Manehattan construction, as seen by four kirinby publiqChapters1SSRS + 2 moons, 5 dawns1SSRS + 2 moons, 7 dawns (part 1)1SSRS + 2 moons, 12 dawns1SSRS + 2 moons, 23 dawns1SSRS + 2 moons, 7 dawns (part 2)1SSRS + 2 moons, 5 dawnsSSRS = The summer solstice after speech was restored 1SSRS + 2 moons, 5 dawns As of right now, we are in a fireproof train car with furniture most uncomfortable. Most uncomfortable furniture? It’s incredible how quickly our lexicon atrophied. No, not lexicon. Our vocabulary remains intact as ever. Usage, phrasing. Sentence formation stilted even a full year later. If Autumn Blaze wants me to write this logbook using “details and dialogue for easier translation to historic theatre,” I’ll help her in any way I can. Music history was the performance I missed most under the influence of that accursed stream. Who knew any of us living in the village would be invited to the writers’ room rather than divide ourselves neatly into performers and audience? There are two classes of kirin: those who perform and those who observe, but nopony exclusively belongs to one or the other. Dear Autumn, here’s a detail to follow your dialogue: my next thought was to imagine your voice instructing me to completely fill in the appropriate bubble of the progress meter and make my mark dark. I shouldn’t rag on her too much. Rain Shine encouraged her mission to produce new musical histories, after all. The curtain music and Fluttershy’s introduction to the history she plans to debut upon our return both slam, though the climatic song is pedestrian. Is that a synonym for boring? Rain Shine did not only encourage Autumn to task me with making the project log serve as the scratchboard for a future musical. She also asked me to annotate this journal with explanations of kirin aphorisms during our return. Let seeing this remind me to annotate cultural translations as I review my notes. This is my reminder—as if pointing out the obvious philosophy in the prior paragraph wasn’t enough of a wake-up call to myself. Anyway, if this mission is successful, Rain Shine would appreciate the cultural annotations to ease in preparing the musical for export to Equestria. The desert scenery outside sure is conducive to writing. Once a kirin has seen three or four cactus groves, they have seen them all. All that sand would be terrible for our scales! Oceans of ablation scouring sand to erode our beautiful scales. Woah. Seeing how jumbled my thoughts have been, perhaps less conducive to journaling than I assumed. Think through the steps, Springy. Springy. Oh, how I hate that name! The proper truncation is Spring-G. School was before silence fell, my graduation coincident with the last kirling crop. I hope I remember. Step one: why am I writing all this? Basic project log Spark my own memory when I stumble upon this journal many years from now Memos for a possible musical history [thank you, Autumn Blaze] Commentary on the explanations for ease of export [assignment from our dear leader] Step two: what is this mission? One of the Ponyville missionaries who convinced Rain Shine to listen to Autumn and restore our speech is opening a branch of her store in Manehattan. After learning of our metallurgical skills, she contracted with our village to create an iconic storefront for the new shop. Pure metal to stand out in its subtlety. Myself, Winter Flame, and Pumpkin Smoke are on this journey. I’m here as the expert in fruit. The other two are experts in metals. Woah! That cactus just passed by far too close for comfort. Anyway, we will spend about half a moon in Manehattan. Our lodging and foundry are supposedly about eight blocks—whatever those are—from the work site. We were supposed to spend three-quarters of this moon there, but we delayed our departure to greet the first kirling to arrive since we silenced ourselves. We’re three kirins; we can handle the deadline. Step three: today Before embarking on the train, it was time to say goodbye to the village. The three of us stood between Rain Shine and Autumn Blaze between the central fountain and the social hall. Looking past the main building, the thatched roofs of our huts were our reminder to remain civilized. When one burns down, neighbors can take them in for a night to rebuild; when they all burn down, we’re in trouble. So be the cooling stream to the emotions of our neighbors. The rest of the village formed a cohesive herd between us and the hall—“beer garden,” as one of the Equestrian missionaries called it during her visit here. As the fountain’s shadow struck noon, the herd instinctively parted to reveal the herd’s newest member and his mother. A green and gold kirling faced away from the crowd to suckle from Maple Brown. His golden scales matched his mother; his pea-green coat could have been gifted by none other than Forest Fall. But, blissfully unaware of the excitement, he continued to enjoy the concentrated lipids and minerals that would make his carapace grow strong. “Greetings and goodbyes,” rang the voice of our leader. It was only for a moon, yet we were the first kirins to set out for an extended departure in many, many moons. Multiple years, all compressed away from our memories. a.k.a. The nasal scales I now stood face-to-face with Maple Brown and felt her orange flame on my maxillary scales. Her meaning was unambiguous: “I know you’ll represent us proudly.” I returned a cool orange flame of my own to reinforce that we all found her son beautiful. A wonderful new addition to our village after so many moons of stagnation. Nopony went in; nopony went out; nopony new to change our same old routines. “He’s far too content to Nirik today, isn’t he?” I ask. “At least for today,” she answered. I blew a gentle flame across her backplate to gift her the extra energy she would surely need before stepping away to let my companions make their greetings. The next kirin for me to greet before we headed out was Cinder Glow, my older sister. She shocked me with an intense blue flame of greeting. Was she ready to care about me this deeply after the fight that shut us down in the first place? Even more shockingly, I—I returned a blue flame. Was her face just as abuzz with energy as my own? “You’ll have a kirling by your side when I return, won’t you?” “You best know it,” she retorted before stepping forward to blow orange heat onto my backplate. Blue flames and now backscratching? We—I blew my flames over her backplate to complete the cycle—truly have reconciled. When on our best behavior, there is an extra warmth between our kind. Solidity of musculature and scales to support the flames. The thin blue flames had unmistakable meaning: neither one of us remembered why we had been sisters divided when silence visited our village. “Enough dilly-dallying,” said Rain Shine, “I cannot risk you crossing the desert at a gallop to meet the train.” OK, she did not actually say that, but Autumn did request that I include detailed dialogue, after all. Mostly, “dilly-dallying” is outside her typical lexicon. She probably said something closer: "I see you have all said your goodbyes to your loved ones. They will return sooner than you expect.” Autumn held the fronds covering the entrance to the cavernous shortcut in her telekinesis. Pumpkin Smoke entered the cave first. Before he stepped inside, Rain Shine used her unnatural height to her advantage and caressed him in a neck hug before running flames down his spine. A gift of agape he could not return. Instead, he nuzzled his mane into the tufts behind her hocks. Next was my turn. “Bring back some apples, won’t you?” shouted Autumn Blaze, wisely chiming in before she could ruin the moment. Instinct kicked in and my face was buried in Rain Shine’s shoulder. Not since I was a kirling have I rubbed my face in another kirin’s hock tufts. Not since three minutes ago had I felt a loving orange fire across my topline. “If you remember, keep an ear out for details on next year’s fruit farmer’s convention,” she requested softly, “I think the orange pony mentioned something about Fillydelphia, but I cannot remember the dates. You could do well with solo travel.” “I won’t fail you,” I replied before stepping to follow Pumpkin Smoke into the tunnel. The desert was exactly as expected except even hotter. As warm as constantly having flames on your back? Yes. However, the fur parts of our coats were heated, too. More like being a nirik without being so amped I no longer feel the prickling. At least Rain Shine slipped maps into each of our saddlebags while she hugged us. Project status: starting once the train arrives in Manehattan 1SSRS + 2 moons, 7 dawns (part 1)1SSRS + 2 moons, 7 dawns (part 1) “Woah! I’ve never seen a unicorn like you before,” our voices simultaneously bleated in surprise. Our, in this instance, referred to myself and the project manager. Me, I can understand being confused for a unicorn by a pony who has never seen a kirin before. The project manager? Her coat was a dazzling alteration of white and black. From what little I have seen of normal Equestrian ponies and their unicorns, their coats are solid and pastel. Absolutely not black, let alone filled with white stripes. “Puffy mane and branched horn: does that mean you can levitate more things at once?” she asked. Despite being the boss mare for the project, she was no older than I was when our village entered stasis. Emotionally, we’re probably the same age, if I’m being honest. Probably her first summer working as a fully-grown mare. “Branching is for heat dissipation,” I inform her. “You Equestrian unicorns have better telekinesis than us kirins.” “Qilin? Is that the breakfast cereal you eat to cultivate such puffy manes?” I was glad that my role was not directly under her command. No, she wouldn’t egg me on to become a nirik. Rather, we’d get nothing done. Maybe I’d become a nirik once a week, but the rest of the days, we’d be too busy attempting wittiness to do any work. “Key-Ren,” I enunciated. “You know, the fourth breed of pony: earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, and kirins. We’re also partially dragon,” I said to conclude the brief education session. Before our banter could continue, a brown earth pony stallion and Rose Lumen stepped into view. Rose Lumen? If it wasn’t her, it was another kirin with her same pink scales and lavender mane. Was this the business trip she has been on all this time? “I see you’ve already met Katiti,” said the stallion. “Most ponies know me as Budget Bill. Some few ponies call me William. Katiti is my project management intern. I’m letting her hoof run this as much as she is able. If you need my expertise, both Rose and Katiti know exactly where to reach the address on my business cards you can find scattered everywhere.” So it was Rose. I bet she was here to sketch site-specific plans for us to follow. Now that it was her turn to give a formal introduction, Katiti visibly tensed her posture. “Hi, I’m Katiti and I’m the project manager here. I briefly studied at the Manehattan Alchemical Academy for engineering before discovering my passion for keeping my classmates on track during group work and transferring over to the Polytechnic. I think you’ve never seen a zebra before. Yes, we are just ponies—have unicorn zebras, earth zebras, and pegasus zebras. When you meet other zebras, our names commonly start with Z, K, or Mw. K zebras, like me, have broad and bold stripes. Mw zebras are covered in delicate line art. Z zebras have such fine detailing that they look grey from a distance with bands of light and dark gray depending on the density of the fine stripes. A pleasure to meet you, as long as you don’t call me Stripes—all my friends already have that nickname.” Bill’s expression said it all: “we’ll work on that later.” Pumpkin, Winter, and I lined up for our incendiary greeting from Rose. Katiti turned to Rose to observe, “you must be the fourth pony Bill mentioned.” Rose nodded and motioned for Winter and Pumpkin to follow her. Katiti—don’t call her Stripes—followed Bill out of sight. Project status: Optimistic. Many hooves make light work. Our cloven hooves aren’t twice as fast as a pony, contrary to what some may believe, but we are a bit more nimble with our feet. I like this zebra. She seemed to imply that there are more of them on the far side of Manehattan from where we’ll work. Perhaps we’ll see some; likely we won’t. 1SSRS + 2 moons, 12 dawnsSomething has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.1SSRS + 2 moons, 23 dawns1SSRS + 2 moons, 23 dawns Today was the project sign-off day for us. Last week, we sent a telegram to Ponyville that our work should be ready in about five days including clean-up. The ponies evidently wanted to see our handiwork as soon as we completed it, as they did not wait for the cleanup days. As it turns out, the orange missionary is the matriarch-in-training in charge of the store. She did not bring her yellow flying companion. Instead, she was accompanied by a white unicorn whose mane alternated from violet to ultramarine as the lighting made its subtle changes. We greeted one another on the sidewalk, the intended vantage point to view our hard work on the storefront. Budget Bill even chose to arrive from his office across town to support Katiti in her client meeting. “Howdy. I suppose you all remember me, Applejack,” the orange one said. Applejack wore her signature stetson. The hat that set her apart from every other archaic-colored earth pony. She continued, “this here’s my friend Rarity. She’s here to inspect the plans for interior design.” Rarity gave a compliment rather than introducing herself. “Such purity of form! Those brushed metal panels? They simulate kirin scales. That pearlescent ceramic apple over the entrance? So perfectly centered, simply divine! Oh! Is that a temporary day spa inside? What a lovely mineral mud bath I see.” “Well, I,” Applejack stammered, “I never. A mud bath in a city. Perhaps the ponies here are alright, after all.” Before any of us kirin could invite our guests to join us, Katiti stepped in to block their path. “Kirin mineral baths are toxic for ponies,” she cautioned. Bill nodded to encourage her to continue her warning. “I briefly studied alchemical engineering before finding my love of project management. You don’t want what’s in those pits. They love cadmium and capsaicin.” “The what and the what? Cowpox and Calgary?” A befuddled Applejack stuttered. “I think those are the reagents from Twilight’s lab that Spike likes to drink. Our striped colleague is right: those chemicals make the bath no place for a pony. They must use them to grow those lovely scales.” Applejack retreated, reached into her saddlebag, pulled out a strange rainbow-striped apple, then squinted and held it up between her face and the wall, as is to measure it on an imaginary shelf. “May I have a bite?” I asked. “I dunno, sugar cube, raw zap apples are mighty dangerous. We keep ‘em for zap apple jam and a few jars of special cider extract.” “Darling, these kirin eat like Spike. Cadmium mud baths? They can handle a zap apple.” “Rarity, I know it might seem strange to ya’, but toxicity isn’t the only reason not t’ go feeding other creatures zap apples. Have you seen what happens when one of these gets indigestion? The whole place’ll burn down.” “One slice, not an entire apple?” I offered. “I suppose,” Applejack acquiesced. “You are the fruit consultant, after all.” Rarity pulled out a knife and levitated a small slice in front of my face. I bit down on the oddly savory— “BOY HOWDY!” Boy howdy is right! That zap apple flickered me into a nirik as soon as its juices hit my tongue. Absolutely delicious, but far too dangerous. Far, far too dangerous. Dangerous and strong. When it comes to unintentional flare-ups, at least anger feels bad. My tongue stuck slightly out to savor the flavor. I now had some carbonization to scrub off during the cleanup days. The Equestrian ponies (and zebra, who apparently are not Equestrian) took my conflagration as their cue to retreat for private discussion. At least as of when I wrote this, our construction felt like a success, even if I did not have the fruity input I expected to give. After I finish writing and the ponies (and zebra) finish their discussions, we’ve agreed to show them how kirins adapted buckball to play with griffins. Project status: Complete for our part. Rose and Winter will depart on tomorrow’s train to return home. Pumpkin and I will stay to detoxify and clean the lot in preparation for the concrete floor installation. Once I lower my quill, Rarity has generously volunteered to make a sealed copy of this log for Autumn Blaze and Rain Shine to verify. Romance status: The future is still unwritten. We’ll have more room to spread out now that only two of us can share the three beds. Buckball status: After tonight, exhibition season is over. Perhaps Pumpkin and I could play a more-traditional match in the earth pony role before we depart if we can find willing unicorns to play along. 1SSRS + 2 moons, 7 dawns (part 2)The earlier entry was written during downtime while Winter and Pumpkin reviewed plans with Rose. I did not expect much else interesting to happen today. That was a false assumption. At least I could separate my writing into two sessions. Also, by “earlier today,” I mean “yesterday,” as I’m writing this first thing after shaking off the embers of the hot bed. After our day at the site finished, we looked at the rest of the street during the off-season. Our next-door neighbors were a warehouse and a Gryphon-run buckball betting bar. Across the wide avenue and obscured by the trees separating cart trotting from walking lanes, I could see a deep recess for some sort of plaza. We tried our luck with the bar. Stripes Katiti had departed to catch the trolley to return to the academic district, so it was just us kirin now. The visibly-bored green griffin with a gray beak perked up as soon as she saw us approach as potential patrons. “Greetings! Welcome to Big Bill Bell’s Buckball Bar Bee Queue—” she broke off in what must be her usual welcome. “I’ve never seen creatures of your kind before. Meat or no meat?” “No meat,” replied Winter with a slight shudder at the reminder that griffins are a predatory species. “Good thing you’re here during the quiet season,” replied the hostess, seemingly oblivious to our agitation at being in the presence of a carnivore. Whatever food they were cooking smelled good enough to compel us to stay. She continued, “I can get you four ring-side seats in the vegetable section. Name’s Greta Ginastera, by the way. You can call me Gigi.” That’s 6:00, in pony terms. When the shadow points to the opposite of noon. She led us back past the bar with its muted magic displays to what must be a buckball court under a giant pergola. Gigi checked the wind sock. If our entrance was at the antinoon position, today’s designated vegetable section was at 2:30 and down some steps through empty stadium seating. When Gigi returned with our sparkling waters, she arrived with a pink leopard-spotted griffin. This new griffin opened with an offer for a free meal if we played a game of buckball. We agreed and she unlocked the gate that led the rest of the way onto the field. The results from the tryout were unambiguous: we are too forward with using telekinesis to take the role of the earth pony but not dexterous enough to be a unicorn. However, the fact that we flip into creatures of flame when we get aggressive was “better than Tartarus.” Too bad it damaged the ball. Despite our athletic attempt coming up empty-hooved, they still comped our meal. Useful info about griffins for future kirin visitors: they also enjoy hot hot peppers on their food, though not as a way to maintain their internal fire. They lack the taste buds to understand capsaicin, so load up their food with spicy peppers to keep away mammals—both predatory and grazers. After enjoying the spicy hay, we walked along the avenue to the next cross street to the waterfront. The revealed skyline showed how each of the buildings in the city's heart was as tall as a Peak of Peril. Artificial mountains and we walked among their valleys. A short walk along the docks revealed our lodging and off-site foundry, as we walked through its gaping rolling shutter door. The interior was brick, painted black, lit by magically-intense white tube lamps. The ambiance reminded me of the interior of an oven when the flame was off. Cultural export safety note: while we do enjoy dumping a refreshing bucket of boiling water down our backs to clean, jumping in a boiling lake or a lava pool is painfully fatal. Visit a dragon if you want to see a creature who enjoys those activities. Tired from our exercise and full from our meal, we surveyed the bedding situation. Rose had known about our arrival and had taken the time to arrange our sleeping quarters with two spacious soft beds and a hot bed with four oxygen channels, in the unlikely occasion we all needed to bake on the same night. Before bed, we retreated to the bathing corner, and Winter flared into a nirik to boil four small buckets of water that we splashed on each other to clean off the sweat and meat smoke from our buckball tournament. After the last of the water evaporated and we shook free any remaining dust, we choose our sleeping arrangement. I headed straight for the hot bed. Its loving coals warmed my hooves to sustain the warmth I have felt so far on this journey. Once I laid down, their embrace on the undercarriage of my barrel was heavenly. Out of my periphery, I saw Rose and Winter each hop into a soft bed. Before I could lower the large log over my back, Pumpkin laid down next to me. Four oxygen channels were provided, but only two could realistically be used at any one time once we settled in. My muzzle now nestled gently in the oxygen channel; I could feel Pumpkin's barrel just barely touching my own as he settled into his position. The top log was finely cut: large enough to last the night, yet not so heavy as to impair our breathing. This unexpected intimacy was jarringly welcome. “You can tell we’re sleeping in an industrial coal burner,” whispered Pumpkin. I felt his breath on my nostrils. No wonder Equestrian ponies described sharing breath in such detail in their romance books. He continued, “a hot bed installed in one of our huts would have its oxygen channel finished with polished porcelain. An extra-smooth glide for the fur under your chin.” I hoped his horn would not touch mine. Thankfully, he relaxed and closed his eyes as the flame enveloped our bodies as we drifted off to relaxing sleep. No physical entanglement, at least for now. Romantic entanglement, on the other hoof… If this contract was a pretext to speed along village repopulation efforts, it came dangerously close to success—and we still have at least half a moon remaining. Project status: Pumpkin and Winter have concrete plans for which metals to use. Otherwise, same as before.
1SSRS + 2 moons, 5 dawnsSSRS = The summer solstice after speech was restored 1SSRS + 2 moons, 5 dawns As of right now, we are in a fireproof train car with furniture most uncomfortable. Most uncomfortable furniture? It’s incredible how quickly our lexicon atrophied. No, not lexicon. Our vocabulary remains intact as ever. Usage, phrasing. Sentence formation stilted even a full year later. If Autumn Blaze wants me to write this logbook using “details and dialogue for easier translation to historic theatre,” I’ll help her in any way I can. Music history was the performance I missed most under the influence of that accursed stream. Who knew any of us living in the village would be invited to the writers’ room rather than divide ourselves neatly into performers and audience? There are two classes of kirin: those who perform and those who observe, but nopony exclusively belongs to one or the other. Dear Autumn, here’s a detail to follow your dialogue: my next thought was to imagine your voice instructing me to completely fill in the appropriate bubble of the progress meter and make my mark dark. I shouldn’t rag on her too much. Rain Shine encouraged her mission to produce new musical histories, after all. The curtain music and Fluttershy’s introduction to the history she plans to debut upon our return both slam, though the climatic song is pedestrian. Is that a synonym for boring? Rain Shine did not only encourage Autumn to task me with making the project log serve as the scratchboard for a future musical. She also asked me to annotate this journal with explanations of kirin aphorisms during our return. Let seeing this remind me to annotate cultural translations as I review my notes. This is my reminder—as if pointing out the obvious philosophy in the prior paragraph wasn’t enough of a wake-up call to myself. Anyway, if this mission is successful, Rain Shine would appreciate the cultural annotations to ease in preparing the musical for export to Equestria. The desert scenery outside sure is conducive to writing. Once a kirin has seen three or four cactus groves, they have seen them all. All that sand would be terrible for our scales! Oceans of ablation scouring sand to erode our beautiful scales. Woah. Seeing how jumbled my thoughts have been, perhaps less conducive to journaling than I assumed. Think through the steps, Springy. Springy. Oh, how I hate that name! The proper truncation is Spring-G. School was before silence fell, my graduation coincident with the last kirling crop. I hope I remember. Step one: why am I writing all this? Basic project log Spark my own memory when I stumble upon this journal many years from now Memos for a possible musical history [thank you, Autumn Blaze] Commentary on the explanations for ease of export [assignment from our dear leader] Step two: what is this mission? One of the Ponyville missionaries who convinced Rain Shine to listen to Autumn and restore our speech is opening a branch of her store in Manehattan. After learning of our metallurgical skills, she contracted with our village to create an iconic storefront for the new shop. Pure metal to stand out in its subtlety. Myself, Winter Flame, and Pumpkin Smoke are on this journey. I’m here as the expert in fruit. The other two are experts in metals. Woah! That cactus just passed by far too close for comfort. Anyway, we will spend about half a moon in Manehattan. Our lodging and foundry are supposedly about eight blocks—whatever those are—from the work site. We were supposed to spend three-quarters of this moon there, but we delayed our departure to greet the first kirling to arrive since we silenced ourselves. We’re three kirins; we can handle the deadline. Step three: today Before embarking on the train, it was time to say goodbye to the village. The three of us stood between Rain Shine and Autumn Blaze between the central fountain and the social hall. Looking past the main building, the thatched roofs of our huts were our reminder to remain civilized. When one burns down, neighbors can take them in for a night to rebuild; when they all burn down, we’re in trouble. So be the cooling stream to the emotions of our neighbors. The rest of the village formed a cohesive herd between us and the hall—“beer garden,” as one of the Equestrian missionaries called it during her visit here. As the fountain’s shadow struck noon, the herd instinctively parted to reveal the herd’s newest member and his mother. A green and gold kirling faced away from the crowd to suckle from Maple Brown. His golden scales matched his mother; his pea-green coat could have been gifted by none other than Forest Fall. But, blissfully unaware of the excitement, he continued to enjoy the concentrated lipids and minerals that would make his carapace grow strong. “Greetings and goodbyes,” rang the voice of our leader. It was only for a moon, yet we were the first kirins to set out for an extended departure in many, many moons. Multiple years, all compressed away from our memories. a.k.a. The nasal scales I now stood face-to-face with Maple Brown and felt her orange flame on my maxillary scales. Her meaning was unambiguous: “I know you’ll represent us proudly.” I returned a cool orange flame of my own to reinforce that we all found her son beautiful. A wonderful new addition to our village after so many moons of stagnation. Nopony went in; nopony went out; nopony new to change our same old routines. “He’s far too content to Nirik today, isn’t he?” I ask. “At least for today,” she answered. I blew a gentle flame across her backplate to gift her the extra energy she would surely need before stepping away to let my companions make their greetings. The next kirin for me to greet before we headed out was Cinder Glow, my older sister. She shocked me with an intense blue flame of greeting. Was she ready to care about me this deeply after the fight that shut us down in the first place? Even more shockingly, I—I returned a blue flame. Was her face just as abuzz with energy as my own? “You’ll have a kirling by your side when I return, won’t you?” “You best know it,” she retorted before stepping forward to blow orange heat onto my backplate. Blue flames and now backscratching? We—I blew my flames over her backplate to complete the cycle—truly have reconciled. When on our best behavior, there is an extra warmth between our kind. Solidity of musculature and scales to support the flames. The thin blue flames had unmistakable meaning: neither one of us remembered why we had been sisters divided when silence visited our village. “Enough dilly-dallying,” said Rain Shine, “I cannot risk you crossing the desert at a gallop to meet the train.” OK, she did not actually say that, but Autumn did request that I include detailed dialogue, after all. Mostly, “dilly-dallying” is outside her typical lexicon. She probably said something closer: "I see you have all said your goodbyes to your loved ones. They will return sooner than you expect.” Autumn held the fronds covering the entrance to the cavernous shortcut in her telekinesis. Pumpkin Smoke entered the cave first. Before he stepped inside, Rain Shine used her unnatural height to her advantage and caressed him in a neck hug before running flames down his spine. A gift of agape he could not return. Instead, he nuzzled his mane into the tufts behind her hocks. Next was my turn. “Bring back some apples, won’t you?” shouted Autumn Blaze, wisely chiming in before she could ruin the moment. Instinct kicked in and my face was buried in Rain Shine’s shoulder. Not since I was a kirling have I rubbed my face in another kirin’s hock tufts. Not since three minutes ago had I felt a loving orange fire across my topline. “If you remember, keep an ear out for details on next year’s fruit farmer’s convention,” she requested softly, “I think the orange pony mentioned something about Fillydelphia, but I cannot remember the dates. You could do well with solo travel.” “I won’t fail you,” I replied before stepping to follow Pumpkin Smoke into the tunnel. The desert was exactly as expected except even hotter. As warm as constantly having flames on your back? Yes. However, the fur parts of our coats were heated, too. More like being a nirik without being so amped I no longer feel the prickling. At least Rain Shine slipped maps into each of our saddlebags while she hugged us. Project status: starting once the train arrives in Manehattan
1SSRS + 2 moons, 7 dawns (part 1)1SSRS + 2 moons, 7 dawns (part 1) “Woah! I’ve never seen a unicorn like you before,” our voices simultaneously bleated in surprise. Our, in this instance, referred to myself and the project manager. Me, I can understand being confused for a unicorn by a pony who has never seen a kirin before. The project manager? Her coat was a dazzling alteration of white and black. From what little I have seen of normal Equestrian ponies and their unicorns, their coats are solid and pastel. Absolutely not black, let alone filled with white stripes. “Puffy mane and branched horn: does that mean you can levitate more things at once?” she asked. Despite being the boss mare for the project, she was no older than I was when our village entered stasis. Emotionally, we’re probably the same age, if I’m being honest. Probably her first summer working as a fully-grown mare. “Branching is for heat dissipation,” I inform her. “You Equestrian unicorns have better telekinesis than us kirins.” “Qilin? Is that the breakfast cereal you eat to cultivate such puffy manes?” I was glad that my role was not directly under her command. No, she wouldn’t egg me on to become a nirik. Rather, we’d get nothing done. Maybe I’d become a nirik once a week, but the rest of the days, we’d be too busy attempting wittiness to do any work. “Key-Ren,” I enunciated. “You know, the fourth breed of pony: earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, and kirins. We’re also partially dragon,” I said to conclude the brief education session. Before our banter could continue, a brown earth pony stallion and Rose Lumen stepped into view. Rose Lumen? If it wasn’t her, it was another kirin with her same pink scales and lavender mane. Was this the business trip she has been on all this time? “I see you’ve already met Katiti,” said the stallion. “Most ponies know me as Budget Bill. Some few ponies call me William. Katiti is my project management intern. I’m letting her hoof run this as much as she is able. If you need my expertise, both Rose and Katiti know exactly where to reach the address on my business cards you can find scattered everywhere.” So it was Rose. I bet she was here to sketch site-specific plans for us to follow. Now that it was her turn to give a formal introduction, Katiti visibly tensed her posture. “Hi, I’m Katiti and I’m the project manager here. I briefly studied at the Manehattan Alchemical Academy for engineering before discovering my passion for keeping my classmates on track during group work and transferring over to the Polytechnic. I think you’ve never seen a zebra before. Yes, we are just ponies—have unicorn zebras, earth zebras, and pegasus zebras. When you meet other zebras, our names commonly start with Z, K, or Mw. K zebras, like me, have broad and bold stripes. Mw zebras are covered in delicate line art. Z zebras have such fine detailing that they look grey from a distance with bands of light and dark gray depending on the density of the fine stripes. A pleasure to meet you, as long as you don’t call me Stripes—all my friends already have that nickname.” Bill’s expression said it all: “we’ll work on that later.” Pumpkin, Winter, and I lined up for our incendiary greeting from Rose. Katiti turned to Rose to observe, “you must be the fourth pony Bill mentioned.” Rose nodded and motioned for Winter and Pumpkin to follow her. Katiti—don’t call her Stripes—followed Bill out of sight. Project status: Optimistic. Many hooves make light work. Our cloven hooves aren’t twice as fast as a pony, contrary to what some may believe, but we are a bit more nimble with our feet. I like this zebra. She seemed to imply that there are more of them on the far side of Manehattan from where we’ll work. Perhaps we’ll see some; likely we won’t.
1SSRS + 2 moons, 12 dawnsSomething has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.
1SSRS + 2 moons, 23 dawns1SSRS + 2 moons, 23 dawns Today was the project sign-off day for us. Last week, we sent a telegram to Ponyville that our work should be ready in about five days including clean-up. The ponies evidently wanted to see our handiwork as soon as we completed it, as they did not wait for the cleanup days. As it turns out, the orange missionary is the matriarch-in-training in charge of the store. She did not bring her yellow flying companion. Instead, she was accompanied by a white unicorn whose mane alternated from violet to ultramarine as the lighting made its subtle changes. We greeted one another on the sidewalk, the intended vantage point to view our hard work on the storefront. Budget Bill even chose to arrive from his office across town to support Katiti in her client meeting. “Howdy. I suppose you all remember me, Applejack,” the orange one said. Applejack wore her signature stetson. The hat that set her apart from every other archaic-colored earth pony. She continued, “this here’s my friend Rarity. She’s here to inspect the plans for interior design.” Rarity gave a compliment rather than introducing herself. “Such purity of form! Those brushed metal panels? They simulate kirin scales. That pearlescent ceramic apple over the entrance? So perfectly centered, simply divine! Oh! Is that a temporary day spa inside? What a lovely mineral mud bath I see.” “Well, I,” Applejack stammered, “I never. A mud bath in a city. Perhaps the ponies here are alright, after all.” Before any of us kirin could invite our guests to join us, Katiti stepped in to block their path. “Kirin mineral baths are toxic for ponies,” she cautioned. Bill nodded to encourage her to continue her warning. “I briefly studied alchemical engineering before finding my love of project management. You don’t want what’s in those pits. They love cadmium and capsaicin.” “The what and the what? Cowpox and Calgary?” A befuddled Applejack stuttered. “I think those are the reagents from Twilight’s lab that Spike likes to drink. Our striped colleague is right: those chemicals make the bath no place for a pony. They must use them to grow those lovely scales.” Applejack retreated, reached into her saddlebag, pulled out a strange rainbow-striped apple, then squinted and held it up between her face and the wall, as is to measure it on an imaginary shelf. “May I have a bite?” I asked. “I dunno, sugar cube, raw zap apples are mighty dangerous. We keep ‘em for zap apple jam and a few jars of special cider extract.” “Darling, these kirin eat like Spike. Cadmium mud baths? They can handle a zap apple.” “Rarity, I know it might seem strange to ya’, but toxicity isn’t the only reason not t’ go feeding other creatures zap apples. Have you seen what happens when one of these gets indigestion? The whole place’ll burn down.” “One slice, not an entire apple?” I offered. “I suppose,” Applejack acquiesced. “You are the fruit consultant, after all.” Rarity pulled out a knife and levitated a small slice in front of my face. I bit down on the oddly savory— “BOY HOWDY!” Boy howdy is right! That zap apple flickered me into a nirik as soon as its juices hit my tongue. Absolutely delicious, but far too dangerous. Far, far too dangerous. Dangerous and strong. When it comes to unintentional flare-ups, at least anger feels bad. My tongue stuck slightly out to savor the flavor. I now had some carbonization to scrub off during the cleanup days. The Equestrian ponies (and zebra, who apparently are not Equestrian) took my conflagration as their cue to retreat for private discussion. At least as of when I wrote this, our construction felt like a success, even if I did not have the fruity input I expected to give. After I finish writing and the ponies (and zebra) finish their discussions, we’ve agreed to show them how kirins adapted buckball to play with griffins. Project status: Complete for our part. Rose and Winter will depart on tomorrow’s train to return home. Pumpkin and I will stay to detoxify and clean the lot in preparation for the concrete floor installation. Once I lower my quill, Rarity has generously volunteered to make a sealed copy of this log for Autumn Blaze and Rain Shine to verify. Romance status: The future is still unwritten. We’ll have more room to spread out now that only two of us can share the three beds. Buckball status: After tonight, exhibition season is over. Perhaps Pumpkin and I could play a more-traditional match in the earth pony role before we depart if we can find willing unicorns to play along.
1SSRS + 2 moons, 7 dawns (part 2)The earlier entry was written during downtime while Winter and Pumpkin reviewed plans with Rose. I did not expect much else interesting to happen today. That was a false assumption. At least I could separate my writing into two sessions. Also, by “earlier today,” I mean “yesterday,” as I’m writing this first thing after shaking off the embers of the hot bed. After our day at the site finished, we looked at the rest of the street during the off-season. Our next-door neighbors were a warehouse and a Gryphon-run buckball betting bar. Across the wide avenue and obscured by the trees separating cart trotting from walking lanes, I could see a deep recess for some sort of plaza. We tried our luck with the bar. Stripes Katiti had departed to catch the trolley to return to the academic district, so it was just us kirin now. The visibly-bored green griffin with a gray beak perked up as soon as she saw us approach as potential patrons. “Greetings! Welcome to Big Bill Bell’s Buckball Bar Bee Queue—” she broke off in what must be her usual welcome. “I’ve never seen creatures of your kind before. Meat or no meat?” “No meat,” replied Winter with a slight shudder at the reminder that griffins are a predatory species. “Good thing you’re here during the quiet season,” replied the hostess, seemingly oblivious to our agitation at being in the presence of a carnivore. Whatever food they were cooking smelled good enough to compel us to stay. She continued, “I can get you four ring-side seats in the vegetable section. Name’s Greta Ginastera, by the way. You can call me Gigi.” That’s 6:00, in pony terms. When the shadow points to the opposite of noon. She led us back past the bar with its muted magic displays to what must be a buckball court under a giant pergola. Gigi checked the wind sock. If our entrance was at the antinoon position, today’s designated vegetable section was at 2:30 and down some steps through empty stadium seating. When Gigi returned with our sparkling waters, she arrived with a pink leopard-spotted griffin. This new griffin opened with an offer for a free meal if we played a game of buckball. We agreed and she unlocked the gate that led the rest of the way onto the field. The results from the tryout were unambiguous: we are too forward with using telekinesis to take the role of the earth pony but not dexterous enough to be a unicorn. However, the fact that we flip into creatures of flame when we get aggressive was “better than Tartarus.” Too bad it damaged the ball. Despite our athletic attempt coming up empty-hooved, they still comped our meal. Useful info about griffins for future kirin visitors: they also enjoy hot hot peppers on their food, though not as a way to maintain their internal fire. They lack the taste buds to understand capsaicin, so load up their food with spicy peppers to keep away mammals—both predatory and grazers. After enjoying the spicy hay, we walked along the avenue to the next cross street to the waterfront. The revealed skyline showed how each of the buildings in the city's heart was as tall as a Peak of Peril. Artificial mountains and we walked among their valleys. A short walk along the docks revealed our lodging and off-site foundry, as we walked through its gaping rolling shutter door. The interior was brick, painted black, lit by magically-intense white tube lamps. The ambiance reminded me of the interior of an oven when the flame was off. Cultural export safety note: while we do enjoy dumping a refreshing bucket of boiling water down our backs to clean, jumping in a boiling lake or a lava pool is painfully fatal. Visit a dragon if you want to see a creature who enjoys those activities. Tired from our exercise and full from our meal, we surveyed the bedding situation. Rose had known about our arrival and had taken the time to arrange our sleeping quarters with two spacious soft beds and a hot bed with four oxygen channels, in the unlikely occasion we all needed to bake on the same night. Before bed, we retreated to the bathing corner, and Winter flared into a nirik to boil four small buckets of water that we splashed on each other to clean off the sweat and meat smoke from our buckball tournament. After the last of the water evaporated and we shook free any remaining dust, we choose our sleeping arrangement. I headed straight for the hot bed. Its loving coals warmed my hooves to sustain the warmth I have felt so far on this journey. Once I laid down, their embrace on the undercarriage of my barrel was heavenly. Out of my periphery, I saw Rose and Winter each hop into a soft bed. Before I could lower the large log over my back, Pumpkin laid down next to me. Four oxygen channels were provided, but only two could realistically be used at any one time once we settled in. My muzzle now nestled gently in the oxygen channel; I could feel Pumpkin's barrel just barely touching my own as he settled into his position. The top log was finely cut: large enough to last the night, yet not so heavy as to impair our breathing. This unexpected intimacy was jarringly welcome. “You can tell we’re sleeping in an industrial coal burner,” whispered Pumpkin. I felt his breath on my nostrils. No wonder Equestrian ponies described sharing breath in such detail in their romance books. He continued, “a hot bed installed in one of our huts would have its oxygen channel finished with polished porcelain. An extra-smooth glide for the fur under your chin.” I hoped his horn would not touch mine. Thankfully, he relaxed and closed his eyes as the flame enveloped our bodies as we drifted off to relaxing sleep. No physical entanglement, at least for now. Romantic entanglement, on the other hoof… If this contract was a pretext to speed along village repopulation efforts, it came dangerously close to success—and we still have at least half a moon remaining. Project status: Pumpkin and Winter have concrete plans for which metals to use. Otherwise, same as before.
