Taking the Queen

The ponies of Canterlot made way for Chrysalis to walk by unhindered. A month ago, she would have reveled in it, as it would have made her feel royal. The citizens stepped aside so as not to block her. Now, however, it just made the cable attached to her leg feel heavier. She was considered a dangerous criminal; a monster unfit to walk among them. Spiceberry could tell that she was feeling tense and placed a hoof on her shoulder. It did little to detract from the countless eyes on her, but knowing he was beside her did make her feel a bit better overall.

“Is it much further?” she asked, leaning down to whisper to him.

“It’s the building with the red awning,” he answered back. “We’re almost there.”

She took a deep breath. Two more doors to go, and she could be inside, in a place where everypony’s eyes would be pointed away from her. As they crossed the street, she could barely keep her hooves from shaking. She just knew that, were the guards not following her, these ponies would have at her. At the very least, they’d call the guards, but she would not be surprised in the slightest to find out that beneath their fancy blouses, at least one was carrying a dagger.

As they stepped through the door, she released her breath slowly. A greeter approached them immediately. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t let her come in.”

“Why not?” asked Spiceberry. “She’s here on behalf of Princess Twilight.”

The greeter lowered his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s not my decision. It’s just my job. I’m not allowed to grant you entrance, or any changelings due to the damages caused the last time they were here. I’m sorry.”

Spiceberry snorted, pulling out a small scroll. “I was going to offer you this writ signed by the princess, but if you’re not allowed to make the decision on exceptions, then I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for your supervisor.”

“Right away, sir,” muttered the greeter, slinking away. He almost looked hurt when he came back a minute later with a better-dressed stallion.

“I’m the curator here,” he said, nodding. “What’s all this about an exception?”

Spiceberry looked to the greeter, then turned to the curator. “Please understand first and foremost that I mean no ill will to your staff or your gallery. It is not my intention to start a fight. We just want to look at some paintings and sculptures. We have a letter from the princess that should explain it all.”

The curator accepted the writ and looked it over, having pulled out a pair of reading glasses. When he was finished, he returned it. “I think we can make an exception this time. Do note, however, that you are responsible for any damages caused by her. You will understand, of course, if we have one of our security guards follow your party for liability reasons...”

“If that’s what it takes,” nodded Spiceberry, passing over a few bits to pay for their party’s entrance. Once through, they were joined by a security guard equipped with a small cudgel and a pair of cuffs. He looked miniscule in comparison to the armed guards, but they were finally going through.

The gallery was practically empty of ponies already, made even more open by the ponies that left when they saw Chrysalis. A few of them stayed, some gawking and whispering amongst themselves, others turning briefly and, seeing the sheer number of guards, went back to browsing.

"So, what do we do here?" asked Chrysalis, looking around.

"Just look," answered Spiceberry. "Or, if you want, we can discuss one of them."

"Don't touch," added the security guard.

Chrysalis looked around and found a painting on the wall. She approached and examined it from behind the stanchion. It was a semicircular red smear, surrounded by splatters of every colour. She stared at it for a moment, then cocked her head to the side.

"What about this speaks to you?" asked Spiceberry, smiling up at her.

"It confuses me," answered Chrysalis. "What's it supposed to be?"

Spiceberry scratched the back of his neck. "It's abstract. It's not supposed to be anything. It's supposed to represent an emotion in some way."

"I've tasted a multitude of emotions," grunted Chrysalis. "None of them tasted like this. What's it supposed to represent?"

"An excellent question," nodded Spiceberry. "I have no idea. I'm not fond of abstract pieces like this."

"You just don't understand it because you're uncultured," spat a noble. "It clearly represents the pain that the artist felt."

Chrysalis looked at the painting again. She didn't see it, but clearly, this mare that had interrupted did. "Pain from what?"

The noble scoffed. "I'm not going to stand here and explain it. You'll just have to figure it out."

As she turned around, Chrysalis spotted another painting in another section, hidden from her view when she walked in. This one depicted two wolves fighting each other atop a crag in a realistic style.

"You like this one?" asked Spiceberry, a bit unsure about the painting, himself.

"I do."

"I'm not a violent pony. I think fighting for dominance over others is a waste, and that we'd be better off elevating each other."

Chrysalis shook her head. "This isn't a fight for dominance. This is to the death. The winner's prize will be surviving."

Spiceberry looked closer at the painting. "What makes you think that?"

"The environment is barren," explained Chrysalis. "This is either far away from where they live, or the land has been spoiled. their prey is gone, and they haven't eaten in days. Their bodies are thin, bony and desiccated. Look at their eyes; they're desperate. They need to eat, or they both die."

Spiceberry looked again, and he saw that she was right. "The loser will provide sustenance to ensure that the winner goes on. Huh."

"That's totally wrong," sneered the noble, coming back. "They're fighting over a mate. They both want to father a litter of pups, and that's the prize for the winner."

"This one does have a penis," pointed out Chrysalis. "I'll accept that he wants to be a father. But the other one can't father anything."

"Why not?"

"Because she wasn't painted with a pair of testicles."

On closer examination, the wolf on the right, the one who seemed to be winning, had breasts hanging from her belly.

"Well-spotted," clapped a donkey behind them. "This is indeed a fight for survival."

"And what makes you so sure?" snapped the noble.

"I painted it. They're a brother and sister, actually. They were hunting over the cliffs, and the way back collapsed. It's a long way home, and she's going to be the only survivor of the three that left. The other was buried under some rocks, but that's a different painting, hanging in a different gallery..."