The Pawn Who Would Be Queen

Few people doubted that Equestria's southern border with the Dragonlands was one of the most dangerous places someone could choose to live. For most of those living throughout the wider country, it was virtually impossible to understand just why so many decided to try and make their life among the sand and danger. What sort of crazy person would ever want to reside what was arguably the country's most dangerous frontier, perhaps even more dangerous than the Western Unknown? Why not just abandon it to the dragons, they certainly seemed to want it badly.

The reasons for staying were as varied as they were numerous. Whether it was the thrill of the challenge, a family's generations old farm, a desire for freedom and self-reliance, or good old fashioned money. The vast landscape of harsh terrain was broken up by rolling berms of coarse sand, withered tree trunks, dense sage brush, cacti, and scattered boulders. Those that chose this brutal locale had to watch out for other than the occasional tumbleweed, with snakes, lizards, and coyotes comprising just a handful of the creatures to watch out for. They'd just as soon kill a man as a dragon might, and amounted to only a fraction of the other dangerous foes.

In addition to frightening animals and rugged terrain, Lone Star also had the distinction of being home to the largest deposit of petroleum in the western hemisphere and, arguably, the world. It was that precious black gold which fed Equestria's increasingly automobile dependent economy. Gasoline produced in Lone Star allowed trucks to haul goods from one place to another, or powered the tractors and other vital agricultural equipment which fed the nation, and had thus made it one of the most economically influential, and vitally strategic, provinces in all of Equestria. By comparison, the dragons had little use for oil or gasoline, their primary desire in the territory was plunder, taken from those hard working people that made the brutal landscape their home. Even if the people of Lone Star just packed up and left, all they'd be doing was inviting the dragons to move further up north.

Stretching through the seemingly endless expanse of heat and sun bleached bones was a lengthy dirt road, the only demarcation between Equestria and the Dragonlands. On one side the widely untouched wilds of dragon territory, on the other...? The steadily undulating heads of pump-jacks, their rust streaked faces illuminated by the dwindling embers of a setting sun. It was almost too fitting a backdrop for the occupants of an embattled town, some twenty miles north of the Equestrian border. The small settlement found itself wreathed by a thirty foot pentagonal wall of sand-weathered steel-reinforced concrete.

The walls and their respective lunettes were manned by a dwindling number of men in rugged farming and ranching attire, though many of them also sported bloodied bandages in one form or another. Nearly every one of them wore a cattleman's hat, those that didn't wore a mix of baseball caps, campaign hats, and their grandfathers' faded blue kepis. Whipping about in an easterly breeze, tattered, singed, and shot torn, two separate flags stood resolute beside these men... One was the unmistakable banner of Equestria, their beloved homeland, while the other belonged obviously to their second love... Lone Star itself.

For those keeping watch for that evening territory, primarily the depleted Stonehaven Chapter of the Lone Star Homeguard, it wasn't difficult to spot an oncoming raiding party. The first thing an observer would notice was the rising cloud of dust in the distance, to small to be a dust storm, but too large to be a vehicle of any kind. Then came the noise, the clattering of steel and rumble of feet... Finally, there was the unmistakable glinting of steel, either from their weapons, their armor, or their helmets. What they lacked in subtlety the more than made up for in sheer tenacity.

Typically it took a great deal to force the dragons away, either a sizable formation of massed firepower or the arrival of reinforcements... At present, the men standing atop the walls had neither of these things. It was rare for dragons to attack as day was turning to dusk, but every now and then they'd pull a surprise incursion, just to see if they could catch the Homeguard flatfooted. Stonehaven had so far withstood two successive raids in the previous hours, and the considerably frazzled community of salt miners, ranchers, and rock farmers were barely holding on by a thread.

Had the dragons held off until the night, they might very well have succeeded in finally breaching the towns defenses. Observers first spotted the plume an hour or two before sundown, but it'd still be some time before Homeguard reinforcements arrived from the Calico Chapter. That left roughly forty men as all that stood between the raiders and their homes, not counting those too badly wounded to climb the ladder rungs to their positions. These were held in reserve within the town itself, prepared to mount one final desperate defense should the worst come to past.

For Olivine, a proud Lone Star native and one of the few unwounded members of the Stonehaven Chapter, it was the waiting that struck him as the hardest part, something he'd never considered before signing up. He'd heard countless stories from his grandpa growing up, about the rough and tumble days known as the 'Siege of Mission Hill'. For thirteen days, Olivine's grandpa, one-hundred-ninety Lone Star Rangers, and half a dozen assorted militia chapters held off a horde of fourteen-hundred Reavers.

They'd holed themselves up in an old Ornithian mission atop a sizable hill, surrounded on all sides, armed only with muzzle loaders and a handful of bronze five-pounder cannons... According to the old man, it would often take close to a dozen volleys of musket fire to halt an enemy advance. They would just keep coming, swords clashing, teeth gnashing, some even picking up rifles from fallen Rangers.

The siege was finally broken when the 'Blue Bellies', a name derived from the distinctive blue uniforms worn by Territorial Garrison troops, finally arrived from Calico. They'd scythed through the Reavers with then state-of-the-art 'Trap Door Rifles', 'Lever Repeaters', and 'Gatling Guns', each firing the mighty .45-70 Government round. Olivine wouldn't have minded having some of those heavier museum pieces now... In fact the town's gunsmith was at that very moment attempting to re-militarize the 'decorative' twelve-pounder that, up until that afternoon, inhabited Stonehaven's town square.

Ever since he'd first heard the story of the Siege of Mission Hill, back when he was still bouncing on the old man's knee, Olivine had known that there'd never be any sort of peace when it came to the people of Lone Star and the dragons. The Princesses had tried to negotiate with the 'Great Clans', but what good had that done so far? The smaller clans paid the treaties no heed, and the Great Clans refused to police their underlings. Equestria would in turn offer diplomatic protests, but these were unexpectedly disregarded, and in the long run nothing ever changed.

The people of Stonehaven were relying on the Homeguard to hold the line, and by Luna's stars they'd hold. The scaly bastards would have to kill every damn person on the wall if they wanted to get past. Others around the country thought it would be better to just comply, to just give the thieving dragons what they wanted so they'd leave. The people of Lone Star knew better. This war of theirs, and it was, in fact, a war, had been raging since the days of Olivine's great-great-great-great-great grandpa. The only way their homes would ever be safe was if they did the job themselves, and that meant planting as many of the wily lizards in the ground as was humanly possible.

A lot had changed in the decades since the unforgettable Siege of Mission Hill, with many of the disparate militias combining together to form the Homeguard, pooling their resources to operate as cohesively as possible. Their ranks swelled, their training was standardized, and each member hardened themselves with the knowledge that they were the first and last line of defense for everything the held dear. The Homeguard gained further advantages through tactics and superior equipment.

Automatic and semi-automatic weapons were far more effective than the cumbersome slow firing single-shot breach loaders of their grandfathers' age, though there were still a fair number of those reserved as 'emergency arms'... Emergency Arms that were presently being distributed among those few women that didn't already own some form of firearm, so as to defend themselves and the town's children in the event the barbarians breached the gates.

Olivine had learned all too well in his first brush with a small band of raiders a few months ago how vital the advantages of superior firepower were. Being maneuverable enough and having sufficient firepower to counter the dragons' sheer brawn had thus far proven the deciding factor in every raid this season. Whoever could move the most guns into position the quickest typically came out on top, and whether a given town would be protected or pillaged could decided by margins of deployment as slim as thirty seconds. Tonight, it seemed they didn't have enough men or enough firepower, but that didn't mean they were set to lose either. Positioning was just as important, if not more so, than sheer numbers.

The tactic for the coming skirmish was simple, to lure the enemy into the narrow gully between the two sizable rock formations, which was also the most direct route to Stonehaven. The defenders had been given enough time to dig and conceal several charges of dynamite, wrapped in nails, ball bearings, and any other scrap metal could be gathered. These were hidden in and around the designated 'Kill Zone', the place in which the defenders would concentrate their fires to inflict maximum casualties. Hopefully the combined explosives and withering fire would break the dragons' resolve, otherwise they'd be in for quite a fight.

It was atop one of the lunettes that Olivine currently found himself leaning against one of the wall's merlons, quietly kicking himself for being so eager to volunteer for duty atop the wall... He was quite handy with a needle when the need arose, having spent a good amount of time with Fiddly Twang. Not only just about the best fiddle player anyone had seen in these parts, she was also the town's closest thing to a Doctor. As such, Olivine really would've been better suited to help with the inevitable wounded, but... Between their fortifications and several miracles of modern technology, serious injuries had been surprisingly light. As such, Fiddly generally had things covered, and in a moment of weakness Olivine found himself afflicted by that most ancient, and often fatal, malady... A desire to impress the girl he liked.

It was a bit more complicated than that... Stonehaven was remarkably 'restrained', to put things delicately, and most of the women there were about as inviting to talk to as a patch of cacti. Fiddly was different. She'd spent a good deal of her younger years living with her cousin or some such, some artsy type from Trottingham, who'd taught the woman everything one could possibly want to know about a fiddle, and helped instilled a far less puritanical outlook than one might expect within Stonehaven's walls. Suffice to say, there were quite a few fellas that'd taken notice...

Olivine wasn't interested so much in her physical qualities as he was in her atypical stores of knowledge. She had all sorts of weird notions, such as washing one's hands or wearing gloves while operating. What really drew him in was that she had actual reasons for each of these notions, reasons that she found no qualms with elaborating on in great detail when properly prodded. Often times Olivine didn't understand half the stuff she said at first, but she said it with such confidence that he didn't doubt for a moment it was true.

Fiddly had that trio of things so many people he knew in Stonehaven lacked. A brain, a rapier tongue, and aspirations for more than the 'hand-to-mouth' existence that persisted throughout the town. Much as Olivine loved his hometown, there wasn't much for him in terms of future prospects. Fiddly often indicated that she felt much the same, and once again had all these weird inclinations that the young man, in all honesty, was curious to experience as well.

So, like an idiot, Olivine thought the best way to impress her was to volunteer to fight on the wall... The same exact thing the other half-dozen guys interested in her had done. From the elevated perch offered by the lunette, he and a trio of older men, miners mostly, stood watching the oncoming horde... All four of them had cigarillos dangling from their lips, in Olivine's case the smoke coiled upwards against the brim of his campaign hat before wafting away on the breeze.

Olivine could feel the wall rumbling from the earth now... There had to be at least two or maybe even three-hundred dragons, though thankfully these didn't appear to be of a winged variety. Nonetheless they'd closed the distance, and it wouldn't be long before the 'manure hit the fan', to use one of his grandfather's old paraphrased cavalry metaphors...

His grip on his weapon tightened with every minute he felt them draw closer. The gun had been a gift from his Chapter Commander, a brand new PM-72A, fresh from the factory at Maksym Field. It'd been a reward for Olivine's courage in a particularly nasty scrape a week or so ago. There were some ergonomic modifications that'd been made that differed from the original PM-72, specifically a sturdier under-folding stock, but every mechanical piece of his weapon remained the essentially the same.

The PM-72 was unlike any weapon he'd used before, and indeed it'd made him the object of envy from many of his fellow guardsmen that were stuck with old shotguns and hunting rifles... It was light, easy to maintain, and a powerful force multiplier. That wasn't to say the weapon were perfect, as the earlier models had a wire stock that was too thin and uncomfortable for use in sustained engagements. It wasn't helped that the company that made them was evidently owned by a dragon, but then again, Olivine supposed not all dragons had to be bad guys... Princess Orzel was a dragon, and she seemed pretty supportive of the Homeguard, though... No one had seen or heard from her in a while, and that was a little... Well... Weird. Not that it was all that important at present.

Every submachine gunner in the Chapter, heck, every submachine gunner in the Homeguard, was running their PM-72 with rounds known as '.45 Basilisk', another product provided by Basilisk Defense Technologies to the Homeguard for their continued defense of Lone Star. The rounds were visually distinct from standard .45 ACP cartridge, as while they possessed a typical copper jacket, they also sported a brass penetrating tip and an unseen heavier steel core. To compensate for the increased weight, the propellant packed a great deal more energy, courtesy of some additive called 'Stabilized Sokolite'. The reasons for the round's modification would soon make themselves evident, whenever the word was given to spring the trap.

The enemy was closing with reduced speed, the clattering of steel and iron slowing from an outright sprint to a more orderly march. Olivine flipped open the dust cover and double checked his weapon was loaded. Even in the gathering darkness, the young man could see the shimmering brass penetrator glittering malevolently, eager for the moment to strike. Several rifles thundered along the wall, the rounds whizzing just a few feet over the heads of the invaders... They were hoping to provoke the dragons back into their sprint, just enough to get them to rush in and retaliate. In just a few moments they'd pass through the gulley, up the sandy dirt road, over the explosive charges.

The enemy's armor rattled noisily, but their movements remained orderly and calm, something that proved more unnerving than if they'd come straight on. These raiders had more discipline, and generally that also meant they possessed a higher strategic acumen. He could hear their voices now, shouting and roaring, surging inexorably on towards the wall at a modest pace... Just a few more seconds and they'd pass right into the trap. The men situated along the walls took aim, awaiting the signal to open fire. The typical method of doing so was akin to hunting turkeys, focusing on those at the rear so the ones in front didn't realize what was happening right away.

The only people in any position to lay into the enemy were those equipped with hunting rifles, shotguns, and a few surplus AARs purchased at a discount from BDT. A good number of those hunting rifles had been converted to fire another development of the company, the '7.62x39mm' cartridge. Billed as the 'Younger Brother' of the venerable .30-06, it'd already earned a grisly reputation among the Homeguard... It was fast enough to punch through dragon armor and their notoriously thick hides, but unlike its 'Big Brother' it dumped all its energy at once, tumbling about inside the body, tearing through the vital organs. According to Fiddly, whom had performed several autopsies on raiders slain by the new cartridge, 'That round makes mince meat of a man's innards'.

From the western lunette there arose a shrill trumpeting bugle, the signal for the Homeguard to take cover behind the crenelations, which Olivine and his fellows in the lunette did readily. Casting a look down into Stonehaven proper, Olivine spotted the local schoolmarm and a myriad of her feminine compatriots rolling the twelve-pounder into position, aiming it squarely at the town's battered steel gate. The local gunsmith, being the most knowledgeable in regards to such things, shoved a powder charge down its barrel... Then he walked the women through the process of loading and firing the weapon. In this case, they were stuffing nails and bits of silverware down the barrel, essentially turning the weapon into a giant shotgun. It was a museum piece, after all, and few people had spare twelve pound cannonballs laying around.

"Equestrians!" A rough accented voice erupted from a large muscular fellow at the front of the approaching dragon raiding party, by now they were moving past the corpses of those slain in the previous hours. The flies were already having their fill, but the strewn bodies did little to halt the enemy's advance. Just a few more feet. "The leader of Clan Adakite commends your fighting spirit, but spirit alone will not preserve you from a third assault! Lay down your arms and submit, and we shall spare your-"

The air was rent by a tremendous thundering explosion, strong enough that Olivine could feel it in his chest, even hiding behind the concrete. Two further explosions followed in quick succession, the man could only imagine the improvised shrapnel tearing through draconic bodies, likely reducing the raid leader and all those around him to the consistency of oatmeal. A few moments later the town was bombarded with rocks, pebbles, and chunks of eviscerated bodies. A severed hand landed no less than a foot from Olivine, who quickly nudged it off the wall with his foot.

It was rare for the enemy to offer terms of surrender, but when they did it usually meant they were just about spent. This would no doubt be the end of tonight's raids by 'Clan Adakite', all the defenders had to do was break their resolve. Decapitating their command structure was usually enough to force a rout, but from the sounds of things they were still managing enough cohesion to continue the attack...

Somewhere over the tumult arose the blaring call of the bugle, the signal to spring the trap. Olivine and the others peered out at the enemy from behind cover, watching the screaming horde of bloodied dragons surging remorselessly through a cloud sand. They'd just entered into a world of swirling dust and fading daylight, and through the haze it was possible for Olivine to see scores of dragons laying on the ground, downed either by the mounting fire from the wall or the explosive charges. Many of them were groaning or picking themselves up, but just as many remained still.

The raiders were armored as one might expect a civilization that survived by stealing from others to feed themselves, with lots of leather, and thick battle dented steel armor, as well as the helmets which afforded them slots for their horns to emerge. Olivine and his comrades, by comparison, all sported the latest body armor to hit the market. Rated to stop anything most pistol rounds, shrapnel, and shotgun shells, and far lighter than the 'homemade' solutions that'd previously been available. Hopefully the armor would be unnecessary...

Through the clearing dust it became clear the dragons were attempting to close on the wall, likely in an attempt to scale it. A series of large rocks, dislodged by the explosions, had closed off the gully and in so doing limited the enemy's chances of escape. It was difficult to tell exactly how many dragons remained in fighting shape in the fading daylight, but there were at least a hundred, maybe more. It would be virtually impossible to miss at this range, especially with the enemy so tightly clustered together as they charged the town's wall. Olivine didn't recognize the clan markings they wore, or the name Adakite for that matter, so he could only guess this was some new upstart faction...

They probably didn't know what they were getting into when they'd started out, but the Homeguard was all too eager to teach them what happened when savages forgot who this land belonged to. All of them were so blindly focused on getting through the wall, getting to their precious plunder, that they remained totally ignorant of the tartarus that was about to rain down upon them.

Without giving the enemy a chance to recognize that they were now utterly trapped, Olivine and his fellows raised their weapons, picked a part of the mob, and squeezed the trigger. The bolt released and sprang forward, scooping the waiting round off the top of the magazine and slamming it into the chamber. A sudden and steady stream of hot copper and brass sleeted through the air, heralded by a rumbling staccato 'Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!'. The weapon's rate of fire was a tad more increased on account of the more powerful rounds, but Olivine had little trouble managing the commensurate recoil.

The dragons didn't the effect the fire was having at first, only that a good many of their number had been felled in a matter of moments. The confusion was doubled when the remainder of the men on the wall emerged with their own complement of submachine guns and AARs. They chewed through the remaining enemy, scything them down row after row, adding to the growing sense of confusion instilled within the raiding party. For a few moments they all just stopped in place, collectively taking in the carnage playing out around them, some of them even lowering their swords a tad. Olivine took the opportunity to swiftly exchange his nearly empty magazine for a fresh one, taking it from a pouch affixed by several buttons to his OUBC.

In a matter of seconds the hoard of raiding dragons transitioned from blood thirsty rage to full blown panic, and almost as one they threw themselves at the wall with renewed ferocity. They had no other route of escape but to breach the wall. Some of them cast their weapons aside, others appeared to try and tear away their armor, seeking to ditch anything that might impede their ability to climb. Their rout took them right into the waiting teeth of the Homeguard's spider weapons, and just as many of them were lost clamoring over one another as had been lost in the first salvo. Now they were screaming in terror, jolting, pushing, shoving each other aside in their frantic bid to survive.

The wall vibrated and trembled from the combined weight and strength being hurled against it, soon exacerbated by several gouts of flame that charred the face of the concrete. Olivine managed to pull away just in time to avoid having his face set alight, though he did unfortunately drop his cigarillo. Casting another look at the twelve-pounder, he saw the women were making ready to fire... Odds were the dragons were having far more luck melting through the gate than they were the concrete.

The next few minutes were a descent into chaos as one after another, the dragons gradually managed to gain the top of the wall. Olivine and his fellows in the lunette staved them off for as long as possible, while somewhere in the background he heard the deep bellowing roar of the twelve-pounder, followed by an oddly satisfying combined wail of pain.

One of the dragon's that'd reached the top of the wall charged straight at Olivine, eyes wide in panic, a flintlock pistol still clutched his trembling hand. He couldn't have been much older than his Equestrian foe, nineteen or twenty at most. The raider seemed far more interested in running forward than he was in fighting, at least until he spotted the young Equestrian defenders standing in his way. The other men had their hands full fending more wall climbers off, and that left Olivine more or less on his own. Realizing that he'd have to go through the young man to escape, the dragon raised his flintlock and fired, doing so before his target could get a shot off...

The round smashed into Olivine's chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling onto his back, before he found himself tumbling painfully down off the wall. His fall was broken by the wooden roof of a small store house situated close by, which he proceeded to smash through before landing atop a pile of cattle feed sacks. As an Earth-Walker, he was able to absorb most of the impacts without risk of a major injury, though that didn't stop him from enduring quite a bit of pain.

For a solid thirty seconds he remained motionless, staring up through the ruined ceiling at the darkening sky. Not only was he struggling to catch his breath, he was also taking stock of any injuries he'd endured. His left eye was filled with blood, likely from the cut above it, and he'd certainly be sore for the next couple days, but that was the worst of it... Considering what'd preceded his fall through the roof, he'd be able to live with that... Mainly because he'd be able to live. The shot must've cracked a rib or something, but the 'Light Ballistic Plate' he wore in his OUBC had done its job.

It took him a couple more moments to roll off the pile of feed sacks, groaning as he did so, before unceremoniously landing on the wooden floor with a weighty thud. Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, Olivine shakily managed to reach his feet. Taking in the dark interior of the unassuming store room, the young man grabbed the campaign hat that'd fallen from his head, then picked up his PM-72A. From the looks of things, the weapon had taken quite a few lumps along the way down, but a quick examination revealed it remained able to fire.

From the sound of things outside, the dragons had finally managed to breach the wall... The dragons and defenders were yelling at one another, rifles and shotguns roared, and somewhere above it all Olivine heard a woman screaming. Racking back the charging handle, the young man narrowed his eyes and booted open the storehouse's front door. What awaited him was Stonehaven, his home, in the throws of a dragon raid. Several buildings were already burning, the twelve-pounder's carriage had been shattered, and the raiders were starting to pour through the still glowing melted gate... They had yet to get enough of their forces through to gain a foothold, and once again it seemed the fate of the battle would be decided by a matter of seconds.

Olivine leveled his weapon at the hole in the gate, just as a trio of raiders squirmed through, weapons in one hand and burlap sacks in the other. One of them leveled another flintlock at Olivine's chest. Having had his helmet knocked away in the fighting, it was more than possible for the young man to see his arrogant smirk. He fired, and once again the young man was staggered by a punishing blow to the chest, this time striking lower on the plate. Rather than lose his footing as he had before, Olivine planted his feet widely and leveled his PM-72A at the growing number of raiders moving through the hole. The dragon that'd fired lost his smirk, his eyes going wide at the sight of the SMG.

From that point on Olivine saw nothing but red, his entire world became bathed in the muzzle flashes of his weapon, all he heard was the thunderous report and the roars of the advancing dragons. As far as he knew, it was just him against them, the last line of defense. Ejected shell casings cartwheeled through the air, his nostrils burned with the acrid smell of spend propellant, and the world around him gradually grew to resemble some twisted form of reality. Empty magazines piled up at his feet, at one point he was once again struck in the chest by another flintlock, but even that wasn't enough to stop him.

One of the dragon raiders managed to storm through the hail of bullets, drawing back his talon studded hand, prepared to make a slash at Olivine's throat just as he was in the midst of reloading. Without missing a beat, the young man ducked, clenched his fist tightly around the pistol grip of the PM-72A, and swung it upwards between his foe's legs with all his adrenaline enhanced might. The dragon froze abruptly in place, emitting a high pitched keening wail of pain, claws mere inches from Olivine's throat.

The young man let go of the SMG, allowing it to clatter to the ground while seamlessly reaching to a leather holster he wore at his belt. From it he drew an old 'cap-and-ball' revolver, the very same revolver his grandpa had carried with him at the Siege of Mission Hill. Notching back the hammer, he leveled the pistol squarely between the dragon's pain filled wide eyes. Without hesitation, without remorse, Olivine squeezed the trigger. A puff of flames and dense white smoke concealed the effects at first.

The newly perforated raider lingered in front of Olivine for a moment, hand frozen mid-swing, before limply crumpling forward like a sack of potatoes. The .44 caliber ball had thoroughly penetrated the raider's helmet, filling the piece of headgear with a substance that somewhat resembled crushed raspberries. Turning his attention back to the hole in the gate, Olivine could see the dragons rapidly fleeing outside, whilst others stood in stunned silence at what, to them, might as well have appeared to be a cold-blooded point-blank execution.

"Toss down them guns!" Olivine shouted, his typically reedy voice having become as dry as sandpaper from all the smoke he'd been inhaling. He swung his aim at the dragons that'd frozen in place. "Ya bastards deef?! I said toss 'em!" The man once again drew back the hammer, in so doing rotating the cylinder and preparing the weapon once more for action. "Do it!" The raiders hesitated for another second, so Olivine shot one square in the gut. He toppled to the ground, curled up in a ball, just as the young man drew back the hammer again.

The remaining raiders hurriedly threw down their arms as Olivine took several steps forward. As was the case with most dragons, he wasn't nearly as tall as them, so it must've been an odd sight to see so many big strong men suddenly cowed in such a fashion... In the reasoning was down to two things. Firstly, they'd already put three shots into him and he hadn't fallen, what were the odds a forth would do any better. Secondly, he was the only one remaining at the gate that held a gun. With their swords and burlap sacks, empty burlap sacks, tossed on the ground, Olivine's eyebrows once again furrowed.

"Tell yer whole clan that Stonehaven's off limits! Ya come round here again, the only thing yer liable to get is a tombstone!" The man roared in a voice that didn't seem his own, indeed he wasn't quite sure of what he was doing himself... If anything, he sounded more like his grandfather... "Ya understand me!?" The raiders nodded frantically. "Then run ya mangy curs! Run!" And so they ran, clamoring over one another to squirm back through the gate, and out into the protective cloak of night.

Olivine held his weapon on the whole in the gate for a good thirty seconds before lowering the hammer and slipping the weapon back into his holster. The shaken defender moved swiftly towards the hole in the gate, peeking outside and surveying the scene. Only thirty minutes had passed since the first shots were fired, but the outcome of the skirmish was hardly in doubt. Even in the coming darkness, it was clear that the raiding party had been sent running back where they'd come from.

The gunfire from the defenders that'd managed to retake the wall tapered off to nothingness, and for a few moments, between the dust and the darkness, Olivine couldn't tell what was going on around him. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears, coupled with the high pitched ringing that tended to follow discharging a firearm without ear protection. Gradually things began to clear up, and his ears were treated to dozens of pained groans from the fallen dragons piled within the kill zone, joined by the distant chirping of insects, the crackling timbers of the burning buildings, and a steady southerly breeze. The twin flagpoles still stood resolute, and though the banners that flew atop them more resembled ragged pieces of fabric, they nonetheless remained. The air was heady with a mixing aroma of sand, blood, charcoal, and hot steel...

"Anyone wounded?!" A man shouted from atop the wall, there was a chorus of yells responding 'Negative!'.

"Caught a couple in the plate, Chief, but ah reckon Ah'll live!" Olivine shouted somewhat shakily, it seemed there were nine other men that'd taken similar impacts, but none that'd had the projectile actually punch through. Looking down at where he'd been hit, Olivine undid the buttons sealing the OUBC pouch, then removed the plate carried within. Looking it over in the fading twilight, the young man couldn't keep from blanching. Five smushed .54 Caliber lead balls had embedded themselves in the tightly woven fiberglass and epoxy resin laminate... He'd only recognized three shots, evidently that number had been distorted by the fog of war...

The quintet of bullets had resulted in a massive bulge in the rear of the half inch thick plate. Had he not been wearing it, the balls easily would've gone right through his heart or other vital organs. Wandering back from the gate and into the town proper, Olivine stopped to pick up the PM-72 he'd discarded. The dust cover appeared to have been bent as a result of the weapons impromptu use as a club, but otherwise the weapon again appeared to be in perfect working order.

"We lose anyone?!" Several moments passed and again, much to Olivine's genuine shock, there was another chorus of surprised 'Negative!'. It must've struck the Chapter Commander as well, because again the area fell into stunned silence. "We sent a raiding party screamin' for their mommas, and we didn't lose a single goldarn man!?"

He confirmed again, again the answer was surprisingly clear. Fiddly Twang, whom it was later revealed had been holed up in the town's saloon with the women and children following the destruction of the twelve-pounder, gave the ultimate confirmation. No fatalities, no major injuries, just a few minor scrapes, burns, and bruises... Then again, that might've been a bit of a premature determination, as Fiddly would later recommend Olivine seek hospitalization in Calico, especially seeing as he'd lost his left eye... That was a problem that'd only materialize in the morning, not the jubilant victorious present.

It wasn't every day the Homeguard sent the raiders running without losing a man, and so despite the burning buildings and near loss of the town, a great roaring sound of triumph arose from the group. Just as the dragon clans so loved their intimidating war cries, so too did a fearsome Lone Star yell carry across the flat desert landscape. It would be loud enough to hear clear across the border, a warning to the upstart Adakite Clan that they weren't going to gain an inch without paying for it dearly. Olivine added his youthful reedy voice to the call as he withdrew a new cigarillo from a metal case in his pocket. His was as confident and jubilant as all the others, even as he felt the massive purple bruise beginning to form beneath his t-shirt.

Though a few houses had been lost, no crops were be pillaged, no women or children had been harmed, and all it'd cost them was a few thousand rounds of ammunition, some dynamite, and a few Ballistic Plates. If the raiders wanted to turn around and find out just what the Homeguard was really made of, they were more than welcome to come back and bleed themselves some more... Hopefully, whoever was responsible for developing the 'Ballistic Plate' was working on something else, because even with the coming end of the Raiding Season, the Homeguard still needed all the help they could get.

Orzel stared up at the wood lined ceiling of her new room, slowly taking in her first few moments of consciousness through an all pervasive fog of drowsiness. Gently hugging Wojtek to her chest, she soaked in the comforting geothermal heat that permeated her bed chamber. Judging by the dim pink hues of sunlight pouring through the east facing wall of windows, she suspected the time to be around six in the morning. The teen's mind had been racing just minutes before, parsing through the oddest of dreams... This one was particularly noteworthy, as it wasn't an inherent nightmare about the burning of Cesarski, nor did it relate to her deeper fears, as was most often the case.

In essence, she'd found herself running late for an exam of some sort, searching high and low through a school, worried out of her mind... Then she'd remembered that at no time, past or present, had she attended an actual academic institution. More importantly, she'd already gotten her diploma, and had no current intention of attending a traditional university, so what reason did she possibly have to be concerned over an exam? This train of sudden logical thought was ultimately what shattered the frightening illusion that she would miss her exam. There was no exam to miss, because there was no school to attend...

The realization that she was dreaming gave her a considerable amount of control over said dream's direction. Thus had begun another tentative step into the realm of 'lucid dreaming', a skill Mother had alluded would be necessary for Orzel to later take on the role of 'Warden of Dreams'. She'd accomplished the feat before, mostly on accident, but there was evidently some magical means of doing so intentionally. According to Mother, it couldn't be taught as traditional magic could, because every dreamer was different. Much as Orzel disliked the murkiness of that answer, Mother had the somewhat annoying habit of typically being right when it came to dreams. Given that the only limitation was the dreamer's imagination, the teen could certainly see the appeal doing so in a lucid state could provide.

In this instance, Orzel had conjured a far more comforting dream, a vast and endless library, styled much as a Lexican temple in general architecture. More importantly, she'd instituted nigh universal order upon her dreamscape. From that order came discipline, and from discipline came control. Every book had been efficiently shelved, every table and chair aligned with precise care. Not a single speck of dust or scrap of paper was out of its proper place... It was glorious... Harmonious... Divine.

Now that she'd awoken, the vision of that perfect library was fading to the ashes of the Princess's memory. It, like so many others lately, had been a surprisingly pleasant one... Where once she'd been accustomed to facing unspeakable monsters every night, or perhaps even becoming the monster, now they tended to be... Strange. They were coherent, unlike typical dreams, and at times could be just as vivid as reality itself. The only reason Orzel could see for the recent change in the nature of her dreams was the near Elemental Transformation she'd undergone three months ago...

Thankfully there hadn't been any further 'transformations', near or otherwise, since her little uncontrolled outburst on the train to Unicorn Point. The mere thought of that outburst, and consequently the news that'd brought her to the brink of transforming, shook Orzel from her half-dozing stupor and back into the spiritually cold and chaotic reality of the waking world. The danger, the uncertainty, all the result of the unseen threat of the 'Changelings'. Sometimes Orzel wished she could just leave Equus entirely, maybe go to the moon, or another planet, if only for a short time... The world was getting crazier with every passing morning, but even as a Princess there was little she could do about it.

Turning her attention to a small clock resting on her bedside table, she picked it up and brought it to within less than half an inch from her eye... Squinting heavily, she managed to confirm that it was, indeed, nearly six in the morning... Five-fifty-nine, actually. Reaching over, Orzel replaced the clock onto the nightstand and flipped a switch on the side, preventing the alarm from sounding. She was already awake, after all, and the noise tended to set her on edge.

The bed she'd been provided was as comfortable as the one in Canterlot, possibly even more, so given the entire chamber could be heated to a far greater temperature than her tower back home. It wasn't perfect, as she didn't at present have a large enough hoard to lounge upon. She had a lot books, certainly, but the amount that was sufficient enough to bring on a state of Hoard Slumber increased exponentially with every change her body underwent. She could've gotten by with a smaller pile of gold and gems, but books were lighter, and therefore cheaper, to ship. Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes, Orzel flung off the heavy comforter with the faintest of groans. Yawning quietly, the Princess swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

Squinting in response to the sunlight gradually filling the room, she blindly felt about her bedside table for her spectacles. Fumbling and patting impatiently, all she managed to do was knock them to the floor, as was typical of nearly every morning. Suppressing an annoyed sigh, the Princess slipped out of her bed and knelt on the cold stone floor, further feeling for the troublesome eye wear. Between the shadow cast so sharply from the sunlit window and the floor tile's dark coloration, the eyewear may as well have been invisible to her. She really needed to put a string on them or something... Maybe it might even be time to see about getting a pair of those newfangled 'Contact Lenses' she was hearing about in the news, though she could only imagine the trouble that'd arise trying to find one if she drop it.

After two or three minutes of undignified feeling around, the Princess finally managed to find her spectacles beside the leg of her nightstand. Once they were in her grasp she slotted them onto her nose, and the bedroom came into focus as Orzel pushed herself up on her feet. For a brief instant she was struck by just how fast she was starting to come and see it as 'hers'... Not in the sense that it was where she slept, but that it was actually hers. This wasn't the first time she'd had such thoughts either, they'd been quite common after she first moved into her tower, but... She was all alone here, and Orzel wasn't wholly sure she liked the idea of getting used to that.

A wall of glass windows provided more than enough light, while a rough rocky alcove beyond the panes contrasted nicely with the royal blue interior walls. The distant sound of nature echoed dully throughout the layout of her massive bedchamber, a room larger even than her bedchamber atop her tower. The room's decor had a distinctly antiquarian maritime theme to it, which in all honesty brought Orzel back in time... Her family's estate had been decorated in much the same way.

Wood and leather furniture brought the room a sort of rustic feel, further complimented by old brass navigational instruments, paintings of various sailing ships or seascapes, the blueprints for an old submarine, and a series of Captains' hats from varying eras, arranged from oldest to newest atop a mahogany armoire. Mother had since sent along several of Orzel's favorite model ships, including ESS Magnus and ESS Sokol, which fit in quite well among all the other items. There was also a stylized map of the island itself, which was the largest member of Pulauapi Atoll... The map she'd been given to study on her initial journey was only of Pulauapi proper, not the entire Pulauapi chain, which included close to two dozen smaller islets and assorted coral reefs.

In addition to her bed, other amenities included a large leather button-back reading chair, decorative rugs, a phonograph, a drafting table, not to mention half a dozen ornately decorated bookcases. All of which were stocked with volumes, covering everything from ancient arcane studies to Zebrican history. Lastly, but most importantly, was her new desk, which was absolutely huge. It was situated near the reading area, affording a decent view of the island beyond the windows. Hewn from wood provided by one of the innumerable sturdy cengal trees that choked the island jungles.

Distinguished, lovingly hand crafted, the desk offered plenty of drawers and finely polished brass embellishments. Here she could examine expense reports, research notations, security briefings, and all the other important papers an aspiring monarch might have to deal with on a daily basis. Piled atop its mirror smooth surface were neat and orderly folders, as well as a calender, journal, desk lamp, and assorted knick-knacks Orzel had added for decoration. Included among them was a model of a bronze field gun, a small stone idol she'd discovered on one of her walks, and the fully assembled model rocket Spike had given her for Hearth's Warming Eve.

The more Orzel thought about it, the room's overall appearance felt like it'd been summoned directly from her imagination. It was just the bed chamber that suffered from this strange effect, for the entire residence was adorned as one might expect of an antagonist from one of her favorite jungle adventure novels might live in. Orzel hadn't realized she'd admire such a brooding and intimidating aesthetic until she saw it for herself, which only made her wonder just how whomever had set up the residence could've known that was what she'd actually want, especially when she didn't even know as much.

Straightening her tank top and adjusting her sweat pants, the girl moved to the glass sliding door leading out onto a balcony, an alcove recessed into the living rock of the island's volcano. The door slid easily to the side, filling the room with the sound of a jungle awakening to a new dawn. In came the island breeze, carrying with it the distant smells of Pulauapi, and all the delightfully tasty creatures that inhabited it. Orzel had already sampled a portion of the local fauna, but by far the most common animal that'd wound up on her plate recently was wild boar.

Like their brethren throughout many other islands in this region, the wild boars of Pulauapi were a somewhat invasive species, which had been seeded there by explorers centuries ago. The thinking among the explorers was that if their ships ever sank, they might happen upon an island which had a population of the tasty succulent pigs, and thus have a readily available food source that could last until, hopefully, rescue arrived. Of course, these explorers hadn't thought to take the pigs with them when they'd departed the region, which allowed the boars to menace most of the island's other animals with impunity... At least, up until Orzel had arrived. She had since set to culling their numbers, partially to restore balance to the island's ecosystem, and partially to fill her pantry with fresher alternatives than the canned meat and other products brought in by monthly supply ships.

There were plenty of canned goods on hand of course, and if taste was anything to go by, Orzel suspected the cans had been produced in the same year she was born. It was difficult to tell, Equestrian years were somewhat shorter than their Szafirian counterparts. In all honesty, there was just something about canned meat that unsettled the Princess's stomach. Odd, considering her draconic constitution gave her an cast-iron stomach, but it was just something about the texture and the way it was prepared that could leave her feeling queasy... Fortunately there were so many wild boar out there that needed culling. Even from her perch atop the volcano, she could smell them in their thousands...

Stepping barefoot onto the dew dampened balcony, the Princess briefly shivered in the morning cool. Brushing several strands of long hair out of her eyes, she leaned against the sturdy wrought iron railing. The rising sunlight glittered on a placid ocean, whose rolling waves gently broached the island's shores. There was something about the sunrise at this particular latitude that made it especially beautiful, bathing the world beneath in its warming glow. The island was practically vibrating with the sound of nature, and prismatic birds of countless spectacular colors soared through and above a vaporous morning mist, only to dive down into the darker depths of the verdurous jungle canopy.

The volcano itself was named Mount Raven, in honor of the cartographer that'd first mapped the island some eight-hundred years ago. All was not as it appeared when it came to the ash spewing mountain, for even its silent looming exterior could not be trusted at first glance. It was still a volcano, of course, but... Not a normal one. The Nocturne Agency had spent numerous centuries studying the atoll in the wake of its first discovery. Pulauapi and its smaller neighbors were believed to have been formerly inhabited by a civilization known to Orzel only as 'The Ancients'. According to the Agency's files, they'd been endemic to continents from West Parthenia to Amazonas and Pastora, with colonies spanning beyond the explored edges of both the Celestial and Luna Oceans.

Pulauapi was evidently one such colony, though evidence suggested it would've been placed at a far extreme of their reach. It was likely the Ancients built it as a place where scientific research could be conducted in secret, much as the Nocturne Agency used it now. The builders were as crafty as they were mysterious, having devised a mechanical means of keeping the volcano in a dormant state, while at the same time using illusion magic to give it a look of constant activity. The intent was obviously to drive away potential interlopers, and the execution of that intent was carried out by some of the most advanced technology Orzel had ever seen... The volcano's inner mechanisms were still widely unclear, but their effects spoke volumes.

For as intimidating and startling as the Ancients had managed to make the island appear, looks alone weren't enough to drive off the curious researchers of the Nocturne Agency. So it was that ever since the facility's rediscovery, the Pulauapi chain had been serving Equestria's scientific community. This service was carried out with such secrecy that even the Crown didn't know it existed, for the purposes of 'Plausible Deniability'. As far as anyone in Equestria was concerned, Pulauapi was a volcanically unstable island with little to no strategic value, and nothing of note ever happened there.

Presently, the facility was operating under the name 'Alpha Site: Raven' or just 'Site R'. The site itself was directed under the auspices of a Nocturne Agency sub-division, known as the Advanced Research Management Agency, or ARMA for short. Apparently it was what Equestrians referred to as a 'Think Tank', a collection of the finest scientific and arcane minds that could be gathered. ARMA was the most prestigious and secretive brain trust in Equestria. Those that agreed to work there were spirited away to work in uninterrupted seclusion on everything from industrial technology to, in Orzel's case, weapon's development. Fittingly enough, the acronym 'ARMA' also happened to be a Pre-Equestrian word for 'Weapon'.

ARMA also held jurisdiction over the atoll of smaller islands surrounding Pulauapi proper, most of which served as test ranges for the various gizmos and other futuristic devices ARMA's scientists came up with. In addition, there were a few archeological sites pertaining to the Ancients that once lived on them, and smaller research outposts which were intended to gather as much information about the anomalies that pervaded this small patch of the Luna Ocean. Orzel was quite glad to know she wasn't the only one to have seen ESS Avenger. It turned out the ghost ship was only the tip of a very large and unnerving iceberg, though the details of the ship's actual fate remained above Orzel's level of clearance. Secret government think tanks headquartered in mechanically stabilized volcanoes weren't the only strange things to happen in the South Luna Sea, not by a long shot.

Since first being cleared to learn the true nature of the Nocturne Agency, at least in some part, Orzel had absorbed a great deal of information about the bizarre goings-on... It'd upended many of her assertions about physical law and arcane theory, but the evidence provided was sound, and Lexicos demanded she adapt her methods of thinking accordingly. So as Orzel looked out across her new island home, she couldn't help but wonder if today would be the day she saw or learned something else that might challenge her perception of reality. That was actually one of the most exciting things about her work...

The Princess brought a hand to the pendant that still dangled about her neck as she took in the view, clasping it gently before bowing her head forward. Try as she might, she'd yet to discover what'd caused the rubies of the Monolith symbol to glow so intensely upon her approach of ESS Avenger, short of Lexicos herself willing them to do so... Orzel didn't discount that possibility. By now she'd gotten quite efficient at meditating, even without the added benefit of her hoard. For fifteen minutes she stood in silence, listening to the island's chorus and looking deeply inwards.

The morning's hunger was the primary issue she needed to address... There was a time when she would've been petrified by the sight of blood, and as far as the blood of people that still remained the case. It didn't change the fact that every dawn brought with it the instinctual craving for meat and, by extension, all the other juices that came with it. Dragon's were considered by most to be apex predators, and hunting was a need instilled by millions of years of evolution, it couldn't be ignored. That she enjoyed hunting was merely a reflection of her heritage, not the content of her character... How she handled those instincts was all that mattered.

Gradually, she'd come to see the need to indulge her predatory heritage as a means of preserving the lives of others, namely the native species of Pulauapi. That in turn allowed her to admit there were aspects of hunting she actually rather enjoyed. The calming walks through the jungle, the rush of adrenaline when prey was near, the way her instincts and her mind synchronized as she stalked through the underbrush. In finding a way to accept herself as a dragon, she'd found a mechanism by which she could accept other things that were also beyond her ability to control. Her general appearance, the actions others might take against her, and even, to a limited extent, her orientation.

It wasn't a perfect system, and it took a great deal of concerted effort, but she'd managed to alter her perception of herself to be a tad more positive. After all, being an obligate carnivore didn't mean Orzel couldn't have standards. She was not some cruel sadistic monster. The Princess's meditation ended as soon as she opened her eyes, her slitted pupils having become narrowed and focused, her face taking on its typical stoic mask. Silently offering a brief prayer of thanks to Lexicos for granting her the wisdom that came with meditation, Orzel was well and truly ready to start her day.

The first thing she saw in addition to the island was the arrival of Midnight, the black myna bird materializing on the railing with a puff of black vapor. Orzel gently scratched under the familiar's chin, prompting the bird to vocalize several cheerful tittering sounds. Working with Midnight had become far easier for Orzel, seeing as now the bird could actually talk. The more they worked together, the more fluent the bird became, to a point where they more or less could converse normally. That didn't prevent the bird from remaining quiet most of the time, apparently it just preferred silence, and only spoke up when it was absolutely necessary...

The Princess stepped back from the railing and made her way back into her room to commence what'd become her new morning routine. First and foremost, making her bed to typical exacting standards, then getting washed up. The geothermal nature of Pulauapi made for some of the best showers Orzel had ever enjoyed, with her residence being supplied with much hotter water than was available elsewhere in Site R, by special request. There were many times when she found herself spending twenty or thirty minutes at a time in the shower, just basking in water that was just about at its boiling point, with more steam than a sauna... It was about as close to actual lava as she could get without venturing to the depths of the volcano itself.

From that point onwards, it was a simple matter of getting dressed and eating breakfast. With the majority of her time being spent in her secluded subterranean laboratory of late, one with precise climate controls as requested, Orzel had taken to wearing clothes she otherwise might not have were she still working at the considerably more rustic workshop she'd set up at Maksym Field. Dull gray slacks, shiny rubber-soled shoes to reduce the risk of slips and spills, a powder blue cashmere turtleneck that Orzel had grown quite fond of, all topped off by a pristine white lab coat and typical red headscarf.

Working alone in her lab had some benefits, she wasn't nearly as self conscious about her appearance as she would've been with other people. She considered maybe, possibly, but probably not, experimenting with a combination of stockings and a knee length pencil skirt. That was becoming the style in mainland Equestria, at least according to some fashion magazines she might've perused in a moment of weakness... However, such attire wouldn't have been in keeping with the strict safety protocols she adhered to, and therefore had no place in her lab.

While her somewhat conservative attire might not not have been stylish, the clothing she'd chosen was both practical and functional, embracing utility over aesthetic. Orzel supposed there was a sort of elegant beauty to it, in that sense... Or she was just telling herself that to keep from going insane in her seclusion. There was just one thing missing from her clothing, something that was just as vital to her safety as it was her ability to work. That final component was a glossy laminated photographic ID badge that she clipped to her jacket, embedded with a small blue gemstone.

As far as anyone encountering Orzel in the halls would be concerned, rare as that might've been, she'd been assigned a false identity. To virtually everyone she encountered in Site R, including most of her guards, the girl known to the world as Crown-Princess Orzel instead had become 'Researcher Raketnaya Boyegolovka', a cover identity that included an entire false history not all that dissimilar to Orzel's, in case of any unexpected questions.

Grim and Fable had explained that keeping certain common elements between a real identity and a false one were a good means of ensuring that the person undercover could keep conversations natural, without having to think too hard on details or potentially being caught in a lie. The believability of her alter ego was helped by the fact that there were virtually no photographs of Orzel following her first transformation, and certainly none that included her more profound changes, namely the horns, tongue, and most recently patches of scales creeping in around the edges of her face.

The only problem was that operating under a pseudonym was technically a lie, and that again presented the Princess with a crisis when it came to her faith... Thinking back to her time with Seeker Topaz, she wondered what advice he might afford her if she asked. In all likelihood he'd tell her that possessing a false identity was a negligible sin, possibly even justified considering said identity was created as a means of protecting Orzel from harm. That was probably how he'd interpret the problem, if he'd see it as a problem at all, but just looking at the ID badge made her feel uneasy... This was her eternal soul she was talking about.

Seeker Topaz wasn't the only person she wished she could consult for advice. As it stood, one of her only way to contact the outside world was by way of an Arcane Beacon. Sessions with Doctor Scratch, business meetings with Piercing Gaze and the other members of BDT's senior management, or security briefings with Mother and Aunt Celestia. All of which she had scheduled at some point or another today. Beyond the Beacon there was only her continuing letters with Spike, of which there were many... Two or three each day, sent and delivered by the same spell Celestia utilized to send messages to Twilight Sparkle through Spike.

As per his latest letters, Spike was at least doing well in his new line of work as a fire fighter, having completed his basic training two months ago. Since then, he'd responded to about a surprising number of emergencies, each of varying severity. He and his fellow firemen had braved burning buildings, pulled people out of wrecked automobiles, responded to potentially hazardous gas leaks, even rescued a kitten from a tree. There'd been no fatalities as of yet, but reading about the much danger was a blessing and a curse. This was what Spike wanted to do, he wanted to help people, and Orzel was so proud of him for that... She'd just couldn't help thinking of all the things that could go wrong, all the risks that he took upon himself whenever he donned his bunker gear. The patch she'd given him had held up so far, but it could only preserve its wearer from so much...

At least Spike seemed to be in much higher spirits than before. From Orzel's perspective he was becoming a truly fine gentleman in his writing. His letters were more personal, and they came across as less restrained by his earlier fear of saying something that might offend. Orzel actually rather liked the confidence and 'take charge' attitude he was gaining through his experiences at work. There was no problem so large he couldn't overcome it, no disaster he and his comrades couldn't handle, no fire they couldn't fight.

What really caught Orzel's attention was that Spike had taken a growing interest in engineering and machining, he'd even sent her a couple rough sketches of things he was considering making... The Princess was, of course, thrilled by the prospect, but... There was also a level of guilt that accompanied it. Both Spike and Orzel shared a lot of hobbies, but there were none she knew of that she could take up as he had taken an interest in hers. He was making such an effort to connect with a field of study that she loved, while she couldn't think of anything to do in return? Really? There were plenty of other girls in Ponyville, girls he could probably find more in common with. There were times when she wondered if, maybe, she didn't deserve the amount of time Spike spent focused on her.

That was just her self-loathing talking again... Trying, and succeeding, in making her feel inadequate about her role in the relationship in every possible way... Part of that was just due to her upbringing. In the Empire it was the Lady of the House's duty to support her partner, to know everything he cared for, and to serve as his silent and subordinate assistant whenever he pursued those fields. That wasn't how things worked in Equestria, and when Orzel couldn't think of something she could take an interest in as Spike had taken an interest in her... Well? It was hard not to feel like she'd failed him in some way.

Sighing faintly, the Princess allowed Midnight to perch on her shoulder as she departed the bed chamber, out into a hallway that'd take her through her quarters. She'd been provided rather sizable accommodations, more or less an entire apartment. The residence in general was by all Orzel's metrics... Almost perfect. Again, as if it'd been designed and decorated specifically with her in mind, including more things she hadn't even known she would want... Things like a table lamp styled like a lighthouse, or a coffee table that'd been made from reclaimed deck planks from an old sailing ship. Aside from the master bedchamber and adjacent bathroom, the residence also included a kitchen, dining room, living room, guest room, office, another bathroom, and more closets than any one person could ever need. The 'office' had since been sacrificed in order to install the Arcane Beacon, as it wasn't really necessary to begin with given the size of her desk.

Whether it'd been built specifically for her, or merely was one of many other residences concealed in the carved out portions of the volcanic rock, was difficult for Orzel to say. Regardless, the aged nautical aesthetic continued throughout, even including a large bronze diving helmet on a pedestal in the living room. Sokol's sword rested in a place of honor and prominence, upon the mantle above a rather unnecessary, but visually pleasing, fireplace. That the residence, Arcane Beacon, and all the other amenities had already been prepared in such ideal fashion for her suggested that Luna, or perhaps more accurately Director Orcus, had been planning on sending Orzel away for far longer than she'd been led to believe...

The dining room smelled heavily of a lemon, as was the case virtually every morning since her first arrival here. Typically she used magic to do the bulk of the cleaning, but there was something about buffing and polishing the glossy wooden surface of the large dining room table that relaxed her, much as tinkering with appliances did. Eight open seats ran along either side, but only one, at the head of the table, ever saw much use. Incidentally, that was the only seat that had a place mat resting before it, a simple enough marker to assert that in this apartment, the head of the table was Orzel's territory... Not that there was anyone to challenge that claim.

The room shared many disconcerting similarities to that of the dining room in her lost ancestral estate, a room that Orzel had always found to be one of its best features. Stopping beside her seat, Orzel stared silently at the various decorations that prevailed throughout the apartment, her hands resting at her sides. She had all the space she could ever want, in an apartment so ideal she honestly suspected someone was actually spying on her thoughts, while every day getting to go and do the sort of work she loved, but... She was alone, and that bothered her more than she expected it would. Orzel could leave, theoretically, any time she pleased. It'd be as simple as just going out onto her balcony, mounting Fantom, and flying off to the northeast. It'd be an uncomfortable journey, likely to take her through countless storms and other danger, but it could be done.

As fun an adventure as traversing the vast unknown to get home might've sounded in the pages of a novel, to do so would be to place Equestria's Continuity of Government at risk. Orzel's subjects were counting on her to bear that weight, and for them she would... Mother at least went out of her way to make the stay as bearable as possible. If Orzel wanted something, almost anything at all, she need only tell one of her minders and they would see to it that her desire was met. In that respect, her familiar's recent change to the form of a myna bird struck her as remarkably apropos, as the words 'gilded cage' were never too far from Orzel's mind.

The most frivolous thing Orzel had requested so far was a radio, which currently rested beside the stove in the kitchen. Aside from her own voice, and that of Midnight, the radio was the only consistent company she kept. Speaking of the bird in question, Midnight fluttered onto the table, taking up residence a few feet away from the Princess's place mat. The myna just stared at Orzel, head cocked to the side, before speaking loud enough for the Princess to actually flinch...

"You are hungry! Eat!" Her fine feathered friend spoke emphatically in that strange voice of hers, shaking Orzel out of her dismal spiraling thoughts. The girl gently patted her familiar on the head, but was unable to keep a small frown from crossing her lips. The bird was correct, her empty stomach was making it all the more difficult to keep her thoughts from spiraling, so it was about time that she got to work making breakfast.

The kitchen was perhaps the only place on the island short of her lab or reading area that Orzel actually felt truly at ease. Her mind would always harken back to the various times she'd aided Sokol in preparing the day's various meals, a chore which Orzel both loved and dreaded. While the opportunity to spend time with her birth Mother was always appreciated, the act itself hadn't always been fun. Lacking the ability to see clearly, burns, cuts, and other injuries were common. More importantly, the things she learned from Sokol weren't intended to teach her for teaching sake.

Given her 'Defective' status, plus her less than stellar history of compliance with the MIS, whatever suitor her parents arranged for her to marry would expect his meals to be exceptional... An arrangement could legitimately be called off in the Empire if the bride-to-be didn't know how to cook well, or sew, or any other number of duties vital to 'making a home'. As such, Sokol didn't want to take any chances with Orzel's future.

Ironically, the girl found the skills suited her new professions, both as a future sovereign and as an arms manufacturer, quite well. It always struck Orzel as peculiar that she still practiced so many of the habits, which realistically, she had little need of now. As a Princess, she easily could've had someone else do the cooking, or the cleaning, or any number of other chores, but... This was her residence now. Sokol would expect her to keep it in order and take care of herself, just as surely as if it was the family estate. For all the differences they now shared, in faith, in politics, in matters of the heart, Orzel still hoped that her Birth Mother would be proud of her for that.

Besides, cooking was a lot like chemistry, only without the risk of blowing one's self up... Now she was just making excuses for herself, just another of the innumerable issues she'd been trying to work through. Though she had made some progress, Orzel still felt the need to justify just about everything she did... Intellectually she knew that it was fine to cook just for fun, she didn't need any reason other than she wanted to. Regardless of why she'd initially learned the skill, the fact remained that Orzel just liked cooking, and that was perfectly fine. It was okay to just... Like things. There was nothing wrong with it, she wasn't doing anything immoral or illegal, so why did she feel so guilty about doing things she liked doing?

It happened virtually all the time... Maybe it was just another way of punishing herself for being... Herself. Maybe she was just afraid of being happy...? Maybe, just maybe, she didn't think she deserved to be happy, because people like her weren't supposed to be happy. She was a Princess, the heir of the most powerful nation on the planet, but there was still that part of her deep down that whispered in insidiously into her ear.

Those thoughts, like so many others, had been the subject of many therapy sessions. Doctor Scratch, whom she met with via the Arcane Beacon, insisted that Orzel try 'positive affirmations'. Essentially positive little slogans that she was supposed to say whenever she felt a panic attack coming on, or whenever she started to give into the that voice of deepest self-hatred, as was fast becoming the case at that moment. In many ways it was like the chants she'd grown so attached to during her attendance of prayer services, albeit a little less grandiose in scale.

"I love myself. I accept myself. It is okay to be me." Orzel said quietly in her native tongue as she entered the kitchen. "I love myself. I accept myself. It is okay to be me..." She repeated, a little more forcefully this time.

Light streamed into the kitchen from a series of highly placed narrow windows, reflecting off the yellowish paint, further adding to her feeling of 'Old World' nostalgia. There were a lot of differences between Orzel's kitchen and that of her ancestral home, enough that the similarity of the layout to that room didn't have as much an effect on her. Entirely modern appliances sat interspersed among black granite counter tops and aged venerable wooden cabinets, also reclaimed from the hull of a wooden ship. The new appliances mixing with old cabinetry seemed a little incongruous at first, but now...? The look had grown on Orzel.

In many ways, she saw a lot of herself in that kitchen. The old world values of honor and duty, true honor and duty, combined with the new world values of freedom and self-determination, all coming together to form something that was greater than the sum of its parts. Having pondered enough on the merits of interior design as they pertained to her own personality, Orzel shook herself off, set her jaw, and got to work making her breakfast. The Princess settled on something simple, eggs, boar meat, and rice. She needed to load up on protein if she was going to make it through to lunch time, especially given some of the items on her schedule.

Grim and Fable had both been teaching her basic self defense techniques, just in case an infiltrator somehow managed to find Pulauapi... An admittedly frightening thought, given the number of people that interacted with her regularly tended to be limited to two or three people. The two Giants weren't surprised to learn that she'd started keeping a firearm in her satchel, in fact she'd made it a point to conceal at least one loaded handgun in every room of her residence. They'd been less than sanguine on that point, but Orzel wouldn't budge... If she was at risk of being attacked, she wanted every conceivable advantage. So the two brothers had decided they would at least help her become better prepared to defend herself without a firearm, just in case she ever found her weapon out of reach.

Her natural gifts made her more than a quick study when it came to learning to defend herself, and frankly... Orzel almost felt as if that was what she'd been born to do. Enchanting and engineering came easily to her, but not nearly as easily as learning to fight, and she wondered if maybe that was why her family had been part of the warrior caste. Seeker Topaz had been correct in that learning to fight also made meditating and controlling her emotions far easier, at least if she kept to a strict regimen of training.

The lessons were physically demanding enough to get her looking and feeling fitter than ever, and physically speaking she was probably the healthiest she'd ever been. With greater fitness came larger and more defined muscles, not to mention the added strength that accompanied such things. She was actually thrilled at her new found ability to lift entire milling machines or lathes like common household furniture. However, much like her scales, her developing muscles seemed all too unsightly to display, and so the Princess did her best to conceal them beneath long sleeves or baggy clothing wherever possible.

Spike continued to insist to the contrary in his letters, and was quite romantic about it actually. In many ways, his words served as a balm to sooth her wounded ego. He'd remind her not to judge herself based on her outward appearance, because he found her beautiful, inside and out... Then he'd try using logic, asserting that she was a dragon, not a normal Equestrian, so she should judge herself accordingly. She knew that he was right, of course, and there wasn't really anything she could to change her appearance regardless. It, like so many other things, were beyond her ability to control, and she just had to accept that...

Slowly, gradually, with Spike's encouragement she was coming to see her outward appearance in a more positive light... It was yet another sign to be hopeful, that sooner or later that insidious whispering serpent that hid in the deeper reaches of her mind would find itself finally slain. With a slight sigh, Orzel opened the fridge and started the time consuming task of preparing enough eggs, meat, and rice to feed eight people.

Running virtually automatically, her mind wandered to topics of a future concern, namely how she would spend the remainder of that day. She'd finished developing several revised variations on her proposed camouflage patterns the day before, all of which had been packaged and teleported off to Canterlot. They'd gone along with a few examples of what she hoped would be a lighter and more mobile combat uniform, first to be fielded by the Agency, and later Equestria's general armed forces. There was little else to do on the project until she heard back about any revisions the Nocturne Agency wanted, so she could check that off the list.

She had a few runic schematics that needed her dictated notes recorded before she sent them off for review, as well as reading the report about some of the enchanted items she'd created herself according to the Agency's specifications. The purpose of these items confused her, as most of them were essentially useless... Just highly detailed display pieces, designed to create auditory and environmental illusions, which the Agency insisted she put as much magic into as dragonly possible. She of course did so, but... It seemed like a lot of wasted effort. Hopefully reading their reports on these items might shed some light on their actual purpose.

After reading those reports she'd probably spend the next few hours tinkering with her newest rifle prototype. This would hopefully be the first one with a functional 'burst fire' mechanism. Working out the proper cam for the job was a little tricky, especially as she wanted it to reset in the event the shooter let go of the trigger early. It was also probably about time she gave the weapon a proper name and designation, other than 'Project 2'. Work on the 7.62x39mm cartridge for said unnamed rifle was complete, and several recently acquired BDT munitions factories were already getting started on mass production.

There were other munitions she'd developed, primarily for use against dragon raiders, and those were also selling quite well, as were 7.62x39mm rifle conversion kits. Even if the Project 2 rifle itself failed to pass muster, which Orzel doubted to be the case, the new cartridge was actually gaining traction among the Equestrian Armed Forces and the Lone Star militias. The data provided regarding the company's product performance in combat thus far had been enlightening, and already had resulted in several changes to the weapon's overall design.

By now the kitchen was swelling with the smell of scrambled eggs, boiling rice, and raw boar steak. She didn't plan on cooking it... She didn't have appearances to keep up as she did in Canterlot, and there was just something about the texture of most cooked meats that unsettled her stomach. Likely the result of the heat's detrimental effect on the Princess's ability to absorb arginine and taurine, as Orzel's studies of her own physiology indicated those amino acids were quite important to her continued health.

In fact, an experiment she'd run where she attempted to eat exclusively vegetables low in those amino acids ended pre-maturely when, much to Orzel's consternation, she'd spent nearly an hour and a half alternating between vomiting and laying curled up on the floor, virtually immobilized by extreme pain. This experiment, of course, was known solely to Orzel and Orzel alone. The last thing she needed was for Mother to find out... She'd never hear the end of it.

On a note of personal preference, cooked meat didn't taste nearly as fresh either. Among the many things that'd changed about her body, she'd come to appreciate the increased depth of her tongue's ability to taste and smell the air quite highly... Good food now tasted great, nice scents smelled wonderful, and she had a much easier time finding her way around a room without her spectacles, on the rare occasion where she was without them.

That got Orzel back onto the topic of appointments... Specifically one with her optometrist, then the company meeting, then her defense training session with Grim and Fable, not to mention the 'morning' threat assessment briefing... Timezones being as they were, it was actually taking place at sixteen-hundred hours on Pulauapi. Finally, she'd have her session with Doctor Scratch. The list of things she wanted to discuss with her therapist grew longer with every passing minute, but there was only so much that could be squeezed into a ninety minute session... Hopefully she'd figure out what was best to prioritize before then.

After all was said and done, she'd probably spend the rest of her evening swapping between work on a couple pet projects of hers. The first was a collection of replica antique firearms, 'cap and ball' revolvers, shotguns, and a large bore 'Trap Door' rifle, primarily because they seemed like fun excursions into gunsmithing's past. Orzel found that sometimes going back in time, metaphorically speaking, would give her some insight as to how to solve a problem in the present, or the future.

The other project, dubbed 'Project Gungnir', was more 'official' than 'pet'. Her proposal for an ADATA Weapons System had certainly made quite a splash at ARMA. The rough concept schematics she'd produced had certainly made an impression on the other low and mid level researchers, specifically in regards to the missile's guidance system. For a number of reasons, good and bad, Project Gungnir also started a great deal of discussion among the various department heads.

There were obviously the 'purist' detractors, those that thought technology and magic were mutually exclusive of one another, and should be kept as separate as possible. Others felt that using enchanted components in a weapons system somehow perverted that field of study, and that magic was a 'reflection of the soul'... So obviously, someone who would use magic for the purposes of war had to be some sort of warmonger at heart. There were even some that called it 'evil', 'black magic', or 'mad science', which honestly gave Orzel a good chuckle. Still, many saw the merit in her idea, there were even some that agreed with her assertion that enchanting was more a science than an art. All of this had been relayed to her via memos and inter-lab messages, as she'd yet to actually encounter other researchers in person.

With her mind beginning to wander and her stress levels rising, Orzel turned her attention to the radio beside the stove. Aside from her security briefings, it was her only means of keeping up on the happenings of the world. With a simple push of a button and a brief flare of static, the kitchen was filled with a news broadcast, discussing the current state of affairs throughout the world. A series of weak governments in the nation of Stivale had seen a marked increase in support for an authoritarian ruler, Zebrica was still embroiled in countless civil conflicts, and Ornithia had renewed its mutual defensive pact with the Griffon Empire.

With the cooking now completed, Orzel carried her plates of food and the little radio into the dining room. She'd modified it in her lab, essentially giving it a sort of 'Arcane Battery', mostly as a proof of concept for Project Gungnir. Electronics and enchanting, as she'd previously theorized, worked incredibly well together. They'd certainly need to, if the guidance system was to interface with the missile's control surfaces.

Breakfast initially transpired with Orzel passively eating whilst listening to the ongoing news report, revealing further news that Orzel already knew about given yesterday's threat assessment. It was being speculated that the renewal of the defensive pact was meant to be a show of force to the Northern Provinces, a means of saying that they wouldn't just be fighting the Empire if they chose to secede, which was looking all the more likely now. Ships sent to haul iron ore from the Northern Provinces were regularly being intercepted and turned away in international waters by the Imperial Griffon Navy. As a result, the Iron Bloods had once again sent 'peacekeepers' to occupy the vital bridge crossings.

Unfortunately those weren't Orzel's issues to tackle, they were the purview of the Princesses that still lived in Canterlot... She had suggested to Mother and Aunt Celestia that the Navy accelerate the nearly complete fitting out of ESS Sokol, then deploy the carrier and her strike group to the region as a polite reminder to the Griffons to abide by the treaty. It was unclear whether the suggestion would be acted upon, but the fact that her Aunt hadn't outright shot it down told Orzel that things were far more serious than the public was being led to believe... Overall, the world was basically in the same state it'd been in three months ago. Lousy.

On the lighter side of things, it was being reported that a recent skirmish between dragon raiders and the Lone Star Homeguard had ended in an absolutely crushing defeat for the raiders. In less than an hour, a force of forty militiamen turned three-hundred plus dragons back across the border, all without suffering a single serious casualty. At the same time, another dragon raid had been halted some forty miles away, which had resulted in several serious injuries and at least one burned automobile, but again, no deaths.

The Lone Star Homeguard was cautiously optimistic that the two defeats might've been enough to send the raiders packing for a good while, long enough for them to hopefully replenish their supplies. According to the Homeguard's spokesman, there were at least twenty men from the combined battles that owed their lives to an OUBC produced by Basilisk Defense Technologies...

Orzel nearly spit out her eggs at the mentioning of her company by name... Word of mouth was just the sort of advertising she'd been hoping for, but that wasn't what had taken her by surprise. No, that honor fell to the number of men that'd been saved by her OUBC design. The rest of the report faded into the background, and once more Orzel retreated into her mind as she stared at her plate. Every ounce of self loathing she'd felt that morning just... Melted away. She didn't fight the smile that spread across her face. She'd known there were success stories before, but never on such a scale.

In her mind's eye she found herself standing in the window of her family's estate, staring off into the blurry horizon, hoping for a glimpse of her Father's ship as he returned. There was always the chance that something terrible would happen, so long as he was out of her sight. She couldn't help thinking that there were at least some people in Lone Star that must've felt the same way. twenty men... There were twenty men alive this morning that would've otherwise died, twenty households that hadn't lost someone... Twenty families spared the pain of loss she carried with her every day, because of the work she'd done.

Orzel consumed the remainder of her morning meal with a speed unparalleled by her Equestrian peers, and unusual even for herself. Free from the eyes those that might admonish her for doing so, she chose to indulge her instincts in favor of expediency. When all was said and done, Orzel found herself in quite a mess... Eggs, clumps of raw meat, flecks of rice, all stained her once immaculate attire and table. It was of little concern to her, she had a means of fixing the problem. Orzel was feeling particularly inspired by the news report, and didn't want to waste another moment. She'd need to see about sending a message to Doctor Cross Spar in the Industrial Materials department, from what she'd seen of his work he'd been doing remarkable things with ceramics and high carbon steel.

It'd always been a tossup between the two materials when it came to a 'Rifle Ballistic Plate'... Steel seemed the obvious choice, as it would be far easier and cheaper to produce, but it was also heavier and prone to ricochets, not to mention the dangerous spall of lead and copper produced whenever a round impacted it. In theory ceramic wouldn't suffer from that issue, but it wasn't entirely clear whether Equestria had the ability to manufacture a sturdy enough plate to do the job, not without its own problems, including being inordinately expensive...

Regardless of whatever material she wound up going with, the fact remained that Orzel had become so involved in other projects that she'd allow the OUBC project to sit on her shelf for far too long. Her work had already saved twenty lives... Why not try for forty? Eighty? A hundred? A thousand? She'd need to shuffle her schedule around to make room, but maybe she could eat lunch as she worked. Moving with a renewed pep in her step, Orzel brought her plates into the kitchen and placed them in the sink to clean later, all while the radio continued its muffled sound in the other room. With that, the Princess narrowed her eyes, glaring down both at the plates and the food stains all over her clothes...

Channeling her magic, the Princess spoke a quick incantation. As usual, several streams of glittering magic passed from her lips and swirled around her body. In their wake it became impossible for anyone to tell there'd ever been any stains whatsoever. The plates were also far cleaner now, and a similar effect extended to the dining room table, though she'd still need to polish it later. Wheeling back towards the dining room, she strode purposefully to the radio and turned it off.

From there, Orzel offered her arm for Midnight to hop on, and once the bird was aboard, the Princess moved towards her residence's front door. She paused briefly to observe her broomstick leaning there, which she grabbed along with her satchel. With little further ceremony, she unclipped her ID badge and held it up to a clear gem embedded beside the heavy steel security barrier. The gem glowed bright green, and a few moments later Orzel heard the magnetic locks buzz. With an audible hydraulic whine it swung open, and just like that Orzel was on her way.

The outer hallway was designed with a neo-futurist sort of aesthetic, making use of a lot of fluid shapes and the colors white, yellow, and magenta... The floor was black tile, much like that in Orzel's bed chamber. Two Cerberus Troopers flanked the door, as was almost always the case when she was inside the residence. It was a given at this point that both of them were taller than her by a considerable margin, though not nearly as much as it used to be. It seemed that by embracing more of her draconic traits, she'd actually managed to reach the four-foot-ten and one quarter mark, so she had that going for her.

Both troopers wore brand new combat uniforms of her own designs, utilizing a new pattern of camouflage known as 'CERPAT'. The Nocturne Agency had asked for something specific to Cerberus Troopers, and so far it seemed they liked what she delivered. Orzel's intent was to give the men of Cerberus a more intimidating appearance, something that might inspire greater fear or hesitation in those seeking to do battle with the armed wing of the Nocturne Agency. She'd needed to get creative considering the unusual nature of Cerberus Operations.

To this end she'd gone for a futuristic look that made use of a series of desaturated greens, browns, yellows, grays, and black, though there were variants available for different environments. The disruptive pattern itself was comprised of clusters of minutely sized hexagons lifted straight out of science-fiction. To ensure this effect wasn't diluted, there was no other unit in the Equestrian Military that was authorized to wear CERPAT, not even the Lunar Marines or the prestigious Canterlot Royal Guard.

The addition of camouflage helmet covers over equally new two-piece 'steel pot' helmets, compiled with light, breathable, black balaclavas almost completed the ensemble. In addition to their camouflage patterns, helmets, OUBCs, web gear, and uniforms, Orzel had taken the opportunity to include a light blue and white striped telnyashka undershirt. The goal was to denote to a casual viewer that these men were at the cutting edge of warfare, that Cerberus Troopers were an elite force, and in that respect Orzel believed she'd succeeded.

It'd also opened the door for her to include telnyashkas of differing color in other units that requested uniform designs, which was always a plus in her book... Firefighters and other CDA personnel, for example, were being issued telnyashkas with orange stripes, while the Navy was receiving their stripes in navy blue and the Lunar Marines in black. The Army was still dragging its feet, but they'd come around sooner or later...

The inclusion of the telnyashka itself was intended as an homage to the uniforms of the Szafirian Military... While she had no love for the Empire itself, Orzel still greatly respected the Imperial Armed Forces in general. Aside from the political officers of the MIS, the overwhelming majority of Imperial troops were conscripts. A great many of those conscripts had died valiantly defending Cesarski, outnumbered and facing unspeakable odds, fighting to the bitter end. Incorporating parts of their uniforms into those she created seemed an ample way of commemorating their fighting spirit. If any fighting force on the planet shared that same 'death before dishonor' attitude, it was Cerberus...

The two troopers assigned to escort Orzel that morning wore their new uniforms well, and each man found himself equipped with a PM-72A and a coyote brown OUBC, whose various assorted 'modular buttons' were home to numerous magazine pouches. The men snapped to attention as they always did whenever their diminutive charge emerged into view. As her bodyguards for the day, these men in particular knew Orzel's true identity.

"Good morning, gen-tell-men." Orzel stated with what passed for cheerful in typical monotone, quickly clipping the ID badge back to her lab coat. "Subtitles." She casually ordered, swapping to Szafirian, prompting what was by now a familiar green glowing orb to spawn beside her.

Without any further hesitation she mounted Fantom and began gliding along at a leisurely speed, the two troopers easily keeping pace a few feet behind her. As they moved through the gradually curving hallway, Orzel took the moment to grab her notebook and begin jotting down her thoughts for the day. After a few moments she saw the wall to her right transition into balcony railing, which looked out upon a wide open section of the volcano's old lava chamber. It'd been excavated and converted into a massive atrium, with various balconies for different levels spaced evenly from the ground floor up to the very top section where her residence was placed.

The atrium was decorated in a continuation of the neo-futuristic model, and all of its features looked very 'high tech' and 'sci-fi'. Honestly, much as Orzel liked the interior decoration of her room, she would've preferred the new 'brutalist' craze that was starting to take on in East Parthenia for the outer hallways and atrium. Then again, Orzel wasn't an interior decorator, so what did she know? She could see dozens of people walking below her, attired in lab coats or other professional wear. There were a few she could see were dressed more casually, and that made them easily recognizable as some of the children of the other researchers. Of course, Orzel had never met them, but she had observed from a distance.

They seemed normal enough, though Grim and Fable claimed that some were inclined to causing mischief. Considering most of them shared their parents' intellectual traits, that mischief could be of a more potent sort than one might expect of teenagers. Given how much mischief Orzel could conceivably cause if she was so inclined, it wasn't hard to imagine the sort of antics they might get up to. One could do all sorts of things with sugar and other household staples, provided they knew a few basic chemical formulas. Just one of the innumerable reasons that Grim and Fable put the kibosh on Orzel's actually meeting any of them.

Turning her attention away from the atrium, Orzel withdrew her journal from her satchel and commenced to asking several questions to her bodyguards for the day. These were the same questions she asked every morning regarding the long term comfort and versatility of her combat uniforms.

These two troopers were otherwise just about as talkative as Grim and Fable, though Orzel much preferred the latter two has her personal bodyguards. Nothing against the new men, but there was a certain rapport that she'd developed with the two Giants, and she trusted them far more as a result. Technically they still were her primary bodyguards, but the highly controlled nature of Pulauapi's Site R meant a change in how they did their jobs. For as secluded and disregarded as the island was to the civilized world, the waters surrounding it were not only awash with strange phenomena, but also several colonial holdings such as Equestria's Amberjack Island or the Griffon Empire's Kaiser Archipelago, not to mention at least thirty island micro-nations and an ever increasing number of pirates.

Therefore, Grim and Fable would be taking on a more 'Macro-Management' position, leaving Orzel's protection today in the much smaller, but no less capable, hands of Cerberus Division. As per every morning, she continued her questionnaire all the way up to the elevator that'd take Orzel to her lab. Generally she got the same answers every time, but one could never have too large a sample size. In terms of cut, utility, and range of motion, the new uniforms were typically rated at a seven or an eight. Not perfect, but far better than the standard fatigues, which topped out at a six. Likewise, the question about comfort in a hot environment yielded responses typically in the six or seven range, in large part due to her choice of cotton sateen over the traditional wool, which typically topped out at a three or four.

She'd finished her questions by the time the elevator doors slid open, and together the trio stepped aboard. Orzel touched her ID badge to a clear gem in the elevator until it glowed bright green, then pressed several buttons on the control panel. The elevator car swiftly started its way down through the complex, moving at a speed Orzel wouldn't have thought safe or possible in a similar device on the mainland. Hopping off of her broomstick, the Princess leaned it against the wall and prepared herself mentally for a long day in the lab. Again she bowed her head forward, silently saying a prayer to Lexicos, while at the same time thanking the Goddess for the news that her inventions had worked.

It was at times such as this where she thought back to the question Piercing Gaze had asked her when first she'd surveyed Maksym Field... Did she think she had a higher purpose? For her, there would never be a higher calling than to serve her country, to lead her subjects as their sovereign, but... That didn't mean that was her only highest calling. Looking back upon her first experiences at the temple, when the idea first came to her about inventing the OUBC to begin with, it was hard not to think that this was the path Lexicos wanted her to walk.

She'd gotten into the business of weapon's research with an eye towards preserving the lives of her subjects, and through a mixture of her own skill and the inspiration of her Goddess, Orzel had done precisely that. With a fully stocked lab and her ever increasing expertise, there was nothing beyond her reach. As much as she longed for home, longed to meet and talk with other people, Orzel knew this was the place she could do the most good. Lexicos willing, she'd do precisely that.

The mood within the darkly lit chamber was a strangely optimistic one, especially given the overall atmosphere fostered within the room. A large wooden conference table occupied the central space, large enough for all in attendance to sit comfortably. The chairs were large, high backed and studded leather, almost as one might expect of a stereotypical meeting of business officials. Levitating above a cradle at the center of the table was a perfectly spherical orb of obsidian, it's mirror smooth surface scattered with minute runes that glittered with ominous silvery-emerald energy. From those intricately placed sigils sprang the an emerald green avatar, which occupied the largest and most comfortable looking chair at the head of the table. As with all Arcane Beacons, the figure it displayed appeared as a series of tiny points of light.

Usually these combined together to form the intricate features of a person's face in stunning detail. In this instance, however, the holographic figure appeared as an almost gigantic draconic female. The projection bore no discernible characteristics one way or another, not even a conceivable appearance of dress... Rather, her entire silhouette was an unnaturally smooth, just as the orb from which it sprang. The air around it was a swirling thick soup of tobacco smoke, as was typical of most meetings held among this group. Numerous binders, ledgers, and other assorted documents rested neatly beside each attendee's personal ashtray.

The smoke wafting throughout the darkened room gave the holographic avatar the vaguest illusion of fading in and out of corporeal existence, the coiling serpentine tendrils of acrid vapor refracting the light in strange and unusual patterns of a highly sinister nature. To most of those present, the chair's holographic occupant was a ghost, a phantom, the secretive reclusive inventor behind the creation of Basilisk Defense Technologies. Rumors abounded among those in senior management that'd gathered there, as not a single one knew the true appearance of their mysterious ghost of a boss. Well... Almost no one. Raketnaya Boyegolovka, inventor, scientist, enchantress, arms industrialist. She, like her company, had come virtually out of nowhere as a spectre might emerge from the night...

Her voice was considerably altered so as to protect her anonymity, first sent through a translation matrix, then distorted into an ominous, vaguely synthetic, facsimile of its original mezzo-soprano self. The malevolent effect was greatly helped by the speaker's thick accent, which even the translator failed to remove. The lengths Boyegolovka went in order to preserve her identity, coupled with that thick foreign accent, left little doubt she was a woman of tremendous stature, someone whom they could all look up to, and that she could feasibly crush every single one of them like ants. Not that she would, of course... For all the intimidating appearance she put up, she was surprisingly fair.

Piercing had to hand it to Orzel, the girl certainly knew how to cultivate mystique. The ominous facade was, as he'd come to theorize, a special camouflage of the girl's own devising. In Equestria, villains and bad guys tended to look as much the part as they did actually being a villain. By producing a convincing enough appearance of power and authority, she ensured that very few would go out of their way to poke around in areas of her identity they really shouldn't be. The girl's ability to read the general mindset of most her subjects was uncanny, or... Maybe Piercing was wrong, maybe Orzel just genuinely liked the 'villain' aesthetic. After all, what looked villainous to an Equestrian might've been charming to a dragon, especially one whose almost pathological need for personal discipline and total control of her environment ran so deeply.

As a matter of fact, it was Orzel's fascination with utilitarian architecture that'd been a primary topic of their meeting that day. Most of the senior management didn't care for their current locale at Maksym Field, and would've greatly preferred meeting in Canterlot as it was far less of a commute. Work was already underway both to lease some office space, and to facilitate the construction of a dedicated company headquarters in the nation's capital. The first task would be easy enough, but the latter would take time. They'd need to acquire property, get the building permits, hire an architect, and a contractor, all before the ground was even broken...

Given the real estate market in Canterlot at the moment, that would've been difficult enough already... It was even less feasible considering Orzel had made clear her desire for a building that was not only functional, but also visually distinct. Bold, powerful, something that would dominate the area around it as a fortress might command a hill. To this end, she'd taken a special interest in the architectural style known as 'brutalism', which had been the topic of a great deal of discussion.

Brutalism wasn't really 'in' at the moment in Canterlot, or anywhere really, outside of the various countries of the East Parthenian Bloc. It would therefore prove exceptionally difficult to get permits to build something with that sort of appearance in Canterlot, as most people, Piercing included, found the style of architecture to be... Well... Ugly. Raw concrete, sharp geometrical angles, without any sort of artistic flare. It was cold, implacable, slightly domineering, lacking all the vibrant color or over-the-top embellishments that Canterlot was known for. In essence, the architectural equivalent to Orzel herself.

A straight up brutalist design had been deemed impossible, as to get it past the city council would be a nightmare. Unfortunately Orzel's taste couldn't be swayed to a more traditional 'neo-classical' design, but she did settle for a sort of hybrid between brutalism and 'art-deco'... It'd be just artistic enough to get past the city council, provided certain palms were greased, and at the same time bleak and functional enough not to wholly offend Orzel's utilitarian sensibilities.

Piercing puffed on his pipe, filled with tobacco that he himself had produced using a mixture of magic and his alchemy skills. Much as he enjoyed his cigars, he could settle for a pipe, at least until they'd captured the mole at the Agency... According to a clock on the wall, there were less than five minutes until the top of the hour, so it wouldn't be long until the meeting wrapped up. He turned his attention back to the others as they and Orzel continued discussing profit projections for the next quarter. There was evidently some concern that an economic downturn might be overdue. Still, much of the market uncertainty was offset by a recent surge in sales from across the country, courtesy of the Lone Star Homeguard's glowing recommendation.

Things were further bolstered by several developments Orzel had achieved in the field of enchanting, not only in the private sector, but also for the Agency. The Director had been kind enough to bring Piercing up to speed on the nature of Orzel's new identity, once he was out of the ICU. Any information as to her actual location remained firmly secured in that ancient brain of his. Piercing had a fairly good idea, seeing as most of her reports were accompanied by notes dictated on an audio crystal of a kind that could only be acquired at 'Alpha Site: Raven'... A facility he'd only learned the existence of after assuming Orcus' duties, so secretive that even the Princesses didn't know about it.

Of course, the crystals just as well could've been another obfuscation on the part of the Director, he did so enjoy his cloak and dagger. Luna still thought the girl was on Amberjack, and as far as Piercing knew, that was just as likely as her being anywhere else... It was for the best that Piercing didn't know exactly. Either he'd have to inform Luna of the true location, potentially jeopardizing the secrecy of wherever it was Orzel was placed, or he'd have to lie to the woman he loved. Much as it confounded him, there was a certain leniency that not knowing the facts exactly allowed...

The pseudonym Orzel had been assigned also lent her more credibility among the 'Enchanting Staff' in the employ of Nocturne. Those published under her 'nom de plume' had received greater acclaim than those published under her real name, undoubtedly for political or other subjective factors. That success extended to Orzel's other profit motivated work for BDT, which was proving about as effective as Orcus had hoped when he'd first pitched the idea. The Director was keeping a close eye on everything the Princess did, primarily through Piercing...

The Acting Director puffed on his pipe again, running through the notes of the meeting in his head one final time. The general gist of the meeting following the discussion of a new headquarters had included discussions about the company's latest subsidiaries, 'Boyegolovka Textiles' and 'Raketnaya Aeronautics', as well as a number of legal, PR, and advertising issues of varying degrees of severity. Protestors, nuisance lawsuits, 'Roto-Copter' Prototypes, enchanted patches, tax rates, worker benefits and all manner of other talk that'd consumed the better part of three hours, which culminated in a 'cautiously optimistic' profit projection.

So once again Piercing's eyes returned to the clock, just thirty seconds until the top of the hour. They passed with agonizing slowness, the meeting continuing to drone on and on, until finally the minute hand struck zero-four-hundred hours. Less than a second later the room was filled with a chiming bell, at which point all those in attendance abruptly sat up straighter, Orzel's avatar included.

"I had not realized it was so late in the evening. Forgive me indulging my curiosity for so long." The girl stated with genuine remorse, which somehow managed to remain in spite of the voice changer. "I think we have covered all of the pressing issues that needed resolving for this month. I appreciate you all making arrangements to meet at this odd hour, I have no doubt it is difficult for those of you with families. In fact, if any of you wish to take the following day off to restore your sleep schedule or spend time with loved ones, you may do so with my blessing."

"I promise, I shall try to have appropriate office space in Canterlot come next month's meeting. The girl stated while resting her hands in her lap, her tone sounding far more open than Piercing expected of her at this time of the day. There were several murmurs of appreciation in response, whilst Piercing himself remained quiet. "Our session is officially concluded. If you have any concerns you wish to bring up out of session, I can be reached through Mister Gaze at any time. Speaking of..." The girl turned her attention to Piercing. "Mister Gaze, would you mind staying behind. I have a few matters of a personal nature that I wish to discuss with you in greater detail."

"Of course, Madam Chairwoman. I don't mind in the slightest." Piercing responded, closing a file that'd been laying in front of him. By now he'd become a virtual professional at setting a meeting's agenda, both in his role as Acting Director of the Nocturne Agency and as the Vice-Chairman of BDT... Briefings, meetings, panels, committees, altogether probably accounted for eighty percent of what he did on a given day. Thankfully the Director would be coming back soon, so Piercing could get back to actually dealing with artifacts as had originally been intended. "In case I don't see you later, have a nice weekend everyone." He added, watching as the assembled managers gathered their belongings and filed out of the room.

While they certainly appeared serious, Piercing had little doubt they were pleased with the meeting's outcome as well. Turning his attention back to the holographic avatar, he pondered just what it was that Orzel might've wanted to discuss with him. Realistically, he could think of only one answer. It'd come at the start of the meeting, when Piercing was reading off the issues with the protests and nuisance suits... However, that wasn't the extent of things. Protesters would often lay down in the road to block traffic, or attempt to scale the fences of Maksym Field. One incident involved a firebomb, which had seriously wounded two company security guards.

The police had been called numerous times, but rather than dealing with the problem, they'd become part of it. Mayor Mare in Ponyville wasn't altogether pleased with the factory's reopening. There was nothing she, or anyone else on the city council, could do in court to force it closure. So, they'd gone to the next best thing, using Equestria's legendarily obstructive bureaucracy to make things as difficult as humanly possible for the factory to operate.

Unfortunately there was no one whom had read the various codes and forms as extensively as Orzel had, and as such every attempt the made was just as quickly foiled by a bureaucratic retaliation of her own. The past two and a half months had seen the city council and county clerk's office swamped with various forms, documents, and requests public records going back literal centuries which, by law, the city was required to supply. When inevitably it turned out that many of those files were lost or destroyed, that resulted in a tidal wave other paperwork detailing what was missing and how the city would make good on its legal obligations.

It was clear by the start of the third month, a month or so ago, that the City decided its tactic had utterly backfired. So Mayor Mare did what any politician might do in a situation where things weren't going her way. She got petty. It'd started with police arresting security guards for escorting protestors off company property on charges of 'petty assault', or pulling over trucks carrying BDT goods on bogus speeding tickets. This in turn made many truck drivers wary of picking up BDT loads, and those that chose to take the added risk did so at far higher rates, as a traffic citation could be detrimental to many truck driver's careers.

The factory itself had become just one of many issues to arise in the course of the Ponyville Mayoral election, right up there with an unpopular city tax on income, and an equally controversial public parks program, which had already resulted in several cost overruns. It wasn't so much 'Black Crown vs. Noble' as it was 'Frugal vs. Frivolous'. Ponyville was the most vital railway hub in Equestria, yet its population and overall growth remained almost criminally stagnant in the face of local ordinances and a hostile city council that made any change from the status quo virtually impossible. With economic uncertainty already looming large in the minds of the public, jobs were starting to seem a lot more important than parks.

As a Princess, Orzel certainly cared about the political issues, but Piercing knew her well enough to know that wasn't why she'd asked him to stay behind. She'd listened to each problem regarding the latest tactics of the local authorities with a growing posture of rigidity, until by the very end she'd entered a state of unnerving stillness, her fingers steepled, her head bowed slightly forward. Even without seeing her face, Piercing discerned a posture of profoundest seething fury, much as a particularly ferocious guard dog might appear when eying a potential threat. It was the only portion of the meeting where the villainous aesthetic seemed warranted, as things had actually become... Tense.

"One moment, Madam Chairwoman..." Piercing stated cautiously, even after watching the door close. He snapped his fingers, briefly lighting the room with a bright flash of magic. The doors to the room locked, all windows were covered by thick black-out shades, and an arcane scan of the area revealed that all was as it appeared to be. "The room is secure. We are, as far as I can tell, alone." The man transitioned into Szafirian, watching as the non-descript colossal holographic avatar shifted to take on the genuine, and considerably smaller, appearance of Princess Orzel. "Now, allow me to guess as to the issue you wanted to discuss... Ponyville?" Orzel nodded with visible tensing posture.

"Your powers of perception remain as acute as ever, Mister Gaze. That is indeed one of the problems I want to discuss." Orzel confirmed, her distaste for the situation clearly audible, the voice filter having been dropped as well. "Has the interference from local authorities impacted our delivery schedule from Maksym Field as profoundly as you stated in the meeting?" She asked calmly, Piercing merely nodded. Though her features remained plain, it was clear her dander was going up. "If Mayor Mare is directing the police of her township to enforce the law one-sidedly, then she obviously fails to see the damage such a precedent does to our justice system. Make contact with the campaign of Mister Rich, provide a sizable anonymous donation to his bid for mayor..." The hologram's vision rested on the table. "Do you know any competent private investigators?"

"I can think of quite a few, actually." Piercing responded evenly, lacing his fingers together on the table. He already suspected the direction Orzel was taking with this, but he couldn't be sure until he actually asked her. "What is the nature of the problem you want investigated?"

"I am very certain that like all career politicians, Mayor Mare has a number of skeletons in her closet that would be detrimental to her re-election campaign." Orzel explained with a tone of shrewd intensity, honestly Piercing had seen that coming as well. "Find those skeletons, Mister Gaze. I want more than speculation or rumor, I want the truth! I want evidence that cannot be refuted!"

For as much as she tried to be as morally upstanding as possible, there was also the cold, calculating, predatory side of the Princess that wouldn't seem natural to those that knew her casually. She would never consider rigging an election, but she was a pragmatist, and Piercing had no doubt she'd get her hands metaphorically dirty if she had to without actually straying into the realm of the illegal.

"Contact me once you have it, then see that the press is made well aware." Orzel continued coldly, distantly, with the voice of a practiced tactician. While the weekly games of chess between her and her Mother had ended, it was clear she'd gotten far better at thinking several moves ahead, though not all the way there quite yet. "If they refuse to publish the story, I trust you are more than creative enough to devise an alternative method of getting the message out."

Piercing knew by now that the idea of mudslinging probably didn't sit well with Orzel, given her history with the press, but also that such reservations wouldn't stop her either. The Noble Party had opened the door to weaponizing the press when they'd come after her, and Piercing had no doubt she'd take every opportunity to turn their own tactic against them. They'd shown her just how effective such things as newspapers and tabloids could be at shaping public opinion, and while most public opinion mattered little to Orzel herself, it mattered a great deal in the field of politics.

Of course, Piercing knew there was more to her desire to get involved in the election than just her annoyance at the hindrance of her business. A matter of principle, that'd undoubtedly made Mayor Mare an enemy in the Princess's eyes. Speeding tickets and trumped up petty assault charges were, in the grand scheme of things, hardly the sort of transgression most people might expect to incite the wrath of a Princess... It might make Celestia miffed, perhaps even a tad irked, but not enraged. Then again, most people hadn't lived in a despotic police state, where the police could, and often did, turn up to someone's home to drag them away in the middle of the night merely on the suspicion that they might have interacted with someone who may have committed the crime of having the wrong opinion.

That wasn't to say that Orzel's getting involved with the issue wasn't a problem in its own right. While it wasn't technically illegal, there was an existing precedent, more a tradition really, that Princesses weren't supposed to get involved in local elections below a provincial level. Piercing would therefore have to inform Luna and Celestia of the girl's plan to deal with the problem, assuming she still went ahead with it... Of course, by now he knew that Orzel knew that he was reporting back to Luna, and she wouldn't have put forward the suggestion if she wasn't ready to fight with her Mother over it.

"You are certain you wish to get involved?" Piercing asked with a fleeting hope Orzel would reconsider, but the girl crushed it with a mere nod of her head. Time to do some parenting... "I do not feel comfortable carrying out that request, Orzel. I think you are looking at the problem from the wrong angle, and I would be remiss not to tell you as much." He could see her eyebrow twitch ever so slightly upward, but as he'd expected she nodded for him to continue. "Influencing local elections is not the purview of the Crown... You talk about Mayor Mare's setting of a dangerous precedent, but what of the precedent you yourself might set by becoming involved?" Piercing asked philosophically, puffing idly on his pipe.

"Your problem is with Mayor Mare, but for the few admittedly shady practices she might, might, engage in, there are a great many positives Ponyville has to thank her for. Increased school funding, infrastructure modernization, the acceleration of the FDPV's growth, sponsored by your own Civil Defense Agency." Piercing continued with that same educational tone, a point to which Orzel grudgingly conceded by means of a sigh.

Piercing knew she was a good kid at heart, but given her age and relative inexperience in the field of domestic politics, it was understandable she'd have a few impulsive foibles. Coming up with new policies and overhauling inefficient systems was one thing, making deals and compromising was another. This was one of those... What had Celestia called it? A 'teaching moment'?

"Politics is a messy business, you know that as well as anyone." Piercing went on further, reclining in his seat and making himself a little more comfortable. "No one, not you, or your Mother, or even Celestia, can claim to have a spotless record, now or in the future. We are not perfect beings, we are just people. Everyone will be, at some time in their life, a hypocrite, and anyone that claims otherwise is a liar. I am not saying that gives you license to be a hypocrite at your leisure." The man stated a bit more seriously, then folded his hands in his lap. "There is little room for the moral absolutism you crave, and frankly I think that is for the best. You have read 'For the Republic', you know what I- The author said. There are three types of people that try to build societies based on moral absolutism. Oligarchs, tyrants, and theocrats."

"What does that have to do with Mayor Mare shirking her responsibility to the law? It is a basic function of her job, to uphold the law. To operate within the confines of the justice system as if all citizens are equal." Orzel countered harshly, her eyes peering into Piercing with a level of intensity he hadn't expected. "Do you realize how much money we are spending to defend our workers? Workers who were, by all accounts, abiding by the law?" She added with further venom. "Were it not for our assistance in paying their attorneys, all of them would be in financial ruin! They would be unable to pay their mortgages, heat their homes, put food on their tables! How would justice be served then? Piercing winced slightly... He had to concede that point.

"I understand, and that is frustrating, but please... Hear me out." Piercing offered as soothingly as possible. "The world we live in is not black or white... You know that better than anyone that sometimes we are dealt a devastating hand. There is no fairness." He took several more puffs on his pipe, sighing the smoke through his nose. "Life in general is made up of varying shades of gray. Compared to some of the people you have dealt with here, and in Szafiria, I ask you as a scientist...? Is Mayor Mare objectively anything worse than a very, very light gray." The man could see he was getting through to Orzel, and he couldn't help inwardly smiling at that. She faintly nodded after a few moments, though obviously she wasn't happy about it. "If the people of Ponyville want her to remain in office, that is their choice... Using money or revealing a scandal to shift public opinion has its time and place in politics, against the real problem actors, not people like Mayor Mare." Orzel mulled over his words in silence for what felt like a good thirty seconds, then sighed heavily through her nose.

"Very well, I shall defer your counsel on the matter..." The Princess conceded tiredly. "That does not change the fact that delivery of orders is being impeded not only to our civilian customers, but to your Agency as well. What would you recommend we do on that front?" That was a rather sticky wicket, one that Piercing didn't really have an immediate answer to.

The first option was to have troops from the Territorial Garrison escort the vehicles in convoys out of Ponyville, but that would be a PR nightmare. Troop trucks rolling through Mainstreet Equestria wasn't the sort of look BDT was going for, and the press would undoubtedly have a field day with the inevitable clashes between local authorities and Territorial Garrison troops. No, escorting the trucks wasn't an option either... His eyes swept over the old control room, looking at the various remnants of its time in the service of the Army Air Corps. Charts, radio sets, even a series of 'Spotter Silhouettes'. It was hard to imagine, this room being filled with officers, directing aircraft by radio...

"Hmm... There is a thought." Piercing hummed, sitting up straighter in his seat. "The Agency has a good number of cargo aircraft and airships at its disposal, primarily for the purpose of asset insertion to foreign countries." The man watched Orzel's expression rapidly shift, stoic as it was, to one of comprehending realization. "We can have the Agency's shipments flown to airports nearby, where they can be picked up by trucks without risk of being intercepted. I shall need to make a few phone calls, but the first flight can likely land later today."

Orzel's earlier tenseness gradually receded as the topic changed, and Piercing was grateful he'd been able to talk her back from the proverbial ledge. Sometimes seemingly obvious solution wasn't always the correct one. The man paused briefly, looking around the room for anything to potentially change the subject. Not that he didn't enjoy educating Orzel on the finer points of politics, he just wanted to get moving before she started nitpicking, and thus potentially undermining the progress they'd made.

"Moving on to a matter I wanted to discuss. I had an opportunity to examine the schematics you forwarded regarding the Rune of Epic Detection, I think they will prove quite useful in assisting our agents in the field." Piercing settled on the topic of the latest parcel he'd received from wherever Orzel was, hoping to play on the girl's love for her work. Judging by the slight raising of the girl's eyebrow, Piercing knew he'd succeeded. "I was wondering if you might be up for something a tad more challenging?" Orzel crossed her arms, then inclined her head forward, wordlessly signaling him to continue. "At present we lack a sufficient means of detecting Changelings in real time, short of invasive means such as blood tests. I was wondering if you might be capable of creating an enchantment that could do so passively." Orzel rubbed thoughtfully at her chin, then pursed her lips.

"Such an enchantment is certainly feasible, provided I had access to certain biological information... Average Changeling heart rate, body temperature, and so on, but obtaining that data is only part of the issue." The girl began, folding her hands back into her lap. "I have enough 'irons in the fire' as it is, Mister Gaze. Research projects that span numerous disciplines, all of which are at the request of the Agency. Developing an enchantment of such a complex nature could consume a great deal of my already limited spare time, and may require me to deviate from existing lines of inquest." Piercing had little doubt that Orzel would do the work if he insisted it was necessary, but he got the feeling she was fishing for something...

"Is that so?" Piercing asked pointedly, taking another puff on his pipe. Orzel's expression brightened faintly, evidently she was pleased that he'd picked up on her not so subtle hint she wanted something. It probably wasn't money... Between the profits from BDT and a diversified investment portfolio put together by the company's accountant, Orzel's net worth sat at approximately twenty-eight-million Bits and rising. A virtual tithe compared to the fortunes of her Mother or Celestia, but certainly enough to keep a growing dragon happy. "What could I do to potentially alleviate the strain?"

"Firstly, I want visitors. I am almost entirely alone here and it is... Difficult." The girl stated firmly, catching Piercing slightly off guard. He would've expected as much, no one could ever truly survive in total seclusion, but... He didn't think it was that bad. "Secondly, I want greater freedom in my movements and interactions with other people here at Site R." Piercing inwardly winced, she'd just come out and said it. Then again, it wasn't as if she'd been told to keep it a secret either. So much for plausible deniability... Now on top of the desire for visitors, he had to tell Luna where the girl actually was. "Lastly, I would like to receive formal training in the various skills required of those serving in all of our nation's armed forces and Nocturne Agency. If I am to continue developing weapons for them, I must better understand how they each operate, and the unique challenges each branch faces in its respective field."

Piercing pondered all three of Orzel's requests, the latter two he could easily swing... The problem was that sending someone, anyone, to Site R for any purpose other than a prolonged stay drastically increased the odds of its discovery by hostile forces. While teleportation magic would make the trip nigh instantaneous, there might've been less than friendly persons monitoring the Arcane Barrier... To teleport over such a vast distance would leave a tangible effect on the barrier, and to do so regularly, over a prolonged period of time, might very well paint a straight line directly to Pulauapi Atoll and all that went on there.

Every message parcel teleported to and from the island had to be sent through a chain of randomized teleportation points before it inevitably wound up in Canterlot. Letters and other packages could be sent with a fair amount of ease on account of their small size, but anything larger than fifty pounds required an extreme amount of energy. Theoretically he could snap his fingers, wind up in the Chaotic Realm, then snap again and arrive at Site R, but that required a great deal of magic. Luna and Celestia couldn't access the realm as he could, and even they would struggle with the number of proxy jumps they'd need to make, as each jump's required energy increased exponentially according to mass.

"I can certainly get you cleared for advanced training as you requested, and give you much broader permissions at Site R, but on the topic of visitors...?" Piercing began, already he could see Orzel's avatar narrow her eyes at him. "You are aware of the concept of Barrier Tracing, correct?" The girl looked at him for a few moments, likely running through the same scenario he had just run through in his own mind, until ultimately she sighed with reluctant realization.

"Indeed..." The Princess said dejectedly, rubbing at her temples in a fashion not too dissimilar from her Mother. "The threat to my safety remains at its previous height?" The girl asked seriously, to which Piercing could only nod. "Be honest with me, Mister Gaze. There is more to the threat than just the Changelings, correct?" Piercing sighed heavily through his nose, of course she would've figured that out as well... "While I may not be wearing my crown, I want you to bear in mind that I am asking as Crown-Princess. As an operative of the Nocturne Agency, you are bound by oath to respond honestly." Once again she was correct, and while it would've been easy for him to lie to her, she would've figured it out on her own eventually, and all that'd do was damage his credibility with her.

"Approximately four months ago, around the time of the Firewatch simulation, a highly trained team of rogue operatives from Ornithia's Division Five infiltrated a top secret Nocturne Facility, Facility One-Two-Seven..." Piercing began from the beginning, filling Orzel in on everything that he'd already told Luna and Celestia. From the first report to the poisoning of Director Orcus, which she hadn't been informed of, all the way up to today.Through it all, Orzel's features remained notably implacable, and she only ever interrupted to ask him a question or two. In a lot of ways, she appeared far calmer than Luna or Celestia had when they'd first been informed...

Of course, Orzel had been made aware of some of the Nocturne Agency's various clashes with the forces of the occult. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that many of the enchantments the Agency asked her to develop were intended for use against such threats. Piercing considered leaving out the part regarding the Tome of Obscurum Scientia, but figured he'd already said too much already, so there was little harm to be done. Still, there were some questions that Piercing wished Orzel hadn't asked, particularly about why she in particular had been chosen as the Crown's 'Designated Survivor'. In that sense he could get away with a half-truth... Because she was the youngest, the least likely to be noticed missing, and that at present she was far better equipped to aid Equestria as a researcher working for ARMA than as a Princess in Canterlot.

There was one topic that Luna had sworn Piercing to secrecy over... The speculation that Orzel might, in some fashion, be a component in some unknown Ancient prophecy. The jury was still out on that subject, as researching Kwarczkie ruins was considerably harder than originally thought. The Dragonlands where they'd been endemic, including a good portion of the islands, were controlled by the Reaver Clan. Operations in the Dragonlands were difficult enough, but to send agents into Reaver Territory...? Orzel didn't need to know about some wild unsubstantiated theory. Luna and Piercing both agreed the odds of her latching onto that theory and traveling down a rabbit hole of speculation and worry, when she was already beset with enough worry to last a hundred life times, were too great to bring it up without sufficient evidence.

"So the risk presented by this 'Tome of Obscurum Scientia'... That is the greater threat overall?" Orzel asked, and Piercing honestly wasn't sure how to respond. The Tome was a greater threat to the world at large, but the Changelings probably posed a more immediate risk to Equestria specifically. He relayed as much to Orzel, who hummed thoughtfully. "What threat would you like me to prioritize in my development projects? I cannot focus on both at once." She posited with a level of calm that Piercing supposed could only be expected of a person that so ardently controlled their emotions.

"I think it would be best if you focus on the Changeling threat with regard to your engineering projects, they have the most utility overall." Admitted Piercing, sighing heavily through his nose. "That being said, now that you are better aware of what your enchantments will face, do you have any insights you think might be of assistance?" Orzel rubbed idly at her chin, looking off to the side with a thoughtful expression.

"As far as locating the tome itself, I am afraid I shall need greater access to the Agency's files before I can offer an opinion." She finally answered, turning her attention back to Piercing. "That being said, from what you have said I expect that the Cerberus Division will be encountering aberrations and other forces of this 'abyss' you mentioned. If I am to create suitable counters to them, I must view these occultic materials, and the spells contained within, for myself..."

Piercing had been afraid of that... For Orzel, he could think of no more enticing lure than forbidden knowledge, but she remained their best chance at developing a suitable defense... It was a risk that, unfortunately, needed to be taken. Once again, he took note of how calm Orzel appeared... As if all this talk of alternate planes and horrific monsters of a cosmic sort was as inconsequential as discussing what one planned to have for dinner.

"I think it would be best that I focus my enchanting efforts on continuing to develop runes that will safeguard them from such forces." Orzel concluded somewhat sternly, resting her hands in her lap. "I cannot split my attention by starting work on the 'Changeling Detection' rune you have requested."

"I see..." Piercing began hesitantly, once again she had a point. For as quickly as the girl could develop new designs, there was only one of her, and she could only do so much at a time. While it might take longer, there was one alternative the man hadn't considered. "I suppose we can just have our in-house team begin work on development. If they hit a snag, I can always call you."

There were bound to be plenty of 'snags', of that Piercing had little doubt. His theories about the Kwarczkie mind being genetically predisposed to learning magic and combat were almost all but entirely proven by now, and Orzel was now operating at a level of skill that usually shouldn't have been possible. Sometimes Piercing wondered if perhaps they hadn't gotten extremely lucky, not just by having Orzel in general... Every civilization had great minds, people that were just generally better at things than others. Perhaps Orzel was the Kwarczkie equivalent of Starswirl the Bearded or Clover the Clever?

Examining the girl's first truly new enchantments had given Piercing his first inclination that Orzel might be an outlier of considerable ability, even by Kwarczkie standards. Somewhat nostalgic, the man recalled a time long ago when he'd aspired to be a professor like his mentor Starswirl the Bearded. Orzel's work was really coming into its own not only in its increasing complexity, but also in the way her runes appeared. The symbols she drew were in a unique and distinctive 'style' unlike any contemporaries, in a manner not dissimilar to a painter or a musician incorporating their own personal motifs...

As with most things, Orzel favored a 'brutalist utilitarian' aesthetic, making extensive use of straight lines and sharp angles, drawing hexagons or elongated octagons rather than circles or ovals. Typically Orzel would finish by adding the only sign of artisnal flare she tolerated, taking the form intricate scroll work on the outer portions of a rune, almost always tapering off into well defined points. From what Piercing could tell, it was her way of making the runes 'modular', offering a sturdy connection point to potentially chain another effect onto the existing one.

If Piercing were a professor, he'd easily give her top marks for functionality, though they were by no means pretty in the traditional sense. At times, Piercing wondered if Orzel's gifted abilities would ever reach some sort of upper limit, or if they would just continue to develop to such an extent that no one but her could hope to grasp it... For as impressive as that might've seemed, the man also had to wonder what sort of psychological effect that might have on a person like Orzel. To keep advancing while everyone else struggled to keep up, it certainly seemed like the prelude to a very lonely future.

Applying enchantments like those Orzel produced to various items had been quite a challenge in its own right, just as it'd been a challenge for Piercing to review them at first. The staff they'd hired to produce enchanted items from Orzel's designs were certainly competent, but he doubted if many of them had experience developing runes of such complexity as would be needed to detect Changelings. Thinking outside the box to create a new and specific enchantment wasn't entirely their strong suit, especially one with Orzel's degree of attention to detail. Rubbing at his slightly stubbly chin, Piercing had to wonder if maybe it was time to consider bringing some 'older' minds into the mix, but that was a discussion for he and the other Princesses to have.

"Tell me more about what you are working on mechanically speaking." Piercing requested evenly, hoping to speed along the final few points of the meeting. From that point on he and Orzel discussed the progress she was making in her various engineering efforts...

The latest prototype of the new rifle, which Orzel had finally given a name, was proceeding nicely. Unlike the PM-72, which had taken its name from Szafirian, Orzel felt it best to stick to standard draconic if she wanted to maintain her cover. Thus, she'd given the weapon the designation 'Pekhotnaya Vintovka Vasiliskov', or translated 'Basilisk Infantry Rifle'... The year of production was still up in the air though, as it wasn't clear if it could enter service within this year or the next, so for now it was simply known as the 'PVV-XX' or the 'Vasiliskov'.

Orzel would hopefully be ready to send along several copies of the Vasiliskov for the Agency to put through their paces. According to her, the weapon wouldn't be nearly as cheap or easy to produce as the PM-72, particularly with its chrome-lined barrel and milled receiver. At an estimated thirty-five Bits per unit, it wouldn't be prohibitively expensive either. Considering there was already a lot of talk among the members of the DAC about adopting the PM-72 as the Equestrian Military's new standard SMG, the cost could be offset by the money they'd save. The price would of course gradually go down as manufacturing capabilities improved, components were simplified, and they transitioned from milled to stamped receivers...

Piercing was pleased to learn that Orzel's efforts regarding Project Gungnir were likewise progressing steadily, at least on paper and in small scale tests. While the missile had started out as a means of destroying enemy airships or heavy bombers, there was also a possibility that the system could be adapted for use against other targets, particularly enemy shipping or hardened bunkers. Orzel was also developing a separate ADATA control mechanism that could also feasibly be mounted in a machine gun or Anti-Aircraft turret of some kind, so the system could still be of some use, even if the missiles didn't materialize in the foreseeable future.

The meeting didn't last much longer beyond that, as both Orzel and Piercing had work to get back to, the former mentioning that she'd kept Grim and Fable waiting long enough already. With a brief farewell, the connection between the Arcane Beacons was severed and the conference room was plunged into near perfect silence. Piercing puffed on his pipe several times before rising from his seat and putting his hands on his hips.

He'd need to relay everything that'd transpired to Luna, both the progress report and the fact that he'd learned Orzel's true whereabouts... That was not going to be a fun conversation, especially today. From what he'd heard on the radio earlier, it'd been a particularly hard day of diplomatic work on the Mountain. He'd really need to turn on the charm, not just because he wanted to survive, but also because he had the feeling Luna would really need the pick me up.

In the wake of the morning's numerous political and diplomatic fiascoes, stepping into the royal dining room to find the chamber virtually empty was definitely not what Luna had expected when she'd said farewell to her sister following the morning's threat assessment briefing. The center of the table set for two, one seated across from another, and was illuminated by the rooms massive windows to reveal a great abundance of glittering silver tray covers. Celestia had mentioned something about craving something from Pony Joe's Donuts, while Piercing and the other members of the Crown were all busy with their own morning concerns. Luna had thus expected to be the only one to eat in the dining room, and the fact that the only other person in sight was Piercing Gaze just seemed so... Troublesome. He'd lied to her... Albeit a small one, but still...

Luna needed more trouble like she needed a hole in the head, especially considering the state of affairs that'd been made clear in the recently concluded briefing. The Griffons were once again at eachother's throats, the Ornithians were starting to butt their noses in, the National Council elections were only a few short weeks away, a 'Special Emissary' sent by the Southern Dragon Clans was exceptionally livid because the Lone Star Homeguard was making absolute mincemeat of the 'rogue' clans that consistently prodded Equestria's border, and the Nocturne Agency was nowhere closer to finding the Tome of Obscurum Scientia or stopping the Changeling Menace. All this while Luna's sleeping habits had deteriorated, primarily due to stress, though Piercing's coming to bed at odd hours didn't help matters.

It was clear that the man intended to attempt and raise her spirits, which on any other morning might've been sweet. Honestly, as much as Luna appreciated the gesture Piercing was trying to make, the woman wasn't sure if there was anything he could do. She seldom took 'personal days', but was choosing to make an exception. Right now she just wanted to get something to eat, find about the largest mug of coffee she could get her hands on, then change out of her gown and back into her nice, soft, pajamas, all before proceeding up to her bedchamber to scream into her pillow.

Piercing perked up, smiling at her warmly, welcomingly, it was obvious that he was trying to make an effort, and that at least warranted some minor participation. Closing the door behind her, Luna sighed through her nose and approached the table, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. Getting closer to the table she was briefly blinded by the light glinting off the plat covers, as well as a large stainless steel carafe which filled the air with a faint whiff of coffee. Maybe she could stay more than a few minutes... After all, he had gone through all the trouble. Smiling faintly at the man, the Princess pulled out the seat across from him and sat down. Piercing proceeded to snap his fingers, using his magic to push her seat in for her.

"Surprise!" He greeted with a faint charming smile, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt, his suit jacket resting on the chair-back behind him. Piercing looked far less dour in the light of the morning than he had in the dingy smoke filled chamber of the situation room, though it was clear that his job had taken its toll. He looked older, with numerous worry lines, and the faintest flecks of gray appearing in the hair around his temples. They'd likely fade with time, when he wasn't under so much stress, as the reformed chaos demi-god wasn't actually capable of aging permanently.

"Please, not so loud..." Luna mumbled tiredly, rubbing at her temples... The light in the room was making it difficult to fight a migraine that'd arisen at the briefing, it was only just now beginning to fade. "You did not need to go out of your way for me." She added pointedly, looking at the covered plates while Piercing shrugged his shoulders.

"I know, I wanted to." He answered simply, reaching over to uncover one of the dishes. "I just thought you'd want someone to talk to, the radio said today was probably... Difficult." He added, setting aside the silvery cover to reveal a large plate of scrambled eggs beside an assortment of breakfast sausages. The meal looked just as fresh and as steaming hot as if it'd just been prepared, looking at the plate cover, Luna didn't need to wonder why... She could see the faintly glowing emerald runes on its lower edge. "Besides, I have some news that you may not like, and I thought it best to break it over breakfast." Luna narrowed her eyes at him, and he quickly held up his hands. "Nothing bad happened, it's just... Y'know, possibly upsetting."

"Yet you chose to wait until now to mention it, as opposed to saying something in the briefing?" Luna asked with a level of harshness she hadn't really intended, already she could feel the migraine sprinting back at her with a vengeance. Still, she grabbed the plate she'd been offered, as well as a fork and knife. "You have made quite an impressive breakfast, which leads me to think you are attempting to soften the blow of something. Seeing as I am presently in a considerable amount of pain, it would be best for your longevity if you just said whatever needs saying..." Piercing looked between her and the fork she held, gulped slightly, then nervously rubbed at the back of his neck. She'd only been joking, of course.

"I mentioned I had a company meeting early this morning, right?" Piercing asked, the Princess nodded only faintly while at the same time pouring herself a hot steaming mug of coffee, sweetened by a small amount of honey, which she stirred in with a small metal spoon. "Well, I talked to Orzel for a bit after it was over, and, well..." Luna stopped mid stir, staring directly at the man, with an intensity that silently implored him to just spit it out already. She was already worried enough about her daughter without him dancing around the problem. "She asked if she could possibly start having visitors, but for reasons I'm about to get into, that's not really... Practical..." Luna set the fork and knife down on her plate, there was obviously more to the issue than that. "It turns out she's not actually on Amberjack-" All at once Luna's migraine flared to life with a vengeance, and it was all she could do to glare at Piercing, as the light was proving quite painful.

"Piercing, if you have been keeping my daughter's location from me this entire time...? I will not be happy." Luna hissed sharply, though it was really a drastic understatement. There was nothing she could think of that she'd never forgive Piercing for, except for if he'd done something, or concealed information, pertaining to Orzel's well being. To his credit, Piercing's demeanor remained just as calm as it'd been before.

"I did have some suspicions that she might be somewhere else, but I wasn't sure where..." Piercing admitted calmly, Luna briefly thought of laying into him about lying to her, or at least concealing his suspicions, but the look in his eyes told her this wasn't something he'd done lightly. "The Director changed her destination last minute. Orzel is at what's known in the Agency as an 'Alpha Clearance Site'."

"It's a facility whose secrecy is of such paramount importance that no one, not even the Crown, knows it exists. That knowledge is restricted to the Director and those operate or support the site itself." Piercing explained calmly, though with obvious reticence. Luna's eyes widened at the mention of this 'Alpha Clearance Site', both because she could think of no reason to conceal it from the Crown and because apparently her daughter had been there this entire time. "They're maintained for special purposes. Some of them house artifacts that are two dangerous to be moved, others are, well... I can't tell you, not without you specifically asking me to." Luna was about to open her mouth to do precisely that, but Piercing held up a finger to stop her.

"Before you do that, I want you to remember what happened to the Director. The risk that we have a mole inside the Agency, possibly even in the Castle." The man stated with deadly seriousness. "We're at war, Lu... There may not be bombers overhead, but people can and likely will die. The casualties will all depend on the sort of information the enemy receives." He cast a look around the room, then back at the table. "I scanned the room before you came in, so I'm fairly certain we're alone, certain enough to have said as much as I have, but until other matters are dealt with I can't be one hundred percent positive that we are, in fact, alone. Given what happened to Director Orcus, I think that's a healthy mindset to have."

"Where is she...?" Luna asked softly, all of her previous anger melting away into a series of whirlwind emotions. Uncertainty, fear, and realization... Piercing was right, if whoever was responsible had gotten to the Director, they could theoretically get to anyone. The woman sighed, her features softening, and she hoped Piercing understood she wasn't mad at him... She was upset, yes, but... His actions were warranted.

"I will tell you, if that is what you really want. She's your daughter, and I wouldn't dream of keeping you from her, but..." Piercing's words carried a great deal of caution, his serious expression giving way to a look of genuine affection. "Consider the possible outcomes. What if I tell you, and we aren't truly alone? What if you aren't really who you appear to be? What if they somehow get ahold of you, and through whatever dark magics they wield, manage to pry it from your lips? I know, you don't think it's possible, but with magic nothing is impossible." He sighed faintly. "Orzel at the moment is in the safest place she can be, where she can do Equestria the most good. Right now, aside from Orzel herself, there are only two people that know where your daughter is. Just two. Orcus and myself. Are you absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent certain that you want to make it three?"

Luna stared at him quietly, she'd never seen him so serious as he was now, not even when they were younger. Looking into his glittering eyes, she could see all the love and commitment he'd poured into his mad search for a means of bringing them together, and yet... There was more to it than that. Yes, he was concerned for Luna's feelings over Orzel, but... He was also worried about the girl herself. Not just because it was his job as Acting Director, either... It was more than that. In a few moments Luna realized, much to her surprise, that the look on Piercing's face was more than seriousness... It was paternal protectiveness, much as Luna herself had felt on that somber night in the gardens.

The woman knew that he would tell her if she asked him, he would give her the answer to a question that would gnaw at her every day and every night. He could release her from yet another worry, yet another imponderable nightmare for which the only cure would be the truth, and all that stood between her and that truth were two words 'Tell me.'... So simple sounding in her head, and yet the implications were anything but. Piercing was absolutely right about this 'Cold War' they faced... Intelligence was a weapon, secrecy a shield. Knowing where Orzel was might subdue one worry, but would very likely replace it with another that was just as potent, if not more so...

If Luna knew where Orzel was, would that put her daughter's safety in jeopardy? Could she wake up, day after day, wondering if she might receive news that something terrible had happened, all because she'd asked the answer to a question she was better off not knowing? Would it be easier to just trust that what Piercing said was true, that while Luna wouldn't know where her child was, she would at the very least know that she was safe. Orcus and Piercing would sooner kill themselves than betray Orzel's whereabouts, and Luna would gladly do the same if it came down to it, but would even that be enough...? The woman had said it a hundred times herself. Magic was about making possible the impossible.

"You are certain she is safe?" Luna asked shakily, Piercing's nod was solemn and assured, and that was enough. "I have entrusted you with my daughter's life, Observos... I will trust that if it is better off I not know where she is, then I should not know." She turned her attention back to her meal, meanwhile Piercing snapped his fingers, pouring himself a cup of coffee while Luna took a tentative sip from her mug... "Are you certain it would be impossible to maybe visit her? Perhaps if I wore a blindfold on the journey there?" Piercing sighed faintly, uncovering his own plate of breakfast.

"You know the location of every constellation better than anyone. If you so much as saw the night sky, even for a second, I've no doubt you'd be able to tell where you were." The man stated firmly, shaking his head as he added salt to his eggs. "I know, it's difficult, but unless you plan to stay with her for the duration of her time there, it's best that no one goes to visit. If you want to talk to her, you can always use the Arcane Beacon or join her in the dream realm." Luna sighed uneasily, nodding in acceptance of Piercing's recommendations.

Looking around the dining room, it was hard not for Luna to recall the first time she and Orzel had eaten there together... The night she'd informed her daughter that she was to become a Princess, that her future in Equestria would doubtless be difficult, but that her new family would always be there for her when she needed them. It had been just around eleven months since Orzel's first arrival, and already the girl was off to Gods know where, alone... She could play the role of a monarch with a skill Luna couldn't help but be proud of, but buried deep down... The woman knew there was still a lot of pain in her daughter's heart, so much sadness and lingering self doubt, and here Luna was... Powerless to help her child, unable to even know where she was...

"I promised myself I would protect her..." Luna whispered quietly after taking a sip from her wine. "I promised I would always be there for her. This feels... This feels like I have abandoned her. I know, it is for her own safety, but..." Piercing reached across the table and took the Princess's hand into his own. With a tenderness she hadn't expected, he squeezed it comfortingly.

"Look at me, Lu..." The man softly soothed, drawing her eyes up to the man... Her reflection was visible in the lenses of his glasses, and once again she was confronted by how old he appeared. His eyes were sunken and tired, and yet... He was still so young, just as handsome as Luna remembered. "When I was a statue... The first thing I can remember making sense to me was your voice. I heard it, in the gardens... It's fuzzy, but it must've been the night Orzel arrived, because I think I heard Sokol as well." The man shook his head. "Your voice had such an impact on me that I was able to fight back against that thing I'd become." He paused. "I heard it for less than a couple seconds."

"You have spent the better part of a year giving Orzel all the love and support you could." Piercing smiled at her, his voice as smooth and as calm as a morning lake. "You held her when she cried, you encouraged her to use her gifts, you showed her a world the likes of which she never dreamed of. I know, because you did the same thing for me." The man squeezed Luna's hand again. "Then, when a threat emerged you didn't think you could protect her from, you did the next best thing. You sent her somewhere where she can be safe, even when it tore your heart out, because she's your daughter and you love her..." The man's voice became as certain as steel. "You did not abandon her."

Luna looked at Piercing, then squeezed his hand right back. He'd started out as her best friend when they started studying together, with a shoulder that was always available to cry on. In all the centuries that'd passed since then, she'd never encountered someone that she connected with as deeply as she did with him, and here was just another example of that. Whenever Luna found herself looking at the problem from one side, he'd somehow manage to get her to see things differently, and it was only then that she could solve it. It'd been that complementary manner of thinking that'd first drawn her to him romantically, even when they argued, she came away better off in the long run...

"I love you..." Luna said softly, turning her attention back to breakfast. Much as the news had shaken her, it was only the morning... Even if she was taking a personal day, there were plenty of things on her mind. All she could do was hope that she'd made the right decision. If she couldn't visit Orzel in person, asking about what was happening in her life seemed the next best option. While it was doubtful Piercing knew many of those details, he would at least have an idea what sort of work Orzel was doing... Perhaps that would be close enough.

Standing upon the sidewalk of one of Canterlot's innumerable streets, it would be hard not to mistake a man in a slate gray suit and tie as some sort of businessman, assuming he was even noticed to begin with. He stood with his back to the rising sun, hands tucked into his pockets, a cigarette dangling from between his lips, and a fedora strategically placed to cover his eyes. This particular stretch of sidewalk had become quite popular over the past year. Not just because it ran almost directly adjacent to the walls of Canterlot Castle, but also due to the fact that it provided the common man with an opportunity to gaze upon the now infamous 'Eastern Guard Tower', home to Equestria's newest and most controversial Princess.

Normally those that flocked to this vantage wore the attire of tourists, but there were just enough average citizens for the unassuming stranger to blend seamlessly into the crowd. Tabula Rasa was a man of average height, weight, build, and complexion. Outwardly ordinary in just about every way. A middle child, Tabula never excelled in school, nor had he done all that poorly either. That'd been the way of things for his entire life... His parents cared for him and loved him, but not to the extent they'd done so for his elder brother. The golden boy, the angel, he who could do no wrong... Then there was Tabula's younger sister, a nice enough girl, but for the unfortunate habit she'd developed regarding a certain 'herb'.

In their own ways, Tabula's siblings both monopolized the time of Mother and Father while he trudged along through life on his own. Through it all he remained quiet, not wanting to make a fuss, not going to anyone with his own problems. He was the middle child, the median, the average. There was always something more important going on, his family expected him to take care of problems himself, and so that was precisely what he'd learned to do. It'd started in third grade, when a snotty spell-caster took it upon herself to relieve him of his lunch money, so Tabula took it upon himself to relieve her of a fancy pocket watch she kept in her book-bag.

Tabula more than tripled the money he'd lost when he brought the watch to his neighborhood pawn shop, and the girl had gotten in quite a bit of trouble for losing such a valuable item. Of course, she rightly blamed him for the disappearance, but no one that'd seen the alleged theft could recall what the perpetrator looked like exactly. From that day forward, Tabula had always known that it was his averageness that would get him ahead in life... It'd been the same day he earned his cutie-mark, and his life's course towards a career in the criminal underworld was set.

For the rest of his school days he ran some of the most complex scams out there, everything from heisting term papers to blackmailing teachers. If a student wanted a grade changed, they need only look for the boy in gray... Typically it took them two or three attempts before they found him, and eventually he just hired someone to serve as an intermediary. He was all set to graduate high school and transition full time into a life of petty crime, safe in the knowledge that his average looks and build could shield him from virtually any criminal charge. Ironically, it was that very trait that'd made Tabula stand out to the Organization that would eventually become his employers.

They needed someone with his unique level of mediocrity, someone that no one could ever pick from a line up, someone who could pass the most highly trained bodyguards or security officers without notice. Tabula quickly became the best of the best, the cream of the cream, and in return for his various services he was paid quite handsomely. For nearly a decade he'd remained dedicated to his craft, seven years of moving from city to city, country to country, continent to continent, doing everything the Organization asked of him. It was the only time in his life where he'd ever actually excelled at something, but in that time he'd gotten married, had children of his own, and so he'd gradually left that life behind him. Unfortunately, much to his and his wife's consternation, he'd been forced to resume his career a year or so ago. Not nearly to such an extent as had previously been the case, but still...

The reasoning he'd been dragged out of semi-retirement was a deeply personal one. Father had been killed in a robbery, the same robbery in which Mother was shot in the back, paralyzed from the waste down. Tabula's compatriots in the Organization had been quite quick to apprehend the persons responsible, but they hadn't lived long enough to disclose their motives for the attack. The man briefly suspected they might've been his younger sister's hooligan drug addict friends, though Tree Hugger swore up and down she didn't know anything about it...

For as much as he might've disliked her taste in company, Tabula had to admit that he doubted his sister was capable of interacting with a truly bad crowd. She'd recently taken to spending her time in Ponyville, protesting outside some weapon's factory there, hardly the mindset of a violent criminal. Meanwhile, Tabula's brother Snap Shutter was off in some Zebrican backwater country with that high and mighty wife of his, all too eager to go on some moronic safari to photograph gorillas or some other animal nonsense... All while Mother struggled to so much as dress herself... Snap had even dumped his daughter, his own daughter on his sisters-in-law out in Ponyville.

Tabula and his wife had offered to take her in, he actually rather liked his niece, and she in turn got on well with his own daughters, but again the two brothers had failed to see eye to eye. Given that Mother required a great deal of care already, and he had children of his own to consider, Tabula grudgingly had to admit Snap probably had a point... Still, it ate him up to think what that girl was going through... Set aside because she 'wasn't important enough', because her parents had to make themselves martyrs for some stupid flea-bitten animals in a country on a continent that no one gave a rat's ass about... He should've been seeing to his own household first, but no...

It was because of Mother and his Niece's future that Tabula found himself stood on that street corner, in the shadow of the home of the most powerful family in the world. Honestly, he wondered just what went on behind those walls... Were the members of the Crown as tightly bound together as they led the public to believe, or were they just as screwed up and dysfunctional as everybody else. It didn't really matter, he wasn't here to wax philosophically on the merits of family.

With Tree Hugger in no position to care for her own flesh and blood, and Snap Shutter too busy to give a damn, once again it fell to Tabula Rasa to fix the problem himself. He'd taken it upon himself to acquire enough money to set Mother up with a live in caretaker, someone that could better tend to her needs. At the same time he was also putting together a trust fund and a college tuition fund, not only for his own children, but for his Niece as well. Snap Shutter and his wife were historically terrible with finances, and someone had to look out for the girl's well being. Such a gutsy child, she'd fit right in with the Organization, and Tabula had promised himself he'd never allow that future to come to pass... She deserved better.

"Lovely weather we're having today." A pegasus woman spoke up beside him, shaking him from his deeper thoughts. She was dressed smartly in a suit of her own, her eyes concealed beneath almost entirely opaque sunglasses. Tabula recognized her instantly, this wasn't the first time they'd done business before, though it was shaping up to be the most lucrative. Lucrative enough to at least finish setting up Mother's finances for the rest of her life. The woman held a black briefcase, broken up by polished brass furnishings, very high end judging by the look of it.

"Indeed, but it's best to keep an umbrella on hand... Just in case." Tabula hummed quietly, taking a drag on his cigarette. With seamless synchronicity, the two of them started walking out of the crowd and along the sidewalk, remaining within sight of the Castle walls. After a few minutes they were on a stretch of open concrete, no other pedestrians coming or going past them. Several posters for the upcoming Canterlot election were pasted to the side of a building, an old looking Prench bistro. Tabula briefly eyed the patrons seated at tables outside, but none of them stood out to him as members of the Opposition.

"Did you get what we asked for?" The woman asked quietly, waiting until after the bistro was behind them. Tabula's expression remained more or less calm, but he tucked his hand into his suit pocket. After a few moments he fished out an unassuming brass key, dangling from a simple leather key chain. The woman reached for it, but Tabula held it back.

"Ah ah ah... Money first." Tabula responded evenly, clasping the key in his hands behind his back. The woman nodded understandingly, glancing down at the briefcase before seamlessly handing it over. It certainly weighed a lot, enough that Tabula wasn't too worried about its contents. He'd gotten quite used to carrying briefcases filled with large sums of money, as well as other assorted things, as a regular part of his profession. Sometimes people tried to deceive him by filling the case with phone books, but not this woman... From the weight and feel of it, Tabula could safely deduce there were two-million Bits in hundred Bit bills stashed within. "Go to Storage Locker B on the second floor of Canterlot Central Station. Be sure you use them as quickly as possible, the security protocols have been changing randomly of late." The woman nodded simply, seamlessly taking the key from Tabula.

"A couple questions..." The woman started, typically Tabula would've ignored her and just walked away, but he had just been paid two-million Bits, and that entitled her to a few questions... Besides, she was his best customer, and in this line of work it was very rare to find a client that could consistently bring him good work. The man turned to look at her, puffing on his cigarette as they continued walking. "The people I work for are looking for the people you work for..." Tabula raised his hand to stop her. "I don't want the major players, just give me the name of someone that might be able to help my associates find a buyer for a certain item."

"What sort of item, and what sort of buyer?" Tabula asked cautiously, eyes glancing back and forth along the street. He didn't see anyone approaching them on the ground, but that didn't mean there weren't pegasi circling overhead, or spell-casters waiting to teleport in.

"The sort of antique a discerning collector of the darker arcane arts might enjoy." The woman's tone was just as cautious, and Tabula had to stop and think for a moment. He always hated when people wanted to sell magical items, especially those of an illicit kind.

Most of the people that got into that sort of deal wound up dead, except those that were very good, people like Tabula for example. Of course, there were plenty of people that dealt in artifacts among the Organization, but only if the item was genuine. There were plenty of people out there looking to find a 'buyer' of late. Most of them belonged to the Opposition Agents, operatives from SMILE or the Canterlot Royal Guard. Tabula pursed his lips, looking down at the briefcase in his hand.

He had enough money there for Mother, the goal had finally been achieved. Of course he'd have to turn over a percentage to the Organization, but that was just the cost of doing freelance work. He didn't owe this woman anything more than the key he'd already given her... Then again, just because he had enough money for Mother didn't mean he had enough money for the rest of his priorities.

"I assume there's a generous facilitator's fee in all of this?" Queried Tabula, to which the woman responded with a subtle nod. By now they were approaching another crowd of pedestrians. "My associates and I know a couple guys that might be interested." The man stated cautiously, narrowing his eyes at the woman as the crowd drew closer. "I'll leave you a list at our typical meeting spot... I expect to be paid, regardless of if you guys come to a deal." The woman appeared to mull over his demands, then nodded emotionlessly. "Alright then... Pleasure doing business with you."

With that Tabula walked ahead of the woman and into the crowed, briefcase of money in hand. He assumed the posture and gait of several other businessmen around him, and to the outside observer it would appear that the man in gray merely... Vanished into thin air.