Taking the Queen

Twilight started the phonograph up and let the piano and violin duet permeate the whole of the cell. It was a somewhat melancholy tune, though not inherently sad. To her, it seemed as a window looking back to a time before a tragedy of some sort and hoping for the innocence of such a time to return.

"Why do you want to listen to two cats fighting over ice cubes?" sneered Chrysalis. "This is dreadful!"

"How dare you!?" scolded Twilight. "I happen to love Passacaglia! This is a spectacular work. Just listen to those fugues!"

"Ugh. Classical music. So boring, bland and quiet. How can anypony listen to this without falling asleep?"

"Well, a lot of ponies do like classical music to help them fall asleep. It's very often calming, though that's not necessarily true of all classi--"

"Oh, spare me. It's all soft and supple with no bite to it."

Twilight kept her mouth shut. She didn't need to respond with words. She had a stronger response. She pulled the record off of the turntable and replaced it with one from a different composer. However, rather than placing the needle arm at the beginning of one of the tracks, she instead moved it to somewhere near the end. There was a short string section as the softer parts wound down. The, after a brief stint of silence, the woodwinds kicked on, accompanied by the strings. Then, the brass, then percussion, and as the whole thing came to a crescendo, the sound of cannon fire reverberated off the stone walls, followed by bells. As the music dipped down for the finale, Twilight smirked. "Just try sleeping to this. It's not going to happen, I promise you."

Chrysalis responded with "You can't control when I do and don't sleep," but Twilight could hear none of it as the brass had once more reached its crescendo, right before the percussion came back in. Chrysalis repeated herself twice, but was drowned out once more by the cannons and bells.

"I love that ending," smiled Twilight. "It's one of the best overtures in history, and it's just so full of energy!" She lifted the needle and returned it to the beginning of the track, where the strings began on their own a soft, soothing and breathy introduction that felt very official, yet hopeful. It would be several minutes before it reached the ending again.

"And yet, despite your love for it, you've returned to the boring section that looks like it takes most of the song."

"It's not a song," corrected Twilight. "Songs are sung by singers. You sing a song. This is a musical piece. There are no lyrics, only an instrumental orchestra, a battery of cannons, and a carillon."

"Yeah, all at the end because the composer couldn't think of putting anything interesting in the middle to keep ponies interested."

"I'll have you know that there's plenty of good music in the middle, and at the beginning. The violin section in the middle is beautiful and smooth."

"Garbage, then."

"It's not garbage, you're just jaded because your culture couldn't produce something so delicate."

"So today, you're just going to torture my ears with your country's greatest superweapon?"

Twilight rolled her eyes. "I was trying to introduce you to the finer parts of our culture. But no, I have more than just music for you to listen to. I thought you might like to see out into nature again."

"I highly doubt you'll let me walk outside at this stage in my punishment."

"Not yet, but I thought you might be interested in the realism of Claude Ponet." She pulled out a few prints of ponds with bridges, poplar trees, lily pads, and countrysides. "He was very much an impressionist painter, but he was also quite into realism, which I personally prefer. Lots of serene scenes with adorable little flowers. The impressionist side tells of so much peace that you can't help but lose yourself in the brushstrokes, but at the same time, the realistic touches make it look so familiar that you could step right into this picnic. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"Yes, it would," smirked Chrysalis. "I could devour all of their love, and I wouldn't have to listen to your pathetic drivel any longer."

Twilight frowned and sighed. "Perhaps Ponet wasn't the best choice. That was my fault."

"It was your fault," agreed Chrysalis. "Everything that goes wrong is your fault."

Twilight hadn't even heard that. She was looking through other prints of paintings. She owned some of the originals, and was allowed access to several more on top of that, and she could always commission more, but she didn't want to risk having them stained when Chrysalis spat on them. They were nice, and she wanted to keep them in good condition to look at them again.

Eventually, she pulled out one with deep blues. "This seems more your preference. Van Goght. He wasn't a pony, but he was a part of Equestria, and he was involved in the art movement."

Chrysalis turned her head to both sides, looking at it. "What's this even supposed to be?"

Twilight looked down to make sure she was holding it correctly, then back to Chrysalis. "It's a starry night. In fact, that's what he named it; Starry Night."

"Those are supposed to be stars?" she scoffed. "I thought that was swamp gas bursting into flame."

"No, they..." Twilight grunted in frustration. "Isn't there anything you like about this? It's a spectacular impressionist piece. Say one good thing about it, and we can do something else."

"Okay," smirked Chrysalis. "I like how the pillar of black flames are about to destroy the town. Soon after this picture was taken, all of the ponies that live in those houses were burned to death as the flesh was seared from their bones, killing them in the most horrifying and brutal way possible. Now, turn off that music and come fellate me like you do to your brother." She lifted onto her hind legs and pushed out her ovipositor. "This isn't goi--"

Chrysalis was knocked onto her back as something hard collided with her face. She could feel the impact radiating throughout her entire skull as she writhed on the floor.

"Oh, gosh!" exclaimed Twilight. "I didn't mean to do that! Are you alright?"

Chrysalis tried to once again suck up Twilight's caring, but it was no use. Her care was not being directed at Chrysalis, but at a book with a bent cover. It was the same book from two days ago. It was the object that had collided with Chrysalis' face.

"Come on," Twilight said, carrying the book away. "I know a licensed bookbinder who can fix your cover right up."