"Secrets Are Like Weeds", And Other Such Nonsensical Statements
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"Secrets Are Like Weeds", And Other Such Nonsensical Statements
To my dearest student Twilight Sparkle
I find myself at a loss. My sister, most wonderful Luna, has elected to allow the most infuriating mare I have ever met into Canterlot Palace.
Please visit immediately with a comprehensive essay detailing why homicide is wrong.
Sincerely Yours, Princess Celestia
"Why," Twilight asked her mentor, the wisest mare in all of Equestria. "Do you want to murder somepony?"
"They talk," Princess Celestia replied, intoning the word as though it was synonomous with sacrificial altars and dark gods. "And they don't stop talking."
Twilight thought for a moment. "... Lots of people talk, though?" she said innocently.
"Not like they talk," Princess Celestia growled. "I've known them for a month. Please handle the situation."
And then the Princess teleported Twilight three floors up and directly in front of Princess Luna's room. Twilight, nervously, knocked on the door. Both guards in front of the door silently inserted their earplugs, which... She supposed was a bad omen. Princess Luna opened the door and smiled cheerfully. "Ah, Miss Sparkle! So pleased you've decided to visit! What brings you to Our wonderful domain at such a late hour?" It was eleven in the morning. She supposed Princess Luna subscribed to alternative time schedules.
"Princess Celestia wanted me to talk to you about 'the most infuriating mare she has ever met'. Do you... Know who that is?" Twilight asked nervously.
Luna nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. Our spymaster. She truly is a gift to this world!" Her horn glimmered for a moment, and she gasped. "Oh! She's on her way now!" And then she rushed back into her room and began furiously brushing her mane. That was... A bit too much extra work for a simple spymaster. Or... Did she have alternate reasons for being fancy when somebody was approaching her at... A late time at night... Oh dear. Had Twilight just interrupted a secret relationship?
There was, suddenly, the sound of hoofsteps. Twilight glanced down the hall to see an earth pony approaching. A dark green mare, with a luxurious golden mane. She wore a heavy trenchcoat and a fedora, and was giving off a general melancholy vibe. She looked up, and locked eyes with Twilight. She knocked, politely and reservedly, on Princess Luna's door. The Princess leaned out and gasped with delight and then dragged both Twilight and the stranger inside.
This, Twilight deduced, must be the spymaster. "Hi! My name is Twilight Sparkle. I've been asked by Princess Celestia to talk to you. Can you explain why she dislikes you?"
Princess Luna gasped with excitement. "Yes, please do explain! Answer to the fullest extent of your abilities!"
The lights in the room dimmed. A prop streetlamp slid into view, and illuminated the odd mare in a spotlight. The sound of rain filled the air, and Princess Luna began magically manipulating a dozen instruments at once to perform a stylish jazz song. The mysterious mare nodded to herself three times, and then leaned against the streetlamp as though it were the only thing in the world that kept her standing. She reached into her pocket, retrieved a flask, and took a long sip of the contents.
On the side of the flask, it was labeled as strawberry milk.
"Canterlot," the mare began, an oddly gruff accent tinging her voice. "You know, they say it's a perfect city. But there ain't nothin' perfect in this world. I ain't a sesquipedalian, I didn't learn the numbers or words to use a graph or write an essay. But I went to the School Of Hard Knocks, with a doctorate in sticking my nose where it don't belong. So trust me when I say that I know how dark this world of ours really is. Ain't nowhere perfect. All we can do is cover it up with a pretty illusion."
"Yes," Luna whispered excitedly, evidentally excited to listen to the odd mare. "Begin reciting thy poetry of the night..."
"Ya see, this world... It's got issues. I could name 'em like a mother names her kids. But if you asked me what was number one at the top of my list... It'd be secrets." She moved off the streetlamp and moved to lean against the window. "I know what you're thinking. Secrets? A problem on the same level as societal greed or sandals with socks? Sounds crazy. But you ain't like me. You don't know what I know, and what I know is that knowing... Is not to be known. Knowing ain't right anymore. Knowing is what's left. Get it?"
Twilight paused to try and decipher that mess of a monologue. "I... Really don't."
The mare moved to lean against the piano that Luna had dragged in to play her jazz music. "See, in the grand scheme of things... The world's a big garden. And mares like us, we know that the beauty of a garden ain't in the flowers that grow there: It's in the soil. The potential verdancy. Take a seed of legitimacy, water it with sincerity, and watch it blossom into the truth like a wise old tree that'll stand for a thousand years. That's the sort of world that we oughta have."
"... You don't plant trees into gardens, though," Twilight said. "You plant them in open locations so they can absorb enough nutrients from the soil."
"But a garden ain't just a place where plants grow," the mare said, ignoring Twilight entirely, moving back to the prop streetlamp. "It's ordered. People look at it, they take care of it. A garden requires maintenance.... Caretaking, that sorta thing. If ya leave it be, you get all sorts of problems movin' in. Invasive plantlife, animals, lookie-loos who wanna rip out those sweet flowers by the roots and show off to a dame that'll forget it by next week. You don't care for a garden... It won't care for you."
Twilight sighed tiredly. "Are you just making vague philosophical statements, or is there a point to this?"
"Point bein', a garden needs to be taken care of. Shown love, soft and sweet. In this world... Truth don't grow unless you protect it. Keep it safe from the weeds of society, all'a those skunks in the back alleys who think they get to pick and choose whether roses or tulips get their share of the dirt. Secrets... They're like weeds, y'see." The mare moved back to the window, and took another sip of her flask. "Starts small. Just one, there in the corner. But if you don't pluck it outta there... Yer plum outta luck."
Princess Luna nodded feverishly, enthralled by this apparent monologue of melancholy madness. "Secrets... A plague on Our noble lands."
"Might start small," the odd mare continued, moving back to the piano where Luna was playing an insane solo. "Maybe ya take a sweet or two from the cookie jar. Maybe ya lie, and say your favourite colour's red instead of blue. They call 'em white lies, 'cause they don't add any colour to the world. I ain't an artist, but I call 'em like I see 'em: Those suckers are green as grass. All lies do is propagate, infest yer garden like a virus, like weeds. And they grow and grow, 'till they're taller than a giraffe on stilts."
"That-- Why would a giraffe need stilts?" Twilight asked, entirely confused.
The mare moved back to the streetlamp. Another sip of her flask. "Now some people, they're fine with that. A few secrets never hurt nobody. That's what they say. But soon enough, you got secrets everywhere ya look. Secrets, lies, falsehoods... Give 'em a few inches, and they'll kick ya clean out of yer house, put you on the street. And then who's gonna crusade for the truth, huh? Nobody, that's who. Cause you're just another secret to strangle the truth in thread, and another loose end to tie up."
Princess Luna nodded madly. "Preach it, dear thespian!"
"Now I ain't a gardener," the strange mare declared, moving back to the window. This was now the third time she'd been there. "Don't got no shears, but I got a wit just as sharp. And if I ain't the dame to cut those secrets out by the roots, then nobody will. My name's Snooping Slick. I'm an investigator. A real ace dick. A gumshoe in their prime... A Private Eye." The mare pulled back her coat to reveal her Cutie Mark was an eyeball with a large question mark in the middle.
"What in the name of Equestria are you babbling about?" Twilight asked, feeling a migraine coming on. "What does this have to do with my question?"
Snooping Slick moved back to the piano, and took another sip of her flask. "Some people... They don't like the truth. Secrets are how they communicate. It's a common tongue, in this world. The nobility uses secrecy like a barber uses scissors, you take away their ability to lie, and ya know, I think they'd all jump off the highest ledge they could find. Poor bastards can't stomach the truth, so they bury it deeper than a Diamond Dog's den. Those seeds of truth, they never see the sun. And they wither, fade away."
"I thought secrets were weeds, not a common tongue," Twilight replied irritably.
The infuriating mare moved from the piano back to the streetlamp, and took yet another sip of her ridiculous flask of strawberry milk. "Now a mare like Princess Celestia. I ain't saying I don't trust her, but my eye can tell - She's got more secrets than a rich mare's got bits. Every year that passes, I count that as a blessing. But the Princess, she sees more years than all of us. Secrets pop up in no time flat, so how many does a mare a thousand years old have in her garden?"
"Look," Twilight said, thoroughly fed up with this. "Can you actually answer my question or are you just going to monologue at me?"
The mare sighed, and moved to that God Forsaken Window. "Answers. Ain't we all lookin' fer answers in this screwball world of ours? I don't know squat about answers. You want the truth, I can get you that. The hard, objective facts. But does that fulfill the desire for answers? Oftentimes, I find these things, these truths, and all I'm left with are more questions than the answers I was lookin' for. We're all searchin' for answers, but there ain't none to find. So really, I dunno why your Princess don't like me much."
Twilight twitched. Then she breathed in. Then she breathed out. Then she cast a spell to remove the window and the associated wall from existence for all time. Having done this, she then left the madmare and Princess Luna to their own devices, having properly surmised exactly why Princess Celestia did not like Snooping Slick. It was quite agonising, having to deal with somebody who wouldn't give a straight answer to a simple question. But it was done, now. Twilight never had to speak to them again.
Dear Princess Celestia
I have met Snooping Slick. I now understand your desire to see them explode. They certainly know how to avoid giving a straightforward answer to an easy question!
However, since your request has put me through this ordeal, I have decided to leave Slick alive and to leave you to your torment.
Sincerely Yours, Twilight Sparkle
PS. Are Luna and Slick a... Thing? They felt like a Thing.