Special Circumstances #2

[spoiler]Apologies to Alfred Noyes for ponyfing his poem, and thanks to Fillydelphian for the help on it[/spoiler]

 

“Anon!” You turn from the front door to Lyra as Mous floats past you into the morning breeze. She trots across the living room, an impish grin on her face. “Don’t think I’d let you just walk out, there’s interrogating to be done! Just because you got out of it last night doesn’t mean I let you off the hook entirely!”

 

You look back out the door at Mous, a silent question across your face. The drone lets a flash of amused green play across its frame, and floats back inside. Shrugging, you turn back to the mint-colored pony, “Sure, why not? Didn’t have anything specific planned anyway.” You close the door behind you and follow her down into her basement study.

 

Upon closer inspection not much of her material was very accurate, but it does hit the basics. Several glaring anatomy issues are present on some of the charts that she has drawn up, ones that align more closely with her own quirky appearance. Some features you can trace to certain specific humanoid species, but not the pan-human baseline you count yourself among. The legs in particular look like they were subject to many revisions and you can’t really tell how they’re depicted now.

 

Deciding to try and control the conversation, you lead off the questions. “What got you interested in humans in the first place?”

 

She stops shuffling one pile of papers for a moment, before turning and starting on a different stack, not turning to face you as she answered. “Well, some tools we’ve had for as long as history remembers don’t really… fit us well. Though most of our tools nowadays are still based off these designs- don’t fix what isn’t broken- many ponies are curious as to why our ancestors would develop such awkward implements in the first place.”

 

Lyra pulls a couple pages out of the stack and they float over to your face. The top sheet is all you really get to look at closely before she shuffles them away again; it’s an ergonomics analysis of some farm implements, from just sticks as handles to simple ways of fastening such devices around a hoof for easier use, with notes on when certain relevant tools were first introduced to the archeological record.

 

“Because of your hooves and all that, and these tools aren’t made for hooves?” you push on. It is an obvious question, but you practically read it right off the page anyway.

 

Returning to the first stack she was working on before you interrupted her, Lyra continues, “Right! Some historians think that these tools may have originated with gryphons or minotaurs. But for the longest time we didn’t have contact with these civilizations, we only met them again relatively recently. That still doesn’t rule out minimal or undocumented contact, perhaps before written history began. Others think they were unicorn-designed and therefore were to be used by magic, but unicorns never had much use for farming; that was always left to Earth Ponies, even before Equestria’s founding over one and a half thousand years ago. These tools are twice as old.”

 

Lyra pauses a moment, and then turns to you with an apologetic look. “Sorry. I’m a unicorn, my horn channels magical power. Earth ponies are a second variety of Equestrian pony, they have no horns so can’t use magic, like Bon Bon upstairs. Pegasi are the third variety, and they have wings and can fly.” She smiles again and turns back to her work.

 

“Anyway, the obvious problems with these tools designs, and how easily they could have been circumvented, created a big archeological hunt, basically organized around the question “What were they thinking?!” Lyra laughs at the odd motive. “And I’m thinking that if it wasn’t gryphons, and it wasn’t minotaurs, and it wasn’t us; that leaves some race we haven’t seen since. I’ve been looking around different records and think I pieced together a likely candidate.” She looks to the poster on the wall with the blurred legs, then back to you. “I don’t think I was too far off”

 

“They do seem very similar to primitive tools of my kind,” you follow up. “I would say the workarounds to the problem aren’t very intuitive, but they’re challenges we never had to face. If Equestria is mainly populated just by the three races you’ve mentioned, color me impressed you’ve accomplished all that you have without hands or fingers.”

 

“Yes, hands!” Lyra exclaims and turns to look at yours. You helpfully hold your right hand in front of her face, palm up and fingers spread. “Minotaurs have hands, the best of our local genera to use such tools. As I mentioned before, gryphons are acceptable candidates because their talons allow for a grasping ability, but Minotaurs can put far more strength into the work. They have their own nations though, you’re correct in your assumption that Equestria is mostly ponies and other ungulate races.”

 

This brings her attention lower, and she pokes your boot with a hoof. “The feet are an interesting consideration as well. Both those races have hind legs different that their forelegs or arms. But I can’t see them if they’re covered…” Lyra pouts. “Why so much clothing, anyway? Were you going somewhere fancy?”

 

You look down at your utilitarian clothing and wonder how she draws that conclusion. “It’s… tradition. Don’t worry about it. Here I’ll take off a shoe.” You slide your right foot out of the boot, and stand back on it again. Lyra shrivels her nose in distaste. “It looks like you’re missing a joint or two.” You look back down at your perfectly ordinary foot in confusion.

 

“Effector field on your right leg, relax it please” Mous speaks through your earbud. The drone drops to waist level and you put your weight on your left leg. The drone bends your right leg at the knee and lifts it off the ground, starting to speak to Lyra for you.

 

“Before I explain I need a bit of info. What exactly is a gryphon? The term is unfamiliar.”

 

Lyra looks at Mous as if he just appeared out of thin air; her focus until now was completely on you. “Uh, think of it like, part bird and part cat.”

 

“Assuming the front part is the avian half, since you mentioned talons, that’d make the feline half the rear legs. Alright, her foot is closer to a gryphon’s foot than your own, but imagine it one step further. Where normally unguligrades walk on the tips of a toe- speaking in anatomical analogues- and Gryphons, digitigrades, walk on the length of the toe…” Mous lowers the ball of your foot to the ground, keeping the heel raised, “She walks like ursines; plantigrade.” Mous then lowers your heel to the ground as well, and you put weigh back on your foot. “Like you observed with the other races, her foot is unlike her hand in all but the most basic senses.”

 

“So… she walks like a bear.” Lyra’s voice was flat, but her expression was no longer one of mild revulsion.

 

“That’s correct” Mous replies, and floats up from your hip to the level of Lyra’s head- not an awfully large change in altitude. You untie your boot, re-insert your foot and lace and tie it again.

 

This simple set of actions absolutely fascinated your pony friend. “So nimble! Your fingers are much longer and more slender than a minotaurs; that knot took you like, four seconds!” You never really gave much thought as to what life without hands or effector fields would be like; this little insight was interesting enough to file away for further consideration.

 

Finally Lyra looks to Mous, now hovering beside her head as if also paying rapt attention to your shoe-tying skills. “So what are you, exactly?”

 

Immediately Mous spoke into your earbud. “You want to field this one or shall I?”

 

“Knock yourself out,” you subvocalize back

 

“Let’s see what magic is all about”

 

Mous turns to meet Lyra at eye level, turning the light strip on the front of his body rim on low intensity to not blind the pony. “I and others like me are magical constructs. You said only Unicorns have magical abilities amongst your kind. Humans don’t have any magical ability unless they wield special, complex tools. Instead, they have us to perform feats of magic for them. Even then we cannot do everything; some of us interface with the advanced tools Humans develop to perform acts beyond imagining.” Then as an afterthought, perhaps to pre-empt the inevitable, Mous added, “We do not have any such tools with us.”

 

Lyra absorbs this information, but the thoughtful expression quickly falls from her face. “Oh, well, you’d have to talk to Twilight Sparkle about all that. I don’t see why you’d need magic anyway, you got hands!” Lyra turns to search a nearby bookshelf for something. “Hands!”

 

“Good enough,” you mutter under your breath. “Wish you were a Mind right now? Have your own ship? Then you could really show them magic.”

 

“Too big,” Mouse responds back privately. “Wouldn’t fit inside the house, even in a compact case. I suppose I wouldn’t have to if I was a ship but to be honest I like being small, you can get away with so much more. “

 

“Get away with more? Now you sound like me!”

 

You cover over the apparent silence with a curious expression and ask a question that’s been bothering you since you arrived. “So what’s the mark on your hips mean?”

 

Lyra turns back to you, and then looks at her flank as if she just noticed she had rear legs. “Oh, that’s my cutie mark. They represent a pony’s talent! Usually they show up after some strong moment of self-discovery, and indicate a direction your life is likely to take you.” You look around the room, trying to find something amongst all the anthropology to link her hobby with a lyre.

 

“So how does all this relate to your mark?” Mous forgoes your more investigative approach.

 

Lyra hesitates a moment, looking about the room much as you had, but in a fashion you’d call almost desperate. You didn’t expect such a simple question to back Lyra into a corner. Eventually the pony sighs and says “It doesn’t. My talent is supposed to be related to music.”

 

“Ah! An artistic type!” Mous continues. “Mind if you show us this talent of yours?”

 

Lyra looks back at the bookshelf and the desk with a hint of longing. She just snorts to herself and turns to head back upstairs. “Sure, follow me,” she speaks in a clipped, flat tone.

 

Up into the living room and turning right to head for the rear of the house, Lyra leads you into a bright, spacious room. Generous sunlight streams in from many, large windows along the white walls to your right and ahead of you. In the corner where they meet stands a large harp. Lyra sits on a stool close to it, in a position you’d think rather awkward for a creature with her quadruped anatomy. The glow of her horn brings with it several picks, but her forehooves instead reach for a broad wooden board. One half of the board is removed, leaving just a rim surrounding void. Across this space spans several strings, and a strap that wraps around Lyra’s neck.  After the instrument is settled against her body, Lyra reaches for a bow, and settles it on this instrument’s strings. Now situated, the pony fidgets on the stool a bit before beginning to play.

 

A strong and haunting sound ushers from the instrument; despite using hooves Lyra had no trouble damping the appropriate strings or deftly manipulating the bow through different angles of attack. Soon the glowing plectrums contributed their part, plucking at the harp’s strings with perfect accuracy though Lyra’s eyes remained completely shut. The two instruments weaved through each other, alternating parts of a melody, eventually converging on a powerful part and falling quiet. The piece continued through a muted stage, the section ending with a flourish but quickly leading into another similarly soft period. It continues like this for some time with only minor variation, until from the door behind you a completely new- but entirely complimentary- sound emerges.

 

        “One kiss my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize tonight,

        But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light!

        Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,

        Then look for me by the moonlight,

        Watch for me by the moonlight,

        I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, let Tart’rus bar the way!”

 

The crystal clear singing matches the lull in the music perfectly; what the music was missing was lyrics! You spin towards the entrance and see Bon Bon leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on her face as she watches Lyra play. But there was something else in that smile, something not matched in her singing. As Bon Bon watches Lyra play it seemed like she was almost sad. There is a sorrow on her face that doesn’t match Lyra’s as the talented pony handles both instruments at once. Another flourish at her hands and the next stanza begins;

 

        “She rose upright ‘gainst the building, she scarce could reach her love.

        But Bess loosened her mane in the casement, the black locks fell from above.

        As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over her breast,

        The mare kissed its waves in the moonlight,

        Oh sweet black waves in the moonlight,

        Then she tugged at her cloak in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.”

 

But instead of moving through the next flourish, Lyra puts the music in a holding pattern. “What is it, Bon Bon?” Lyra asks with great interest, as if the distraction was welcomed.

 

You look back to Bon Bon. The smile is now gone from her face, only the longing remaining. “I… made lunch. Come get it when you’re ready.” The cream-colored pony states, quickly turning and leaving the room.

 

Lyra disentangles herself from her various trappings, and soon all the musical tools are placed on the table behind the stool. She turns to speak to you as she passes, and her voice is much softer and more distant than before. “It’s one of her favorites. It’s very long, but maybe someday you’ll get to hear the whole thing.” She leads the two of you out of the sunroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

 

On the table are three settings with vegetarian sandwiches, various dressings and a small selection of beverages, but the fourth setting- and Bon Bon herself- is nowhere to be found. The presentation of the dishes and the arrangement of the trappings on the table display a decent amount of thought and artistic or formal arrangement for a simple noonday meal, with one notable exception. Lyra looks at the plates, and then to Mous. “I don’t think she heard the part where you’re a construct.”

 

Mous bobs up and down as if chuckling, and floats over the table to the window set into the back door, looking out across the fields behind the house. After a few moments, the drone turns towards Lyra, who is currently browsing the fridge for something that must not have made it to the table. Satisfied she isn’t watching, the drone releases a slim rounded cylinder with an arrow-shaped tip from the tail section of its frame. The knife-missile drifts around towards the open window above the sink, and darts outside.

 

“She’s across the fields, heading for the forest, not heading for town. I don’t know what’s up with that.” Your earpiece intones.

 

“Answers to questions unasked. Just leave her; she doesn’t have to let us know where she’s going and why.” You subvocalize back while chewing.

 

Lunch is uneventful, and afterwards Lyra excuses herself, heading into Ponyville. You guess she’s off to find Bon Bon but neither of you tell her what Mous told you. The drone drifts off towards the basement, probably to leaf through Lyra’s materials, after the knife-missile is recalled and posted to keep watch over the front of the house in case one of the pair returns. You take the time to look through Lyra’s music, hoping to find a copy of the song’s lyrics.

 

Entering the sunroom again, you look for any obvious storage spaces. Turning around, you see a door on the far end of the same wall the entrance comes through. Behind this door is a deep closet, the walls lined with shelves and strangely shaped cases. Opening some of these you find each contains a different string instrument, spanning many different designs. The shelves and drawers do contain sheet music and lyrics, but aren’t organized in an immediately recognizable fashion, and you quickly give up on the specific piece you’re looking for. As you turn to leave, a metallic glint amongst the surrounding plastic and wood catches your eye. On the top shelf, against the back wall appears to be a set of intricately linked bars. Reaching it easily with your greater height, you carefully pull the object off the shelf and examine it.

 

The object in question turns out to be a coiled segmented chain, each section consisting of a cluster of thin interconnected metal bars. In the center of the coil is a handle with an ornate rounded guard of some sort, and at the very end is a large weight. This weight has a four-pointed star cross-section, each ridge very sharp and one punctured by a pair of rings on which a tough fibrous flag is mounted. You’ve seen these before, but definitely not often.

 

“Weapon,” you subvocalize to Mous. Almost immediately the other knife-missile the drone carries is over your shoulder, showing Mous your find.

 

“Interesting, I would figure such an exotic design would be impossible for these creatures to control. Though, normally I’d say that about a bowed instrument but my conclusion there would be demonstratably wrong.” Mous returns. “We don’t know how martial their culture is, or what natural phenomena they’d need to defend against. Or even their views on violence in general, you know how some cultures are with their codes of honor or varying degrees of surface pacifism. I wouldn’t bring it up until they mention weapons first, and even then don’t let them know you’ve been snooping around in their stuff, you naughty naughty girl.”

 

“Oh? So what are you doing in the basement then?” you reply with mock indignation. The knife-missile floats out of the closet without another word, and after you put the chain whip back on the shelf, you follow suit. The chairs in the sunroom look surprisingly accommodating of a humanoid form, and you kick back in one, feet on top of an end table. You retreat into thought, reflecting on what other details you can glean from the things you found today.

 

[spoiler]http://pastebin.com/E06uhPdu[/spoiler]

[spoiler]http://pastebin.com/u/Cee-esS[/spoiler]