Inquiline Imposter

by Nyarlathi

Rating: everyone
Tags: Science Fiction, Slice of Life, Crossover, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Other, Changelings, Original Character
Length: 6916

Having transformed another world's renowned villain into an infant changeling for petty revenge, Discord realised he needed to balance him out to avoid breaking parole, and subjected a blameless alternate of that villain to the same treatment.

This story is a crossover between MLP and the Heroic AU of Alan Ituriel's Villainous, and takes place in the same time frame as The Cuckoo Child.

After Black Hat, a renowned villain known for mocking 'lesser' villains, made the mistake of sassing Discord in one of his videos, he found himself unceremoniously transformed into an infant changeling with no clear way home. However, after the initial smug satisfaction of completing his act of petty revenge, Discord realised that he'd effectively unleashed a potent force of evil into Equestria - something he doubted either the Princesses or Fluttershy would think well of.

Clearly, he had to do some kind of damage control - not exactly his forte, but he couldn't disappoint Fluttershy, not after the Tirek fiasco. Obviously, he had to balance this out - preferably in a way that would encourage chaos, of course. Perhaps an equal opposite? The nearest good-aligned alternate universe counterpart to the target of his ire was an admittedly uninvolved hero named White Hat, but while the draconequus had some scruples now, he wasn’t exactly totally reformed. Plucking this eldritch being from his bed to reformat into another changeling egg just seemed like the most effective solution to his problem, and that was exactly what he did.

Skipping back to the same time frame he'd left Black Hat in, he modified White Hat's egg to fit the specifications of the infirm Queen Setae’s last brood within the small hive in exile she’d dug under the Everfree. As an afterthought to encourage further chaos, he also, before departing, wove a magical bond between the eggs - a geas of sorts. When they met - and he was certain they would - they would have to work together. That ought to really put the wind up the uncouth excuse for a gentleman who'd insulted him!

Published 2018-07-22 16:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2018-10-23 14:51:15 UTC

Chapter One: Fear And Snuggles

White Hat was asleep in his bed when Discord warped into his bedroom, snuggling in with what appeared to be an array of handmade plush toys. Peering down at the slumbering hero, Discord stroked his goatee thoughtfully, pondering what he had made an intruder of himself to do. This particular eldritch being had done him no wrong, nor, as far as he knew, even heard of him. However… he realised that he ran the risk of causing a parole-violating catastrophe if he introduced only a world-conquering villain to Equestria, and he doubted Fluttershy wouldn’t be disappointed in him if he didn’t take some kind of precaution. An equal opposite seemed just what the doctor ordered, in terms of keeping balance, and he doubted they wouldn’t have entertaining clashes to amuse him with when they met. Something about this still didn’t feel quite right, but… he wasn’t sure what. Oh well, time to get this party started.

The first thing White Hat became aware of, as he drifted towards wakefulness, was that he was no longer clutching anything. Had he somehow dropped his plushes? His bed was rather large, so he wouldn’t have expected it, but… that wasn’t the only weird thing, he realised. Why couldn’t he feel his pillows? His blanket? Even his mattress seemed to somehow be absent, and that didn’t make all that much sense, but it was undeniable. Instead, there was something somewhat gooey completely encasing him, warm and secure, comfortable and distinctly not what he’d gone to sleep in. Eyes sliding open, he peered blearily out into what seemed to be a softly-lit bluey-purple capsule of goo. How had he gotten into that? Squirming, he quickly found that the boundary of it was quite close – constrainingly so, in fact.

Anxiety fluttering in his chest, he ran through his memories of the previous night, trying to figure out what could have caused this situation. Had Dr Slug been working on anything gooey? Had he clashed with anyone with a preference for encasing people thus? Nothing seemed to present itself, even considering whether he himself might have accidentally done this. None of his known enemies or allies made sense for this, and with his rising confusion came a sense of frantic unease. He tried to shapeshift into something too large for his encasement – but nothing happened. Whatever equivalent he had for adrenaline spiking, he tried to claw his way out – but where were his arms? His legs? Something brushed gently against his mind, feeling both bizarrely natural and terrifyingly other – in a blind panic, he thrashed madly, in the midst of a fully-fledged freak-out.

Something on his forehead caught against the boundary, puncturing and tearing it as he writhed, the goo spilling out alongside him as what seemed to be an egg gave out and disgorged him. Flopping about, he stared, eyes wide – and since when had he had both of those? Damp fluff greeted him when he tried to look at himself – like a furry caterpillar, but for the lack of legs, each section of him either off-white or pale purple. ...At least he still bore his signature colour scheme, sort of, but since when had he been a baby bug? Eyes prickling, he opened his mouth and keened piteously, disoriented and in much distress.

Another brush against his mind, this time clearly someone else’s presence, trying to convey a sense of care and soothing. He only trembled more, not really in much of a frame of mind to appreciate it – only to freeze up when he felt something take gentle hold of him and lift him into the air alongside what seemed to be a soft towel, carefully brushing the moisture from his fluff. Suspended in midair by a green glow, he stared warily at the source – a long, curved horn, one nick taken out of it. The horn was grey, mottled darker around the nick, and belonged to… an equine? Insectoid? Moth-horse didn’t seem to be an entirely accurate descriptor of the partially fluffy being despite the wings and antennae, but even if he’d been more lucid, he wouldn’t have been totally sure, as she seemed… unwell. Her lighter grey fur was unkempt where it hadn’t fallen off amidst more mottling, blue chitin and mane dulled, and while he could tell as he began to calm just enough to be more observant that her fur was likewise on a layer of chitin, there was wrinkling, as though aged skin. Chitin wasn’t supposed to do that.

Staring into her tired blue-layered eyes, his breathing slowing and his wail ceasing, he felt a distinctly strange sense of knowledge. She was a changeling – he was a changeling – she was the Queen, and his mother… Again, he was poleaxed by bewilderment, feeling even more lost. He was an ancient being, and one who’d never known a mother of his own – why was he feeling those things? His internal questions temporarily ceased, along with most of his thought processes, as the glow around the Queen’s horn brightened. Euphoria poured into him, feeding him somehow as he was swept away in a swell of… was that love? Whatever it was, it was intense, blotting out almost everything else – until the flow tapered off, leaving him giddy and bemusedly full. Gently, the Queen took him into her forelegs, releasing the magic field and holding him close to her rather soft and fluffy chest. It was so warm… Though he’d only just awoken, he felt drowsy.

In an attempt to keep himself awake long enough to at least take stock in some way, he bit his lip – discovering in the process that he seemed to still possess fangs. Well, at least there was that. The flash of pain seemed to do the trick for the time being, but he wasn’t sure how long that would remain effective. Peering out from over the Queen’s leg, he stared out at a chamber with what looked like warm brown resin walls, dangling lights in the form of gel capsules casting a soft white glow across the apparent nest area. There was only one nest, lined with more gel, and as he watched, he could see other larvae bursting from their eggs. Fluffy like himself, but bearing soft blue rather than purple, each was scooped up in turn to be fed, then cuddled close alongside him. As they nuzzled in close, he found himself losing the battle with sleep, eyelids drooping as he sank again into slumber.

Author's Note

A look at Queen Setae.

Chapter Two: To Accept

Queen Setae hummed an old lullaby softly to her brood as she held them close to her, drinking in the sight and scent of the precious little lives nestled in her forelegs. This was, she knew, probably the last clutch she’d ever have - a bittersweet knowledge, to be sure, but she’d largely come to terms with it by now. Even if her healers hadn’t confirmed that there was little they could do about the curse stripping her of the agelessness that had carried her through so many centuries as a Queen, she could feel it gnawing in her bones. Here, in this dinky little hive-in-exile, she had laid her last contributions to her line.

If her new hive was to avoid withering on the vine, she had to hope that either one of these larvae would develop into a Royal successor, or that they could somehow recruit and convert a suitable young pony into one. True, their location in the Everfree did mean a nearby population of ponies, but that particular option was somewhat iffier - for a variety of reasons - so most of their hopes rested upon her hugful of infants. The emergence of a Royal of any sort was usually a result of an individual nymph’s personality and preferences as they grew, but… most of the changelings who’d accompanied her to this new hive were past their prime, and she couldn’t rely on them to provide eggs, or to undergo conversion to Royal caste either. Both of those things grew more difficult as one aged, after all. Fortunately, there was something she could do rather than just wait and hope. Royal Jelly. If she selected a likely-looking candidate and had them reared on training and Royal Jelly, then it would be practically guaranteed that she would have a successor. It would take some of the mystery out of the nymph’s discovery of their caste, if it was explained to them, but she felt that in their place, she would prefer to know. The concoction was already being cooked up, by her orders, but the selection of her successor remained.

Not realising yet that there was any form of mental difference between the newly hatched larvae at this stage, she based her decision on which larva looked the most distinctive. It would complicate matters somewhat if failing eyesight and scent sensitivity on the part of her or her subordinates led to multiple larvae being fed the Royal Jelly. At least there was indeed such a distinctive larva in the first place - one bearing bands of distinctly purple fluff and grassy green eyes rather than the usual blue tint her hive tended towards. Giving the sleeping infant a nuzzle, she hoped that starting so early would help them to acclimatise to their role. Avoiding spoiling them was a concern - that led to poor rulers - but so was ensuring that they didn’t feel that the crown was a burden.

Waking groggily, White Hat blinked a few times, producing a bemused warble as he realised that he was being embraced. The memories of the last time he’d been awake seeped back into his awareness, the subtle, muted hum-tingle of that connection in his mind leaving no room for doubt. Whatever had happened to land him in this bizarre situation, it hadn’t cleared up like some strange, possibly fevered dream… Despite being in just the sort of comforting embrace he’d longed for during a lot of his time alone, he felt the claws of despair sinking into him. Though he tried, he couldn’t access his power - he could faintly feel it, but he couldn’t call on it. How was he going to get home, when he couldn’t open a portal? Would he ever see his home again? His friends? What must they even think, finding him missing? Having his missing eye restored and a motherly presence he’d never known before wasn’t worth losing everything he had and everyone he cared about. His vision swam, eyes filling with tears as he sniffled. The other fuzzy larvae around him whimpered as they sensed his distress - he felt a twinge of guilt about that, but he didn’t know how to make them feel better.

The sensation of something damp and warm dragging gently across his fluff startled him out of his contemplation, and when he peered up at the source, he beheld the concerned features of the Queen. She crooned softly to him, pausing in her grooming of his little form. Something brushed against his mind, broadcasting comfort to him. Despite the strangeness of the situation, it was helping him to calm down, though he didn’t have a total handle on how it was doing so. He was faintly sure that he should still be freaking out - there was still nothing he could sense around him that could help him get home - but… he realised as his head cleared that there was a better chance of figuring something out if he tried to keep a level head.

Slowly settling, he drew in measured breaths and squeaked up at the mother bug horse in an attempt to convey that he was feeling better. She smiled softly at him, a somehow wistful air to her, and gently set him and his apparent siblings onto the glowmoss-softened ground. The other fluffy larvae nuzzled him and one another as they wigglingly explored their nest area. It was an interesting, if somewhat odd, feeling - both the moss beneath his belly and the fact that he had dropped straight into a family. One which accepted him, no less - should he feel guilty for deceiving them? He hadn’t chosen this… He already felt twinges of guilt for enjoying the warmth and affection while his crew were probably worried about him by now. Was Slug looking for him yet? He supposed he had no real way of knowing whether the flow of time was even consistent between his own world and wherever this was, but it was comforting to think that someone was looking for him.

Chapter Three: Doldrums

While he didn’t quite understand how or why, it was increasingly clear to White Hat that he and those he was surrounded with were somehow emotivores. Why else could affection from the aging Queen and her attendants qualify as snacks? Or, for that matter, why could he pick up on the same kinds of emotions whenever they were fed? Even when it was gel presented to them for consumption rather than ‘love energy’ direct from the horn of either the Queen or one of the consistently aged looking caretakers, the content of emotion was obvious. How ironic, that he had to be stranded so far from those he loved to be fed on a steady diet of, well, love. What did it mean for him, though, or indeed for the rather sharp fangs he and the others possessed? Why did they even have those if they ate emotion?

On the subject of oddness regarding food presented to he and his clutchmates - when they were given their bowls of refreshing warm turquoise gel, everyone’s share had at least a few milky swirls of something in it, but his was practically opaque and pastel with whatever that was. It did add a pleasant, creamy richness to the flavour of the gel, but what was it, and why did he get so much of it? Had he been deemed sickly, and to be given additional supplements to compensate? He supposed that it wasn’t implausible that he might not have been translated into this new form entirely accurately, which could have led to such an assessment… Not that anyone else in his clutch seemed to have noticed much more than that his food looked interesting. He’d felt his new siblings’ desire to try his unusual share brush against his mind sometimes - disconcerting, to be sure - but they were always gently rebuffed by whatever adult was in the area.

Thinking about those adults, White Hat couldn’t help noticing that while only the Queen bore oddly emphasised decrepitude, all of the adults he’d seen had a time worn look to them one way or another. Why was that? Was caring for the young the sole province of the older members of the hive, or was something going on here that he couldn’t quite fathom? It made him feel kind of uneasy for some reason, if he was honest with himself. He’d have asked someone about it, but so far he’d only managed to utter cute little chirps and mewls aloud, and while he was trying his best, he didn’t really have a feel for mental communication beyond unrefined bursts of emotion just yet. For that matter, he had no limbs with which to gesticulate or try to write - if the written languages he knew would even be recognised here. Not to mention, he didn’t know what might happen to him if he started writing before he should know language, especially an unfamiliar one. In the movies he’d seen, an unnaturally precocious child was usually very bad news for the protagonists.

Aside from trying to maintain his cover as an ignorant infant, and soaking up as much information about his surroundings and new species as possible, there wasn’t really much to do as a larva. Trying to wigglingly explore even just around the nest area or get to grips with the hivemind it seemed he had a connection to was all very well, but he tired so easily he might as well have been wading through treacle. It was frustrating to be so very limited, but at least it kept him from losing too much sleep just lying awake and trying not to cry as his thoughts wandered inexorably back to his much-missed colleagues and out of reach home. He’d tried to tear open a portal back using his teeth - and again with the horn he’d discovered he had - but… nothing happened. His heart ached, and he had to hope that somehow the others would be able to find him.

Would they even be able to recognise him? Or turn him back? What if he was stuck in the form of a bug-horse creature forever? If he could have his friends by his side, that wouldn’t be as distressing, but even then it would be a rather big adjustment to make. He was so very used to his own form, after all, and he didn’t know whether he’d be able to adjust to such a radical shift in his default. Would he even be able to change his shape again? Not to mention, what did this mean for his lifespan? He had no idea how long changelings lived. As a being at least comparable to immortal before, time not being on his side was… disconcertingly unfamiliar. What if he expired before Slug could find him? He might be able to make some tweaks to his expectancy, once he was actually able to work with his magic again - assuming he’d get to do so - but he’d need to know more. Somewhat rattled, he resolved to discover his new species’ lifespan as soon as possible.

Unbeknownst to him, the adults had noticed the Royal-assigned larva’s acute homesickness and apparent yearning for lost loved ones. However, fortunately for him, they blamed themselves. The entire hive was afflicted with the same feelings following the ousting of they and their Queen from their former hive, and how could they be sure that these emotions hadn’t affected a particularly mind-sensitive larva? At least empathy for one’s hivemates was a trait to encourage, but they couldn’t help feeling guilty for causing such a young hivemate distress over a lost hive the clutch had never seen, and changelings they’d never met. To their relief, attempts to soothe the stressed infant seemed to be helping to calm them down, and there was no shortage of care and affection to be showered on their hive’s shining hope for the future.

Chapter Four: Life Goes On

With an infant’s sleep schedule, White Hat couldn’t be sure how many days were passing, just that pass they did - and without any sign of rescue. It was a thought that weighed heavily on him, and, if he was honest, he was kind of thankful that his status as a baby gave him free rein to cry without the judgement of these strangers who had become his family. Babies cried all the time, and the clutch he’d been hatched into was no exception. It helped, he found, to openly cry with the others and be gently comforted. This sort of comfort, if his truly young self had experienced it, was too far back in his childhood memories for him to easily recall.

For this reason, although he felt guilty for deriving some comfort from his situation, he decided to latch onto the opportunity to be loved, to accept the affection meant for a true member of the clutch he’d been planted in. He needed the support right then, so why not accept it when it was so freely and earnestly given? He began to respond more to the cuddles, nuzzles and grooming he was given, reciprocating as best he could. Considering how changelings fed, this was a wise choice, though he hadn’t actually considered that angle. For another thing, though he didn’t know it yet, he was being groomed for the throne, and a growing Royal needed more love to develop than an average ‘ling.

He had noticed an increase in appetite as time rolled on - that was normal for a developing larva, right? Technically it seemed to be, but… he seemed to be the one who was hungry the longest, somehow. It wasn’t just by fluke either - it was a consistent effect, and the adults around him seemed to expect it. Was this perhaps more evidence for his hypothesis that he was considered sickly and being treated as such? Was it possible that he had wound up somehow malnourished in the shell? He was glad, if that was the case, that this culture didn’t seem to dispose of unhealthy infants. Still, he hoped that he’d be able to shake off whatever ailment he might have soon - he was starting to feel quite bloated, uncomfortably pressed against his skin, and so very itchy.

To his dismay, though he was the first to present such symptoms, he was far from the last. Apologetic and under the impression that he had spread some kind of infection through the nest, White Hat crooned softly to his siblings and nuzzled them, trying to be comforting. His actions seemed to please the Queen, who broadcast love and affection to him first, and then the others. As he tried to lift his clutchmates’ spirits, cracks began to appear in their fluffy skins, revealing damp fresh fuzz beneath, and he realised with a start what was really going on. They weren’t sick, they were shedding skins! Not something he’d have associated with equines, but they were quite a bit like bugs…

An idea sprung upon him, and he did his best to send it to the others over their fledgeling hivemind links. Nothing fancy, just a mental image of tiny changeling jaws pulling at the old skin while he demonstrated on the nearest larva to him. To his delight, the others immediately followed his lead, chewing on him and each other until finally they could all relax, sprawled in their nest regaining their breath as the grubs they now were. Basking in the Queen’s love and pride directed their way, White Hat realised with glee that he had legs now. That would be useful for exploring with - among so many other things - however stubby they were. For some reason, he seemed to be larger now than the other grubs, something which puzzled him, but he was too sleepy to really give it all that much thought. Yawning, he snuggled down and sank into slumber.

Meanwhile, far from the snug safety of the hive’s burrows, a lone doe racing her way through the trees with fearful swiftness sought out a place to hide. Leaping over bushes and fallen branches, she ducked into a bolthole, sucking in air as she steadied herself. In truth, nothing had been at her heels, but even as she rested her achy old joints, terror still lanced through her. She’d been on her way home from the fawnsitting job she’d picked up in Thicket, feeling content and somewhat replete. That was fairly normal, it was true, but what she’d seen - that was about as far from normal as a Discordian disco.

Those eyes - like miniature fallen suns, feral of any alicorn whim and filled with terrible understanding. A hollow coat of cold ashes, hanging mid-air untouched by the breeze, dusty magnifying glass suspended within. For hair, a weave of dulled, trapped sunbeams, and - and she needed to stop dwelling on it so much. Panic could get you out of danger, but it could just as easily land you right back in, if you weren’t careful. Not to mention, the others had to be warned. Not yet quite daring to leave her hiding place, she reached out for the comforting togetherness in her mind to make her report. If the Lost Filly was active, then the darker forces she was tied to naturally would be as well, and that was a threat not to be left unchecked.

To the aged Scout’s profound relief, the paternal mental presence of Patrol Leader Pronotum assured her that the matter would be handled. How, she neither knew nor cared, so long as she could get back to her nice, safe burrow and not have to worry about any of this. Stepping cautiously out of the bolthole she’d taken sanctuary in, she flickered out of deerhood to seek out a hive entrance in the form of a manticore - to avoid being bothered by any creature, hopefully. This matter had ceased to be her problem, and she just wanted to rest up.

Author's Note

Here's a look at what White Hat's grub form is like:

Chapter Five: Fun And Games

With his newly regained legs, it was hard for White Hat to not be swept up in his nest’s enthusiasm for their new forms. Sure, they were only really toddling for the moment, but they could get so much further now than they could have just by flopping about. They could stay awake for longer, too, and White Hat had noticed that his nestmates had grown playful. Chirps and chitters of laughter rose from the group as they chased one another around an amused looking caretaker. This was an excellent opportunity to strengthen himself while having fun, and he took it - something that relieved the caretaker, given what a withdrawn larva he’d been.

It wasn’t really a structured game, just a lot of running around and shrieking exuberantly, but it was fun. Even if they did have to rest a while afterwards. Not to mention, it felt good to see - and feel - how happy his joining in made the others. As a matter of fact, he could even taste it. That thought brought him up short - what did it mean, that he could taste that? Did that mean..? They loved him, with innocent sincerity, providing little morsels of love like little school kids passing sweets. Not enough for a hearty meal, but oh so sweet and brightly flavoured. What a feeling… Sensing his emotion, the other little ones snuggled in against White Hat as he welled up. Nuzzling him, they trilled softly, just about managing to broadcast little snippets of memory to him, of many times he’d fed them the same way without realising it. Touched, he attempted to hug and nuzzle every last one of them - including the caretaker, since he was there. The older changeling nuzzled them all in return, chuckling softly and giving them an indulgent smile.

A while later, White Hat had the idea to teach his clutchmates some new games. That would be a good way to bond with them, right? He might’ve been stuck there against his will, but he’d always loved children, and now he was surrounded by them, so why not try to engage with them? The first game he tried to communicate to them was hide and seek, which he figured would be some good simple fun. His voice and mouth hadn’t quite caught back up to language yet, but he could send concepts over their growing link with increasing coherence as he practised - images of grubs going to find hiding places while one remained behind with the caretaker, not looking until the caretaker’s signal to go try to find everyone. The wider link waiting in the wings was still greatly intimidating, it was true, but at least he was getting more used to the closer link he and his siblings shared.

The caretaker, perhaps unsurprisingly, was quite happy to help them out as they played. They had a fair few false starts, with over excited grubs either trying to peek too soon or waddle-dashing between hiding spots, but everyone had fun. They even discovered new layers to the age old game. At least, they were new to the grubs. With their burgeoning senses, what sight and hearing couldn’t detect, sometimes scent could reveal. If one somehow managed to avoid that avenue of detection, feeling around mentally for their presence in the hivemind could work. Trying to figure out both how to refine these techniques and how to thwart them became part of the fun, their actions at play building skills for later in life. White Hat still intended to teach them some other games, but for now, this one seemed to be keeping everyone happy.

They all tired after a time, though, and some more impatient of their number began to keen in hunger, turning pleading eyes on the caretaker. With a gentle ruffle of the soft fluff on the hungry grubs’ heads, he lit his horn acid green and used his telekinetic magic to bring their bowls full of love gel over to them, setting them down gently for the grubs to descend upon and feast from. This wasn’t the first time White Hat had seen an adult changeling manipulating objects in this way, but it hadn’t ceased to intrigue him. It was, after all, a skill he wished to master as soon as possible - all the better to actually hold things without compromising his footing. Not to mention, it was a potential gateway to important things like writing, something that he dearly hoped could mean that there would be books of some variety in this hive, and which he could also use in more ritual based magic if he was lucky.

Turning his attention back to the food, he noticed that this time, somebuggy seemed to have added something that looked very much like blueberries to the mix. Upon taking a nibble of juicy goodness to confirm it, White Hat was delighted, grateful for a familiar flavour at last. The others were rather more wary of these strange new blobs invading their sustenance, but White Hat beamed at them, trilling and broadcasting his enjoyment while he eagerly chomped on his share. This seemed to encourage the others, though one or two were still a little hesitant, and nobuggy ended up flinging theirs at the caretaker - which was a win in his books. Not to mention, another sign that the infant marked for heirship was indeed taking the lead. That was encouraging, though there was still a long way to go yet before they’d be ready for the crown.

Queen Setae was not present to watch her grubs play that day, her attention drawn to a rather less frolicsome matter. Following up on a report delivered to her by Pronotum, she had donned an illusion of her more regal younger appearance to join him in dealing with the matter in person. He had done likewise with his own appearance, though he was not quite as visibly aged as she. After all, it was important to present themselves with as much apparent capability as possible when dealing with their more volatile neighbours. It was always a bit of a balancing act, when one had to share space with another settlement, but usually that was a bit more straightforward - like, for instance, in the case of their deer neighbours in Thicket, who as far as she knew had yet to realise there were changelings in the forest. These neighbours, however, were of a rather more dangerous ilk.

She and her chief consort were by no means unaccompanied, a complement of guards in both armour and youthful guises strode with them, intent on safeguarding their ruler and commander. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far to the coordinates of the frightened Scout’s sighting, but the location itself was a worry. There was a little cabin in the area, occupied by a loving couple of earth ponies who for whatever reason had decided to settle in the wildness of the Everfree - skulking near that cabin to feed off the love wafting from them was quite popular. If those two had seen what they would have taken to be a little filly lost and alone in the deep and dangerous woods, then naturally they would have followed her to try and escort her to safety - which was the last thing anyone ought attempt, particularly grown ponies.

For all that they made as good time as they could manage, by the time they set hoof through the borders of the town, the scent of strife was in the air. It was nauseating enough to be in the area, with the twisted and burnt greasiness of the ambient magic, but with the atmosphere crackling with pain and hate, it was even more uncomfortable. At least it was still daylight, though it seemed that even so, the huddled forms of two bedraggled ponies in the midst of a furious mob had little reason to feel thankful. They were still alive, at least - their emotions weren’t yet faded. “Grey Hoof.” The Queen intoned as she strode forward, eyes narrowed while she wove magical resonance into her voice in an attempt to grab the stallion’s attention away from the pursuit of violence - and perhaps the attention of his cohorts as well. “Did we not have an arrangement?”

Chapter Six: Until Someone Gets Hurt

All at once, the mercifully elusive town’s small populous focused entirely upon the changelings. Gradually, their twisted visages of years-steeped loathing and fear melted back into a closer attempt at a cheerful, welcoming smile. There was something wrong with those smiles, but it was a subtle thing, not so much a slap in the face as it was a creeping certainty that something was just not right. At first glance, there was nothing too unusual about the assemblance of earth ponies, if one glazed over the detail of their bare flanks, but nothing here was more than coat deep.

By eye, the best clue was, well, their eyes. Something feral lurked there, almost out of sight. By ear, if you listened closely, you could hear something not quite right - an ancient accent, and the faint fuzz of magic as it translated and lipsynched a modern dialect over something distinctly older. Listening closer, and watching their barrels, and something else became clear. Not a one of them had breath. They did have pony scents, but off somehow, like an air freshener over mildew. No birds sang in the vicinity, no insects buzzed, nor small animals through the undergrowth. These unponies never left, and there was no wheat growing here, yet there was fresh cake, fresh bread. Perhaps for that, there might be alternate staples for the dough, but it was odd nonetheless. Odder was the blend of emotions wafting through the air. Noling could feed off any native to this town, but the emotions were there - like illusions hanging in the air, all the impact but none of the subtlety or sustenance.

One by one, the unponies stood aside from their slumped victims, staring at the Queen as they smiled at her. “Why, your majesty, we weren’t expecting you to visit our humble home - what brings you to these parts?” The one who spoke, his tone casually surprised, bore a grey coat and a slightly ruffled black mane - Grey Hoof, to whom she’d addressed her imperious query. At his side, the two-toned green mare named Three Leaf narrowed her eyes slightly, as if wishing to reprimand her for interrupting their task. The other three hung back, keeping a close eye on the battered pair, lest they somehow manage movement. Such a thing wasn’t likely, given the state of them, but better to be sure, they figured.

Meeting their gaze unwaveringly, Queen Setae attempted to convey a sense of disappointment in them, as though they should very well know what had brought her there, and that they should know better. These unponies were not nymphs with their hooves caught in a jewellery box, being far more dangerous than that, but the tightrope she walked here was such that it was better to treat them thus than to attempt an outright battle. “I believe you know why I’m here.” She responded, her tone stern, but not harsh. “Did you think that the presence of two cursed ones wouldn’t draw my attention? I know that we’ve discussed such matters, Grey Hoof.” To her concealed relief, and the relief she could feel from her guard complement, none of the townsfolk showed signs of aggression. Nor, for the matter, was the sun yet too near the horizon for them to safely remain.

A look of delayed realisation spread across the stallion’s features, though his emotions were - like the others’ - nowhere near as easy to read nuance from as a true pony’s would be. “Oohhhhh, that! Hahaha, oh, well, you’ll have to forgive our slip of memory, your majesty - old habits die hard, and all that.” He replied jovially, laughing as though this were a misunderstanding about seating order at a party. “Are you sure you’d like to go to the bother? These two are almost ready for the final step - I’m not sure there’s much left for your cure to work on.” The light orange stallion who’d been nuzzling a pale-coated mare, apparently to soothe her, looked up at this, glancing between the visitors and the ‘contaminated’ ponies. Then, he nodded, as if to say that the town’s apparent spokespony had a point.

“Where there’s life, there’s hope.” Pronotum interjected in smooth bass tones, backing up his Queen. She managed a smile at this, careful to keep it as natural and casual as possible while she agreed verbally. It was always stressful to converse with the denizens of Sunny Town, but for the continued safety of her hive, it was imperative that she prevent them from becoming hostile towards either the changelings themselves or their closest pony food source - the nearby flourishing settlement known as Ponyville. True, the deer of Thicket were nourishing in their own right, and the hive was fortunate to have them in the vicinity, but it was primarily ponies changelings were adapted to feed from, and they were much more nutritious.

She doubted the Sunny Town folk actually knew Ponyville was there, but if they found out, who was to say they wouldn’t try to eliminate such a high concentration of the marks they deemed a curse? How better then to keep a lid on the situation than to pay occasional friendly visits, and offer a solution to the pox that deeply unsettling filly spirit claimed to be the root cause behind all of this? Technically, changelings could remove a pony’s cutie mark - by turning them into a changeling. That could, hopefully, kill two birds with one stone, boosting her hive with relatively youthful converts with ready made places in pony society to slip back into and gather love from while keeping Sunny Town at least roughly on-side.

“I still think they’d make good bone guardians…” Three Leaf mumbled, shuffling her hooves. Like the others, however, she knew that their ‘gift’ couldn’t restore a pony who’d had a curse mark to a form like theirs - if their infected invaders were to become bone guardians, that would be all they would be. They’d all lost people to the pox, people they’d wished they could later restore as they restored themselves each morning - wasn’t it the equinitarian thing to do, to allow those who’d perfected a method of actually reversing the curse rather than just preventing it from taking root to do so? Sure, it seemed to have turned them all into bugponies, but they were kind of pretty in their own way, and they could still think and talk and live their lives in the sun - which bone guardians could not. Reluctance losing hold on her, she stepped out of the way as Grey Hoof ushered the party of visitors closer to the unfortunates they’d caught.

While those of her guards with field medic training worked to stabilise the pair of actual ponies for transit, Queen Setae politely thanked Grey Hoof for his cooperation, as if the savagery of his and his fellow townsfolk just moments before was no issue. “We’ll keep you informed about their condition, if it would help.” She offered, wishing to ensure that nopony took it into their heads to attempt to come check that they hadn’t all become afflicted as a result of taking in these ponies. He seemed reassured by this, even asking that she take care. It was disturbing, how genuine his concern for her safety seemed.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine - we’ve done this many times before - but thank you for your concern. Now, since your festivities seem to have been interrupted, perhaps you’d like a jar of honey to help sweeten things again? I know you and your party food.” Thankfully, he accepted the jar, and seemed cheered by it - carrying an item of mood-brightening potential was standard procedure for dealing with Sunny Towners, in case they needed to be cheered up after unfortunate proceedings. Better that than to worry that they might follow you home. Even so, the contingent didn’t head straight back to the hive - just in case. Instead, they diverted into a bunker of sorts, one containing an array of medical and magical equipment. Time to get to work.