Scattered across Equestria were the looming facilities of the Equestrian Archives and Records Centers. Few and far between as they were, each followed a strict codex said to have been written by Princess Celestia herself, but the secrets of the bureaucracy were still hidden from the public. This was the line of thought that Brandished was left to consider; as he stood now in the Canterlot Records Center, he felt the warm yet calculating press of the diarchy’s hooves upon him.

There was little the Princesses left secret from their ponies, but that did not necessarily mean that they were willing to provide information at the drop of a hat; the sterile foyer that Brandished and Felt entered emphasized this. In the archives, there was little room for mistakes, no room for a name to be struck from the margins, or a previous slight to see erasure, and the bureaucracy had used every resource available to them to ensure that they did their job once, and that it was done right.

A pair of doors that led deeper into the facility were sealed shut behind the receptionists’ desk ahead, both flanked by two alabaster guardsponies gleaming in gilded garb. Very few things littered the room: a spiky potted plant—of a species that Brandished could not himself identify—sat next to him, a short hallway leading to a pair of restrooms, the tan earth pony receptionist fussing over her ashen mane, and a framed portrait of Princess Celestia captioned by the words ‘Luceo non uro.’ Brandish’s eyes glazed over the words for a moment, and with a shiver, redoubled his efforts on approaching the mare at the counter. The receptionist sat up and pushed her circular lenses up.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Brandish began with a broad smile.

“Afternoon.” She returned the smile. “What can I do for you two today?”

“We need to see some records for my little friend here… just need to find out what family she has left.”

The receptionist cocked her head. “Are you family?”

“Ah, no.” Brandish’s brows creased in worry. “I hope that won’t be too much of a problem?”

She dismissed the question with a hoof. “We’ll go through a few questions, sir. Just need to figure out how best we can approach this.” She cleared her throat. “So, are you a guardian?”

“No.”

“A legal expert for a client?”

“Nope.”

“An associate from a pediatric institution?”

Brandish blinked. “You mean like a uh, orphanage or...?”

“That’s a no, then.” The mare clicked her tongue and looked down at an assortment of documents on her desk. “...one of those ones.” she said quietly to herself. “You’re going to be a tough cookie, aren’t you Mister…?”

“Brandished Plumes. And this is Feather Felt.”

“Hi.” Felt gave a little wave to the mare.

“Mister Plumes…” she murmured. “Alright then, let’s try this: do you have permission from the parents or guardian to bring Miss Felt here?”

“They are... indisposed at the moment.”

“Could you elaborate, please?”

“Her father is in the Canterlot jail… extradited from Cloudsdale for some checks or some such. We’re looking for her mother… s’why we came here, ma’am.”

“Mhm... You’re just a good Samaritan, then?”

Brandish shared a look with Feather Felt. “I would like to think that I’m more than that.”

The mare behind the counter watched carefully. “Gotcha…” She leaned back in her chair to scramble in a drawer for a moment. “Now, normally we don’t do this, but I can tell that this is a special case. You’re going to have to go through some things for me, just so we can make sure you’re all truth and no lies—not that I doubt you, but because it’s my job to doubt you.”

“I understand, thank you ma’am.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she laughed as she rose up with a packet in her hands. She slid a paperclip across the packet and hoofed it over with a pen. “Gonna need you to fill this out for me. Try to do it as quickly and as accurately as possible, because this process is going to take us a while, and I don’t want you two to end up sleeping in here overnight.”

“Would that be so bad?” Brandish quipped.

“Yes, yes it would be. Please though, try to be timely; it’s been a quiet week here, but I don’t want you to end up waiting any longer to get you and your filly back out…” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You’re a stallion on a mission, I can see it.”

“Just doing what feels right, ma’am.”

“Thank you. We need more ponies like you.”

Brandished tried, he really did, but he ended up moving through the packet a lot slower than he wanted to. A few ponies came by while he and Feather went through the required documents together, but all of them were in and out before the two of them could finish. Feather noted that none of them had ever gone through the back doors of the building. Supposing that the archives were back there, Brandish wondered if after all of their work if the receptionist would take them back there. Shortly after that thought, Feather prodded him.

“Brandish, we’re done.”

“We… we are?” Brandished shook himself from his daydream. “Oh, we are.”

The pair strode back to the counter swiftly; she had resumed fiddling with her mane in their interim, and it was now done up in a tight bun.

“Your mane is so pretty!” Feather squee'd.

“Why, thank you!” The receptionist giggled. “Now then, let’s see how you two did.”

By the time she had finished reviewing their work, an hour had passed since Brandish and Feather had entered the building. The receptionist set the packet down with a thankful sigh, stamped it once, and slid it into one of the filing cabinets under the desk.

“Come with me,” she stood and said.

“Seems I was right,” Brandish whispered to Felt as they followed.

“What do you mean?” Felt whispered back.

“We’re going back there.”

“I wouldn’t say that we’re going all the way back, but we are definitely going back, yes.”

Smiling sheepishly at the mare’s comment, Brandish sank into a steady silence.

The guard at the left door levitated a dangling key—which had been sitting around their neck on a chain—from within their armor and unlocked the door for the receptionist. The trio slipped in as the door was locked behind them. White marble was exchanged for a plethora of grey bricks and onyx stone as they trudged down the dimly lit corridor. Every now and then they would pass a hallway or a set of doors, no doubt containing the mysteries of countless other ponies’ lives and histories. Brandish had been half-tempted to ask a question—and he felt that there was no doubt that Felt wanted to speak up as well—but the foreboding darkness of the place drove them deeper into silence. At first the halls seemed ominous to Brandished, but he realized that it was not meant to be intimidating, but to be succinct; they had their own business to attend to, and so did the many lives that they passed. In a way, the halls were a purgatory of sorts as they stalked their way into a personal destiny.

Destiny was a quarter of the way across the building, it seemed.

“You are the Felt Feather, right?”

“Yeah! The one and only!”

“Alrighty, here we are then!” The receptionist pulled the plain-looking door open; it led into a well-lit room crowded with cushioned-chairs and metal cabinets that had been built into the walls. “I know you two won’t try to go snooping, but do know that if you go looking into places you shouldn’t, we’ll know.”

“Yes ma’am,” Felt and Brandish chorused.

The mare tittered behind a hoof. “Cute.” She led them over to a cabinet labelled ‘3:FD-FF,’ and with practiced precision, plucked out a folder titled ‘FELT, FEATHER’ from within. The receptionist gave the folder to Felt. “Here you go, hun. I hope you find what you’re looking for! Just come back when you’re done.”

Brandish stopped her as she turned to leave. “Question, ma’am. What if we need to look up somepony else? Like her mother?”

The mare frowned. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible. You’d need written consent from the pony themself, or somepony capable of representing them.”

“Somepony capable of representing them?” Brandish prodded.

“Well…” she licked her lips. “In your case, I would say a ‘partner’ would be your best bet.”

“Ah… I see. In any case, thank you ma’am, we really appreciate it.”

“Thank you for your time!” Felt supported.

“You’re very welcome!”

And with that, the two ponies found themselves locked in a room full of information and the time to digest it. Brandish remained where he stood as Felt plopped herself in a chair. “A partner, hm…”

“Come on, Brandish! I wanna get reading up on me! This is so cool!”

Laughing softly, he shook his head and trotted over to her. “Very cool, Feltie.” He pushed a chair over to her and peered into the folder before he sat. “That’s a lot of things to go through… why don’t we start from the beginning?”

“Okay!”

Author's Note

Equestrian Bureaucracy: Working hard to pull your life apart and put it back together, one packet at a time.