If there was one word Snails would use to describe Canterlot, it would be fast.

There were other words he could use. Fancy, for the buildings. Cramped, for the crowd. Noisy, also for the crowd. But the one thing that stood out above the rest was the speed.

Everypony walked like they had somewhere to be and like they should have been there five minutes ago. Maybe it was always like this or maybe the whole city just had pre-wedding jitters, but either way it was almost overwhelming. In Ponyville, you could spend twenty minutes just crossing the street: stopping to chat with a friend or watch a cloud or just wait for the day's usual chaos to pass by from the sidelines. But in Canterlot, even with his long legs he found himself struggling to keep up with the crowd's hustling pace.

Or at the very least, the pace of the determined blue filly ahead of him as she pulled him along by the sleeve of his starched dress shirt.

"Come on," she insisted. "We're going to get left behind."

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he assured her, but without much real urgency. He was pretty sure that even if he tried to stand still the crowd would just carry him along like the ocean tide. Besides, her dad was wearing his full dress uniform, so his plumed helmet stood out above the crowd.

The collar of his ill-fitting button-down rasped at his neck with every step and he wished he had an extra leg so he could adjust it. It wasn't a name brand like a Coltswear or a Rarity: just a cheap off-the-rack shirt from Barnyard Bargains. The fabric itched and the sleeves were too short and the shoulders too broad (his Pops had insisted there was no point buying something nicer since he’d just outgrow it before he had a reason to wear it again) but everyone had insisted that he had to dress formal, which meant a nice shirt and a tie and generally feeling uncomfortable for the sake of fanciness.

Unlike Archer, who didn’t seem to have that problem. She looked much nicer (and more comfortable) than he did. She wore a soft lilac dress with short sleeves and a long skirt that made her look more grown up than she was, and her mother had done some kind of makeup magic to her eyes that really made them pop.

She slowed just enough to turn and use those popping eyes to give him a look. Archer had a lot of looks: all very distinct and unique from one another. Many of them involving eyebrows. Someday he hoped to figure out what exactly each one was supposed to convey, because she definitely wasn’t going to come out and tell him.

Still, she slowed down enough that they could walk side by side instead of her pulling him along like a reluctant puppy. At least she was being considerate.

Then she grabbed his tie and straightened it, nearly choking him in the process. How she managed to tighten the noose while still walking was another mystery he doubted he’d ever solve.

“How did you get this so loose?” she asked, cutting off his air supply further with each adjustment. “Are you even taking this seriously? Honestly, you could be a little more appreciative. It took a lot of work to get these invitations.”

He took a deep and wheezing breath as he was finally freed from her clutches. “I thought— I thought your whole family got invited because your dad was in the same cadet class as the groom?”

Archer missed a step, probably from her hoof catching on a loose cobblestone.

“Y-yeah, but you're not family so normally you wouldn't get to come at all.”

He nodded as he used the motion to discreetly loosen his tie. “Yeah, I know. Your mom said you begged for like three hours for them to give me the extra ticket and then threatened a hunger strike.”

She fully stumbled, almost falling behind. When she caught up, her blue face had gone nearly purple. Maybe she was getting light-headed from the thin mountain air. He slowed down (as much as the crowd would let him) to help make it easier on her. “I dunno why you’d want to invite me of all ponies, but I'm happy to be here.”

She gave him another look. “You don't know— no.” She shook her head as her original color returned. “No, of course you wouldn't.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind. Pick up the pace; we’re falling behind.”

As instructed, he put his long legs to use, eating up the distance from the train station to the castle. He wished he could have gotten a better look at the city, but for as much as his legs seemed to have jumped the gun on puberty, he was still a head shorter than the adults around them. Even then it was impossible to miss the massive castle gates as he passed under them, their shadow briefly blocking out the pink-tinted sky. The dense crowd thinned to something more breathable as they spread out into the open courtyard.

Snails glanced at the statue-like guards they’d passed by without comment. “Huh. They didn’t check our invitations.”

“Not yet,” Archer corrected him. “That comes later. Everypony’s allowed to come watch in the courtyards or whatever, but an invite means we’re guaranteed seats—good seats—and we’ll get to go to the reception after the ceremony ends.”

He cocked his head at the unfamiliar use of the word. “What’s a reception?”

“It’s the real party after they do all the boring stuff. I went to one when my aunt got married again. There’ll be speeches and food and d-dancing.” Her face went a little purple again. The air was probably even thinner with so many ponies breathing it.

“Free food?” he asked hopefully. At her nod, suddenly the stuffy shirt seemed a small price to pay. “I hope the ceremony’s not too long then. I’m ready to eat already.”

Another look, one he recognized for how often he got it. “Again? You just ate on the train.”

“That was just snacks. Snacks don’t count.”

“It was a huge platter! I had to help you finish it.”

He shrugged. “Well, I had to get the combo option. The other ones didn’t come with a collectible whistle.”

He pulled out the little wooden toy from his pocket and blew into it. It made a weak sound that was almost not unlike a train whistle. He frowned at it, disappointed. “I guess I need to practice more before I show it to Snips.” He tucked it back away. “Too bad he couldn’t come.”

“Well, he didn’t have a ticket so…” Archer trailed off leadingly. When Snails failed to pick it up, she sighed and continued. “Yeah, I guess it is kinda weird seeing you two apart. I thought you were glued to each other's sides.”

“That was only one time.” A memory bubbled up to the surface of his thoughts. “Two times. A couple times. I asked if he wanted to share the ticket so we could both come, but he said he’d literally die if he had to sit through a boring frou-frou wedding, and I don't want him to die.”

“You can’t share a— nevermind. You know he wasn't being serious, right?”

“Huh? But he said he’d literally die.”

Archer rolled her eyes. “You dummy. You can't die from going to a wedding. He’d just get really bored.”

“Bored to death,” Snails countered.

She snort-laughed in her cute way, but didn’t reply, which meant she knew he was right. Then she grabbed his sleeve and started pulling again leftwards. “Come on, we're sitting in Ballroom three.”

“We’re not in the main room?” he asked as she expertly weaved him between the throng of ponies splitting themselves between the castle’s several entrances. “How will we see what’s going on?”

“Look around you,” she said, sparing a hoof to gesture at the crowd. “You really think they can fit all these ponies in one room? This is the wedding of the century! The main chapel hall only has room for a few hundred and that'll be all for nobles and foreign dignitaries and the families of the bride and groom and stuff. We'll be in a different room, but a royal wizard’ll use a projection spell to cast some illusions to make it feel like we're really there.”

Archer navigated the castle like she’d been born there, easily guiding him through twists and turns that all looked identical to him until they arrived at, he presumed, their destination. Spotting her dad’s plume in one of the seats just confirmed it. Together they side-shuffled their way down the aisle until they reached her parents and finally sat down to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

They’d arrived early at her dad’s insistence. Much too early, it seemed. Minutes passed like hours as ponies trickled in, slowly filling the room. Meanwhile, Snails became acutely aware of something else that had been filling up at a steady trickle as well. Eventually he made the decision to take care of the problem before the pressure became unbearable.

He stood up, only to nearly fall back down as a blue hoof grabbed his cuff. “What are you doing?”

“Going to find a bathroom,” he whispered back.

“Can’t you hold it? You'll miss the ceremony.”

“No I won’t. It's not starting for a while.” He had no way of knowing if this was true, but if it hadn't started yet what were the chances of that changing anytime soon? “I'll be quick.”

She gave him another look, one that involved an arched brow, but eventually she let go of his sleeve. “Fine. Just don't get lost.”

“I won't get lost.”

“Snails, you got lost at school once.”

“So?”

Her eyebrow arched even higher. “It's a one room building.”

He turned to try and hide his embarrassed blush, muttering, “They moved the desks.”

Archer shook her head. “Whatever. Just hurry back.”

With a final nod, he started reversing his trip down the aisle, accompanied by a string of “excuse-me-pardon-me-sorry-scuse-me-sorry” as he squeezed his way past all the ponies who’d sat down after him. Walking back to the door wasn’t much better as he tried to mimic Archer’s skill at weaving through a crowd walking the opposite direction, but mostly just ended up awkwardly bumping into ponies with more apologies.

Once he made it out of the ballroom, he realized he had another problem. Namely, he had no idea where the bathrooms were. Luckily, he spotted a Guard nearby. His parents had drilled into his head from a young age that he could always go to a Royal Guard if he needed help, and the couple of semi-retired ones stationed at the Ponyville Outpost were always happy to answer his questions or lend a hoof with a problem. With that positivity in mind, he called out as he trotted up the hallway.

“Excuse me! Mister Guard!”

The Guard shifted slowly as he approached, their expression stiff and serious. They muttered something Snails didn’t quite catch that almost sounded like ‘grate another country pumpkin’, so Snails figured he must have interrupted their daydream about a recipe. He could relate.

“Yes, citizen. What is it?”

The tone was stiffer than Snails expected, but he ignored it. It was probably a very stressful day, after all. “Which way is the bathroom?”

The Guard rolled their eyes. “Bathroom. Of course. Can you read?”

“Yes.”

“Good. See that sign?” They lowered their spear to point to a spot where the hall split into two paths. Lining the corner was a tower of placards, each made of dark glossy wood and etched with golden letters in fancy loopy calligraphy. Below each was an arrow pointing either left or right, though barely legible for all their artistic flourishes.

“There. Third from the top. ‘Restroom Facility’. Follow it till you find the next sign then follow that one. Understood?”

Snails didn't reply, wholly focused on trying to memorize the needlessly curly letters that supposedly spelled out where he wanted to go.

“Understood?” the Guard repeated, slightly more tersely.

“Oh! Yes sir. Third from the top. Follow the signs.”

“Good. Now shove off. I'm busy.”

Snails nodded and moved to step away, only for the spear to suddenly drop down to block his path.

“One more thing,” the Guard said, their voice flinty. “Don’t go wandering anywhere else. The castle may be open to the public for the wedding but some parts are still private.”

Snails nodded again and, for good measure, threw in a salute. The Guard rolled their eyes and muttered something under their breath, but finally lifted the spear and returned to their parade rest.

Taking the dismissal for what it was, Snails made a hasty exit down the left hallway.

He followed it until he reached an intersection, at which point he encountered his next stumbling block. The wall of signs were not in the same order as the previous ones.

“Restroom Facility,” he reminded himself as he studied the calligraphy for one that looked familiar. “Restroom Facility… Restroom Facility… Restrooooom… ah!” At last he found it near the bottom of the stack. Most of it still looked more like a tangle of golden wire than actual words, but he recognized the ‘F’ at the beginning and the ‘y’ at the end for how the tail of each curled together to form the arrow.

An arrow that told him to take a right.

He did so, satisfied in solving the unintended brainteaser.

He continued down that hall until he encountered the next intersection. Then the next. Then the next. The arrows took him on a winding journey up some stairways and down others. Through courtyards and arcades, into towers and across skybridges. At no point did the thought ever cross his mind that it was an unusually long route, nor that he might deviate from the path or even ask another Guard for clearer directions. He already had directions: follow the arrows. Besides, he hadn’t seen another Guard for quite some time. Nor anypony else, for that matter. He was well and truly alone in the labyrinthian depths of Canterlot castle.

Until finally, finally, the signs pointed him down a corridor that terminated in a single door rather than yet another branching path.

And what a door it was. He had to crane his neck to see the full thing at once. It was more gilded than not, plated with more gold than he’d ever seen in his life, expertly shaped into a giant replica of the Royal Seal of Equestria and studded with gems the size of his hoof. And set into the wall beside it was a singular sign that bore the golden squiggle he’d all but memorized by now with the twisty F and y.

It was, without a doubt, absurdly fancy.

“Geez. No expense spared for the princess, huh,” he mused.

*ding!*

He startled at a sudden chime as a single large gem in the center of the door began to glow with magical light.

“Password,” it requested.

“Passw-ord?” he asked, his voice cracking halfway through as young teen voices were oft to do.

“Password accepted. Welcome to the Royal Reliquary.”

A crack of light split the royal seal down the middle as the door opened of its own accord. Though it beckoned him in, Snails hesitated at the threshold. He’d never heard of a ‘reliquary’ before, but it wasn't hard to put the pieces together.

This wasn't the public restroom.

This was the royal restroom.

For a moment, his mind flashed back to the Guard’s warning about keeping to public spaces. But on the other hoof, the door had opened for him on its own and literally invited him in. Maybe the princess had opened her bathroom to the public since there were so many ponies in the castle. Or maybe she was just very considerate and didn't mind sharing. That seemed like a very princess-y sort of trait.

“Either way,” he reasoned, “she’s probably super busy preparing for the wedding, so it's not like she's going to be needing it in the next few minutes.”

With that sound logic in mind, he put his worries aside and continued on into the reliquary.

“I'll have to write her a thank you letter later,” he reminded himself as he entered. Once he was clear, the door slammed shut behind him. Which made perfect sense. Privacy was very important: it was a bathroom, after all.

Though, taking it all in from the entryway, he had to admit it was stretching the definition pretty thin.

It was unlike any bathroom he'd ever seen. In fact, it felt more like the lobby of a fancy hotel with checkerboard marble floors and fluted pillars and rich hanging drapes in royal colors and a sweeping double staircase that led to a second floor. Also much like a fancy hotel lobby, it was filled with strange decorations. Jeweled weapons and ancient books and leering paintings and floating crystals and a hundred other things all sorted and displayed on little pedestals or behind glass cases.

It seemed that, much like his mom, the princess was a bit of a pack rat where the neighbors couldn't see.

Also much like home, he had a feeling it was going to be a bit of a hunt to find the actual bathroom fixtures amidst the clutter. But no amount of waiting would bring the toilet to him, so he began his search.

It didn’t take long for him to get distracted.

He cocked his head to one side. It didn’t help. He cocked it to the other and tried again. That wasn’t much better. He considered trying to stand on his head, but thought better of it.

“Boy, rich ponies sure do have strange taste in decorations,” he remarked. He’d been in Diamond Tiara’s mansion once or twice, so he knew that rich ponies like weird art (their butler has really chewed him out once for daring to touch a jumble of scrap metal that supposedly cost more than his parents made in a year), but the princess clearly took things to another level.

The swords and weapons he understood. If he had a bunch of cool swords, he’d definitely decorate his house with them. The books were a bit weirder (especially the furry ones) but hardly as weird as his Pops’ six volumes of Bathroom Digest: 10,001 Trivia Nuggets, Brainteasers, and Toilet Jokes. But the statue was really throwing him.

He wasn’t even sure what it was supposed to be. Some kind of giant insect with all its legs tangled together? Or maybe it was just abstract and meant to represent ‘the melancholy of an empty toilet paper roll’? Either way, he wouldn’t give it a second glance at a yard sale, but apparently the princess thought otherwise.

There was a small bronze plaque mounted on its base, but it didn’t offer much help. Whatever was meant by “ꡁꡈꡇꡇ: ꡣꡃꡑꡗꡔꡇꡅ ꡑꡆ ꡵ꡔꡅꡁꡏ ꡙꡁꡎꡎꡅꡜ. ꡔꡅꡁꡒꡒꡎꡜ ꡒꡅꡖꡔꡉꡆꡉꡃꡁꡖꡉꡑꡐ ꡅꡙꡅꡔꡜ ꡖꡈꡔꡅꡅ ꡈꡗꡐ꡵ꡔꡅ꡵ ꡏꡑꡑꡐꡣ1” was completely lost on him. He was barely passing his regular language arts class, let alone Ancient Ponish.

As weird as the statue was, it didn’t hold his attention long. Not when there were a thousand other distractions making it very difficult to stay focused on his goal of finding the toilet in the Princess’s unnecessarily huge bathroom.

Still, he tried his best to keep up the pace and only spend a few moments on each curiosity as they caught his eye. A jade urn as tall as he was, swaddled in paper tags covered in Neighponese writing. A complete skeleton, bipedal and four armed, standing without any apparent support and carved from pale blue ice. A butterfly knife that plinked against the walls of its glass cloche more like a wasp than its namesake. A set of gleaming golden horseshoes. A charred wooden lyre that seemed to be playing itself inside its glass enclosure. Five gem-studded necklaces with a matching tiara that practically gleamed with magic.

All very cool, and all very very weird to display in a bathroom.

Then again, maybe it only seemed weird to him because he wasn’t rich enough to understand it. Art was like that, or so he’d been told.

As he rubbernecked down the aisle, he unknowingly hip-checked one of the many trinket-bearing pedestals. As it wobbled, a purple gem set in its lip turned red before firing out a short pulse of coruscating magic in his direction. Luckily for Snails, the crystal was aimed at the height of an adult pony, which meant the debilitating bolt sailed straight over his head, both literally and figuratively.

He stopped and ran a hoof across the top of his scalp where a single strand had been caught and vaporized.

“Huh. Breezy in here.”

He continued down a side hall (because of course the bathroom was so big it had multiple rooms), only to nearly jump out his skin as he glimpsed something moving out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah!” he yelped, stumbling over himself. “Sorry! I didn’t see you- huh?”

His flustered apology trailed off as he tried to make sense of the oddity before him.

Filling the wall was a painting the size of a picture window depicting a garden party. In the center was a gazebo, ringed by circles of blossoming red and yellow flowers save for where a path led from the structure to the bottom of the frame. Grapevines wound through the trellises on three of its six sides, heavy with fruit. A small group of ponies was visible through the three open sides, arranged around the table laden with tea and cakes. Their faces were blurred, indistinct, but their dresses were of the height of fashion (if a century or two out of date).

But none of that was what had so thoroughly grabbed Snail's attention. That distinction went to the painted figure standing on the path near the bottom of the frame.

There were two things about it that caught the eye.

First (and most obvious) was that the figure was moving.

The second (which he only realized after getting a better look) was that the figure looked almost exactly like him.

That is to say, it looked like him if he were wearing a pea-green gown with long lacy gloves and a summer bonnet.

He took a hesitant step back and the figure did as well.

He stepped to the side and they disappeared off the edge of the frame.

“Huh.”

He walked back in front of the painting, his double following him step for step until he sat down in front of it and gazed into his own eyes.

“Weeeeeeird,” he drawled as he slowly alternated winking one eye then the other, watching with the open one as the brushstrokes shifted and changed with the movement. “What a freaky painting. It's weird enough that it's moving, but what are the odds that the pony in it looks almost just like me?” He shook his head. “Besides the outfit.”

As soon as he spoke, the painting changed. The brushstrokes that composed the dress blurred away into so much smeared paint before slowly resolving themselves into something else.

The figure still looked like him, but in a totally different outfit. The new one looked like Miss Rarity had tried to design a dress using only his button-down and tie as material and inspiration. It was close-fitting, with a high collar, striped pleated skirt, and far more buttons than was practical or needed.

“Oh!” he explained, smacking one hoof against the other as his copy mirrored his surprise. “Now I get it! It's like an enchanted mirror. This must be how rich ponies decide what to wear! That’s awful keen.”

Delighted in his discovery, he was overtaken by curiosity and an urge to test its limits.

“Hey mirror, could I see this one in blue?”

As requested, color spilled across the painted fabric, turning the white and black dress a sky blue.

“Cool! Now how about something a little more sporty?”

And so it went. Snails spent several quite a few more minutes than he intended playing with the princess's magic vanity. He changed colors, styles, eras, until eventually he descended to just giving it vague prompts and vibes to see what kind of strange outfits it’d create. It was great fun, though the one drawback was that it seemed only capable of making mare's formal wear. But that only made sense. It was Princess Celestia's. Why would she need to include styles for teenage colts in the enchantment?

Throughout it all, his well-dressed counterpart continued to silently copy him perfectly. Every silly pose, every goofy expression, every exaggerated caricature. The only oddity was when he pretended to dance with his reflection. Leaning in close as if to grab his doppelganger’s hoof, its painted eye took on the faintest malicious gleam…

“Whoops! Careful. Don't want to accidentally smudge it.”

…only for him to lurch back at the last second, tripping over his own hooves in the process.

The fall provided enough of a momentary distraction for the growing pressure in his insides to remind him what he was supposed to be looking for.

“Oh right. Bathroom. Gotta hurry up before I miss the ceremony.”

Dusting himself off, he stood and swiftly left the mirror behind and pressed onwards, completely missing how the doppelganger's expression melted to a furious scowl the instant his back was turned.

He continued, but a worrying realization about the royal bathroom clouded over his former wide-eyed wonder. He’d learned something important from the painting-slash-enchanted-mirror. Not all the stuff filling the rooms were purely decorative: at least some of it was actually functional bathroom fixtures… just so fancy and weird he didn’t recognize their purpose. He began to question everything he brushed past already. Were all those swords really for display, or were they the only things strong enough to trim the princess’s majestic magical mane? Were those golden horseshoes just the royal version of bunny slippers?

And the statue…

He really hoped the creepy bug statue wasn't somehow the toilet.

Shaking off a shudder at the mental image, he foolishly closed his eyes for a moment. Two blind steps was all it took to stumble into a display rack and knock over a crystal ball. He reached out to catch it, but his forelegs fell short and he only managed to punt it forward like a dense volleyball. It sailed through the air as his stomach dropped.

It hit the wall—without breaking, much to his immediate relief—but with a hard enough thump to jostle a pair of crossed scimitars mounted on the wall above it. The pair of swords began to shake and tremor before snapping free of their bindings to hover in the air as if being held.

Then they began to spin.

The blades twirled and spun in a dazzling dance that would strain the skill of even a master sword wielder. Light flashed off the gleaming blades as they cut through the air in scintillating spirals.

Snails ‘oohed’ in appreciation of the amazing spectacle, but still took a step back. As he did, exactly two things happened at the same time.

First, his hoof landed on the crystal ball and slipped out from beneath him. Second, the swords stopped their dance and suddenly thrust themselves in his direction, pointy end first.

As he fell to the floor, his head dipped down and back, lowering him just enough so that rather than plunging into his chest, the scimitars merely grazed either side of his head, shearing off the sides of his mane with razor sharpness. The swords continued shooting forward as he fell until they ricocheted off a tower shield, deflected off a pillar, bounced off the ceiling, and finally lodged themselves securely between the ribs of the ice skeleton. They struggled for a moment only to still as they were rapidly coated in a thick layer of ice. A small crystal set in the statute’s base flickered for a moment, only to quickly stabilize, though glowing somewhat more dimly than before.

Snails took a gasping breath as he tried to process everything that had happened in the last second and a half.

“Whoa! What was- why would she- huh?” His panic stalled as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored surface of a nearby shield. “Oh. It just… cut my mane?”

He rose on unsteady legs, noting the sliced bits of hair on the ground. “Okay. It’s… a magic… barber. Sure. Why not? That’s… I don’t even know if that’s weirder than the mirror or not. It sure doesn’t seem safe, but I guess the princess is used to it?”

He took a moment to inspect his new ‘do, feeling how the locks on either side of his head had been shaved down to a cropped fade. “Hey, that’s kind of snazzy. On the other hoof, I can't deny it's got style. Still, I think I'll stick with Miss Lotus for my next trim.”

He continued on his way past more oddities than he could commit to memory, but after the last two incidents he forced himself to remain focused on his goal. No distractions, and definitely no touching.

It took almost ten more minutes of focused searching before, at last, he finally found it! Sweet salvation, a toilet!

Sure the plaque said ꡃꡈꡁꡏꡂꡅꡔ ꡒꡑꡖ ꡑꡆ ꡣꡅꡃꡔꡅꡖꡣ2, but he knew a toilet when he saw one. He wasted no time dashing into the small alcove and pulling the long curtain shut around it.

Several minutes later he emerged, relieved, but slightly disconcerted. In his opinion, of all the possible features he could imagine a rich pony’s toilet having, providing spoken feedback was probably the worst one (and most startling). He wasn’t even the least bit curious to know what it had meant when it whispered “ꡃꡅꡎꡅꡣꡖꡉꡁ ꡉꡣ ꡁꡎꡎꡅꡔꡇꡉꡃ ꡖꡑ ꡁꡒꡒꡎꡅꡣ. ꡈꡅꡔ ꡣꡖꡁꡆꡆ ꡋꡐꡑꡚꡣ ꡂꡗꡖ ꡣꡈꡅ ꡵ꡑꡅꡣꡐ'ꡖ. ꡣꡈꡅ ꡖꡈꡉꡐꡋꡣ ꡖꡈꡅ ꡖꡉꡐꡇꡎꡉꡐꡇ ꡁꡐ꡵ ꡂꡗꡔꡐꡉꡐꡇ ꡉꡣ ꡒꡁꡔꡖ ꡑꡆ ꡖꡈꡅ ꡁꡒꡒꡅꡁꡎ, ꡎꡉꡋꡅ ꡚꡉꡖꡈ ꡒꡅꡒꡒꡅꡔꡣ3”.

“At least I’m done with it now,” he said to himself, “Now all I have to do is find my way… back.”

He looked around once again at the room he’d barely paid attention to in his search for the toilet. Not a bit of it looked familiar.

Hopefully the ceremony was a long one.

Snails was lost.

Lost in a bathroom.

Archer was right, and if she ever found out he knew she’d never let him live it down.

So he just had to get out already and make his way back before she got too suspicious about how long it was taking him. It wasn’t even his fault that he was lost! It was way too easy when the bathroom was bigger than his whole cul-de-sac neighborhood.

One would think that all the crazy decorations would make for good landmarks, but there were just so many that it was hard to keep track of them all. Was that the same jewel-covered sword he’d passed before, or just a very similar one? Was a rusted chess set a good thing to keep track of, or would there be twenty more around the next corner? Had he already passed a line of faintly glowing runes running across the floor, or had he just not noticed them before?

His ears popped slightly as he crossed the line, which was definitely something new. There was a sign where they ran up the wall, but “ꡣꡑꡗꡐ꡵ꡒꡔꡑꡑꡆꡉꡐꡇ ꡣꡒꡅꡎꡎ ꡂꡅꡜꡑꡐ꡵ ꡖꡈꡉꡣ ꡚꡁꡔ꡵ꡎꡉꡐꡅ. ꡣꡒꡅꡁꡋ ꡚꡉꡖꡈ ꡃꡁꡗꡖꡉꡑꡐ: ꡖꡈꡅꡣꡅ ꡔꡅꡎꡉꡃꡣ ꡎꡉꡣꡖꡅꡐ4” made no more sense than any of the others, so he ignored it out of habit.

His ears perked up as they caught a sound he hadn’t noticed before: a gentle groaning, rumbling noise, like a distant engine. He knew for a fact this wasn’t an area he’d been through, but the noise was more of a direction than he’d had before. If he was very, very lucky, maybe it’d lead to a window he could climb out of.

As he ambled along, he noticed the new corridor was narrower than the others and much less decorated. Maybe only a fifth as many things, and they were more spread out and more often behind glass cases.

And without the pressing need to find the toilet, they were all the more distracting.

It was while his eye was drawn to a conch shell covered in tiny carvings that he ran face-first into something.

“Ouch! What was-oh,” Snails said as he looked up, and up, and up.

The statue was taller than Celestia herself; some kind of creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of a pony. Its jaw was set in a stern frown of disapproval, brow furrowed and nostrils flared as if frozen in the midst of a derisive snort. Aside from a golden headdress and collar, it looked to be carved from a single piece of lustrous black stone. Every strand of fur, every fletched feather was captured in such perfect life-like detail that it looked as if it could stand up and roar at any moment.

“Whoops,” Snails said as he got to his hooves, “Sorry, mister, I didn’t see you there. Didn’t think anyone else was in here, to be honest.”

At his voice, the statue’s eyes snapped open glowing with baleful yellow light. It rose to its feet with a sound like crunching gravel, its eyes remaining perfectly locked with his.

Snails forced an awkward smile back even as inside he was panicking. Of course there was going to be someone else around. And it was just his luck it was some kind of strange foreigner, which meant he was almost definitely a noble or a diplomat or at the very least someone important who was going to want a very good explanation for why he was in the Princess’s bathroom.

It spoke with a voice that rasped sharp on the ears like rusted hinges. “Those who meet my gaze must face my riddle. Answer, or face the ultimate consequence as have all who failed before.”

“...Okay,” Snails replied. He had no idea where this was going, but it was already better than he’d expected. “What’s the riddle?”

The stranger’s mouth opened, then stayed locked in that position as it continued to speak.

We go where none may follow, we sleep where none can tread.

And even if we’re foiled, we still come out ahead.

Our history’s as distant, as the farthest gleaming star

Knowing only what you know, can you tell us what we are?

Snails thought about it for a minute. He rolled the words around in his head. Judging them, weighing them, puzzling them over for any secret puns or double meanings. But after some serious consideration, he had his answer.

“Wow, that’s a hard one! No, I don't think I can.”

“Answer inc—”

The stranger froze completely. One wing twitched mechanically. From somewhere deep within its chest came a grinding noise like gears shearing against each other. One of its eyes sparked and flickered out, only to dimly relight.

“Mister, are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“A-a-answer,” it stuttered out, more like a damaged record than a person’s voice. “T-technic-nically c-correct.”

Some of the stiffness left its limbs and its voice smoothed out a little. “J-judgment passed. Please provide new riddle.”

“You want to hear one from me?”

“Please provide new riddle,” it repeated.

“Oh. Okay.” He could play along with the stranger’s game. It sure beat getting chewed out. He racked his brains for a moment before deciding on one. “Alright, I got a great one I heard from my friend Snips the other day. It went something like… give me a second… Oh yeah! What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs during the day, three legs in the evening, and no legs at night?”

“The answer is… processing.” The previous grinding noise was replaced by a rapid clicking, ticking, and scratching. After a very long minute, the noises died down. “Answer: inconclusive. No valid solution found. Error 301. Please contact Chief Priest Amhorsetep for recalibration.”

“Heh, stumped ya, didn’t I?” Snails chuckled. “The answer was Discord! You never know how many legs he's going to be walking on, but he’s probably done it that way at least once.”

The grinding noises resumed, much louder than before, until something snapped like an overtaxed cart axle. The lights in its eyes vanished and the stranger went still. A moment passed where Snails wondered if his joke had somehow been so good he’d made him faint, when its eyes suddenly lit up again accompanied by a small chime.

“Reboot complete. Logic deviation expunged.” Then it closed its eyes and bowed low. “You have bested me, young master. Go now with my power in the name of the king.”

A bright flash of light filled the room, forcing Snails to squint and cover his eyes. While he was blinded, the ancient golem dissolved into a storm of black sand that swirled around him and reformed into a suit of ink-black crystalline armor.

Snails blinked a few times to clear the spots from his eyes. When he could see again, the stranger was gone. Maybe he’d been embarrassed about getting the riddle wrong and ran off. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t his problem anymore. Still, something felt off. Like he was slightly heavier than before.

“Whoa!” he gasped as he finally noticed the parting gift. “Is this a real suit of armor?” He danced around a little, jumping from side to side and testing its limits. It moved fluidly with every motion, barely hindering him at all. “What a cool present! I guess that guy must have been really happy to have someone solve his riddle.” It still seemed like a pretty big thing to give as a gift, but rich eccentric ponies (and other creatures, he supposed) could be like that. A whole suit of awesome armor was probably like pocket change to him.

“Thank you mister!” he yelled down the hallway, in case the stranger was still within earshot. He lowered his waving hoof to inspect the intricate designs on the hoofguard. “Though I think this might be kinda disruptive at the wedding.”

As soon as he spoke, parts of the armor began dissolving back into sand, shifting and reshaping the rest. When it was done, gone was any trace of the knightly aesthetic. Instead, he now wore a pitch-black ball gown, stately and elegant, and liberally festooned liberally with midnight pearls.

Snail’s breath caught at the sudden change (and the sudden reduction in weight). “Wow. Now that's a neat trick.” The skirts swished as he took a step. “And very pretty too, but I think this might be even more disruptive than the suit of armor.” Again, the dress dissolved and he was surrounded by a magic sandstorm. When it settled, the dress was gone and he found himself dressed to the nines in a crisp jet-black suit that made his old button-down feel like a potato sack in comparison.

“Hey, that works! Thanks!”

The pieces of citrine on his cuffs and lapels glimmered in the light like winking eyes.

With that odd interaction behind him, Snails continued following the odd sound. It got louder as he approached, sounding almost like someone was sawing logs.

It wasn’t until he rounded a corner that he found the source, and what a peculiar sight it was.

Hung between two totem poles carved with the faces screaming kirins there was a hammock. Sitting in front of it, propped up against an empty-looking box of wine, was a hoof-written placard which bore the instructions: ‘do not wake before reception’.

And inside the hammock—snoring loudly enough to wake the dead—was a smaller blue version of Princess Celestia.

“Oh, that's right,”Snails gasped. “I forgot. There's two princesses now.” And since this obviously wasn’t Princess Celestia, then it had to be the new one. Princess Moon… something. Eclipse? Lunar Eclipse? Luna! That was it. Princess Luna, ruler of the Moon, the night, and dreams.

Instead of being shocked or delighted at the surprise appearance of a princess, Snails’ mood took a disappointed downturn. Because if it really was her, then her presence could only mean one thing. One single, inescapable conclusion.

“I'm dreaming,” he muttered amidst the crashing realization that all the cool things he’d seen were just figments of his imagination. “None of this is real.”

Princess Luna grunted at his outburst and rolled over, but didn't wake. Snails was too preoccupied to care.

“I must have fallen asleep on the train. I knew I shouldn't have let Snips talk me into staying up so late!” He stomped his hoof in frustration.

At just about the same moment, the whole room quaked slightly with a muffled rumble. It was the kind of rumble that, had the soundproofing ward been deactivated, would have sounded like the roaring crash of a city-sized shield spell suddenly sundering into a million magical fragments.

“Snrt!”

Princess Luna groaned as she rose from her slumber like a zombie rising from its grave. She squinted against the dim light, half-opened eyes searching the room as one hoof massaged her temple. When she finally got him in her sights, she squinted harder.

“Who-” her words were interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. “Who goest there, and how hast thou entered?”

“Uh, hi, your majesty. I’m, well, I’m Snails, from Ponyville, but I didn’t enter anywhere. I’m pretty sure I’m asleep right now.”

“...Forsooth?” She blinked as cobwebby gears tried to spin strings of logic. “Aye, We suppose tis more likely an errant dreamwalk of Ours than for a coltling barely weaned off the teat to breach this most sacred sanctum. And one clad in the armor of Aut-Tuah, no less. Be thine dreams disturbed, young one?”

It took a little thinking for him to understand what she was trying to say, but once he got the gist he shrugged and shook his head. “Not really. I think I just fell asleep on the train to the wedding.”

The princess groaned at that, sounding just like his Pops after a particularly long day at work. “Aye, the wedding. Bothersome pomp that it is. Tis caused no shortage of stress and no few nightmares for Us to manage. We’ve had not a minute’s rest since that harridan set herself upon Our servants and houseguard. We shall be glad to see the back of it.” Her jaw cracked in another yawn as she began to settle back into her hammock. “If ye be well, colt, leave Us to Our rest. The ceremony needs Us not, but We’d be loathe to miss the feasting.”

He nodded readily, not wanting to bother her, only for a question to come to mind. “Actually…do you know the way out? I’m kinda lost.”

The princess craned her neck and opened one bleary eye.

“This world tis but a dream, kinchin. Under my aegis, no ill shall befall thee here, least of all disorientation. Merely stride with purpose in mind and ye shall reach where ye wish to be. Such is the nature of dreams.”

It was vaguer than he’d hoped for, but it was better than nothing. “Thanks! Enjoy your nap, Princess. You can stay in my dream as long as you want.”

“Mph,” she murmured, already drifting off once more.

He left with more of a spring in his step than he’d expected. Sure it was a dream, which was kind of disappointing, but it was still neat in its own way. He’d never felt so awake in a dream before. And it all felt so real, too. Probably a result of the Princess using his dream to take a nap.

Still… dreams were supposed to be adventures, weren’t they?

“This was fun, but now that I know I’m asleep, this dream feels kinda boring. I just wish something cool would happen.”

On a nearby pedestal, the second finger of a yeti’s paw curled down.

Several corridors away, the gem set into the base of a certain skeleton’s pedestal cracked and a small tendril of icy fog pressed against the edge of an invisible barrier.

“I mean, is that too much to ask?” Snails continued, unaware of the effects his words were causing. “A little excitement? Maybe a little action?”

One stripe of color faded from a heavily engraved box, leaving only three.

Some distance away, the vault-like doors of the Royal Reliquary slipped open by the barest of cracks. It may not have looked like much to the naked eye, but a magically-attuned eye would immediately notice all the locking enchantments and wards disengaging at the same time. Despite being so narrow, the gap still allowed enough room for a trio of beetles to scuttle through. As soon as they passed the threshold, gouts of green fire consumed them, revealing them to be a much larger and more insidious kind of insect.

Seeing no one around and detecting no active trap spells, the infiltration team quickly set about their mission while paying only the barest consideration to stealth.

Meanwhile, Snails continued backtracking as he pondered about more exciting paths his dream could take. As he recrossed the string of runes on the floor, his ears perked up as they suddenly detected the sound of something breaking in the distance. He wasn't the kind of colt to usually run towards danger, but this was a dream. Mysterious noises meant something new and interesting to interact with.

He took the corridors at a run, no longer interested in the imagined objects that lined his path. They’d still be there later (or other newly dreamed ones would take their place) but he wanted to be where the action was. He soon rounded a corner and found himself back in the main foyer-like area from which he’d started. The stark difference being that much of it was trashed and tossed around.

The culprits weren’t hard to spot.

It was a trio of strange figures. Dark armor covered their bodies, completely hiding every trace of their identity. Even their faces were covered by scary masks with fangs and spikes and solid eyes that reminded him of demons. One hissed at him as it clung to the wall as easily as if it were standing on the floor. There was only one creature he knew of that fit those descriptions.

“Ninjas!” he practically squealed in delight.

The one on the wall lit its horn and fired a bolt of green ninja magic in his direction which he neatly dodged.

No, his suit had dodged. He’d just been pulled along.

But such small details were beyond his notice as a wide smile split his face. “Of course! It’s a dream! I can do anything I want!”

One of the ninjas charged at him while the one on the wall continued trying to snipe at range. The third kept searching through the clutter.

The ninja fighter growled and hissed as it lunged for a grapple that Snails eagerly met. He was no brawler (and his opponent easily outweighed him) but his suit tweaked his movements to dodge the dangerous fangs and horns and jagged holes. Where its dark hooves did land, the fabric hardened into an impregnable sheet of crystal like the armor it was pretending it wasn’t.

The room became their arena as they fought, dodging and striking in equal measure. Between Snails’ absolute defense and his wildly untrained attacks, neither was able to gain an upper hoof.

The one on the wall continued to fire magical blasts, hitting absolutely everything except for its intended target.

Coming out of a backwards flying somersault, Snails grabbed the nearest thing in reach and threw it at his ranged opponent. The particularly hairy book opened mid-flight and its pages released an unearthly howl that sent everyone covering their ears. This included the wall-mounted ninja, who could then only brace himself with his back hooves when the book hit him square in the face. He fell, landing roughly on the podium containing the golden horseshoes and shattering their protective case.

Before the downed ninja could so much as groan and try to stand, the horseshoes began to glitter. They moved like lightning, latching onto his hooves like supercharged magnets. He was suddenly thrust upright like a puppet with strings abruptly pulled taut. His legs started to move, slowly and awkwardly and first, but quickly picking up the pace into a wild flailing run which—if his shrill screech was anything to go by—seemed entirely out of his control. He circled the room thrice—once on the floor and twice more on the walls—before hitting a hallway and disappearing out of sight, his screech slowly trailing off into the distance.

Meanwhile, Snails was still having a delightful time as he fought off his adversary like a hero out of one of his comic books. “Take that!” he cackled, “and that! And one of these! And some of this! Now here comes the Twister Punch!”

The ninja continued to dodge and juke his blows, and what few that landed were glancing at best. None of which served to damper the young unicorn’s enthusiasm.

He leaped to the side as the third ninja tried for a sneak attack. “Nice try,” he laughed, “But you’ll have to be quicker than that!”

His suit suddenly pulled him down prone as an overcharged blast of magic shot over his head from the first ninja. It continued past him through now-vacant space until it collided with an already cracked gem set into one of the pedestals.

The crystal shattered, as did the near-invisible barrier that it’d been casting on the pedestal above it.

A low, echoing noise rumbled through the room, like a deep crack reverberating across a frozen lake. A frozen hoof stepped down onto the floor, thin webs of frost forming on the marble where it touched. The skeleton took another step, then another. Ice broke and reformed on its joints with every movement, forming small flurries of snow that trailed behind it like an afterimage.

The fighting paused as both Snails and the ninjas stopped to gawk at the sudden intrusion on their private scrimmage. Two of its arms reached down and pulled the scimitars from between its ribs with a sound like claws scraping down a guitar string.

The skeleton roared.

The sound was like an avalanche, a rushing river, and the guttural cry of a hungry beast. It echoed off the marble walls and folded back in on itself.

It was hunger. It was fear. It was Winter Incarnate.

“Excuse me.” The skeleton’s head snapped towards Snails as he spoke. “Would you mind waiting your turn? I wanna finish fighting these guys first before starting round two.”

Before it could respond, one of the ninjas screamed and made a break for it, running nearly as fast as its golden-shoed ally. The skeleton’s neck nearly snapped as it focused on them instead and immediately gave chase with a second, lesser bellow.

Snails watched them go, wondering when he’d get a chance to fight the wintry spirit, when he was suddenly jerked back to avoid a kick from the ninja that hadn’t fled. His fight was still on.

Meanwhile, the cowardly one ran like death itself was on its hooves. But no matter how it zigged, zagged, or jumped around, the icy titan was never far behind. Then, in one panicked move it took a turn too quickly and fell into roll. Unable to stop itself, the ninja continued rolling straight towards a painting where a well-dressed copy of itself was rolling back at it. The moment it touched the canvas the whole thing rippled like a disturbed pond and the ninja vanished.

Undeterred, the skeleton charged right after it with no hesitation.

When the ripples settled, there were two new figures sitting at the table in the gazebo. One wore a pale sundress that complemented its dark complexion, while the other sported a flouncy lilac number that hung flatteringly off its boney frame, its swords captured in the moment of serving a delicate slice of chiffon cake.

Completely unaware of the fates of his would-be adversaries, Snails jumped back to gain some distance from his seemingly untiring opponent. As fun as the fisticuffs had been, they were too evenly matched and it was getting stale. He needed to mix things up.

“I need a weapon.”

His citrine cufflink twinkled before rapidly extending into a long, thin, rapier-like blade.

“That’ll do it!”

The ninja growled at the sudden shift in the balance of power. Using some kind of secret ninja arts, it unleashed a burst of cursed green fire to transform the armor over one of its forelegs into a wicked, jagged blade.

Though not quite as wicked as Snails’ grin. “Now this is more like it. Have at you!”

They closed the distance and clashed once more. He was no better a fencer than he was a brawler, but keeping a bit of distance meant it was easier for his sleeves to redirect his wild flailings into effective blocks and parries.

Their fight took them out of the room and down a hallway, each giving ground or claiming it as the terrain allowed.

But despite the fun he was having and the incredible defensive skills of his suit, Snails couldn’t keep it up forever. And as he started to get tired, he began to make mistakes that even his suit couldn’t correct for.

Plus, he was starting to get bored from the same old stalemate sword fight.

He made a clumsy thrust that left him wide open, and the ninja capitalized on the opening to close the distance. Their blades locked at the hilt, their bodies pressed close enough that Snails could smell the venom dripping from the mask’s fangs. It was all so fantastically realistic!

As they struggled to overpower one another, something about their positions reminded him of a particular scene from Power Ponies issue 46. Copying the move he’d once read Humdrum do, he intentionally stopped pushing and allowed himself to fall back onto his back, pulling the ninja along and using the momentum to fling them over and past him.

It worked like a charm and the ninja went flying.

Snails took a moment to bask in the glory of having successfully pulled off a cool comic book move, only for the moment to be ruined as he flinched at the sound of shattering ceramic.

The Neighponese urn was in pieces beneath the ninja, the bits of paper that had wrapped it quickly charring away for some reason. Before they could recover, a cloud of orange miasma rose from between the shards. A pair of piercing eyes formed briefly within the smoky mass before the whole plume of it suddenly surged into ninja, filling its mouth, its nose and the holes across its body. As the last of it disappeared, their body went completely rigid. A confused expression crossed its face for a moment, before it blinked with new orange eyes. It inspected its blade hoof with an oddly calm amusement before fluidly shifting it back to normal. Before Snails could ask if it was alright, its whole body was consumed by a burst of green-orange flame. When the flames died down, the ninja had been replaced by an odd creature: pale and foxlike, but with far too many tails,

It turned to Snails, a mischievous glint in its orange eye. “Thhhhhanks, kid.”

“...Anytime,” he replied.

With that, and a nod, the creature sank down through the floor and disappeared.

The bathroom seemed oddly quiet now as Snails found himself without any more opponents. His sword retracted away, as if confirming that the fight was over.

“Well, that was fun,” he mused, before yelling out: “Any more ninja in here?” But there was no response. He shrugged. “Oh well. Maybe if I keep looking I'll find some pirates or something. That'd be pretty cool.”

He did not find any pirates, despite doing his best to try and will some into existence. Instead, after a bit more wandering he found himself back at the toilet and with it discovered a rather embarrassing oversight.

“I can’t believe I forgot to flush,” he said through a crimson blush. “What would Mom say?”

It didn't matter that it was a dream. It was still terrible manners.

Of course, it was a weird rich-pony toilet, so it couldn’t have a straightforward flushing mechanism. His eyes were drawn to a pair of overlong levers on the nearby wall.

“Right or left,” he wondered. “Which one is flush and which one is a mystery lever? Eh, probably doesn't matter.”

Choosing one at random, he grabbed it and pulled down with all his might.

Immediately, a trapdoor opened under his hooves and he fell into a dark tunnel.

“It matterrrrrrrrrrrrrred!”

It was pitch dark, but the wind rushing into his face told him he was sliding down a chute and fast. His suit hardened protectively beneath him, but it only served to reduce the friction and turn what could have been a moderately-paced slide into a decidedly faster one. He only had the feeling of inertia to tell which way he was going, but it felt like an awful lot of sharp turns and at one point he could have sworn he did a loop-de-loop.

But before too long he spotted a light in the darkness in the form of a faint rectangle that he was fast approaching. With no way to slow down, he shot out like a cannonball into a dimly-lit room. He sailed through the air for a few weightless seconds before his flight was halted by a wall of spindly wooden things that crashed and snapped beneath him.

“What was that?” a shrill, unfamiliar voice cried out from the semi-darkness. It wasn’t the only one, just the loudest. Countless voices called out similar panicked questions, melding together into a nervous wave of sound.

“Quiet!” yelled another voice, louder and more confident than the others. “Stop panicking. Somepony just knocked something over. Hey! Whoever that was! Cut it out and stop messing around before you hurt someone.”

Snails pulled himself from the pile of debris he’d created, tenderly feeling for anything broken and thankfully finding nothing. “Sorry!” he called back “Rough landing.”

Some voice off to his left muttered something about ‘feather-brained pegasi trying to fly in the dark’, but he ignored it because obviously they weren't talking about him, a unicorn.

His eyes had adjusted enough to the dim to make out rough shapes in the darkness. Wherever he was, it was full of both shelves and ponies about his age. The only light came from glowing horns and a few hovering orbs of weak light spells. He squinted and peered closer at what had broken his fall.

It was a rack of brooms and mops, though now they were mostly kindling.

“Snails?” a familiar voice yelled, followed by the sound of pushing and grunting and several voices complaining. He focused in that direction and soon enough he was able to make out the recognizable silhouette of Archer in her fancy dress.

“Hey Arche—oof!”

“Where have you been?” she demanded as she clutched him to her chest (probably so he wouldn't trip on anything broken handles). “Everything's been going crazy and I couldn't find you.”

“Sorry,” he replied. “I had some issues in the bathroom. I only just got here.” He tried to look around. “Wherever here is. And what do you mean things went crazy? What happened? Did I miss the ceremony?”

Archer rolled her eyes (or so he assumed from the way her head moved). “That's the least of it. Right as it was getting started, the bride's twin sister crashed the wedding—I think the groom might have been two-timing her—and it looked like they were squaring up for a brawl before the wizard cut the feed.” She sighed in regret at the missed drama. “Anyway, after that everyone was busy gossiping and chatting while we waited for them to get things sorted out but then there was an explosion or something that shook the whole castle and everyone started panicking! Dad and a few others rounded up everyone our age and tossed us in this closet.” She gave him a shove. “And I’ve been spending the whole time since then looking for you, you big dummy, since you decided to wander off and not stay with the group and—” He felt her hoof trace up and down his sleeve then move across to his chest. “Are you wearing a suit?”

“Yep.” He lit his horn so she could see more easily.

Archer’s mane was a little messy and the makeup around her eyes had run, but she still somehow managed to hit him with a look that had all the inquisitive authority of a Royal Guard.

“Where did you get a suit?” she pressed.

“It was a gift! I met this real neat guy in the bathroom and he–”

“Stop.” She held up a hoof. “Never mind. I don't want to know anything about what went down in the bathroom.” She looked him up and down appraisingly. “And did you do something different with your mane?”

He scratched at a shorn side. “Kinda.”

Her eyes followed the motion. “You look… weirdly good.” Her eyes widened for a moment before she started talking much faster. “Not that you look weird or anything! I mean, it’s just, like… good. Nice. You look really nice when you clean up a little.”

“Thanks!” Snails said with a smile. “I remembered to wash my hooves.”

Archer socked him in the foreleg again. “Dummy. Where did you get off to anyway? You’ve been gone a really long time.” Her smirk practically glowed in his hornlight. “I bet you got lost.”

“N-No!” he said, not at all defensively. “I didn’t get lost, I was in the bathroom the whole time, I swear!”

“Ahuh. Sure. Well, I—”

But he’d never get to find out what she was about to say, for at just that moment, a solid wall of pink magic rushed through the room, passing over and through them like a pressure wave. It didn’t hurt, but the sheer force of it left him reeling and knocked Archer into his chest.

He also felt slightly giddy, like he’d had a sip of strong cider. But more than that, Snails found himself struck with a sudden urge. Not an unfamiliar one, in fact it was one he felt pretty regularly but never acted on. He very nearly dismissed it again out of habit, before a thought struck him.

This was a dream, wasn't it? This was his chance to do things he’d never have the courage to do in real life but always wanted to.

“What was that?” Archer asked. “Did you feel that? I think it wa—”

Her words cut off as he darted in and silenced her with a kiss.

Her lips were soft and warm.

It wasn’t a big and sloppy Prench kiss like in the movies. It didn’t even last that long. Barely more than an extended peck.

And yet it felt like it lasted so much longer.

He pulled back and took a breath. The taste of her lip gloss lingered on his lips, honey and beeswax.

“So that’s what that’d be like,” he mused.

Archer gaped like a fish, for once lost for words. “Awha…”

Like he’d always imagined, she was especially cute when flustered.

“Been wanting to do that a while.”

“Ahomina,” she eloquently replied, eyes glassy and unfocused, “homina, homina, homina…”

Snails smiled softly as he enjoyed the moment. It was a great fantasy, the perfect kind of dream. In real life, he knew there was no way a cute filly like her would ever want to be more than just friends with a colt like him. So he'd enjoy the dream while it lasted.

Besides, there was no way a move like that would work on the real Archer. Just this idealized dream version of her. The real one would probably just hit him again and call him a dummy.

Not that he minded.

Before he could get too deep into his thoughts, a door opened on the far wall, quickly prompting a rush of questions and noise from the crowd of foals that drowned out any possible answers or instructions from their rescuers.

“Hey,” he nudged Archer’s unresponsive form. “Looks like they’re letting us out. I guess it’s time for the reception then?” He started for the door. “C’mon, let’s go find the buffet. I’m starving.”

Archer just stood there numbly until a slim, vulpine paw reached through the wall and gave her a small push. “W-wait for me!” she demanded as she hastened to his side. “You don’t even know where the reception hall is.”

“That’s not a problem.” Snails grinned. “It’s like the princess told me: as long as I know where I’m going, I’ll always get there eventually!”

“...what?” Archer asked.

Snails just shook his head and chuckled knowingly. “Boy, I sure hope I remember this when I wake up.”

“What?”

Author's Note

Translations:
(spoiled in case you want to break the code yourself: it is possible!)

1"Ahgg: Scourge of Dream Valley. Reapply petrification every three hundred moons"

2Chamber Pot of Secrets

3"Celestia is allergic to apples. Her staff knows but she doesn't. She thinks the tingling and burning is part of the appeal, like with peppers."

4Soundproofing spell beyond this wardline. Speak with caution: These relics listen

On an unrelated note, c'mon fimfic. Grace Manewtiz gets a character tag but not Archer? She was in season one!