispellment charm to clear any performance-enhancing enchantments! There’s no way magic could be involved!”

Except that wasn’t true. My wings were magical constructs. They were made by the next incarnation of Hope herself. Comparing standard magic to the power of the Virtues was like comparing a raindrop to the Baletic Sea. On top of that, I wouldn’t even have wings anymore if it hadn’t been for magic.

I could already see the dream of ever becoming a Reservist in the Wonderbolts, never mind joining the Recruits or Elites, being ripped away from me. I’d be lucky if I could even join the Air Guard with these things, amazing as they were. All because of my failure to avoid a known, if obscured, hazard. Anything I could do would be cast into doubt, attributed to the crystal iron.

I dropped the trophy without another word. It was never mine, nor was that moment in the Open Sky. Of course I never felt so incredible up there before: that thrill was these damn wings. Just these damn wings, and nothing more than that. I had to get out of there as fast as I could, and so I called upon these cursed wings once more and let their bittersweet rapture carry me far away from my shame. My mind at the time could only wonder where the rogue raincloud had come from. The weather schedule called for nothing but clear blue skies all day, so where did the rain come from? Of course it was a rogue rain cloud; why else would my face be wet?

Author's Note

What's this? Old contacts coming out of the shadows (pun intended) to try to figure out what they're dealing with? :trollestia:

Thanks are owed to Jim Hoxworth for his "Shirogane"... and then for his massive assistance with the second half of the chapter. I've had Chapter 6 done for a bit, but I wanted to make sure I didn't... y'know... do something stupid like toss out whole sections upon rereading.

We're now closing in (timeline-wise) on the start of Steady As She Flies. WHEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! :pinkiecrazy:

Don't mind me... I'm just a little crazed. I've got some other things written because writing Monkey in this headspace is... Not easy... I'd even go so far as to say it's gorram frustrating. So instead, The Troll Squad of VirtueVerse has been working on a group project, as well as two additions to our storyline.

Keep your eyes open for those, and, as always, Be safe, friends!!!
Love & Light,
Witchy

Ch 6 - The Status Is Not Quo

Mayfair Apartments, #4
Oxton, Canterlot, Equestria
Sunsday, 28 Rose Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

Needless to say, Rose Moon was not a good month for my relationship with the Honorable Witching Hour Grey, M.D. For the first week or so after the Summer Fun Fly-Meet, I kept finding that damned trophy in random places in the apartment, and our (rather heated) discussions on why I kept throwing the cursed thing in the trash each time never resolved anything. There was one point where I told her that the trophy was actually hers since it was her wings that won that prize, not me (even if it was me using said wings). Witching Hour, of course, never got the message, but it didn’t really surprise me that she couldn’t understand. She was a unicorn after all.

I probably could have launched into a massive metaphysical discourse as to why the wings weren’t really mine, and would be akin to Witching Hour having some foreign object permanently attached to her that enhanced and improved her magical abilities. However, that was not my character as ‘Monkey Wrench - erstwhile patient, roommate and friend’. My ‘ignorance’ of the unicorn arcana was usually easy to maintain, but my frustration made it difficult to bite my tongue. The only way this theoretical Hope could ever understand is if she somehow fell into possession of Hope’s relic, which I considered (at that time) to be about as likely as Pommelpei’s survival against Mount Vulcanius down in Istallia. The only relic that’d come back since the Fall of Equus was Love’s crystal heart.

Again, these were things I couldn’t actually say to Witching Hour… But that didn’t stop me from thinking such things… really hard.

“Monkey? Are you home?” my infuriating surveillance target called as she entered the apartment… As though she hadn’t already memorized my schedule and which days I tended to go out on my own, and didn’t already know perfectly well that I was home.

“My room!” I called back, closing the folder with the latest reports of unusual events around the globe and sliding it under several books that my fastidious and uptight doctor wouldn’t be caught dead looking at. Alright, she wasn’t a prude, but her interest in any, let’s call them “romantic recreational activities” was strictly clinical and mechanical, and there was no way in Tartarus that she’d be interested in the (very steamy) “Silk and Saddles” novellas.

“Can you come out here please? I need to talk to you about something.”

Inwardly, I groaned and pushed myself away from the small desk I’d put in my room. ‘And here we go again…’ I thought, sighing heavily. Opening my door and stepping into the main living area, I blinked in surprise as Witching Hour was not taking her usual belligerent stance that presaged our recent disputes. Instead, I find my doctor sitting on the couch, looking vaguely green and staring into the distance, giving her the appearance of nauseated shell-shock.

“Yes?” I drawled, leaning against the wall casually.

“Monkey Wrench? How much do you know about the Wonderbolts?” Witching Hour asked and I just about choked.

“How much do I know?” I repeated, almost dumbfounded at the utter inanity of the question. “You’re seriously asking me that, after how hard I turned into a fanfilly over your grandfather?”

Witching Hour clearly attempted to shoot one of her better withering glares my way, but it was completely ruined by whatever had upset the minute balance of her carefully formulated and curated existence. “I’m asking because of how much you made a fool of yourself over Grandpa Fluffy.”

I winced. That moniker just… hurt to hear when I knew it referenced one of the all-time greats of the Private Royal Air Force. “Alright, I yield. You win… So what do you want to know about them anyways?”

“Well… not the Wonderbolts exactly… But… How much do you know about the Auxiliary Corps?” Witching Hour queried. Immediately, I was wracking my brains because, for the life of me, I knew very little about them.

“Well… I know they’re the support staff for the Wonderbolts…” I ventured, a little hesitantly, since I wasn’t entirely certain. “It’s not restricted to pegasi, and they take care of the logistics of their shows, payrolls, and security… Beyond that? They’re the ponies behind the proverbial curtain, so there’s not much known about them. It’s not like there are recruiting posters advertising everything they do.”

“Fair enough,” she sighed, leaning back into her seat and staring at the ceiling. “Princess Luna wants me to work for them.”

BOOM.

If you can imagine a barren wasteland, devoid of even insect life, you might have a good idea of how blank my mind went at that point, while simultaneously racing in about fifty different directions, mostly involving how this would impact my own mission to stay close to her. Could I join the Auxiliaries too? No. I don’t really have any applicable skills for that sort of job, to say nothing of the fact that it might literally destroy my brain to be that close to a goal and lifelong dream but never actually being part of it.

“Oh.” Was that the best I could manage? Seriously? “Sounds interesting?” I added, lame even to my own hearing.

“It’s a step-down from the hospital is what it is,” Witching Hour grumbles. “Oh she wants me to branch out and all that, but what can I do for a bunch of strained muscles, twisted joints and maybe a scrape on an exciting day, that someone else couldn’t do? I’m doing some real good at the hospital!” She shoved herself upright and off the couch and started pacing.

“I’m sure the princess has more in mind for you than just the usual injuries from what Wonderbolts do.” I offered tentatively. “I mean… You’re good at other things beyond your medical skills… maybe that’s what she means by branching out?”

“I haven’t sung in years, the only instrument I managed to learn with any proficiency was a bit-whistle, and I somehow doubt that perfect pitch will be useful to them,” she ranted, adding dramatic hoof and arm movements to her near-frenetic pacing.

“Whoa… easy there, Twitchy,” I joked, trying to placate her. “I’m sure they can find something for that ridiculously organized, logic-obsessed brain of yours to do… Maybe find another material for them to make their silly costumes out of… Spandex is definitely stream-lined, but not very helpful otherwise. The Air Guard’s struck the balance between protection and aerodynamics… Why not the branch that spawned them?” A thought occurred to me then. “And who knows? Maybe Princess Luna wants them to stop being useless one-trick ponies and actually go back to being a military force again,” I added dryly.

A wistful expression crossed my doctor’s face as she froze and thought about that idea. “Grandpa’d like that,” she murmured, almost too soft for me to catch, but just like that, she’d dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. “I’m not a leader. I don’t want that sort of responsibility. It’s bad enough when people start expecting me to be like Princess Twilight Sparkle when they find out I’m Princess Luna’s special student.”

I sighed heavily. This would be perfect. Of course this as-yet hypothetical incarnation of Hope would abhor the limelight and being in leadership, nevermind her tendency to take over things if she saw things not going right. “Witch… Just… give a shot? Don’t think I don’t know about that eclectic pile of weird projects waiting for you to have time that work at Canterlot General doesn’t let you have. Something a little more low-key might, I don’t know… actually let you live instead of just exist?”

“Says the mare who’s denying-”

Okay… I’d opened myself up for that retort.

“Witch… Please? Not tonight? I don’t wanna be adding to your stress over your reassignment from Princess Luna.”

Obviously, my doctor was more upset than she was willing to admit, because she did, in fact, let the matter drop. “Fine… The next few weeks are still going to be a nightmare. Gotta turn in my notice and then start filling in other doctors on my cases…” I tuned out her rambling as she made her list of tasks to do at the hospital. Those weren’t my clowns and that wasn’t my circus…

What was my circus, however…

The Dogs of War Bar
Hackney, Canterlot, Equestria
Metalsday, 4 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

Five sleepless nights, four shifts with the weather team, three trips to the castle library, two absolutely useless (to my purpose, anyways) military history books, and almost a week later, I still didn’t have any better idea of how to follow Witching Hour to the Wonderbolts.

“And… why exactly is it that you can’t join the Auxiliary Corps?” Victoria Veritas, known to me as simply Veevee, asked over her stein, a highly dubious expression in her brown-black eyes. “You’re more than qualified to be Security for them… Your record from Coltenhagen is more than enough for that…”

I groaned in frustration at my mentor’s obliviousness. Not that I shouldn’t have expected it. Earth ponies were generally worse at understanding flight issues than unicorns were. “Don’t you see, Veevee? You know my cell’s been trying to infiltrate the primary Wonderbolts for like… five-hundred years. Going into the Auxiliaries is like some cheap Vietmanese imitation of a name brand designer. It’d be like ‘Welp! You can’t join the Wonderbolts but here’s this shitty consolation prize where you get to see them every day, but never actually get to do anything that the Wonderbolts are known for.’ It’d be worse than if I wound up a Reservist like every other pegasus Ipsum who’s tried.”

Veevee merely raised a skeptical eyebrow at me, brushing a lock of her absurdly pink mane away from her chestnut face. “And why can’t you join the Wonderbolts? I know tryouts are already done for the year, but it-”

“Because anyone who takes one look at these after I’ve shown what I can do with them will think they’re like some performance enhancing drug, and punt me out the door faster than you can say ‘Moire Calix’!” I ran over Veevee, and gestured jerkily over my shoulder while spreading my wings slightly. Even in the dim lighting of the bar’s backroom, light still danced off the crystal edges of my wings with any movement.

“Why are you so sure of that?” Veevee asked. I figured she was at least trying to understand, and, unlike with my doctor-slash-roommate, I could actually tell her why.

“Because they were made by bucking Hope, Veevee!” Despite myself, a small wailing tone crept into my voice as I explained. “Normal magic detection might not pick them up but they are magic! Virtue magic! The regular cone-head magic doesn’t even come close to being able to compare!”

“I feel like I should maybe take offense to that…” A very familiar voice commented with a hint of amusement. “However, in the interest of academic rigor, I would ask you to please continue your statement to its full conclusion, if you would Miss Wrench?”

I could feel my mouth working, but absolutely no sound beyond an occasional squeak escaped… It was remarkably similar to what I imagined the sound the gears in my brain suddenly in overspeed were making because of the abrupt lack of resistance. Just like “Oh here Monks, let’s just have you shove your hoof down your throat up to your shoulder in front of your boss again.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Wrench, but was that the entirety of your argument? I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, if it was.” Earl Toffee replied patiently, although I swore there was a glimmer of amusement sparking behind his eyes. “If not, please continue, as I’m quite invested at this point.”

“Well… Fine then. Would you think your magic could actually compare to the magic used by the Virtues?” I snapped, somewhat irritably. One day, I didn’t know when, I would stop digging my own grave with Canterlot’s Capo Minutor… But obviously, today was not that day.

“In form or function? Or perhaps you mean factors of magnitude?” The Earl asked rhetorically.

“Don’t give me those horse apple questions.” I snarled, even while some part of me was desperately trying to hold the rest of me back, pleading that this was basically my boss… The boss I really didn’t want mad at me... but to no avail. “You know as well as I do that the magic wielded by the Virtues, particularly Hope’s in regards to healing magic, is well beyond the means or even the comprehension of normal magical healers.”

“Your point stands well enough, but I find it most puzzling that you assume great arrogance that you could wield such power by proxy with Hope’s gifts, and yet paradoxically assume self-deprecatingly that you are incapable of such feats on your own.” replied Toffee as he took a seat at the table, briefly taking a moment to clean his wire-framed glasses.

“First off, I don’t wield it myself,” I snarled back. “Second, you do realize I couldn’t do half of what I can do now, right? I didn’t have the speed or agility. Oh I had some, but I couldn’t make a textbook perfect run of any obstacle course set before me. And it’s obvious what’s different.” I jerked a hoof at my wings, which were now half-spread again in my agitation. “These.”

“I see…” frowned Toffee as he put his glasses back on, satisfied that they were no longer smudged, apparently. “So you posit that the new Virtue of Hope has cursed you with unparalleled ability simply because you have achieved something that you’ve never before achieved? Or are you discounting the potential effect that the trauma you went through itself may have awakened said new potential?”

I threw my hooves up. “Sweet merciful gods… Here I am, trying to figure out how I’m going to keep tabs on Witching Hour while she goes and works for the Wonderbolts, and…” I threw my hooves up again. “You’re worse than talking to Witching Hour! I’m saying I couldn’t have done it without her intervention! I’m done with this… I’ll figure it out on my own!” I declared, stomping out into the main bar.

“I think she might be upset.” I heard Veevee comment dryly just before the door closed behind me.

Author's Note

Last chapter before the big KABOOM!!! Have I mentioned how wretched it's been to try to recapture this mind-set of Monkey's? It's SEVEN YEARS OLD!!! :fluttercry: Add on that I've always been more in Witchy's camp of "She's being several shades of ridiculous over this...", and writing this phase of Monkey is... Difficult to say the least.

ANYWAYS... One more chapter of Monkey's head being in her ass, and then I can go back to easier shenanigans... Well... easier by comparison anyways... As stated, it's been a while since I was at this stage in Monkey's brain.

See y'all next time!
~Witchy

Ch 7 Coping Mechanisms

Sunbeam Hotel & Canterlot Grand Station
Coltden, Canterlot, Equestria
Firesday, 22 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

After about an hour of storming across Canterlot, I finally calmed down enough to actually think… and my thoughts were not kind to me.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.

‘This… This is not why you were saving up for surprise expenses, Chroma,’ my inner voice was spectacularly unhelpful, even as I went through the motions of checking into the hotel that was at once sketchy and classy, like the old casino-hotels on the strip in Reino. I, of course, told that inner voice to sod off.

A lot of small things turned the day into a powder keg that would make the ponies down in Bosneigha and Horsegovina go “woah! Calm down now! It’s not that bad!!”

Having had a pint-sized roommate/ward dumped on me the night before didn’t exactly get things going well. Okay, so it wasn’t terrible that Witching Hour was suddenly the guardian for the colt I’d seen in passing at the hospital. I even rather liked Trick Step. It wasn’t his fault for the situation he found himself in, anymore than it was Witching Hour’s fault. It was just the addition of a small foal to a small, two-bedroom apartment for an unspecified amount of time that started the proverbial avalanche.

My shift with the weather team was… well… a shift with the weather team. I did try to spice things up a little, but there’s only so much flair one can bust clouds with. And then I came home to two letters that were glaring taunts, an entire salt mine into the open wound of destroyed dreams. The seal of the Wonderbolts mocked me and my crystal-powered wings. Oh, a tour of the Compound and going back to the Academy? Yeah right. They’d probably be nice to me while at the Compound… but if they didn’t manage to worm their way out of the Academy invitation before it started, I’d maybe last half a day before they either gave me the boot, or the other attendees would hurl me off the cliff.

And then… As if that weren’t bad enough… Witching Hour had the audacity to say she’d had nothing to do with procuring such letters. Logically, I knew she didn’t have the influence needed to actually get them to send the invitations just on her say-so… but she had to have said something, and her Doctor Face wasn’t the same as a Poker Face, and I could see the guilt in it.

I was heartily sick of the whole project to keep tabs on the burgeoning Hope. Just as soon as I could figure out how to tell Earl Toffee to shove this assignment in unpleasant places in a way that wouldn’t result in my summary exile and/or execution, I would go and… I dunno… Hunt for the Missing Library of Marephis.

Getting to my room and kicking the door closed behind me, I was finally able to spare a glance to the other letters I’d gotten today. One stood out immediately, and so I quickly opened it.

I felt a little confused over this ‘Shirogane’’s definition of ‘success’ since I’d not been able to find anything that any of them wouldn’t have already found, but I was relieved to have something to do. Jotting down a hasty note of acceptance on the room’s stationary and readjusting my cloak, I decided I’d not waste a runner’s time and drop the message off myself, as my dead drop wasn’t more than two blocks away at Canterlot Grand Station.

Most of the evening travelers were already gone, leaving only a few who had worked late on the streets and in the station. The upper floors were devoted to luggage lockers in a variety of sizes and I made my way through the rows to locker C-18. It wasn’t one of the large ones, nor the smallest, large enough for a small suitcase and a set of saddlebags. Opening it with my key, I put the short missive inside, and then closed it.

“Miss Chroma Strike, I presume?” a stallion greeted from behind the latest edition of the Baltimare Herald. He had a pair of full-moon glasses resting above a well-kept fake handlebar mustache and ridiculously long goatee, and he wore a brown tweed suit with pocket watch and cane. A black mane poked out from beneath a black felt derby, which could only be the capstone to the ridiculous disguise that Shirogane wore.

“You don’t get out much, do you, Shirogane?” I commented dryly, eyeing the full ridiculousness of the attempt at disguise. Privately, I considered that, with his generic coloring, he didn’t really have to do much to make himself blend in, and his efforts made him stick out more, not less.

“Please, this is Canterlot Grand Station,” chuckled Shirogane. “I’m hardly the strangest thing here. Besides, it’s fun wearing this old outfit.”

“As long as it’s for fun… because it’s not good for disguise,” I chortled in reply. “I’ve accepted your request, though… Where do you get your definitions from?” I asked, unable to restrain the question. “I’m pretty sure wherever you read ‘success’, it wasn’t in the Oxton Dictionary.”

“Confirmed information is just as valuable as new information, if not twice as much,” replied Shirogane, as he cleaned the overly thick lenses of his glasses with a pocket square. “Plus the information that you and I couldn’t find also speaks volumes about the target…”

“I’m rather more concerned with the apparent aims, myself… But I digress,” I waved that particular line of thought away. “Hasn’t Hekate learned their lesson already? I thought those idiots I’d not dealt with, Rat and Charon dealt with.” I couldn’t resist smirking at the memory of how surprised that crew had been when they’d found me after foiling Firebrand’s schemes.

“Well, let’s just say that our current leadership didn’t trust Rat’s Crew in dealing with an international organization and, while the crew that was sent was certainly capable, some vermin slipped free of the trap we set,” grumbled Shirogane. “… paranoid old bag…”

“Aaaaaah… inept leadership… So glad I don’t generally deal with that…” I sighed, though I did have a leadership with its own… eccentricities that were enough to make me pull my mane out in chunks some days. However, to Rat and his associates, I was still an ‘independent contractor’, someone with no ties to any particular organization and working on my own. “Alright… I’m never one to leave a job half-done and if I’d known there were loose ends earlier, you can bet I would’ve tied those off sooner. Would you like me to deal with any of them if they're closer to me than your folks?”

“Are you actually comfortable with said work?” asked Shirogane. “Rat did emphasize your preference to stick to non-lethal strikes.”

“It’s not my favorite thing in the Cosmos,” I answered with a shrug. “I stuck to non-lethal in Coltenhagen since I prefer to stay on the Olympia’s good side, and I tend to believe in second chances. That’s not to say I believe in third chances. If it needs doing, it gets done.”

“Well, a large number managed to slip behind JSS protection before I could reach out to you, hence why the file was so small, but the list I gave you should be easy enough to find and handle,” explained Shirogane. “If you want to permanently end a few of these scumbags that made their fortunes off of creating cities of war orphans, by all means, and we’ll compensate you appropriately.”

“I’ll see what I can manage. I’m technically on a mission right now, but it’s pretty low-key, thus my willingness for side jobs… And if shit keeps going sideways with this, I’ll need the extra cushion.”

“That sounds…entertaining…” replied Shirogane carefully.

“Oh you don’t know the half of it… Unfortunately, as much as I’d love to see you without that ridiculous get-up, I’d better get back. My regards to the crew, friend.”

“I’ll be sure to pass those regards along,” chuckled Shirogane. “But maybe try talking to your boss about a reassignment if it’s that bad? They’ve got to be at least a little more reasonable than my boss… Not like they’ll gut you for it, anyway…”

“Trust me,” I sighed heavily, “it’s on my list of things to do, as soon as I can phrase it in a way that avoids Charon’s fate.”

The Royal Library, Canterlot Castle
Kensington, Canterlot, Equestria
Starsday, 26 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

It felt good to do some normal Ipsum work. I’d not actually gotten around to actually doing the wetwork options on some of them. I liked doing my homework first, and making sure I wouldn’t leave anything behind if I did add red to the ledgers.

A knock on the door pulled me from my study of one file in progress. Sighing, I called “Come in, as long as it’s not - Oh, it’s you… You’re fine…” I trailed off, seeing Veevee entering the private study room.

“Not wanting to see the Earl right now? Don’t blame you,” Veevee says, taking off her helmet and setting it on the edge of the table. She gave her mane a quick brush with one hoof, removing at least some of the helmet-mane she’d gotten. “You’re not his favorite flavor right now either, what with you having gone mostly AWOL from your post.”

Groaning, I dropped my head to the table. “She did something, Veevee… She maybe didn’t do it directly, but she pulled strings and got me those damned invitations, nevermind that it’ll make things even worse in the long run. There are two options for how bad it’ll be. One, she didn’t say anything about my wings, in which case, it’ll make things insanely awkward for everyone… Or two, she did say something about it, in which case, she broke my trust trying to prove her point. I’m not sure which is worse, but I’m pretty sure they’re both epically bad options.”

“Okay… Monkey, I get it. I do,” Veevee says, taking the seat across the table from me. “You trusted her with how you were feeling, and she went and blabbed about it… Do you think maybe she went to the only pegasi she could talk to for help? You’ve made it abundantly plain you don’t consider her opinion, valid as a doctor’s might be, worth a wooden bit since she’s ‘just a unicorn’.” I looked up, scowling, to see a similar, stern expression on my mentor’s face. “Would you rather she’d gone to her brother? Or what about her grandfather and uncle? Do you think that’d be better?

I winced at that idea. Sure I’d said some vague things about the ‘accident’ to Anvilhead, and he was a veteran of a real war, to say nothing of being decidedly not an idiot, but if he knew-

“Look… I’m not gonna fight you on this,” Veevee continued, sighing heavily. “I’m just here as the messenger. Boss wants to know if he needs to get someone else in place. So are you gonna be pulling your head out of your ass any time soon? Or are you gonna run back to Daddy?”

I felt hot and cold at once. Burning fury at the derisive comment about going back to my dad’s tutelage, but frozen with indecision. Vaguely I remembered how excited I’d been to finally be out from under my dad’s iron-hoof on the leash. I loved him dearly, but he had issues separating the job from our familial relationship… In fact, he didn’t have issues… he had subscriptions on the topic. I didn’t want to give up, but I wasn’t able to see a way clear of this mess I’d made for myself.

“Sorry, Monks… That was uncalled for…” Veevee apologized quickly, dragging me forcibly from my paralysis. “But listen… The first solo’s always the hardest, and I’m sure you can find your way through this… Just… Try to consider Witching Hour’s perspective? And maybe try talking to her about why you’re so upset over this mess? Not just blowing up?”

And with that, the earth pony scooped up her helmet and left the study room, leaving me to repeatedly beat my head against the tabletop. The mare had a point… but that didn’t mean it was gonna be fun, or easy, to do as she suggested.

Wonderbolt Compound
Coltden, Canterlot, Equestria
Starsday, 26 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

The situation I found myself in after work was odder than Discord suddenly declaring his allegiance to Friendship and Harmony like he did a few months back. First, I’d gotten semi-accosted by one of my coworkers on the weather team. Then, when I’d gone to get a comfort brunch of oatmeal from Rusty’s, who should intrude upon my sullen musing than the bucking Lead Squad of the Wonderbolts. At that point, it finally sunk through my ridiculously thick skull that maybe the Fates were trying to tell me something… And that something had a distressing semblance to “GET OVER YOURSELF”.

Add in the compliment from Point Dex on my performance from the Summer Fun Fly Meet, which had me frozen in place for a solid fifteen minutes (and ten trays stacked on my head, plus five more on each wing courtesy of Soarin), and I was actually most of the way to doing exactly that.

There was just one… teensy-weensy, but ever so crucial, little tiny detail I had to deal with first.

Finding the Lead Captain at her table alone as her squadmates were still getting their dinners. Deciding, in the interests of transparency and my attempts to keep my head firmly removed from my ass, I needed to clear something up.

“So… Not to sound unappreciative or anything,” I started, sliding onto the bench across from Spitfire, “but am I gonna get laughed out of the Academy if I show up? Because while I’m working on the whole ‘not cheating’ thing, the last thing I want is the whole… weird looks and whispers…”

“A bit late for that,” Spitfire smirks as she puts down her fork. “You came back from a pegasus’ worst nightmare; stares and weird looks are your life now. Besides, if you were looking to avoid attention, joining the Wonderbolts isn't exactly going to help too much.”

“It’s less about the rabble and more the thought that other cadets might tie me up and throw me off one of the cliffs surrounding the Academy,” I elaborated. “Like… I would’ve been content with just my old skill back, and it would have spared me a whole bunch of crashes into the ceiling at that. Now everything I used to be able to do has been dialed up to eleven and it’s obvious why that is and… I just want to fly, hard, fast and free… If that lands me in the Wonderbolts, great. If it doesn’t, fine… But I don’t want to be called a cheater ever again… Am I making sense? I’m not making sense…”

“No, I get what you’re trying to say,” replied Spitfire with a chuckle. “You want to earn it by the sweat of your own brow and not have it gifted to you. I definitely get that. As someone who has been on the outside of a similar story, I can tell you that I sure as hell don’t see it as cheating. Honestly, the ones who really matter are going to be grateful that you’re still around and able to do what you love. The way I see it is that you had the drive to get to this level of skill in about ten years on your own, even before the accident, and this ‘shortcut’ would be nothing now without that same drive. Silver once said that being a Wonderbolt is more about willpower than wingpower, and I can’t say I disagree.”

My inner modesty (yes, shock and amazement, I have that on occasion) about my skills as a flier made me blush at that, and I quickly cleared my throat. “Yes well… Um… Anyways… You’re sure the other cadets won’t, like, mutiny and murder me in my sleep or anything, right? Because otherwise, I’m totally chill with not going… A place in next year’s try-outs will suffice.”

As if summoned somehow, Fleetfoot popped up in the seat next to Spitfire. “What’s this about Chiller?” the Silver Streak of the Lead Squad asked, staring at me briefly before turning her attention to Spitfire. “Have you finally caught on that he’s not so chill about you, Cap’n Hotpants?”

I blinked several times. Something told me that I should probably make a tactical retreat before getting caught in any cross-fire, but I was stopped by the expression on Spitfire’s face. It was a strange cross between defeat, resignation, exasperation and that desperate ‘trying to hold a different conversation’ look.

“I promise the other cadets won’t throw you off the cliff… And I’ll make sure to send you a notice for the try-outs when they’re scheduled. Though that raises a question…” and suddenly that sinking feeling in my gut came back, telling me that I should’ve escaped while I had the chance. “You gonna still be living with the good doctor? Or will I be needing a new address on file?”

I flinched, remembering the rather vicious words I’d flung at Witching Hour before storming out. “That’s a good question… If I survive the night, I’ll let you know… Don’t suppose you’d like to loan me one of your trainers to make sure I can at least limp away from this one?”

“Oh no… You’re on your own outside those doors, girlie,” Spitfire laughed, but it wasn’t a mocking one. “For one thing, you’re not a Wonderbolt… yet… But the other is that the Trainers are all rather fond of Witching Hour, and I doubt they’d be any actual help to your survival.”

Mercifully for me, I had another unexpected ally in the form of a young unicorn colt who had, for reasons only the Cosmos knew, adopted me as a parental figure… but that’s another story.

Author's Note

For those that may need a refresher on what immediately follows this chapter, please see Chapter 7 of Steady As She Flies. But the TL;DR of it is that Trick Step decides that Auntie Wrench gets a pass as long as she doesn't go storming out again.

That said, I've finally finished Chapter 8... and I'm now attempting to sort out the mess that I have set for Chapter 9... :twilightoops: Hopefully, a certain fellow author will get writing out so the new character that appears won't be a complete blind-side... :derpytongue2:

Take care folks!!!

Ch 8 - Confirmation & Crisis

The Dogs of War Bar
Hackney, Canterlot, Equestria
Metalsday, 2 Fire Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

I could hear the door to the back room open, but I was too intently focused on trying to fill the pit that had opened up in my gut this morning when I’d seen Witching Hour after the Ball wearing her usual work uniform and Hope’s bucking BRACELETS. Part of me was thanking my lucky stars and all the benevolent powers in the Cosmos for the timing of pulling my head out of my ass, but that part was small by comparison to the “oh shit, this just got real” part.

“Oh, this is either great, or terrible,” Veevee commented as she took the seat across from me.

“Both? ‘Both’ is possible…” I muttered over the rim of my stein. Alcohol was not unknown to me, what with my life in the Minutor Crystallum. Tartarus, just the two years I spent in Coltenhagen alone would’ve given me enough experience to vie against the snobbiest Prench pommeliers, but even so, I was already on my third mug, and that nasty pit just kept sinking deeper.

“So what happened to Witching Hour?” Veevee asked after taking a small sip from her own drink. “I was stationed on the grounds so I didn’t see her at all last night.”

“Other than coming into possession of Hope’s relic? I think there was a panic attack somewhere in there, but that’s a day that ends in ‘y’ for Twitchy Witchy…” I retorted dryly. I was somewhat glad that I’d said that after Veevee had swallowed her drink, because I didn’t fancy a cider-and-spittle shower from across the table. Still, the look on my mentor’s face was enough to tell me that she was seriously considering taking another drink just to give me the proper reaction.

“You’re joking.” Despite the flat tone, I could hear a pleading undercurrent. What she was pleading for was anyone’s guess. That I wasn’t joking? That Witching Hour was confirmed as the new Hope? That I was joking? The only one who could know the answer to that question was Veevee herself, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t either, given the conflicted expression on her face.

“I assure you, Sergeant Veritas, she is not,” came the smooth inflections of Earl Toffee as he entered as well. “I saw the bracelets on her when I greeted the Princesses and Witching Hour in the receiving line. I’m glad you’re here, Miss Wrench. I was wondering if you’d managed to see her before her shift today.”

“Oh yeah… Nearly inhaled my oatmeal. By the way; oatmeal? Not great for breathing,” I grumbled into my stein.

“I wouldn’t imagine it would be,” Toffee agreed with amiable nonchalance, taking his own seat at one end of the table. “The question now is, how do we assist her in mastering her new powers?”

“Well unless the Vicus have an honest-to-gods Acolyte, preferably of Hope, left over from The Fall hidden in some weird pocket of space-time, I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” I replied candidly, and then immediately proceeded to try to drown myself with my cider. Probably not the best idea I ever had, drinking more alcohol when it was clearly undermining my ability to avoid Poor Life Choices©, but it was the nearest available option for plugging my face before my mouth got me in even more trouble.

“Unfortunately, since that isn’t an option for us, why do you say that we can’t do anything? Could you not inform her?” Toffee asked placidly as I finally surfaced from the bottom of my mug. It was a good thing that the cider had already gone down, or I would’ve been the one giving my tablemates a less than pleasant shower. Instead of choking on my drink, I nearly choked on my laughter.

“Me?! Not bucking likely!” I protested after finally regaining control of my breathing. “The moment I start talking about magic and deep history, she’s gonna know something’s up, and the next thing you know, she’s gonna know all about Auntie Calix, because she won’t stop asking questions until she does, and then we’re gonna be out any sort of tab on her because she’s gonna punt me out of Canterlot for starting our friendship under… less than totally factual pretenses.”

“Of course this would happen when Celestia is presently unaccounted for,” Veevee grumbled over her mug before turning her gaze on Toffee. “And we’re absolutely certain we can’t talk to Luna about this? She had to have been the one to give the bracelets to Witching Hour…” She trailed off though as Toffee shook his head.

“Under other circumstances, I’d be inclined to agree with you… Like if it had been significantly more than a year since Luna returned to us, but she fell to Vice,” he elaborated, sighing heavily. “It’s too soon to be sure that she’s not going to fall again.”

“We could always just dump a bunch of books on her doorstep. It can’t do any harm, and it certainly might help?” I suggested, with no small amount of sarcasm, knowing full well that the Vicus would sooner die than part with any of their precious tomes, even if it was for the return of the Virtues.

“I give you leave to suggest that to Madam Steady Quill, Miss Wrench,” Toffee retorted dryly, showing that he, too, believed it a hopeless effort.

“I’ll send the flowers to your dad,” Veevee added, not very helpfully. “In memory of Monkey Wrench, Aeris Ipsum, she who tried to get books away from the Vicus.”

“Too wordy, Veevee,” I critiqued. “Maybe just ‘Played Stupid Games, Won Stupid Prizes’.”

“Well, as morbidly entertaining as this line of discussion has become, I would suggest we table it for now in favor of the previous topic,” replied Toffee. “Now, Miss Wrench, I don’t suppose that you have any insight into an action that we could take that would have a greater chance of success?”

“OH! I know! Why don’t you talk to Witchy! You’re both in the nobility, so it won’t look so weird for you to start talking to her more,” I proffered, grinning trollishly at him. “I mean, as long as you and I can dodge each other in that effort. Any whiff of familiarity between us, and the same scenario as me trying to talk to her will play out, only it’ll be both of us in a leaky canoe on a feces-laden creek with no paddle.” Both Toffee and Veevee elected to ignore my contribution.

“What about the other Princesses? Cadence is ruling the Crystal Empire, which is the last place the Virtues had any significant hold,” Veevee offered thoughtfully, certainly more thoughtful than I was at that point. “And Twilight Sparkle and her friends have the Elements, so they could be potential allies at the very least, even if we have to educate them,” she continued, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the earl.

“An idea with merit, for certain,” mused Toffee briefly, continuing the trend of steadfastly ignoring me. “The only concern I would have is whether getting such a large group on board before speaking with Doctor Hour may alienate her even worse than exposing Miss Wrench’s affiliations would.”

“So stick to Cadence,” Veevee answered with a shrug. “Obviously, her duties to the Empire keep her tied up, so we’d have to find some way to get Witching Hour sent to her-”

And at that point, I had to cut in, regardless of their efforts to pretend I didn’t exist. “No good, Veevee. Witch might be able to slip out of Canterlot for a day to go to her grandparents in Ponyville, but a trip to the North is not gonna fly past Earl and Countess Grey without protest or question… And then you’re still needing to talk to Luna about why her student has to go to the Crystal Empire.”

“She goes to Ponyville?” Earl Toffee pondered, still with a thoughtful expression. “That puts her close to the Elements. When’s her next trip there scheduled?”

“Two weeks or so. On the seventeenth. It’s always the third Sunsday of the month,” I answered quickly. “I will also note that she seemed to at least somewhat enjoy being stuck with Twilight Sparkle for most of the night at the Ball. I’m pretty sure she would’ve been ranting about it this morning if she hadn’t.”

“Excellent!” Toffee beamed then. “That gives me time to get in contact with Dame Pie about assisting us. Hopefully I’ll be able to distract her from her party-planning long enough to garner her assistance as an Ipsum.”

This time, Veevee was mid-sip from her stein and promptly did a spit-take. Not that I truly blamed her… Other than the fact that I wasn’t going to have a fun time explaining to Witch why I needed to shower before bed when I usually showered in the mornings.

“One of the Dames of Friendship is one of us?!” Veevee sputtered. “You are absolutely shitting me!”

Like I’d thought; shit had gotten Real.

The Dogs of War Bar
Hackney, Canterlot, Equestria
Starsday, 3 Fire Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

I was oh so very wrong… Things had only looked real the day before when I saw Witching Hour in possession of Hope’s Relic. Today, things had actually gotten Real, and it was Not Okay.

“Okay, Monks… Two days in a row? If yesterday was good news, today is definitely bad news…” Veevee slid again into the seat across the table from me.

I glared at her from behind a veritable fortress of empty tankards. “I’m not saying anything until Toffee gets here. I’m only explaining this once, and then I’m going to hurl myself off a cliff. I think it’d be a kinder way to die at this point.”

“Then by all means, Miss Wrench, do enlighten us.” The sound of Earl Toffee’s voice behind me, making me (in my decidedly less-than-sober state) scatter my fallen soldiers. “I would hate to keep you from such a critical appointment,” he finished as he took his seat at what I’m sure would be the head of the table if it were more than the three of us here.

“Listen,” I retorted reflexively, waving my current mug at him, “you survive psycho pegasi using Vice crystals in the middle of Fine Brew’s tea shop, and see if you’re not signed up for the next hike west of Kensington.”

Earl Toffee froze, a statuesque study in shock, jaw hanging open wide enough to fit one of the Apple Family’s prize-winning Zap Apples as his glass of wine falls to the table and spills without shattering. Veevee went paler and stiffer than an overly starched hospital sheet as we waited for the Earl’s reaction. With a shaking hoof, Toffee carefully removed his glasses before gently facehoofing, trying to soothe an oncoming migraine. Another moment of silence passed before Toffee sighed heavily, set his wineglass upright, replaced his spectacles, and reached for the bottle of wine. “I’d prefer shooting the waterfalls myself, but to each their own,” Toffee replied as he refilled his glass before turning a steely glare at me. “Now… explain.”

I found myself in the extremely unenviable position of being uncertain which scared me more; the idea that the Vices had made an open move, or the stallion before me. I leave it to anyone reading to imagine what I wound up choosing, but I did answer quickly. “Basically? Shadowbolts grabbed one of the Lead Squad, maybe two… and Loyalty wound up being a bonus because she went tearing after them… They were using Vice magic to fend off the Wonderbolts. They used it to turn the Lead Captain against her own. I have no idea if it’s a specific Vice since it’s not one of the established four, but Witch seemed to hate it on sight, which seems to be more proof than any of us needed.”

“Truly, one of the few bright spots in this damned mess,” sighed the Earl as he drained his glass and refilled it. “The other bright spot being that any opposition to whatever plan is presented to the Adamantem will now be absolutely nonexistent.”

“What’s not to like about Dame Pie though?” I asked, mostly facetiously. “Maybe we can get her to host an End of the World Party for us…”

“Why the hell are you two so bucking calm?!” Veevee exclaimed, finally finding her voice again.

I took a quick sip from my mug and shrugged. “If I’m gonna die, I’m at least gonna enjoy the process? But also, I mean… at least it’s only one Vice so far? Sure we only have one confirmed Virtue, untrained and ignorant of her own abilities in that respect, but we’ve also got the Elements around, who deal with this sort of thing on an almost weekly basis, and we’re bound to find the new Love eventually with the Crystal Heart’s return…”

“I’m sorry, ‘only one Vice’?! The Fall of Equus started with ‘only one Vice’! And Equus had all the Virtues! Alicorns died all because of just ‘one Vice’! The bucking Tartarus are we going to do now?!” Veevee railed, arms flailing wildly about as Toffee calmly moved his glass out of range.

“In point of reference, I did say ‘so far’, and while The Fall did start with only one, that one was Envy, and this shit is decidedly not orange.” I paused thoughtfully, thinking back over my admittedly brief encounter with the Chaos magic. “It didn’t seem… I dunno… Normal? Natural? Yes it’s Vice magic and by definition ‘unnatural’, but it just seemed… off even by that standard. Don’t ask how I know… I don’t even know how I know.”

And I truly didn’t. It was a strange sensation that seemed to pool coldly between my wing joints, fluffing out my feathers and raising every hair on end, but in a false way, like the fear from a theater’s production of a haunted house. It was very real, but, at the same time, didn’t seem true, like a believable lie.

“Perhaps the fact that you do know is a clue to the nature of these Vice Crystals,” mused Toffee. “You said that Doctor Hour had a strong reaction to the crystals as well, yes?”

“She was pretty freaked out, yeah,” I agreed, decidedly not as chill as Veevee thought I was. Jokes were a coping mechanism; no more, no less.

“Given that this magic is not one of the previously established Vices and how you and Doctor Hour reacted to the magic, it can be inferred that this Vice is the antithesis to Hope,” replied Toffee, as though he were lecturing at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns.

“That or it’s just some amalgamation of all of them,” I added. “But I’m personally not banking on that being the case. Pink is not a color I’d think the powers of Chaos would wind up with as their general theme.”

The wall opposite the door to the backroom suddenly opened then, a dress rack of pink, frilly monstrosities sliding into the room followed by… Discord… In a luridly pink three-piece suit, with a long measuring tape draped around his neck.

“But Monkey, darling, haven’t you heard that Pink is the new Black?” interjected Discord, scattering fabric swatches of varying shades of pink across the room as he wheeled in the rack. “It’s going to be very in this season…”

I sighed heavily and stood from my seat. “I need another drink…” I muttered as I went out into the bar to get another pint. Did I feel a little bad about leaving Veevee and Toffee to deal with Discord? Maybe… But not bad enough to stick around for it.

Author's Note

And here we have more shit hitting the fan! Wheee!!! And of course an obligatory crashing of the storyline by Discord... He showed up at a similar time in Witching Hour's account of events, so it only made sense to have him crash in on Monkey's side too.

As usual, don't hold your breaths for the next installment. Chapter 10 requires that I somehow pin down Avellana, and there's a queue for her assistance with various stories in progress...
JIM!!! HURRY UP!!!

Anyways. That said, I will HOPEFULLY manage to get chapter 10 finished before the end of the year... Maybe even before the end of the summer, if Jim can write some scenes I'll need to reference. At least it won't be another half year? I hope...

As always, Read, Review and Have Good Karma!
~Witchy