Adagio Dazzle always preferred the old ways.
The issue with that, though, is that the old ways kept changing.
Take the book she was currently reading, for example. First it was parchment sewn together by ligaments bound between hard covers. Then they were composed of cotton, and moved onto pulp. And now, as she saw high school student Twilight Sparkle—it was important to differentiate—navigate the multiple interfaces of the workstation as if taming a hydra, reading a bound book felt old-fashioned.
Twilight’s phone alarm went off—she ignored it, but the sound sliced into Adagio’s brain like a knife and set her nerves alight.
“Twilight,” Adagio intoned as she found her place in her book. “Your alarm went off.”
The fan inside of the computer tower whirred almost accusingly. “Did it? I didn’t—”
“Go downstairs and get yourself something to eat.”
“But I’m almost done.” What was once the oppressive ringing and clanging of a typewriter ages ago now was reduced to the mildly intrusive, nearly hypnotizing tapping of a keyboard thinner than her finger.
Adagio growled. “That’s your eating alarm.” She exhaled and turned the page. “That means you need to eat before you forget and you wonder why you’re so dizzy three days from now.”
“Fine,” Twilight huffed as she pushed away from her desk, “but one day I’m going to invent not eating, and I’ll have the last laugh.”
“Someone already invented it. It’s called starving. It’s what I’m trying to prevent here, actually—”
“I meant without dying, and you know it!” Twilight’s voice trailed off as she exited her room and descended down the staircase.
“Hmm.”
Adagio took a breath and looked around the room: a mirror fit for a king, a bed sized at queen, and a telescope. A powerful telescope. A Court Astrologer, ages ago, once claimed his telescope was the Eighth Wonder. The best telescope ever made, he said, and he meant it, and he was right.
The one in Twilight’s room was ten times better, at least.
The corners of her mouth turned down.
Of course, now you can do this all online.
She went back to her book.
Not that anyone believes in such nonsense anymore.
Adagio heard Twilight come back in and sit down, the wheels of the office chair rolling against the hardwood floor sounding oddly soothing. She hummed. Welcome. Twilight hummed back. Hi.
Then, the sound of someone sipping from a drink.
Adagio pursed her lips and looked up from her book. Twilight was sitting in front of the computer, and she had clearly received something to drink—and nothing to eat.
So Adagio sneered. “That,” she said, “doesn’t look like food to me.”
Twilight sipped. “It’s a meal replacement shake. Just as good. Easier to get down, too.” She turned her chair around and pointed at the bottle. “And it’s really tasty.” Twilight went back to her studies. “Also, you know, for someone my parents hired as a tutor, you really act a lot more like a nanny.”
“Attendant. The word is attendant. And back in the day, it was a highly sought-after position on Royal Courts. Really big deal.” Adagio clenched her jaw. “’Personally, I would love to tutor you, but last time I tried I got a bit lost after you spent two hours explaining what an M-Theory is. Fairly sure I’m not needed there.” She turned a page. “Also, I think you would have mentioned something if you didn’t want my presence.”
“Hmm.” Twilight swiveled around, and started her hypnotic typing again. “I guess it’s nice to have some quiet time. And to have someone make sure my basic needs are met.”
“In spite of your complaining,” Adagio mused.
“In spite of my complaining,” Twilight said, nodding. “Although the last princess I talked to didn’t have much in the way of a court.”
Adagio’s breathing hitched as a buried spark ignited inside of her. Does she know?
A chuckle escaped Twilight’s throat. Against her will, judging by her expression. “She did look just like me, so—”
The fires of Ares welled up inside of Adagio. She licked her teeth and calmly closed her book. “That’s interesting.”
Twilight turned around and blinked. Adagio felt her piercing scan. “Did… did I say something wrong?” A weird grin twisted out of her mouth. “I mean, I guess I didn’t give the full—”
“Do you, perchance, happen to know somepony by the name of Sunset Shimmer?”
Twilight paused. When she spoke, she frowned, ever-so-slightly. “… I’m guessing by your choice of words, you already know the answer to that question.”
“Fascinating.” Adagio put a hand to her chin and examined Twilight. She seemed a bit jumpy.
Twilight looked down, then at Adagio. “Bist þu my freond?”
“Min freond. You mixed up your languages.”
Twilight inhaled, sharply, and snapped to attention. “You didn’t list proficiency in Old Ponish on your résumé.”
Adagio narrowed her eyes.
Clever girl.
She smiled. There was acid on her lips. Or, at least, it felt that way. “You need not fear for your life.”
Twilight’s eyes darted left and right. “Why not?” She gripped an arm of her chair. “What’s to stop you from kidnapping me to, uh”—she waved her free hand around—“lure her out?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. To get revenge? Some kind of…? Revenge plot?”
Adagio crossed her legs, keeping her eyes fixated on Twilight. The girl was shivering a bit. “That,” Adagio said, “sounds like a plot ripped out of a comic book.”
“My life has felt like a comic book at times.” Twilight whistled. “You have no idea.”
Adagio looked away. “I’d imagine so.”
Twilight blushed and bit her lip. “So… Is this the part where you kidnap me?”
“What?” Adagio’s eyes widened. “No.” She shook her head. She grasped at the nothing in front of her breastbone—it was an old reflex, one she hadn’t had the time to grow out of. “And I’m just saying, you should probably buy me dinner before you request a kidnapping. It’s just common courtesy.”
She scanned Twilight’s features again, the lip-bite morphing into a half-grimace.
“… Oh.” Twilight scratched the back of her neck. “Well, uh. I could… get us something to eat? If you want?”
Pause.
Adagio raised an eyebrow. “Twilight. Are you hitting on me?”
Twilight wheezed. “Well, funny story is, I recently read something about how our brains can’t detect the intricacies of the differences between enhanced emotional states. And I recently broke up with a camp counselor I was dating and I kind of like you I guess so—” Twilight tittered and clapped her hands “—you know I was worried if I was attracted to you because you were in a position of authority over me but I guess you being fifteen hundreds years old would render that variable moot so—”
“Twilight, you’re rambling.” Adagio flexed her hand. “And hitting on me. You’re rambling while hitting on me.”
Twilight shrank in her chair. “You didn’t let me finish.”
“I just—” Adagio pinched the bridge of her nose and chuckled “—I just can’t believe the sheer brazenness of what you just tried to pull off.” She snorted while shaking her head. “And then, and then you went on a monologue attempting to explain your plan to take advantage of my heightened state to suit your needs.”
Twilight sniffed, then righted herself. “I, uh, don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing.” She pursed her lips and waved some fingers. “It’s how social interaction usually takes place. I’m just being proactive about it!”
Adagio hummed. “I do like people who are proactive.”
“See?” Twilight said as she pointed at Adagio. “That’s good! That’s a thing you like about me.”
“Hmm. Why does this sound like you’re trying to justify this to yourself?” Adagio said as she rubbed her head.
Twilight paused again. “… does it?” She clasped her hands together. “I mean, I kind of got a weird feeling when I first saw you, and, uh”—she fluttered her fingers in the air—“after starting a relationship based on that, and getting burned because it was based solely on surface interests, I’m just trying to get all of my ducks in a row before I jump off the cliff. Again.”
“Uh-huh.” Adagio tapped her chin. “Interesting choice of words there.” She rotated her jaw. “Jump off the cliff.”
Twilight fingered her glasses. “Well, yeah.” She touched her cheekbone. “You know, you start something and”—she clenched her fists in front of her—”and you’re free falling, and it feels great…” The words died in her mouth.
Adagio nodded, waved a hand in the air. “And…?”
Twilight bowed her head and drew a line downward with her hand. “And then you hit the ground at terminal velocity, wondering what led you to start doing something so ridiculous in the first place.”
A rush of memories came back. Of friendship, of defeat, of prismatic immolation.
Of how it hurt. How it burned.
So Adagio cradled her chin, and waved a hand again. Keep talking.
“And then it’s like—” Twilight rubbed her forehead “—why bother taking that risk again, right?” She said as she twirled her hair. “You want to do something, and your gut tells you it’s the right choice—but it’s been proven that it was a mistake. So what do I even do?”
Another image flashed through Adagio’s mind. A peach-colored pegasus tricking her and her sisters into another world many lifetimes ago.
It also hurt, and it also burned, but in a very different way.
Twilight looked up at Adagio with glossy eyes. “Why make the mistake again if you can prevent it?” She grunted. “Why set yourself up for failure?”
Adagio licked her teeth and rubbed her chin, taking it all in.
It was so strange, to hear it put into words. Almost scary.
Almost.
Adagio dragged her chair along the carpet, placed it in front of Twilight, and sighed. She’d been avoiding answering this for a while now, she’d been trying to bide her time, but eventually—ironically—time catches up with everyone.
“Twilight,” Adagio said. Her face screwed up into a grimace. She glanced at the telescope pointing out of Twilight’s window. “What can you tell me about astrology?”
Twilight’s sharp features softened. “What?”
“Astrology. What do you know about it?”
Twilight ran her fingers through her hair. “That’s… junk science that’s supposed to predict the future, right?”
“… More or less.” Adagio grasped Twilight’s hand, sending a blush through the latter’s face. “It was also an attempt to assign meaning to the world. Trying to explain things they couldn’t understand using the limited resources they had.” Adagio looked around Twilight’s room. “Granted, a lot of it is nonsense, sure. But at the time they didn’t know that.”
Twilight stared at Adagio. “… What does that have to do with me?”
“Well.” Adagio looked down and grunted. “Much like societies, individuals go through different layers of understanding, and they do the best they can with what they have. But the only way to gain new understanding is through research.” She pressed her eyelids shut. “Some of it is rather painful. Sometimes ruining lives in the process.”
Books bound in vellum and rag cloth and stitched together with cord. Quill against parchment. Old typewriters, and new digital keyboards.
“Adapting to that change is extremely difficult.” Adagio opened her eyes and looked Twilight in the eyes. “Because there is no turning back. And, trust me, I know.” She clutched at her own empty chest.
Twilight said nothing.
The ghost of a smile crossed Adagio’s face as she looked around Twilight’s bedroom—once only fit for royalty—and at the many-headed workstation. Only a couple years ago, this had been unimaginable as well.
And the smile completed itself.
“In the end, though, change usually goes in the right direction. If you make a point of looking at it that way.” She removed her hand from her chest and sighed. “And with how intelligent you are, Twilight, I trust that you are perfectly able to form new understandings, based off of research.”
Twilight nodded slowly, looked down for a moment, then blinked a few times.
She exhaled.
Adagio smirked. “Besides, if either of us didn’t want to be around each other, we could have ended this tutoring sham a while ago.”
A grin burst onto Twilight’s face. “Yeah, I guess if you didn’t want to be here you would have left already.” She looked at Adagio. “So… dinner first, then kidnapping?”
“Hey.” Adagio grinned back. “Who said anything about dinner?”
Twilight looked to the side. “Well, since I already had lunch, I figured this would be dinner.”
Adagio pulled her hand away and put it to her lips. “I mean, good point, but I’m not so sure I’m up for kidnapping after just one date.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not that kind of girl.”
Twilight grasped her glasses. “… Well, technically, you’re not a girl. At all. If we’re being precise, you’re more like—”
“Twilight.”
“Yes?”
“I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.”
Twilight blushed.
“You know what? I think we should just get us something to eat,” Twilight said as she stood up and headed for the door. “Sounds like a better idea. Sounds like a stellar idea.”
“Coward.”
“I’m just picking my battles! I know when I can’t win. It’s called strategy,” Twilight said as she left the room.
Adagio hummed.
From parchment to bound books. From typewriters to keyboards. And now, from attendant to consort.
Well, call it an upgrade. Sometimes you just have to welcome change.
