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The open book which was resting on the farmhouse floor between the two prone mares, with its pages being steadily nosed along by an orange snout -- that book possessed multiple distinguishing features. It featured far too many characters, all of whom were being introduced in a fashion so repetitive and droning as to make going over their vital aspect into the mental equivalent of having pony ears pressed against a hive. (This included the increasing dread as the listener awaited that first, inevitable sting, followed by roughly three hundred more.) Every chapter was of identical length, had exactly one character in it, and refused to let any of them interact. This didn't have much of an impact on the plot, because there wasn't one.
The binding was rather poor, the only attempt at cover art consisted of a stylized Sun and Moon, the volume had emerged from a print run of one, and yet the single most remarkable thing about the book was the fact that Twilight Sparkle didn't want to read it.
"Ah think we can move on t' Tussle now," Applejack proposed.
"Do we have to?" the little mare groaned.
"Gotta," the farmer countered. "All the way through, Twi. Can't miss a one. 'cause that's what you told me."
Having it read to her wasn't much of an improvement.
"Just how many people are attending?" Twilight demanded. "It can't be this many. They must have more important things to do in their own nations. There's always a crisis somewhere. Things which would force a few of them to stay home..."
"When it comes t' the expected guest list?" the farmer responded. "Amount y'have t' prepare for is 'all of 'em'."
The little mare's form wriggled against the floor. It wasn't so much an adjustment in position as trying to make a break for it in every possible direction at once.
"There could always be a crisis," Twilight semi-repeated.
"S'pose," Applejack allowed. "Don't cut down on the homework."
Just a little too hopefully, "We could always make a crisis."
The rising tones of warning vibrated their way through the shafts of sunlight which speared into the warm sitting room through open windows, where they did little more than disturb the dust. "Twilight..."
"Something harmless!" the small alicorn protested. "It just has to look bad!" Her legs were starting to straighten, pushing against the floor in a quest for the most momentary of height advantages. "Think about all the problems we've caused just by showing up, Applejack! Imagine what we could do if we tried to arrange something on purpose --"
"-- Twilight Sparkle."
It was, in many ways, a surprisingly credible imitation of the Princess. The dust even shook in the same way.
Twilight, grumbling all the way, sank back down.
"Stupid Zoology Conference..."
It was a biannual dinner, something which was supposed to be casual. The hosting duties rotated across the planet, the creation of the menu required the sort of culinary equations which had been known to drive chefs temporarily (more) insane, the guests were the leaders and powers within just about every recognized nation -- and this year, the Diarchy had made a point of requesting Twilight's attendance.
Well... the words had emerged into the world as a request. But when it was the sisters, it was just so easy to hear 'order'. There were times when Twilight felt as if the only real difference was the reason you weren't allowed to say no: the general field of 'really bad idea' versus 'treason', which was possibly more of a subcategory. And the only thing worse than hearing everything as an order...
"They want the guests to be comfortable with me," Twilight softly moaned.
"Well," Applejack unhelpfully pointed out, "y'are in the line of succession, Twi. Technically, anyway. So it don't hurt for people t' meet you. That way, they've got a better idea of who --"
"-- I have to give a speech," the little mare said for the sixth time.
The farmer sighed. A shift of ears subtly adjusted the hat.
"Before the dinner even starts," Twilight continued to repeat herself. "And they wouldn't even suggest a topic. Just... something which would help the room to feel like they knew me. Something personal."
No response. Those words had been said too many times before, and every previous attempt to counter them had failed.
"I've used up two reams of paper," Twilight said.
That, however, was new.
"Two reams," Applejack checked.
"Two whole reams." A frustrated slim left forehoof kicked out at the air. "Just on drafts!"
"A ream's five hundred sheets," the farmer disbelievingly noted. "You've completely filled up a thousand --"
"-- no."
"...no," Applejack checked.
"I kicked some of them into the trash when I saw how they were going. I didn't have to fill the whole page for that to happen."
"Oh."
"Three paragraphs can be enough."
"Got it."
"If you're good at spotting flow trends," Ponyville's self-assigned editor declared, "sometimes the first word is enough to make you stop..."
"-- Tussle," Applejack interrupted. "We're doin' --"
The words were abrupt. The full-body twitch somehow came across as less so.
"-- I think they're going to retire," Twilight said.
Applejack blinked.
"Say what now?"
"They keep calling me to the palace," the little mare morosely stated as her head dipped, wing joints loosening enough to splay feathers across the floor. "For little things. Like watching them review bills, or supervising Day and Night Court sessions. They wanted me to see how paperwork gets sorted. I keep thinking... they're going to retire. Step down from the thrones, and stick me with everything --"
The farmer snorted.
"-- y'kiddin'? Step down? Retire? Who's gonna manage Sun an' Moon? An' you know Luna. Even if they thought it was a good idea at the start --" another snort "-- for whatever Tartarus-chained fool reason that might be -- Ah give her two days without bein' able t' boss somepony around before she went to a tea shop an' flew behind the counter 'cause nopony was mixing stuff the right way. She's gotta be in charge of somethin' --"
"-- it's how I feel!" Twilight desperately protested. "Like they're trying to get me ready --"
"-- an' with the Princess?" This snort was strong enough to flip a page. "Two weeks on the outside. Two weeks before they both go nuts. There's gonna be a beach, maybe some plays, catch up on a book, an' then in two weeks, they'll both decide there ain't enough t' do. Ponies like that lounge around 'bout as well as they breathe fire. They ain't gonna retire, Twi. Ponies retire so they can get some time for personal stuff before they die. What's that mean t' those two? They're jus' makin' sure y'know the basics, 'cause Ah can picture 'em maybe taking two days off. Which was meant t' be a week, but Luna..."
Twilight knew it was the way Applejack felt. It couldn't be anything else. But what somepony honestly believed wasn't necessarily the truth. Twilight felt differently, and...
I'm not qualified.
I shouldn't have that much power. I mess up all the time.
We're Bearers. It took a while to accept that. We're supposed to save the world, and... I do whatever I can. We all do. But half the time, we're saving it from ourselves. Something we did. We've wrecked Canterlot's central shopping district just by trying to make gift returns.
Put me in charge, in a position where my mistakes mean that much more...
...the only thing worse than hearing everything as an order was the prospect of being the one who had to give them.
Twilight had her own view of the potential future: change. Applejack steadfastly maintained her own: the way things had always been. One of them was going to be wrong.
If I could just prove I shouldn't be trusted that far...
...something harmless, something where they'd just know I was the wrong pony...
That too was being repeated, if only to herself. Nopony else seemed ready to listen.
"Tussle," the little mare sighed. "Let's just do Tussle. That's a yak, right?"
Applejack nosed the page back, peered down at the briefing book. "Yep. One of their ministers. So let's see... says here he's a drinker. Pretty much anything, as long as it's alcohol. He ain't picky. He wants what you're servin', an' he wants it in a trough."
"Oh, lovely," Twilight dryly said. "Let's all picture what happens when someone from a species whose collective magical portfolio centers on destruction gets drunk. In fact, let's capture those pictures with a camera, because somepony's going to need a good look at the debris --"
"-- except for elderberry wine," the farmer broke in. "It's gonna be served at the Conference, an' y'can't let him have any. Can't even let him know the bottles are there. Or he'll be right offended, big-time. An' we're tryin' t' avoid that."
It was Twilight's turn to blink.
"Elderberry wine."
Applejack nodded.
"Why?" felt like a natural question. "It's the one flavor he doesn't like?"
The farmer's gaze moved across a few more lines.
"Says here that for yaks, elderberries are an aphrodisiac. Powerful one, too."
Normally, Twilight's first instinct in the presence of anything sexual was to blush: something which most ponies didn't get a look at because the fast-following second instinct was to look for a retreat point and for a mare who could teleport, that was 'anywhere!' But she was annoyed.
"Oh, good," the little alicorn sarcastically stated. "Drunken destructive yaks are fine, but at least we're drawing the line at drunken, destructive, and aroused yaks --"
"-- Twi," Applejack firmly cut in, "yaks still have arranged marriages. Some of 'em, at least, 'cause that's what it also says here. They can get out of it if they want. But there's a tradition. They have t' find some way of lovin' whoever they were matched with. And that's why offering anything associated with elderberries is an insult. If you tell a yak that his father stinks of elderberries, you're basically sayin' the conception needed some extra help. They don't take it well."
Twilight needed a moment.
"Then why is the Conference even serving the wine?"
"It's for the kudu."
"We're getting kudu?"
"Apparently."
Pony anatomy really wasn't designed to allow a mare to bury her head under her forelegs. Twilight still gave it a go until the joint pains set in.
It took a few minutes to finish with Tussle. Applejack turned the page. Squinted...
"Good news an' bad news," the farmer announced. "Good news is as of this mornin', we can skip this one. Bad is that the palace is probably gonna send out papers on the replacement later."
"We can skip one," Twilight checked. To have a portion of the torture postponed didn't feel quite so much like -- well, torture.
Firmly, "He's cancelled."
The little alicorn, caught in the presence of a temporal contradiction, frowned. "If he cancelled, then why would he even be in the book?"
The farmer winced. "Mah bad on the phrasin', Twi. He didn't cancel. He's been cancelled."
"His nation," Twilight tried, "cancelled his attendance on his behalf --"
"-- Saddle Arabian," Applejack stated, and added a little bit of forehoof slam against the floor. "One of their power brokers. Finagled his way into what was gonna be an ambassador post, t' the zebras. An' jus' before he would've set out, someone found a transcript of this speech he made, nineteen years ago, at a private meetin'. It was all 'bout zebras. The way he really an' truly felt about 'em, an' that is all Ah'm gonna say 'bout that part. Full text got t' the newspapers a few days ago. An' it got him cancelled today. Ain't no one who wants anything t' do with him now, an' especially no zebras."
Twilight blinked a few times.
"Cancelled."
"Yeah." Applejack was already nosing her way to the next part of the briefing book. "That's the word goin' around for it. Heard AB usin' it last moon --"
"-- it was nineteen years ago!" (It was two sets of eyes which widened at that, with even Twilight surprised by the speed of her own words.) "It's an old speech! Maybe he doesn't feel that way any more, Applejack! Maybe he wanted the ambassador post because he didn't feel that way any more, and he wanted to make up for it --"
"-- or maybe," the earth pony countered, "he still does, an' he wants t' make things worse between Saddle Arabia an' Pundamilia Makazi, hooves-on."
Twilight's eyes narrowed.
"People change," she said.
"Some do," Applejack allowed. "Others jus' pretend. There was this story in the paper, sports section --"
The next words were pushed into the world on something very close to a tide of anger. "-- I changed."
The farmer sighed.
Solemnly, with the hat shifting forward to suit, "Change is hard, Twi. When it's changin' yourself for real, who you are inside -- Ah think that can be rougher than gettin' the wings. It's sure harder than most ponies ever think 'bout. It's an old speech, Ah'll give you that. But... how could y'trust him? How do y'know? Somepony gives that speech, an' can y'really put 'em in a position of power again? The zebras were angry." With a faint, oddly dark smile, "He actually managed to tick off all one hundred kraals at the same time, so y'could say he did his part in bringin' 'em together. But they didn't want him there no more, none of 'em. They read his words, they were offended, an' -- that was it. Cancelled. Not jus' from being an ambassador. Can't show his face that much around Saddle Arabia." The darkness was increasing. "'course, bein' a male, at least he can show his face --"
Twilight had been forcing herself to breathe throughout all of it. One foreleg had been gesturing outwards from the rib cage a lot.
"It still feels unfair," Twilight quietly said. "Maybe he still is that way. But when you don't get to prove it, one way or the other... It's like saying you can never get a second chance. We've all had second chances, Applejack. We've all needed them, because every one of us has made mistakes. Why take that away from everyone else?"
The farmer slowly nodded.
"Didn't say Ah necessarily liked it," Applejack admitted. "Some folks deserve it, Ah know. But if it had been me makin' the call on the Saddle Arabian... don't think Ah would have let him stay. Not without some hard proof. But... everyone's quick t' cancel, these days. Ain't just the herd gettin' behind the first fool cause somepony kicks into the center, Twi. Where there ain't a herd, there's a mob. An' sometimes they're right -- but when they're wrong, try comfortin' whoever got trampled."
"The ones who deserved it," Twilight carefully countered, "still might deserve a second chance to go with it."
"Ain't like a prison sentence, Twi. Social shunnin' can be for life. An'..." A little more softly, "...there's stuff y'can't forgive. Things y'don't get t' come back from. Stuff y'can't forgive, an' that means they can't be forgiven..."
Which was followed by a snort.
"Not that some don't try t' work around it," Applejack added. "Got a quick story for you, if'fin you want t' hear it." (The alicorn nodded.) "Good. So there's this athlete. Not gonna give you the name, 'cause y'don't follow sports anyway. But story broke a couple of moons ago, 'bout the way she acts 'round stallions. With 'em, 'cause plenty of 'em will let a celibripony get away with a little more, and -- she didn't cross that line, over an' over: she wiped it out. But no one found out for a long time, 'cause it's hard t' get that first stallion t' talk. Others didn't come forward until after he did, an' then everypony was jus' 'Well, if they're all coming out now, it's gotta be a conspiracy...'"
Another nod, and Twilight waited.
"But it all went bad for her, at the end," the farmer continued. "She got cancelled hard. Didn't like that. She figured she had to wipe her slate clean before anypony would put her on a team again. But Ah think she still felt like she was too good t' do anything like apologize, 'cause that would mean admittin' she'd been wrong. So... she called a press conference. Everypony showed up, waitin' t' hear how she was gonna make it right."
"And what did she say?"
A little too neutrally, "She found religion. An' her faith said she was forgiven. So everypony else had t' forgive her, or they'd be goin' against what she believed. Which made anypony who didn't like her into the bad guys. Pretty easy, right?"
The blinks seemed inadequate.
Carefully, "...she found religion?"
Applejack nodded.
"...which one?"
Passively, "Minotaur."
Twilight thought about that.
"I don't know very much about the details," the alicorn slowly said. "But... don't minotaurs have some kind of ancestor worship?"
"Consultin', more like," Applejack politely corrected. "But ancestors, yeah. Talking t' the dead, an' lookin' for answers in the wind an' world."
"You can't prove that someone talked back," was the immediate argument. "You can't prove you've been forgiven --"
"-- oh, she tried," the farmer breezily said. "Did it right there at the press conference. Pushed out her dad. Who forgave her."
Several seconds of intense consideration eventually forced out an "Um... I'm pretty sure ancestors are supposed to be --" Twilight swallowed. "-- dead..."
"Ah did say 'pushed'."
"Um."
"Figure the unearthin' gave her some trouble. There was a trail of crumbling parts on the stage, an' 'parts' is as far as Ah'm gonna go. An' when he forgave her, she was kind of, let's say, translatin'."
"Um."
Applejack darkly grinned. "Said she found religion. Not that she bothered t' read any of it. Best way to make sure a holy book says what y'want it t' is to make sure all the words y'need come from your head. But she thought somepony would buy it, 'cause lots of people go that road when they get in trouble. They pick a faith. Then you're the bad one for not acceptin' it. An' Ah'll save you some time, Twi: she didn't change. She kept actin' the same, said she was sorry if anypony was offended by it, but she was forgiven." A slow head shake, and then green eyes hardened. "Ah think there's a few who try t' get away with more, when they think they're always gonna be let off the hook. Because there's no consequences for 'em -- well, none that they think count, anyway. But Ah say you've usually gotta earn forgiveness. At least show you mean it. An' for some things -- y'know the worst stuff is out there, Twi. Things so bad that once y'do any of 'em -- how could anypony ever trust you again?"
The alicorn needed a moment.
"Deeds," she finally allowed. "But when it's just words..."
"Offensive words," Applejack corrected.
It was Twilight's turn to snort. "Just about anything can be offensive to someone! The simplest, most generic terms can start fights! You can't call a griffon a herbivore, but it's fine for a pony! There's at least three Equestrian words which sound like curses or -- sexual terms -- in other languages, and that's before we get into how everyone keeps mistranslating 'buck'! And people are always taking things the wrong way! It doesn't even matter what the words are, not if someone wants to be offended and just twists things in their head! If they decide they're going to be angry, if they want to cancel you...!"
The farmer simply nodded.
"It's a weird world," Applejack said. "Ain't always fair. We do the best we can."
Twilight fumed for a while.
"Well," the little mare finally said, "at least I know I've never said anything offensive."
Applejack's jaw instantly clamped shut.
"I haven't."
Muscles went rigid beneath orange fur.
"If you think I've said something wrong," Twilight urgently tried, "then just tell me -- stop shaking your head! I want to know, Applejack! I'm sure I've never -- you can just say it -- oh, why do you have to be so mule-headed!"
Applejack grinned. Twilight's right forehoof slammed against her own mouth -- then, slowly, moved away just enough to permit speech, and the alicorn looked towards the open window. Something which had just allowed an odd breeze to pass through, as if the local air had been displaced in an outbound sphere.
"No offense!" she called out.
From somewhere beyond the border fences, a calm, rather laid-back "None taken," drifted in.
Twilight's eyes closed, and failed to do so in time to prevent her from seeing Applejack's grin transition to a smirk.
"I swear that's their magic," she muttered, and forced herself to look at her friend again. "That whenever you say anything which could be taken the wrong way, it summons them. There's always going to be one who can hear you, every single time..."
"Maybe so," Applejack thoughtfully considered. "But since it's magic, you'd still have t' figure for range. An' in Ponyville, that jus' gets you Muligan. Who always gives everypony as many do-overs as they need t' get it right. Another mule -- y'might not be so lucky. It's easy to offend, Twi. 'specially when folks are lookin' for it. An' that --" a powerful right forehoof slammed down on the briefing book's exposed right page "-- is why we're doin' this."
Twilight winced.
But the farmer wasn't finished. "Because there's gonna be a lot of powerful people at the Conference. For a casual dinner, an' Ah read this when y'sent it over last night. Whole thing, so Ah'd be ready t' go over it all with you. Tradition says y'can't start wars over what happens at the Conference. Can't have any national spats, because it's casual. No tariffs raised, no borders closed, 'cause everyone would know why. But it's still people involved, all types. It's still personal. An' that's why y'get a briefing book. 'cause there's stuff which offends 'em, things y'don't talk 'bout, sore spots y'don't poke at. Topics like quicksand: step in one, an' y'could drown before y'get out. This ain't jus' attendees an' how t' greet 'em with the right title. This is a list of everything which pisses off everyone. An' if Ah was goin' mahself, Ah'd memorize it. 'cause whatever Ah said an' did at that dinner is gonna reflect on mah nation as much as it does me. Same applies t' you."
I don't want to do this.
Any of it. Not the preparation, and I know that's what it is. Getting ready for when they -- stop.
I'm going to screw up eventually. If it doesn't happen at the Conference --
-- if they just step down, they tell me I have to take over everything and I make a mistake when they're not around to fix it...
...cancelled.
They're going to retire. Force me onto a throne. Maybe both, if they put them really close together.
Bitterly, overlaid with a heavy current of fear, They have to know I'm not right for it. They have to realize...
...I wish they would cancel me.
But the verbal end of that emerged as a rather weak "...I know."
Applejack's very fur seemed to soften.
"Relax, Twi," she softly encouraged, and a foreleg arced over the book, rubbed at Twilight's fur. "It's jus' the Conference. If'fin y'do make a mistake, still ain't nothin' big gonna come from it. Nothin' harsh. That's part of the idea..."
The farmer's focus abruptly narrowed.
"Twi?"
I could...
A little too casually, "What?"
"That's your 'Ah jus' had an idea' face."
With carefully-faked innocence, "...really?"
"An' -- exactly what was that idea?"
"It's about the speech," Twilight said. "About how to make it work. It's supposed to be personal. So I think I'm going to try -- talking to them. Just about all of them, in turn. Personally."
Honesty seemed to be peering a little too closely at slim features.
I could do it in alphabetical order. Get it organized --
-- no, that won't work. It's just about every nation. They won't recognize the order, because there's too many alphabets.
I can't set off an incident. Not when it's at the Conference.
The Princesses want them to feel like they know me. In case -- for when I take over.
But I can't take over. Not after everyone sees I'm unsuitable...
Offending people, seemingly by accident -- but offending all of them. Angering leaders, in an environment where they traditionally couldn't do anything about it. Twilight would still be a Bearer, and nothing about what happened at the Conference should touch her private life -- but the sisters would never consider trusting her with the thrones again.
She would have -- cancelled herself.
Yes.
"An' now you're smilin'," emerged with some suspicion.
"I like this idea," Twilight technically failed to lie. "I really do!"
Applejack's gaze was down to a pair of squints. Twilight forced herself to hold her position...
"...fine," the farmer finally said. "We're skippin' this one. On t' the next."
"Okay. And when we're done, I'll take the briefing book home," Twilight declared. "For more review."
"Thought y'didn't want t' read it," Applejack carefully said. "That's why we're doin' this in the first place."
"Oh, you know me!" Twilight breezily stated. "Lifelong student! I just learn the material faster when there's a teacher to initially guide the way. But after that -- it's time to hit the books! You made me see that, Applejack! I need to do this -- personally."
The suspicion didn't leave the earth pony's face: it simply migrated to the left eyebrow. And throughout the rest of their session, it never truly departed.
Twilight couldn't remember the last time she'd felt as if written words had just flowed from her, a river of verbiage streaming forth from her imagination. Something which would wash away a future she wanted no part of, keeping her at the level of responsibility she felt just barely up to occasionally managing and, incidentally, utterly drowning what was probably going to be a rather silly-looking set of regalia.
But it was all coming so easily. She had her bedroom to herself, because Spike had quickly realized that not only were the lights not going to go out for some time, but the scratching of the quill would continue deep into Luna's hours and she wasn't going to let him see any of it. The little dragon, muttering to himself in the non-language of the half-asleep, had dragged his basket off to somewhere else. And since then, it had just been Twilight, the briefing book, and the words.
She had to place the finished pages some distance from the actual desk. Her tail kept wriggling with delight, and it was kicking up something of a breeze.
It was all so easy. Here was a list of individuals, and here was a gathering of topics which you weren't supposed to discuss with them. Or mention. Or admit existed. Or, in the case of those whose passion turned towards their national sports, admit had happened in any way which the referees ever should have permitted.
The briefing book was a guide for how not to offend anyone -- if you wanted to treat it that way. Looked at from a more rational and future-regarding perspective, Twilight had been presented with a complete guide on how to piss off most of the planet.
So all she had to do was... make a speech. Drop a few innocent references here and there. Maybe more than a few. (Twilight was trying to keep it at a maximum of two per sentence, unless three or more would be funny.) Things which made it clear that she hadn't done the research or worse, didn't care. Whistles pitched at frequencies which only those waiting for something to go wrong could hear. They would be upset and, because it was the Conference, they wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
But the sisters would be there. Anyone who had real power would be in that room, so the alicorns were going to be present. They would hear all of it, and once they realized how badly it had reflected upon both Twilight and Equestria --
-- harmlessly! That was the best part! --
-- they would cancel their plans to have Twilight take the thrones.
So Twilight wrote it all down, and did so over multiple nights. (It was the first draft every time: there was just a lot to cover.) But then she ran up against the limits of her own memory, something which wasn't as near-eidetic as Pinkie's -- and it still wasn't a problem. She just transcribed a series of notes onto index cards: little mnemonic reminders of the whole. It reached the point where all she had to do was glance at the right sentence fragment, and the entire section of speech would materialize in her mind. And then she was ready.
Being cancelled by an outside party over something which had been taken the wrong way felt as if it would be a horrible fate. But essentially cancelling yourself -- that was safety. In this case, more than a little sensible.
And in the long term, it was freedom.
She was being brought in past the kitchens. A place which had been preparing meals for just about every sapient species known, and that meant some decidedly strange smells were trying to force their way into her snout. Twilight wasn't entirely sure what 'honey barbecue' was, but a glance towards the grilling racks had allowed her anatomy skills to identify most of the ribs.
Normally, it would have upset her. She didn't do well around the sight of cooking meat, let alone the stench. But she was happy. There was a single Solar guard at her side, and the rather pretty pegasus was escorting Twilight towards her destiny. Or rather, what was about to be a sudden lack of it.
From a certain viewpoint, the little mare was about to commit career suicide. But when it was a career you didn't want...
Twilight smiled, and waited for the final leap.
"I know it was a last-minute change in plans," Glimmerglow continued to apologize. "But the Princesses felt it was best this way! No awkward milling around with everyone during the seating phase, or trying to make small talk before the meal starts. You make your speech and when you're done, that's when the dinner begins."
The youngest of the adult alicorns nodded. Wondered if Cadance had brought Flurry and if so, just how many magical protections against temper tantrums had been woven into the cradle.
"There isn't always a speech," the Guard said. "Most times, but not always. So most of the attendees are used to waiting through something. They won't grumble too much. And this way..." With some audible awe, "It's like you're having a coming-out party. For the entire world. Their first impression of you, Twilight. So it has to be right..."
The Guard abruptly paused, in both speech and trot. Glanced to the side.
Nervously, "I'm not putting too much pressure on you, am I?"
Twilight happily shook her head.
"What's in the corona bubble?"
The little alicorn didn't even glance at the pocket of energy which was bobbing along next to her left flank. "Just some notes for my speech."
"Oh." The pegasus squinted. "I couldn't tell. It's a little -- bright..."
Of course it was. Emotional resonance could work its way into even the most basic casting, and Twilight was happy. Plus keeping the borders so bright had kept anypony from trying to get a preview of the text.
They moved through a few more of the back corridors, with the Guard taking occasional peeks at the map. Equestria wasn't hosting the Conference this year, and so neither mare had direct experience with the route. Twilight had been teleported to the site in the company of the sisters, who had then gone their own way. Neither Princess had dedicated too much time to asking why their companion was spending so much time in wriggling.
"Okay," Glimmerglow finally said. "We're just about backstage." Something which could also be picked up by twitching ears: there was a low babble of sound up ahead, and the tones were -- strange. So many different kinds of vocal chords, tongues and mouths and teeth in all sorts of arrangements, speaking in what had to be at least fifteen different languages --
"Which means I have to give you this now," the Guard added. "Be careful with it, Twilight."
Careful teeth delved into a palace-issued saddlebag. Eventually, they extracted a flat silver disk: one which had a thin black opal set in the center. Narrow silver wires limply hung from the low end.
Twilight nodded. A secondary corona bubble took the translator, carefully pressed the disc against her throat. She winced as the wires twisted, stretched and crawled their way up the right side of her head to the ear. One of the rarest enchanted devices, with only five known to still exist -- but the sisters had seen it as crucial for Twilight to use one on that night. She would be able to understand anything spoken, and whatever she said would arrive in each listener's ears as their most native language.
She had been gifted with the privilege of using it, so that anything she said during her 'coming-out party' might be clearly understood. Every tenth-bit of innocent, wide-eyed, unintentional offense, with no way to mistake it for anything else.
"One more thing." The Guard passed her a small circular adornment for her right front pastern: one which went nicely with Rarity's sparkling dress. "It'll tighten slightly when it's time for you to go out. You're okay to wait?"
The nod was equally happy.
"Okay," Glimmerglow decided. "I'll stay with you until then." With what was probably meant as levity, "I know you're used to going at it alone, but it's the Conference. Can't leave somepony in the line of succession unguarded!"
A lifetime of armored ponies watching every step I take.
Of citizens thinking I can solve everything, when I can't.
A problem which is about to solve itself.
And she waited.
The circlet tightened: a single, careful pulse against flesh and fur. Twilight politely nodded to Glimmerglow, then strode forth.
Shortly after arrival, she had gotten the impression that the Conference was being held at a high-class, extremely secured foreign hotel. She wasn't quite used to the idea of such a structure having a built-in theater, but... she was a long way from home. This was definitely backstage for something, and a number of props made for indistinct shapes in the shadows: obscured set backgrounds tried to take her around the world for a second time. But right up ahead was the source of that now more comprehensible babble (which seemed to be getting louder), there were curtains with a little light working between the place where the left and right extensions didn't quite meet. and right in front of her exit was supposed to be a section of stage, the comfort of a waiting lectern, and a life where she would never have to worry about being pushed into responsibility for an entire nation again.
She had to lower her head a little in order to get through the curtains: they were made from oddly heavy fabric, and letting her horn lead the way gave her passage a little more force. It was something which had her looking down at rich dark wood as the babble around her went dim, she followed the trail of brass nails all the way to the base of the lectern, evened out her notes within the bubble, looked up, and the entire planet hit her between the eyes.
Twilight would never quite be able to bring back a full memory of that room. It was huge, she knew that much. There were tables of all sizes, benches and chairs and hollowed-out tilted bowls for seats, and there were dozens of body types and shapes and species. The lights reflected from fur and skin, feathers and hair and, towards the back where there was a little more room, scales. There were beaks and mouths and eyes, there were so many eyes and every last pair (in those places where they were limited to pairs) was looking at her. Some of those eyes were wise, others were canny, the majority seemed to be visibly sizing up a very small mare, and every last gaze radiated strength.
It was a huge room, and the power gathered within had been overflowing it. But there was another way to make extra space, and the power used it: darting forth, forward, up onto the stage, went in through her pupils, and crushed Twilight's stomach into a tiny knot.
The emotional resonance of that sensation went directly into the field bubble.
It was that sensation which let her think again: the sudden pressure rushing inwards and the fragile contents taking the brunt of everything. And she realized that she was standing at the lectern in front of the leaders of nearly every nation in the world, they were all looking at her, expecting her to speak, this was her life before her, the chance to change her life and...
Twilight blinked. A very small bubble floated forward from her left flank, stopped at the top of the lowered lectern, and winked out. Something white, black, and crushed down to about the size of a tooth hit the angled paper rest area, rolled, and stopped against the bottom ridge with a sound like the world's smallest, most final avalanche.
She looked at the fused pebble of concepts. Searched within herself for that free-flowing stream of words, immediately finding drought-ended dry riverbed. Her soul seemed to be dropping into the deepest of the cracks.
"Um," Twilight said and, thanks to the disc, did so in every language at once.
...I can't remember what I was going to say.
I can't remember any of it.
There were inferences. Subtle hints.
I even managed an innuendo.
I was so proud of that.
Forget that I got it in by accident before I realized what it was. I didn't just recognize it: I left it there. That was worth something.
I...
She stared out at the room. At more than a hundred sapient beings, and couldn't manage to make eye contact with a single one. Twilight couldn't seem to remember what any of their names were. She'd gone through the entire briefing book time and time again, everyone and everything which would offend them, written up exacting links between those lists, woven them into the speech of a lifetime and she couldn't remember...
The little mare wasn't sure if she had blood any more. There was an odd chill within her, and blood was warm. Of course, her heart was still going, and it was clearly pumping something. The stage fright made for a nearly-ideal substitute, except for the way it seemed to be denying all oxygen from entering her brain.
...I can't remember...
...no. That wasn't entirely true. She didn't remember names. But she did seem to have retained some of the offensive topics. Exactly what went with whom, however, was a complete loss.
It had been her best chance...
A small, distant, and rather innocent part of her wondered whether a crushing case of temporary amnesia would be enough for the sisters to disqualify her from the thrones.
No. They'll forgive me for that. It isn't offensive enough. Just forgetting under pressure doesn't do enough damage, they'll decide it can go away with experience, and they won't see... how much pressure the regalia is. I can almost feel it pressing on my fur...
Time seemed to have slowed, just to make the pain last longer. It had only been a few heartbeats, and they were all waiting for her.
I can't connect topics with names --
Hope bloomed. In some ways, it had very little choice. The seeds took best at the intersection between desperation and stupidity. The night soil of the pony mind.
-- I don't have to.
(She was unaware of her own smile. The expression of a mare who'd just had an idea.)
No eye contact. Don't make it seem as if I'm looking at anyone in particular. Gaze out over the crowd, but not into it.
They'll hear the offense. Some of them probably even came in searching for it.
I don't need to pick targets, because anyone who thinks it's ammunition will just -- pull it in.
This can still work...
She looked over the lectern. Picked a place on the back wall, and directed her words towards the paneling.
"I was asked to make a personal speech," Twilight smoothly began. "In the spirit of that request, I would appreciate it if everyone here took everything I'm about to say..." and the smile got wider "...personally."
She slid her gaze along that line, making sure not to meet any eyes. Took a breath --
-- anything, everything in the world is offensive to someone --
"Your political position is purest idiocy."
-- and went generic.
The room wasn't silent. There were so many species within, some of which had their own ways of breathing. It was just that the inhales and exhales seemed to be cancelling each other out.
"I disagree with everything about those positions," Twilight told the gathering entire, doing so in every language at once. "Because to identify myself as associating with anything about them would make me into just as great an idiot. Which I clearly am not, because as I just stated, stupidity's most obvious identifier would be agreeing with you. I had to repeat that, because you're stupid. Your positions are inferior. Anti-intellectual, which goes with the local lack of intellect. Frankly, the only way you could have taken your current role of leadership was through exercising fraud within your system of advancement."
Which was when she remembered just how mixed the governmental systems were, if not which ones went with what nations. Democracies. Republics. Hereditary power, right of conquest and, because the world always needed that one country which everyone stared at, socialism. Twilight wasn't entirely sure what socialism was and based on all the Canterlot arguments she'd heard against adopting it, neither was anypony else.
More generic...
"Which would mean putting yourself ahead of the qualified candidate by methods most foul," she added. And a mare who had recently been proud of herself for a single accidental innuendo reached deep within and found "Just for starters, I have proof that in the first competition ever entered?" With the perfect peace of inner desperation, "Your winning sperm cell cheated."
There was no response from any part of the room. She told herself there couldn't have been and shifted her gaze to the right a little, just because.
"Of course, my side has done nothing wrong," she off-hoofedly told them. "Ever. You might say that there were some faults, but do you know what I call those? False flag operations! The actions of deep-cover operatives whose only purpose was to instill themselves into the power structure over generations before allowing their clear incompetence to make us look bad. Really, anything we've ever done which could be perceived as a flaw?" Twilight deliberately sniffed. "That was you. Every time. You really thought we didn't know?"
Was it going to be enough? She had to go more offensive. Which topics were going to set off the most sapients? What were they truly passionate about?
"Additionally, your sports team is incompetent," Twilight added, sliding her unfocused gaze from one end of the wall to the other. "And we all know your greatest player was using illicit methods! Only someone so stupid as to support your previously-stated idiotic political positions would ever believe their so-called talent was real! I have proof of their deception!" The smallest mare in the huge room briefly dropped her tones "I'm just not sure I can talk down far enough to explain it to you. Intellectually down, of course. Since you're stupid."
And still they were silent.
She didn't understand that. Twilight had placed pauses in the planned speech, all the better to accommodate the expected bursts of outrage. She had to go deeper. No matter what Rainbow said, there were more offense-inducing subjects than mere sports. What was on the next tier?
What are the two things you're never supposed to talk about with another species unless you already have someone as a friend?
She knew.
"Your religious beliefs are false! Utter blasphemy, which guarantees you will end up in a negatively-themed region of any prospective afterlife!" And because she had to make sure she got everyone, "Which includes you, of course. Why did you think not having a religion would let you off so easily? But really --" and she quickly turned her head, just enough "-- you? With your silly little system of repetitive actions and words meant to convey faith in a greater power? Ask me about what's truly listening. Just ask. No, wait -- don't bother, because it and I have something in common: we're both ignoring you."
Another sniff.
"Because, as previously covered -- which your attention span may be too short to recall -- you're stupid." And with one side of the equation so thoroughly covered...
"Of course, your faith has rules for having sex." Her own laugh almost didn't feel forced --
-- sex.
What do I know about having sex?
Her intellect briefly wrestled with the results from a lifetime of shyness and near-terminal self image problems, then gave up and attempted the hormonal equivalent of dividing by zero.
Um.
Back to Rainbow.
What was it she said to that one stallion...?
"Which you don't need to worry about, really," Twilight reassured the leaders of the world. "Because subjectively speaking, your personal appearance is just so unappealing that you would have no choice but to fornicate yourself. And your genitals would be so repelled by the prospect that, rather than allow that to happen, they would fall off."
How many species were in the room again?
"Of course, you don't have what the rest of us would consider as normal genitals," she told a random point of air. "Yours saw it coming on an evolutionary scale and fell off in advance. Which makes your absent genitals precognitive. And smarter than you."
Why aren't they talking? Yelling? Moving to storm the stage?
Memory sparked, sent off half a flare. She seized it.
"Your previous generation emits the olfactory signature of ancient seed-bearing fruit!"
Nothing.
I know what horrified silence sounds like. I'm a Bearer! I've caused more horrified silence than --
-- I just realized that I also know exactly what an angry mob moving in to storm a stage sounds like.
From experience.
I should probably be worried about that --
-- the two things you're never supposed to talk about with another species are sex and religion! Everypony knows that! So what's left?
"The mere pursuit of your most loved recreational activity makes the participants assume a sexual proclivity which you find offensive!"
Only based on the lack of reaction, they didn't. And possessed by the spirit of desperation (which was doing its best to substitute for that of creativity, and having a rather hard time of it), the little mare abandoned that which would kick the ribs of everyone else, and went directly for something which would have offended her.
"I've read your nation's so-called signature book and found it wanting!" Her right forehoof kicked at the base of the lectern: the pebble almost jumped accordingly. "Do you call that the best literature your country can produce? I've been a librarian, and I kept track of how many times it was checked out! Do you know what happens, when a so-called book sits on the shelf by itself for year after year, because it's incapable of luring anypony to pick it up? I tried to give it a pity read! I smuggled it into somepony's saddlebags, in the name of charity! And the saddlebags brought it back!"
Still nothing.
And she went for the last resort. The thing she knew she shouldn't do, the dropping of the final straw, that which stood a chance to violate the supposedly consequence-free nature of the Zoology Conference -- but there was no other choice. Her head began to turn to the left again. All she had to do was randomly drop her gaze after the final words.
To identify a specific target for this -- it might destroy her in the eyes of those from whom she had once longed for approval, and rightfully so. But she had no other choice. It was this or the thrones: she was convinced of that. She had to be cancelled.
Twilight reared up, supported herself on hind hooves alone, gestured wildly with her forelegs as frantic saliva glands added spittle to the final salvo.
"I disapprove of your entire species! It is the single most ridiculous thing upon this planet, and common sense dictates that it should not be on the planet at all! There is no rational reason for it to even exist, and my dearest wish on this night is that every single member of it voluntarily chooses to go extinct --"
And with that, she dropped her gaze. Let her eyes fall onto a random target, like the blade of the social guillotine which was about to cut her off from the line of succession.
Two wide, large-irised, fully-locked gazes stared at her.
One set of eyes was purple. The other was dark blue.
The oldest, largest alicorn (and Twilight was suddenly just very aware of how very large that pony was) seemed to have something of a heat haze rising from her elaborate dress. A few of the more delicate pieces of fabric were already beginning to darken with impending char. Meanwhile, the younger of the sisters, and the one known to have a temper -- her drink had frozen. Along with a good portion of the table, and rather a lot of the surrounding floor.
Normally, any area caught up in the actual center of sibling anger would tend to form a fog bank. In this case, there was a cloud rapidly forming near the ceiling. It was surprisingly large, at least when compared to the room. It was dark. It was also starting to crackle.
Twilight opened her mouth. Several impeding syllables, including the always-reliable time-buying forces of 'um' and 'er', evaluated the situation and decided the only sensible way out was through group verbal suicide.
Outside of the ions getting ready to discharge, there was silence. Complete and utter silence. It was the sort of quiet in which it was possible to hear atoms die, mostly as a preview --
-- and then the explosion went off.
It reached Twilight's twitching ears as an explosion: any sound in the wake of its utter absence would have done so. But she was wearing the translation disc, something which was struggling to keep up in the wake of so many outbursts. What arrived within her mind seemed to be repeated, the same thing over and over, as if the magic had gotten stuck and in the process, broken. It was trying to render not just the verbal, but stomping hooves. Clacking beaks, palms which were slamming together over and over, tentacles wringing against themselves and helpless puffs of smoke surging from the very back of the room --
-- and then it all resolved.
And it was still the same result.
"Every time!" someone crowed from the far right. "We're going to do this at every Conference! A new tradition!"
"It was worth coming from the Burning Lands for this!"
"Encore! Bow! Curtsy!" A brief pause. "...what do ponies do -- oh, thank you. Curtsy! You've earned it!"
And from the table right next to the sisters, "You two didn't tell us she was funny!"
The little mare stared out at them all. At nearly every sapient species in the world, virtually all of whom had been united in laughter. Because just about any word which existed could be interpreted in an offensive way -- unless you were utterly convinced they had all been directed at somepony else.
They were having the time of their lives. Stomping and clapping, applauding, those who possessed the spinal alignment for it were nearly doubled over, and the only exceptions were two mares who had just noticed the cloud and were trying to make it disperse.
(The final adult alicorn in the room, moving at the speed of experience, was busy pulling an infant's pram towards the closest exit.)
"Every year from now on!" someone shouted. "We open with a comedian!"
"Several!" another sapient didn't quite protest. "The best from all of our nations! I already know who I'm bringing!"
"And this is who might take over?" another laughed. "Thank Sun and Moon both, because now I'm looking forward to it! She's going to be so much easier to deal with! Finally, a pony who has an actual sense of humor!"
There was a detail lost in all of the mirth. The expression on the face of the little mare upon the stage, with her body almost lost behind the lectern which had failed to shield her from any of it.
It had been Twilight's best chance. Perhaps the only one. And this...
...she had to fix it.
"I wasn't trying to be funny!"
She wasn't sure they had heard her, especially not through all of the stomping and -- whatever the tentacles were doing.
"I wasn't! How can you even see that as comedy? I'm telling you that I wasn't -- you can't think -- you have to listen to me, you can't just be locked into your own perspective, I'm the only one who knows what I really meant and you --"
It felt as if they were just laughing all the harder.
"-- why are you all being so mule-headed?"
And then there was an odd breeze in the room, something which had nothing to do with the stubborn cloud. It was as if a great amount of air had just been displaced outwards in an outbound sphere.
Multiple outbound spheres.
Twilight's next words were instinctive.
"...no offense?"
They were also too late.
Mr. Rich had a saying: something about how any time a business owner had to sneak into their own building via the loading dock, it was probably safe to assume something had gone wrong. Twilight's home didn't even have a loading dock. She could teleport, but her usual designated arrival point featured a window two body lengths to the right, and she was fully sure that the steadily-marching triple line of protesting mules would be able to see the arrival flash. The volume of the endlessly chanted slogans would then increase accordingly.
The little mare cowered deeper within the shadows offered by a shielding building, stared out into sunlight and picket signs and endlessly-trampling grey hooves. Sighed.
"How long are they going to keep this up?"
"Another two weeks," the requested consultant (who was hiding with her on the right) said.
"Two weeks," she groaned. "On top of the two weeks it's already been."
"At least." The expert shrugged. "You know how it is. They're kind of stubborn."
Twilight found the strength to turn her head. Stared at him.
"I can say it," Muligan Wootton declared in that casual, relaxed voice. "But I've learned to let it just slide off my back. Some of them haven't. So another two weeks, at least. And then they'll be ready to hear an apology. Same as always."
"So I'm not cancelled."
"Nope. Not unless the palace does it."
Another, deeper sigh. "They won't." Cancelling Twilight would mean no longer talking to her. A lack of communication meant the recent thrice-weekly sessions of having the sisters mutually lecture her would be over.
Luna occasionally needed to have 'fun' defined. The dark mare had decided getting to shout at Twilight about proper behavior and responsibility was 'fun'. Twilight wasn't sure if that was true fun, especially since she personally wasn't having it. And she still didn't feel like she'd done enough to escape the thrones, not when so many leaders were asking if they could negotiate with her.
There had also been an invitation to be the opening act for the kudu prince's upcoming birthday party. She wasn't sure how to feel about that.
"This is horrible," she dejectedly sighed. "The worst thing ever. I'm going to remember this every day for the rest of my life, and it's always going to feel just this bad..."
A grey hoof cheerfully rumpled her mane.
"Don't be such a pony."
"Don't be such a --"
"-- no offense."
"...none taken."
Author's Note
The name 'Muligan' was suggested by Midknight Defender and is used here with thanks.
