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                A Matter of Luck and Death                 
                      -by marmalado-                       
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            And Completely Shattered Destinies             
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And Completely Shattered Destinies
Orla couldn't have anticipated this.
A long time ago, she predicted she would join up with three other Odd Squad agents and form an entirely new group within the organization. The Mobile Unit would travel around the world, solving cases and helping out precincts that could use a hand (or two, or three, or a thousand). They'd even get a neat box on wheels, made entirely out of metal. She could finally get out of the wretched hell destiny had thrown her into.
She got out. Oh, she got out.
But destiny still planted a few stakes into the path and let the stream run in a different direction.
She stared at the cylindrical object in her hands, foreign to her in both the conceptual and the textural sense. Her throat had been dry for years, but the laws of the world had allowed her to hold on even with little hydration. Still, she couldn't bring herself to drink, not when she could see the shining-white suit of the girl who was apparently her boss pulling five bodies out of the rubble that had once been her workplace.
One of the bodies was of a gecko-themed villainess, part of a pair of siblings-in-crime who were ambitious nobodies but at least had the smarts to stay one step ahead until the end. The other sister had escaped, and given how this was the Amazon, there was no confidence she would last.
By the time the white-suited girl got to the other three bodies, Orla had to turn and hurl. The berries and nuts that were yesterday's lunch came out in a disgusting blend that splashed onto the forest floor. To wash the taste of vomit out of her mouth required a hearty swig of the clear liquid she had come to treasure, and while it felt weird on her tongue, she couldn't deny it felt refreshing.
"I don't have a stretcher onboard," the white-suited girl said, dropping the first body by Orla. "My personal helicopter's not exactly equipped to handle corpses." She gazed into her eyes. "You doing okay?"
Orla couldn't answer that. She shoved the object into her mouth and took a few more swigs.
"Bad time for introductions, but I wouldn't be the Big O if I didn't get to know all of my agents." The girl stuck out her hand, then retracted it a little. "Oh. I just told you my name. Or my title, anyway. Just...call me the Big O."
Orla's eyes couldn't be peeled away from the body. It was crushed in every sense of the word, with blood splatters, bones exposed...about the only thing intact was the brown hair that cascaded down its shoulders.
The Big O bent down and scooped up the body. "Agent Opal." She examined it with sadness in her eyes. "I didn't know her, either. All I know is that she was on a journey to retrieve the 44-Leaf Clover."
"Why?" Orla snarled, in a sudden burst of anger. "That thing you call an 'artifact' was worthless. It could not even save everyone."
"It saved you."
"Much to my detriment."
"And it saved one of the Sticky Sisters. I suppose that's a detriment too?"
"Of course. They caused my Headquarters to fall into ruin in the first place. They should be punished accordingly."
"Well, one's dead. The other one..." The Big O looked to her right. "...is long gone. And apprehending her shouldn't be our priority right now." A heavy sigh as she set the body down. "I'm gonna go and retrieve the others. Backup should be here soon, so please send them in."
Orla didn't say anything. Her attention was fixed on the body, that of a child that once still had potential. It reminded her of all the Ancient Agents she had lost over the centuries -- to wars, famine, natural disasters. There were so many Ancient Agents that had died that not only could she barely remember their names, she was the last of her kind remaining. Perhaps that's why she was spared -- the bloodlines of Ancient Agents would die if she died. And every Odd Squad agent was immortal to a certain extent. She had a few close calls, usually through cake or by arrows that grew grass inside whatever the tip was embedded into, but she hadn't died.
Yet. Hadn't died yet.
The worst was over. There were no more wars. Before the Sticky Sisters, no one had come to steal the clover. Still, she protected it, because that was what a Protector did. They protected ancient Odd Squad artifacts from villains who wanted to get their ugly hands on it and use it for despicable purposes. And, really, this clover ignited a war between villains and agents that lasted for so long that she couldn't even remember the exact duration of it. All she knew was that Odd Squad had won, and that was what mattered. Death became numb to a person after they experienced so much of it, after all, no matter if who died was a hero or a villain.
"Omar." Approaching Orla and the helicopter, the Big O wiped off some dust from the lifeless corpse. "Opal's partner, I think. He worked in the Arctic too." She bit her lip. "I bet they were great together."
Seeing this particular agent hit Orla where it hurt. He had been the one to teach her about the deluxe culinary delight that was the "cinnamon bun". Never had she tasted anything so sweet and filling, and thinking about eating one threatened to bring tears to her eyes.
Reaching behind her back, she took out her shield and flung it to the ground. It rolled for longer than she thought it was going to roll for, until she couldn't see it anymore in the underbrush of the jungle.
The Big O opened her mouth, but then quickly closed it. Orla lacked the ability to care, more or less. She continued to stare in the direction the shield rolled. Who cared if it was a pockmarked memento carried through war after war? What good did it do? It couldn't protect her friends.
"Big O!" Another helicopter landed. This one carried agents who dressed similarly to the Big O herself. "We got here as fast as we could."
"Thank you. Please take these bodies into the helicopter. We'll return to the Big Office together." The Big O glanced at Orla. "I'll be right back."
She didn't need to know what her supposed boss was doing. She didn't need to know what body was going to be dragged out. It was the redhead. Ah, what was his name? Darn her memory ball...ah, Oswald. Agent Oswald. The smart one of the group with a memory ball that far surpassed hers. He'd been so afraid he was going to die, crying out "We're alive!" to the heavens for every threat her Headquarters contained.
"The whole building is collapsing! We'll be lucky if we survive!" were some of his final words, however literal. Orla had been there to hear them herself.
But luck was a construct. Luck didn't save her friends. Luck didn't save Oswald.
She grit her teeth, watching as agents carried body after body to the other helicopter. She almost felt tempted to yell at them. Warn them to be careful or she would have their heads. But she didn't. Instead, she took another sip from the cylindrical object and gazed upon the ruined Headquarters itself.
...How long had she been there? Four-hundred years sounded about right. Yes, about four-hundred years of guarding a stupid clover just because she got a helmet. That she wasn't even wearing at the moment.
All this thinking was starting to make her head hurt. She felt tired all of a sudden. The sweet nectar in the cylindrical object felt like the only thing keeping her standing upright. Maybe it was the many days...months...years of sleep deprivation catching up to her. Or maybe the grief was sapping up all her energy.
The Big O approached with Oswald's body in her hands. "I don't know who this agent is," she said. "You wouldn't happen to recognize him, would you?"
"Oswald," Orla snapped. "Now may we please go back-" She paused, nearly saying the word "home" before she corrected herself. "Back to the Big Office, wherever that is?"
"Normally I'd stay here and examine this Headquarters..." The Big O passed off Oswald's body to a couple of agents, who hauled it back to the other helicopter. "...but your health and safety is more important. I'll send a team of agents to investigate it tomorrow." She peered past her own helicopter. "Do you...oh, who am I kidding. Of course you have a home. Do you need to go and collect your belongings before we leave?"
What belongings? All that I have is some food. The artifact I was supposed to protect has been destroyed. I have no belongings to speak of, was what she wanted to say. She instead settled for a simple shake of her head, and was led into the Big O's helicopter to be taken back to whatever this "Big Office" place was.
"Exactly who are these 'princesses' you speak of?"
The Big O leaned back in her office chair. "They're a few friends I happen to have met some time ago. Equine. Rulers of a country."
"And since when are horses rulers of countries?"
"North and South Korea would both like to have a word." The Big O took a sip of her juice box. "But um, no, they're...they lead a country called Equestria in another world."
Orla looked disinterested. "So how, exactly, can they help me?"
"Well, both have gone through more grief than you probably ever will in your entire life. Both are in leadership positions-"
"Being a Protector is not being a leader."
"To each her own. But most importantly..." Setting her juice box aside, the Big O leaned in close to Orla. "...they have kind hearts."
A derisive snort as the Ancient Agent retorted, "To assume I have a kind heart when you did not know of my very existence up until young Opal, young Omar, and young Oswald all died makes you a fool."
The Big O simply leaned back. "I'd think the fact that you care about them so deeply says enough. No villain worth even a grain of salt would do that," she said. "I can't say for sure what it was like back in your time, but I've seen a lot of death over the years and dealt with just as many near-death experiences. Being an agent is not an easy job, and those who aren't prepared to handle death will only have their mental health destroyed when it happens."
The term "mental health" wasn't in Orla's dictionary, but she at least understood the term "health". She vividly remembered one of her fellow Odd Squad soldiers dying on the battlefield, having been hit square in the chest by an icicle spear from a member of an Ice Troll clan. It was her first taste of death, but instead of mourning, she kept fighting until the war was won. Then, and only then, did she think back on that first death.
After she became a Protector, the thoughts had to be pushed back again. There was no time for grief, not when there was a chance of villains coming after the clover left and right. "Do keep your head on", her Ms. O once told her. And being the last Ancient Agent in existence? That made things worse. It made her fight harder, all for the sake of those who came before her.
"Big O?"
The small, childish voice snapped Orla out of her reverie. She lifted her head up and turned, blinking in surprise at just how young the agent looked. Scrawny, almost. Lose a few more pounds and he could nearly be skin and bones.
"Um...Arctic Mr. O is here. He wants to go over funeral plans for Agent Opal and Agent Omar."
The Big O stood up. "And what about the New York City Ms. O?"
"She's on her way."
"Never gets easier," Orla could hear her boss mutter as she walked past her, clutching her stomach for some unexplained reason. "I have to go, Orla, but I'll be back soon. You're welcome to make yourself comfortable in the Big Office while you wait. Just...consider my offer, please?"
"Fine." The answer was generated easily, though spoken out of annoyance. If it would get the Big O off her back, then maybe, just maybe, Orla would be able to be at peace. She could reassemble the pieces of her life, her destiny, her purpose, all of which had been shattered with one building collapse and three destroyed lives.
If these equines were some kind of miracle workers, then she hoped they were good ones.
Orla's eyes fluttered open, meeting a view that was as scenic as it was ethereal. It was also rather foreign to her, as someone who spent their entire life with their feet on the ground.
"Hello?" she called out, not seeing any other bodies no matter how hard she looked. She stood, and that was when it clicked.
She was in a dream.
And she had dealt with enough dream-related oddness over the centuries to know that where there was a dream, there was a chance.
In her dreams, there were silhouettes, and eventually supernatural images, of other Ancient Agents who had died. She had met up with the three other agents who vied for the role of Protector for the clover, and even managed to patch things up with Osmond, the semifinalist, after he had a change of heart. All the villains with sleep and dream-related powers tried to take that away from her.
In her dreams, there was an afterlife. If she could meet up with other Ancient Agents, there was nothing stopping her from seeing Opal, Omar and Oswald again.
"But what would I say...?"
Sorry my Headquarters collapsed on you.
Sorry that finding me was what cut your lives short.
...Sorry I could not protect you.
A lump began to form in her throat, sticky and warm and unpleasant. Her vision became obscured with eye water, which she quickly rubbed away.
Her eardrums picked up on the sound of a hum. Soft, pleasant, feminine, and not one she recognized. Her feet began moving towards the sound's source on their own, clicking on the reflective floor, or so she thought. Her footwear, a pair of red flats with red ribbon wrapping around her legs as makeshift shafts, wasn't something that would reasonably create a clicking sound, and so she deduced it was coming from the source of the humming. Countless "hello's" were tossed into the empty air, each met with a lack of a response.
Finally, she could spot a dark form moving towards her. It blended in almost like camouflage, but even in spite of that, there was no doubt in her mind that it was equine.
It is one of the horses that the Big O mentioned. Orla squinted. But are there not supposed to be two?
As the form grew closer, Orla examined it. It was shorter than her, and donned a rather long horn as well as what appeared to be a pair of wings. Blue fur coated it from head to flank, and its mane and tail, bordered with black and littered with stars, both waved in a breeze unknown. It also had on...horseshoes, she supposed. And a chestplate with the crest of a white moon on it, which was enough to sell Orla on the form being the ruler of a country.
When the equine stopped, it stared at Orla in silence. Orla, likewise, stared back, but not for long as her patience wore thin. "I shall presume you know the Big O?"
"Indeed," the equine murmured. "My name is Princess Luna, Equestrian Princess of the Night."
"And I am Orla. Agent Orla, Ancient Agent of Odd Squad." It was a bad idea to give someone you just met your name and title. Orla knew that all too well. But she did so anyway, because if she was enlisting this "Luna's" services, being on a first-name basis was essential. And if it came to a fight, well, she could hold her own against a horse.
Luna nodded. "Yes. Oprah told me about you." Ignoring Orla's shocked reaction, she continued. "It is my understanding that you are grieving the loss of three other agents, lives lost in the rubble of your Headquarters."
"Lives that would not have been lost if that clover had worked."
"That clover?" Luna thought for a moment, then perked up. "Ah, the 44-Leaf Clover. An ancient artifact that was thought to be legend, or so Oprah says."
"But it is not. I was supposed to be guarding it. I have guarded that clover for..." Orla stopped. She struggled to remember just how long it had been, only knowing that it must have been a very long time. So she finished the sentence with, "...a long time."
Luna stayed silent, allowing Orla to continue. Orla, for what it was worth, let the metaphorical beans spill towards this horse that she just met.
"And I have let everyone down. Ms. O, Ogilvy, Osmond, Oriana...every Ancient Agent throughout Odd Squad history..." Orla bit her lip. "The clover is gone. Deep in my heart, I know that it has been destroyed beyond belief. Even if it did not grant luck and powers to those who grasped its leaves..."
Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. Rusty as her memory ball was, it did not make all her memories obscured, and she distinctly remembered something happening to her when the war was won and the clover was in Odd Squad's hands. She had grabbed a section of it, but then what? Did she ever receive the luck and powers that the clover had?
...No. That was silly. Luck didn't exist. If she had luck and powers, saving Opal, Omar and Oswald would have been a nonissue. The same could be said for a lot of things that occurred in her past. She worked hard to get to where she was. Touching the clover did nothing. She had definitive proof it didn't work, in the form of her could-have-been teammates.
"I do not believe you failed, Orla," Luna said. "I have known Oprah for longer than you think. As such, I have heard many pieces of wisdom from her over the years."
"I am quite sure, but she could not even begin to understand what-"
"'Trying to save the world and failing is better than not trying at all.'"
Orla paused. Her nose wrinkled slightly in disgust, as though the mere concept of trying was taboo -- which it was. There was no trying. You either did it, or you didn't. If you tried and failed, you didn't do it. It was a modus operandi Orla had lived by since she had first heard it from her Ms. O, and here was this horse suddenly embracing the complete opposite.
"You may fail, but knowing you made an effort to succeed will put one at peace with the consequences," Luna explained. "In your specific case-"
"In my specific case, three lives were lost." Orla marched forward until she was well inside Luna's personal bubble and towering over her just slightly moreso than before. "Many years ago, I received a prophecy. Young Opal, young Omar, and young Oswald would team up with me to form a new group, the Odd Squad Mobile Unit. A metal chariot would await us brave warriors, traveling around the world as would fight oddness wherever its awful presence was found, helping out other agents along the way." She crossed her arms and closed her eyes. "I cannot say for certain how I arrived at such a conclusion. This was a long, long time ago. But once I received the support of my Ms. O, I believed it would come true one day. I knew it would allow me to..." A wistful sigh. "...to see a world beyond the Amazon rainforest."
The silence that followed was long. Orla bowed her head down, in an attempt to stop her eyes from leaking again. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a light flashed that told her maybe she should go get that checked out by an Odd Squad Physician. Luna, meanwhile, said nothing, instead staring at Orla with intrigue.
"Why must it be me?" Orla's knees began to quiver, like gelatin that had been given the gentlest poke. "Must Cottonwing be so cruel that He must bring me such pain and suffering? Destroying what I love, making me the last Ancient Agent on Earth, ruining my life?"
You couldn't exactly have an organization motto about equality without including everyone and their beliefs, and so there were many agents who practiced religion. Among those religions was Catholicism, though instead of preaching to Sky Father, some agents preached to Sky Jackalope. A beacon of hope in the form of a jackalope with fluffy angel wings, hence the name "Cottonwing". Orla was a strict devotee of this odd brand of Catholicism, praying every night when she had a chance to obtain a viable sleeping place and praying every day she was engaged in battle with a villain. Cottonwing guided her as she scrabbled and fought and trudged and skipped her way through life, and in return, she organized sermons every Sunday for her and others to pray to him. Sometimes the prayers worked. Other times they didn't.
This was one of the times when it didn't. And this time, it hit harder than most any other, simply because she knew Cottonwing had been screwing with her destiny here and there and she had no idea why.
"I shall assume that 'Cottonwing' is to you what my sister is to most ponies." Luna gave a nod. "Regardless, He is not to blame for the hardships you have pushed through. Destinies are not fixed things; on the contrary, they are quite flexible and can change in an instant." She turned so that her right side was facing Orla, and gestured to her cutie mark. "Allow me to give you an example. This cutie mark represents my duty as the Equestrian Princess of the Night, raising and lowering the moon for my country and its inhabitants. When I first received it, I was sure what my destiny would be. Ruling alongside my sister to create a peaceful Equestria, for us and for our subjects." She frowned. "Becoming Nightmare Moon out of jealousy for all of the attention my sister got was not in the plan."
Orla wasn't exactly sure what 'Nightmare Moon' was, but the name alone assured her that it had to be some kind of evil form of Luna's. She wasn't all too concerned about the details, though, instead looking up and furrowing her eyebrows. "Surely you did not expect being a leader to be easy, did you? Leader I am not, but being a Protector has taught me that the chains of command can be quite binding."
A small smirk, barely noticeable, edged onto Luna's face. "I see you are beginning to understand, Orla."
"Understand what?"
"That your destiny is not a smooth path." Luna's cool gaze bore into Orla's suspicious one, and made the girl flinch. "Answer a few questions for me, if you will. Who, exactly, gave you this prophecy?"
"Cottonwing, of course."
"Cottonwing himself? Not one of his angels?"
"Yes. Just Cottonwing."
"I see. Next question." Luna decided to take a seat on the smooth floor, adjusting herself as she got used to how cool it felt on her rump. "When did you receive this prophecy?"
That was a tough one. Orla crossed her arms and closed her eyes to think. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't place a date nor a time, even when coming up with a mental timeline. "I am not quite sure. I cannot determine if it was before the war for the clover or after."
Luna nodded, but whatever words she spoke next were lost in the sensation of Orla's memory ball springing up with sudden unexpected life, pushing forward a memory.
Sitting in a tavern and munching on a fruit bowl, the sounds of the conversation behind her hit Orla's eardrums.
"Ugh...that was the worst trip I've ever taken."
"Ah, Carl Clocking! Wonderful to see you again, old chum."
The villain, decked head-to-toe in a cloak littered with all sorts of clock patterns in a fashion of a different time period, glared at his friend. "I have told you a million times, Alan Aether, it is 'Clock King'. Separated!"
"Right, my apologies. Mm, anyway, you were saying?"
Carl flopped in a chair. "I went to the future to cause oddness, see? Because if you can change things in the past to cause trouble for the future, maybe it could work the opposite way, right? So anyway, I go there, only to find a group of Odd Squad agents there waiting to stop me!"
"That certainly isn't surprising to hear."
"I didn't get to the bad part yet!" Carl shouted, surprisingly not attracting the attention of any of the other customers. He cleared his throat. "They were dressed differently from the agents we've faced before. They had these weird weapons on them called gadgets. They even told me their names. Oswald, Opal, Omar, and...Orla."
Orla's eyes widened. The other villain jerked forward. "Orla? You mean that plank who's been trying to grab you for the past twenty years?"
"Yes. She will live into 'the modern age'. Join up with those stupid kids and...live in their stupid van!" Carl gripped the table. "When I asked who they were, they talked on and on and on about how they travel around the world fighting oddness and helping agents! Like we're gonna let that happen?!"
"Now, now, Carl, I think you might just be overreacting. Do try to calm down." Alan waved his hand gently. "Is it possible your powers might be waning?"
"My powers don't wane."
"Hmm. Well, one of the Gorgons' snakes passed away recently. When she turned an agent to stone, it only lasted for a day."
"My powers are not waning, or going away, or...whatever people in this time period call it. Orla surviving won't happen. Aren't the other villains talking about a final war for control of that 44-Leaf Clover? She won't live past that. Not with Villain University's good graduation rates."
Orla simply stared at her fruit bowl in utter shock, unable to move, let alone get up and walk out. The conversation stuck in her brain like propolis, and stayed that way.
Knees giving out, Orla slumped to the ground.
The thing that kept her going, the thing that fueled her through all these years of pain and war and loss, the thing that told her that her future would be brighter one day, was all a lie.
And the catalyst was Carl Clock King.
Orla was slightly familiar with the name. Carl stood out as a villain with a time-travel schtick who had the freedom to travel as far back into the past or as far forward into the future as he wanted to, and subject agents and civilians to the same thing. Back then, no other villain in Odd Squad's rogues' gallery had such a power, and no other villain was future-born. His knowledge on the modern world was invaluable, but to Orla, all he did when he brought it up was confuse her and leave her in a state of denial. People getting around in metal boxes with wheels instead of horses and ponies? It sounded ridiculous.
But what made her think Cottonwing was the one who gave her the prophecy? Was it all the times her prayers were answered? Was it lashing out for the ones that weren't? She had no idea. All she knew was that she had been lied to.
"What is wrong?" Luna inquired.
Orla didn't answer for a few moments. When she did, though, her expression twisted into ugly fury. "That prophecy was not given to me by Cottonwing at all. I had eavesdropped on a conversation between two villains, talking about the future." She gazed at her clenched fists. "And I believed them."
"Is that a bad thing?"
Orla stared at Luna as though a brain cell had walked its way out of her ear. "Yes. One of the villains was Carl Clock King, known for his time-traveling feats of villainy." She buried her head in her hands. "When he said I would live long into the future and join up with young Oswald, young Omar and young Opal...why did I believe him? Why did I believe him, when villains are known to lie?"
"Based on what I have heard, you were desperate," Luna said. "You have been alone for centuries, Orla, doing your duty in guarding the 44-Leaf Clover. But deep inside, you know you want to move on."
"I do not want to move on!" Orla snapped. "I will never leave Odd Squad. My very heart and soul shall remain forever loyal to it. To suggest otherwise is an insult."
Luna nodded. "And that is very commendable," she murmured. "But just as a pony cannot survive without friendship, neither can an Odd Squad agent. In that regard, and in many others, agents and ponies are very similar." She stared deep into Orla's eyes. "Do tell me: have you ever been told that you will die alone?"
"No," came the reflexive response. It was only half-true, because Orla couldn't remember and most insults bounced off of her sturdy chest armor anyhow.
"Nopony wishes to die alone." Luna closed her eyes and moved her head to the side, as though reliving some kind of pain. Orla couldn't tell, and she didn't feel like asking. "Everypony needs friends."
Orla bit her lip. "I have a friend," she muttered, before realizing that he was probably killed and making the correction of, "I had a friend." She crossed her arms. "Bouldy. Before I became a Protector, we would do everything together. Go hunting, see the sunrises and the sunsets, play Rock-Pebble-Boulder. And then he betrayed me."
"How so?"
"He began telling me he was pregnant. It gave him a rather convenient excuse to back out of our dates." Luna's confused expression didn't sway Orla any. "And so, I was forced to stop being his friend."
A pause lingered as Luna tried to take in this information. "...Oh." was all she could say after a while.
"Why is that so surprising? You do not have friends who are rocks?"
"Er...no. Ponies don't exactly make friends with...rocks." Luna blinked. "Except Pinkie Pie and her family. But they run a rock farm, you see."
"They do?"
"Yes. They are quite proficient at it." Luna cleared her throat. "But I digress. You mentioned that you overheard Carl say you will live through the ages and into the future. Why are you here now?"
Orla opened her mouth to fire a retort. One didn't come out. Instead, she said, "That is what I wish to know."
"It is like I said. Destinies can be fickle and confusing things. Perhaps you will not meet up with Opal, Omar, and Oswald..." Orla could swear she saw the tiniest smile pull at Luna's mouth, but it went away with a simple blink. "But you have persevered, and you are alive. And you should make the most of that."
Perhaps out of desperation, Orla jumped at the falter in emotion. "What exactly do you have planned?"
Luna touched her cheek gently. "Ah. It seems my secret is out." She rose to her hooves and bathed her horn in a lovely blue aura that made Orla drowsy just staring at it. "Orla, I would like to propose something."
Orla nodded just a little too fast.
"Many ponies find that meeting with their loved ones one last time brings them peace. It may help to say the words they never got to say, or to apologize for harmful actions committed in the past." Luna paused. "I feel this may benefit you, in helping you to grieve and move on."
"Wait one tiny little notch on the sundial," Orla interrupted. "Are you saying...you have the ability to bring young Opal, young Omar and young Oswald back to life?"
Luna shook her head. "I cannot do that. However, I can bring their spirits to you."
For a different person, they might ask how a horse from a different world could bring human spirits from Earth to them, especially spirits not met before. But this was Orla, and Orla did not care about the circumstances nor the logic. Hearing this horse say she could let her see the three agents she was going to befriend, the three agents she was going to travel with, was enough for her to get excited for the first time in Cottonwing knew how long.
"I shall take your grin as a yes." Luna returned the smile, then closed her eyes and let the aura grow even brighter. Orla watched in awe as three blue tendrils snaked out from the tip of Luna's horn and moved towards her sides, then began swirling upwards. As they did, she could see shoes materializing, then pants, then jackets.
And finally, the faces. How Orla missed the faces. The beaming smile of Omar, the fire in Opal's eyes, the youthful freckles on Oswald's cheeks. It all filled her with joy, enough of it for her eyes to create more water.
The tendrils disappeared, the aura died down, and Luna slowly opened her eyes before turning around and backing up. "I do hope the pictures Oprah showed me were accurate. Bringing human spirits from Heaven is not something I usually do."
"Yes!" Orla cried out. She got to her feet and slowly approached the three floating spirits. "Young Opal..."
"Orla?" Opal blinked. "Weird. I was in Heaven, but now I'm he- oh my gosh, is that a horse?!"
"Winged unicorn, to be specific. Commonly referred to as alicorns, but that word refers to a unicorn's horn, not a species," Oswald explained. "Maybe this is some kind of a dimension for winged unicorns."
"Cool!" Omar exclaimed. "Never seen a winged unicorn before."
Overwhelmed with emotion, Orla rushed to hug Opal, but phased through her and stumbled forward instead. She froze for a few moments before she turned around. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Opal, Omar, and Oswald do not have physical forms."
"And why not? You cannot give them such forms?"
"I can. And I do, for some ponies. But I only do what is necessary to aid the pony's well-being." Luna glanced at Orla. "There is no point in having your friends in physical forms. You must learn to heal while they are being called away from Heaven. Besides that, said forms are most likely gone."
Orla grit her teeth.
"Orla, it's okay," Omar soothed. "You can talk to us."
"I..." She stared at him. "I am not sure what to say."
"I do!" Opal raised her hand. "Going on this big adventure to rescue the 44-Leaf Clover was the most fun I ever had in my entire life. Meeting Oswald in-person, meeting you, Orla, seeing your Headquarters. It was exactly what I wished for." Though it was hard to see, her eyes grew misty. "We may not have saved the artifact, but we did do one thing."
Orla held her breath.
"We let the world know it existed. We let the world know that you existed." Opal's smile grew bigger, and she nudged Omar. "And you know what that means."
"Lots and lots of new friendships!" Omar winked. "So you can start Orla's House of Friendship."
Flustered, Orla didn't know what to do. Hug Luna and thank her? Break down crying? Ask her friends the questions that had plagued her mind since they died? Her body made the decision for her, choosing to go with the second option. The eye water she had been trying to hold back came out in a flood, making its way down her face and landing on the floor below.
Thinking of Opal's words made her realize that she was right. The Big O would make sure her name was in every news-stone article, her feats were recognized, and her identity was revealed to the masses.
"And you don't need luck for that. I mean, you were guarding the 44-Leaf Clover for over four hundred years. I don't think it was luck that allowed you to live for that long."
Orla was jerked out of her thoughts by Oswald's words. Always the insightful one, he was. But he was right, too. It was like she said earlier: luck couldn't bring back her friends, and it didn't. Luck didn't make her agree to the Big O's offer of having a princess of Equestria come and visit her. It didn't eve allow her to live to be over four hundred years old. There was no being lucky or being unlucky, not in a world where Odd Squad reigned.
"Aww, Orla, don't cry." Opal placed her hands on Orla's shoulders. The Ancient Agent didn't even flinch from how solid they seemed to be. "We'll always be here for you. You know, Arctic Mr. O says that dead people still live on in the stars. So if you find that you're missing us, just look up at the sky!"
Suddenly, it dawned on Orla why the landscape looked the way it did. It was reminiscent of a night sky full of stars, all representing the people she had lost. Ancient Agents, her Ms. O, Opal, Oswald, Omar -- they were all here, surrounding her.
That was when she descended into something that, before now, she would never dream of becoming.
Snot ran down her nose. The eye water became uncontrollable. Her cheeks became aflush with the color of a bright red. Wails bubbled up in her throat and eventually came forth. The world around her slowed to a halt as she let all of her emotions out, her body shivering as though embraced by the cold and ceasing to shiver when three transparent bodies and one feathery wing hugged it tightly.
When everyone pulled away a few minutes later, Orla was still crying, and she hastily attempted to make herself look presentable by wiping away the snot and tears with her hand. "I..." She took a moment to collect herself, then tried again. "Thank you. But I must apologize."
"For what?" Omar asked.
"I could not protect you. Even after we held the clover, I broke free, because...I knew it could not save us. It is supposed to glow when it is in use. It did for a time, before it did not." Orla looked away. "To rescue you all before my Headquarters collapsed would have taken twenty minutes that we did not have."
"And who were the people who caused HQ to collapse to begin with?" Oswald pointed out. "The Sticky Sisters are the ones to blame. If they hadn't gone up the wrong staircase, we would all be alive."
"But-"
"It's not your fault." Oswald's voice took on a sharp edge that surprised Orla. "When the clover stopped glowing, Headquarters was already about to collapse. There's no way you could've gotten all of us out in time."
Luna placed a gentle hoof onto Orla's arm. "'Trying and failing to save the world is better than not trying at all,'" she recited. "Although in this particular case, the 'saving the world' part can be omitted."
Now Orla understood. Even though trying was a concept that her boss, and herself by extension, looked down upon, the incident with the clover proved both of them wrong.
She tried to save her new friends. She tried to save her Headquarters.
She failed, in every regard. But that was okay, because she made an effort.
Her chest felt warm. More eye water began leaking out, which she quickly rubbed away. All she could respond with was a single nod of understanding.
"I believe my work here is done." Luna said. "Is there anything you would like to say to Opal, Omar, and Oswald before I send them back?"
There were many things. Orla could probably make a stone tablet full of them. She wanted to say that she could set them aside for the next time she saw them, but Luna made no mention of a return visit, of course. So, she decided to settle on the thing she wanted to say the most.
"I miss all of you. And...I hope you are all having a good time in Heaven with Cottonwing and His angels." She blinked. "I am not going to say that I shall see you soon, but when the time comes, I do hope I am able to find you."
"Not if we find you first," Opal said, almost teasingly.
Orla couldn't help but smile at that. Of course Opal would find her first, and take Omar and Oswald along for the ride. She was adventurous like that, even in death. In fact, it was amazing how being in the Arctic was the answer to the question of how she hadn't died yet.
"If that is all..." Luna prompted, bathing her horn in a blue aura once more.
"Ah, no. I do have one more question." Orla idly adjusted her shoulder armor. "Do you -- either of you -- have an idea of...what I should do?"
"What do you mean?" Oswald asked.
"I do wish to stay with Odd Squad, of course. But things have changed so much, and..." Orla began to fidget with her hands. "I am not sure if there is a place for me out there."
This time, Luna took initiative. "I have been in such a position before. Struggling to adjust to modern-day Equestria after a millennia of living on the moon was rather difficult." She took a pause to stare at the sky, filled with as much purple, black, blue, and white as the rest of the area. "But Twilight Sparkle helped me to get accustomed, and she helped me meet such kind ponies." She smiled. "Perhaps what you need, Orla, are some new friends to help you."
Orla's gaze moved from Luna to her fellow agents. She was almost tempted to ask if they could stay and help show her around, but the supernatural side of Odd Squad wasn't something she knew much about. And besides, they had things to do in Heaven. That left her thinking of anyone else she knew.
Her eyes widened in surprise. "The Big O?"
Luna nodded. "She is a start. I think you two would get along well."
She might have interacted very little with the girl who was apparently her new boss, but as far as Orla could tell, Oprah -- at least, that's what Luna had called her -- was well-respected and wise. Those were two similarities. Maybe she could find more, if she made an attempt.
"I don't really know the Big O myself...none of us do, really..." Oswald shot a glance at Opal and Omar. "But I've read stories about her feats. She sounds amazing."
Orla's expression turned into amusement as she watched Oswald's eyes sparkle with admiration. It did make her heart ache that he wouldn't be able to speak with the Big O himself, but if she was going to eventually die and go to Heaven, maybe Oprah would too. Ancient Agents were known for their high life expectancy rates, but even they could be killed by non-natural means. Not that she wanted Oprah to die, of course, and not that Oprah was an Ancient Agent herself, but anything could happen.
"Okay." She took a deep breath. "I think I am done."
Her voice cracked on the last sentence, but either Luna didn't notice it or was choosing to ignore it. Three blue tendrils snaked out of the tip of her horn, surrounding the spirits once more as they eventually disappeared in small flashes of light.
Orla smiled and waved, even though her friends were gone. She only barely noticed eye water running down her face again as she slid towards Luna and embraced her in a hug of thanks.
Pony and human sat on the reflective floor for the longest time, saying nothing, with pony allowing human to cry in her chest fur.
Somehow, Orla knew that seeing her friends wouldn't put an end to her grief. Though significant, they were only three deaths out of many more that she had witnessed and experienced and kept bottled up inside of her as life moved on. Maybe, if Oprah was as wise as Luna said she is, she would help Orla to grieve and eventually move on. Orla would trust her on that.
"Life shall get better," she whispered.
Luna replied with a soft hum of agreement.
It wasn't the note telling Orla to come to the Big O's office that concerned her as much as it was actually going to the office. Which was odd, because she never felt this kind of fear when her Ms. O would call her to her office.
Being dressed in a baggy gray sweatshirt, navy shorts, and red sneakers helped with not standing out, but that didn't stop agents from glancing at her shoulder armor. It was the one thing she opted to keep when the Big O offered a change of clothes, since it helped with any attacks a villain might try on her.
Well...it was less "offered" and more "mandatorily gifted". Her current uniform was horribly outdated, or so she was told, and she needed a more modernized one tailored to fit her size. Before that, though, a health exam needed to be conducted, so she was forced to wear something else for now.
Still, the uniform was largely a nonissue, aside from sleeves that extended past her hands. No, the issue now was trying to get the Big O to befriend her. Luna's advice was sound, but it would fall flat if the Big O didn't return the favor. It nearly made Orla sick just thinking about it, though maybe that was her empty stomach talking.
After several minutes of walking around and trying to figure out where her destination was, she found herself at a set of wide silver doors. A check of the sign on the right showed that this was the Big O's office, so she was definitely in the right place. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, stepped back when she found out the doors opened on their own, regarded the feat with surprise for a few seconds, and then stepped forward again.
The Big O looked up. "Ah, Agent Orla. I see you got my note," she said. "Did you have a good night's sleep?"
"It was...comfortable. Although I much prefer smooth rocks."
"Duly noted." The Big O closed her folder and pushed it to the side. "If you'd like, you can have a seat. There are some chairs over there that, uh..." Her eyebrows furrowed. "...might be too small for older agents, now that I think about it. I should get some new ones."
"I would rather stand."
Clearing her throat, the Big O adjusted her seat. "Right. So, about the services you agreed to the other day. Did you meet with Princess Celestia and Princess Luna?"
"Just Princess Luna," Orla responded. "When you said she was a princess, I expected someone taller."
The Big O regarded her with a half-lidded look. "She's a pony. Ponies are biologically small." She tilted her head. "Didn't you used to ride horses? How do you not know about ponies?"
"Ponies do not look like that."
"They do when they come from another world."
"And were you not surprised when you met them for the first time?"
"Yes. Just like how I was surprised when I went to Equestria and found myself the same height as Celestia."
Not willing to get into an argument, and not willing to take the curiosity bait the Big O had laid out for her, Orla relented with a soft sigh. "Luna was pleasant. She gave me quite the helpful advice, and she..." She rubbed her arm. "...let me see young Opal, young Oswald, and young Omar one last time."
This made the Big O's eyes widen. "She brought them from Heaven?"
"Yes."
"Our Heaven?"
"Yes."
The Big O opened her mouth, and then closed it. Orla knew what she wanted to ask -- how Luna managed to pull three human spirits from Heaven when she wasn't a denizen of Earth. But to her, it didn't matter then, and it didn't matter now. Her leader, on the other hand, looked to be torn between exploring the matter further and setting it aside.
"Okay." The Big O took a deep breath. "I'll have to get in touch with her about that. Continue?"
"They told me that...I don't need luck to survive in this new world. That..." Orla looked away. "That I should make friends with you."
The Big O blinked a few times, then sighed heavily. "The Princesses did tell me I need to make some friends. I've never really dwelled on it, but...with Olive and Otto gone, and Olympia and Otis too...all I really have is Oscar."
Orla clenched her fist, waiting for the inevitable "no" answer.
"But it'll be nice to have a new friend."
Until today, Orla had no idea how good those words felt. They were almost as good as hearing "The war is over!" after years of fighting. Almost as good as hearing "I give up!" or "Take me in!" from a villain. A light feeling filled her entire body, to such a point that she wondered if she was going to start floating.
"Thank you," were the only words she could utter.
"You're welcome," were the words that the Big O gave back.
With that matter settled, the pair could move on to discussing other things, such as the prophecy given to Orla by villains instead of by Cottonwing, what departments Orla would be interested in going in, and helping her find some more stable housing than shacking up in an Odd Squad corporate building or going back to her dirty old cave in the Amazon rainforest.
By the time Orla left the office, she felt freer than she had ever felt before. She regarded the book in her hands -- An Old-Fashioned Agent with an Old-Fashioned Mind: How Odd Squad Agents Can Modern Up in Today's Changing World, which, according to the Big O, would help her with adapting to the modern world and its many new innovations. Hugging it close, she began to walk away.
"Orla! I forgot!"
The Ancient Agent turned around. The Big O was leaning out of her office, frantically waving like she was fighting some mysterious entity for control of her hand. Eventually, she slid out and began walking towards Orla.
There was a pause, for obvious dramatic effect.
And then, the Big O smiled.
"Since we're friends, call me Oprah."
Orla smiled back. It was a toothy smile that showed much dental work was needed, but still managed to communicate her elation all the same
"Oh, and no offense, but your teeth look horrible. I'll schedule an appointment with the Odd Squad Dentists so they can take care of that."
A laugh bubbled up in Orla's lungs and came out like a beautiful song. It was the first laugh she had given in Cottonwing knew how long, and she cherished every second of it.
Never mind that her new friend had just insulted her. She had a friend. And life was, indeed, getting better.
Author's Note
An agent referring to their boss as "my Ms. O" or "my Mr. O" isn't grammatically correct -- it's supposed to be "my Director" or "my boss", despite what the franchise says -- but Orla does not know about all of the various departments in modern-day Odd Squad (bar the Mobile Unit department, obviously), just the hierarchical structure of the organization as a whole that has remained in place for millennia. For that reason, her referring to her boss by her title sounds more fitting. (The same logic also applies to her calling Oprah "the Big O" rather than by her name, though there it's more a matter of authoritarian respect.)
In "Nature of the Sandbeast", Orla's version of the story involves Dr. Dry summoning an oracle. Which, in turn, leads one to think of how she knows about oracles...and religion as a whole. I'm agnostic, so religion isn't necessarily my strong suit, but I took what I knew and put an odd twist on it. "Cathoddlic" didn't sit right with me as an Oddverse-ified pun, either.