Special Circumstances #7

        Today is a day marked by the feeling of ‘new’. Most obviously, a new environment to explore; Canterlot is a small city but definitely had its own big society and big atmosphere. As far as you could tell, Equestria’s overall population isn’t very high, and comprised of many different races together with the three types of ponies the most common and obvious. Canterlot is the cultural as well as the political capital, and it definitely shows.

 

        Just behind that- and far more comfortable- is finally wearing some new clothes. The Royal Tailors had put together a simple but delightful robe of a silk-like material for you to wear last night, and made several copies ready by the morning. They asked what sort of symbolism could be used to represent The Culture, and you were at a loss. The Culture doesn’t really define itself as any sort of discrete entity, more a loose amalgamation of a bunch of different like-minded societies which have over time fused. The Culture had no flag, had no emblem, and didn’t even have borders in the traditional sense. Eventually you decided on using the basic element of Marian, a three-by-three grid of dots. Marian was one of the most unique aspects of The Culture, a written language that humans, drones, and Minds alike took pride in being both supremely functional and aesthetically sound. These nine dots are now displayed prominently in black on the back of the white robe, the trim and belt at the waist also in black because the tailors were at a complete loss as to a color palette to use but didn’t want to risk offending you by supplying their own. You said you’d get back to them when something came to mind.

 

        Your purpose itself is renewed. You’re now ensconced within the halls of power itself here, the best position to observe the workings of this society, and to see what changes you’d have to make to push it in the direction of your home. Canterlot was the center of Equestria’s whole society, and the Palace the center of Canterlot, if only figuratively. If you can pull a string here, you can bend a whole empire.

 

        “Intersection ahead, continue straight through and take a left at the next one,” Mous supplies. The drone is hovering above the city, steering you to points of possible interest for investigation. One missile hovers much closer to you as a sentry, and the other is back outside your room. The little pen-sized device is wedged where the wall above the doorframe meets the ceiling, and from there can monitor everything going on in the corridor and bet at least a rudimentary idea on what happens within the suite itself.

 

        You follow the drone’s directions, making a path through the crowded streets of the city’s lunchtime rush. After turning the corner you come to a large fountain complex surrounded by tables and chairs, the usual retail storefronts along the road replaced by restaurants in this particular circle. Predictably, the tables are packed. The fountain itself is an ornate statue of a pegasus guard, standing on a plinth at the center of a pool of water. The pegasus’ outstretched wings are the sources of the water, instead of jets small streams ran down the intricately worked feathers, falling into the pool before they met the body thanks to the bend in the wing-elbow. On the face of the plinth is a small metal plaque. Making your way through the crowd, you bend over to read it, Mous’ missile whizzing down by your head to do the same. On it is embossed a single sentence, despite the plaque’s rather large size.

 

        [IN HONOR OF THOSE WHO SERVE TO KEEP EQUESTRIA SAFE.]

 

        “That’s odd,” Mous says into your earbud as you read. “The plaque isn’t original. There are small stress fractures around it indicating it’s been removed and replaced.”

 

        “Probably why it’s so big; the original must have had more content,” you observe, standing again. “Where to next?”

 

        “Turn around one-eighty and continue down that road two intersections, and turn right. We’ve covered this sector already and may as well head back, save some for tomorrow.”

 

        You nod in agreement and carry out the instructions. You just make it through the first intersection when a warning chime sounds in your ear. “You’re being followed.”

 

        The hair on the back of your neck pricks out. “Aggressively?”

 

        “They’re not advancing fast enough to catch up to you, and not overtly enough to draw attention. And they’re doing a damn good job at not drawing attention, someone knows their stuff. I couldn’t even be sure myself until they followed you through that intersection there, but now 86% probability.”

 

        “Got it. Can you direct me to an open space, preferably sparsely occupied, where we can confront?”

 

        “Continue to the next intersection, turn left, followed by two rights. There’s a public park with trails that take you to an area with trees. The clearing in the middle of them would be perfect.”

 

        You continue to follow the directions without looking back, if something happens Mous will let you know. The drone has had decades of practice picking out possible threats, and for him to be this sure and to believe that your pursuer has experience is a big deal. You prevent yourself from following the basic instinct to speed up; if they’re not actually closing the distance they must just be observing, and any indication you know you’re being tailed could spook them off.

 

        But the knowledge certainly changes the way you view the city. The streets’ bustle grows stifling, and while on the outside you appear to be very naturally and fluidly navigating your way between the ponies around you, it feels like you have to swim and struggle through them. Their diminutive stature doesn’t help any, you’re a good half a meter taller than the ones standing with head held high, and not all the ponies carry themselves with such a proud stance.

 

        By the time you break free into the park area, it feels like you have to gasp for air. You hold the same pace as you start down the packed earth path, and just start to enter the trees when Mous again chimes in your ear. “Pursuer is holding at the edge of the park.”

 

        You slow down a bit, eventually stopping by a tree and turning to admire it. Just out of the corner of your eye you can see the subject, a mare standing at the edge of the trail half-turned to leave with a forehoof hanging in the air. Pausing to judge if she should follow blew her cover as far as being inconspicuous; at this point you think she may be trying to see whether or not you’d be a threat. You sigh to yourself and turn to head further into the park, figuring if she’s held up like this she’s just going to abort the pursuit.

 

        “Pursuer is entering the park. Don’t know if baiting them was a good idea but it worked, good job.”

 

        “If they’re being cautious they don’t want to confront us, or think we’ll cause them harm. I want to take advantage of that. Give me manual control?”

 

        ‘Manual control’ was your euphemism for handling a missile as if it was a weapon. Some civilizations didn’t understand the danger of something unless it was controlled by another humanoid and usually handled with a stock set of threatening gestures. Mous would disable a missile’s gravfields and inertics, let you wave it around pointy end out, and relay your subvocalized commands to it. The small device comes to a stop in front of you pointing upwards, and you gently grab it out of the air.

 

        You stop at the edge of a small dirt clearing in the middle of the park, where the paths from each of the four sides converge. “Pursuer making contact shortly,” Mous intones, and after a brief pause you start to turn around.

 

        You’ve nailed the timing. “Excuse me,” the mare barely gets out before stopping short, as you’ve already turned and are smiling at her. She’s taller and more delicate-looking than most other ponies you’ve seen, with a longer, narrower snout and a longer horn than the unicorns you’ve so far seen. A pink mane and tail compliments a white coat marked with three arrowhead-like shapes on her flank.

 

        “Hello, what is it you’re looking for?” you ask sweetly, holding your arms together in front of you. The way your robe’s sleeves flare out at the cuffs ensures the unicorn can’t see your hands and the missile they obscure.

 

        “Nothing, actually.” The unicorn relaxes her frozen half-step posture and smiles. “I just wanted to talk. I heard you came in and wanted to meet you myself. The name’s Fleur de Lis.”

 

        “Anon,” you reply, and extend a hand, making sure the missile is obscured within the other. Fleur looks at it briefly before accepting the handshake with a hoof.

 

        Then she pointedly looks at your other hand. “Can I ask what you plucked from the sky a moment ago?”

 

        Your smile broadens when she calls the ruse. “Just a gift from a friend,” you reply, and lightly toss the missile into the air. The small device re-engages its gravfields and ascends.

 

Mous meets it halfway to take it up underneath its’ tail, and then continues its descent to the level of your head. “Mous,” it introduces itself simply. The drone bobs in the equivalent of a nod. Then the drone speaks directly into your earbud, “Visitor at our suite. Lyra’s answered the door and seems familiar with them, and was perhaps expecting them. I wasn’t aware she had made plans. Do you want to return?”

 

Fleur looks over to the drone with a curious expression before her soft smile reasserts itself. “And I’ve heard about you too, but I can’t say I’ve heard much. Welcome, both of you, to Canterlot. I hope your stay is enjoyable and long.”

 

You reclasp your hands behind your back, and start wandering back the way you came. “At least as long as it takes until we find a way back,” you say to Fleur. “To be honest we didn’t exactly come here on purpose.”

 

“Ah, sorry to hear it,” Fleur responds, and then matches your pace. “Returning to…”

 

You frown as her voice trails off. Looking around you locate the tall mare to your left, and smile an apology and hold up a finger to ask her to wait a second, a gesture probably alien to Fleur. She watches you with a puzzled expression as you walk around behind her to the other side. “Sorry, deaf on that side for now. Unfortunate incident in Ponyville.”

 

Fleur nods her head slowly, brows furrowed. “Yes… I had heard. I didn’t know it had caused you such harm. I didn’t mean to be rude. I had asked if you were returning to the palace.”

 

You’re silent for a moment, deciding whether or not confirming your residence would be wise. “Yes. Just wanted to have a look around the city, but it’s a bit larger than we expected. We’ll be looking around a chunk at a time.”

 

“Yes, it is a grand place,” the unicorn says, and turns her head to admire the city as you emerge from the park back onto the street. “I can escort you back, if you don’t want to send much more time here today. The streets can be a bit confusing to navigate. I need to get back check in with my crew anyway.”

 

“You work at the palace, then? What is it you do?”

 

“My office is at the palace,” Fleur corrects you, looking at you with a smile. Her taller stature means she almost matches your height, her eyes just clearing your shoulder. “I work in the city itself. Just came from talking to a… client, actually. I’m a Censor, it’s my job and the job of my colleagues to make sure the enormous administration that runs Equestria stays on the straight and narrow.”

 

“Ah, very interesting,” you stall and subvocalize to Mous to get you more info. The drone responds with a very short summary on the functions of an internal regulatory agency in some civilizations, a function you’ve come across in some governments nominally but never in effect. “Sounds like the kind of job you’d want to keep on the low-down, to me,” you finally follow up.

 

Fleur’s gaze returns to the street as she slips ahead of you, leading you through a turn. “Some of us do, working from the shadows, following people discretely and all that fancy spycraft stuff. Others of us operate openly, socializing, putting a public face for the Censorate. The upright workers love to be seen with us, it’s an indicator of honesty and trustworthiness if you keep in the good company of a Censor for an extended period of time. And you’d be surprised what information you can get from people just by asking nicely.”

 

“Don’t you ever get ostracized because of it? Do gatherings get awkward? If you’re known as an ear for the government doesn’t that earn you some ire?” Mous asks rapid-fire.

 

Fleur is silent as she takes you through another intersection. “Not… as much as you’d think,” she begins slowly. “I was already on the social scene well before I accepted my position. I know who my true friends are, who my marks are, and who is just cozying up to me for the prestige. I’ve navigated Equestrian society since I was a filly, you get used to it. There aren’t nearly as many Censors at the forefront of attention compared to those behind the scenes, maybe only a dozen of us. Generally curiosity at being around one at all overcomes any trepidation. And since when we find out some major corruption it hits the papers pretty fast, there’s also a slight celebrity aspect of it. Ponies are gracious we keep Canterlot on the right path; a monster this big getting loose could cause some serious damage. Not even the Princesses can steer this behemoth alone.”

 

“Princesses?” you and Mous ask almost simultaneously. “We’ve only met Celestia,” you continue alone, “we weren’t aware there were others.”

 

Fleur’s looks back with a tilt of her head and a barely-there smile on her face. “That’s because you’re not out at night. Princess Celestia’s the head honcho but she has Princess Cadance helping her, and my boss, Princess Luna, is second-in-command more or less. She’s only recently returned but she’s a natural at the business. Nothing gets past her once she’s on your trail, and she’s supremely faithful to her sister since she’s come back, it’s perfect.”

 

“Where did she return from?” Mous pursues. You’ve been around the drone long enough to realize its tone indicates it already knows a bit of the answer.

 

Fleur goes silent again as you leave the walls of Canterlot proper and start up the path to the palace gates. The muddled ambience of the city falls away, and in the silence that is left you start to wonder if she’ll answer at all. As you approach the gate to the palace, she simply says, “Not my place to answer.” The guard at the gate nods to you three as you pass into the palace grounds

 

“At any rate,” she begins again once you’re inside the massive structure, “It’s a very effective system. Princess Luna at our head and with the rank of Chancellor gives us a bit more authority to pursue our job, and Luna’s an amazing resource herself. It’s only been a couple years but it’s already hard to imagine going back to the way things were before. My offices are down the other way, do you know your way back to your room from here?”

 

“Yes we do, thanks for the walk back,” you respond with a smile and a nod.

 

“Great! If you want to head out later, just let me know! I can take you around the city no problem, show you the sights and maybe get you in on the social life.” Fleur responds with a great smile.

 

“How do we know you’re not, y’know, just spying on us?” You accompany the end of the sentence with a comical wave of your hands to indicate lightheartedness, before realizing the gesture may be entirely unfamiliar to a quadruped.

 

Fleur’s smile cracks into a grin nevertheless. “You don’t!” The elegant unicorn turns abruptly with a kick against the floor, a hind shoe drawing a loud clack. The motion not unlike skipping turns into a moderately quick trot down the long corridor.

 

You and Mous turn the other way, making your way down to your suite. “Back there, you sounded like you knew something about this Luna already,” you inquire, “What was that?”

 

“Didn’t know she was back in power, but I read something related to her in Twilight’s library,” the drone responds.  “I can’t be sure on its veracity; there was a conflict in that book with a different source on an unrelated issue and where I thought I’d find other relevant passages there was nothing. Besides, there’s a situation in the suite we have to deal with. I’ve put an acoustic dampening field on the door.” You give Mous an expression between curiosity and irritation at this news, then nod to the guards and push open the door.

 

The field worked as advertised, because only after you entered the room and closed the door behind you did you hear the loud sobbing just off to the right. Looking over to the lounge area you see, occupying the backless elevated cushions that passed as a couch, two ponies. One of them was a grey earth pony with a darker grey mane, resting against a stack of pillows in a leaning pose you’d be able to pull off fine but must be rather uncomfortable for the equine. Laying half-over her was the source of the sobbing; Lyra. The earth pony gives you a tired smile and a slight wave with one hoof, the other resting on Lyra’s head as Lyra cried into her flank. You continue as quietly as possible into the shared bedroom area.

 

“Get the spare missile into Lyra’s study, see what she’s been up to while we have the chance. I’m going to wait until those two wind down out there. It’s nice Lyra’s finally getting everything off her chest, but I’d like to meet our guest after,” you subvocalize to Mous. After the missile darts out of the room you close the door behind you and collapse onto your bed. Reaching under the nightstand you pull out a clipboard with a pen and scribbles all over it, and continue your quest to understand the letters and numbers of the Equestrian language. “So let me know when their emotional moment wraps up. Now help me go over this once again?”

 

Mous walks you through basic written phonemes once more, while you scribble away writing the same letters over and over again to perfect their form. You secured some written forms as well as printed words earlier, and try mimicking those styles as well as writing in your own. You haven’t yet progressed to trying to write out full words, or read aloud whole sentences, but with some concentrated effort you can understand at least the basics of a line of text. Just as you’re started to grow frustrated with this particular session- a remarkably short time- there’s a knock at the door.

 

“Anon, can I come in?” speaks a meek voice at almost exactly the same time Mous informs you its Lyra.

 

“Sure, of course,” You lean forward and turn so you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, putting the clipboard and writing instrument to the side

 

The mint-colored unicorn enters the room, meeting your eyes only briefly before turning her bleary eyes to the floor. “Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d come back so soon.”

 

You lean closer with a gentle smile. “I understand. Yesterday was rough. I’m sorry you felt you had to hold back with me around. Who is your friend?”

 

Lyra looks back up at you with a faint smile of her own before turning to look at her guest. “Octavia’s an old friend of mine, one of the only ones from Canterlot who has kept touch with me this whole time.” Lyra looks to you with a little bit more confidence. “Want to come out and meet her?”

 

        You nod enthusiastically and stand up. Lyra leaves the doorframe and you stick your head out after her. Octavia is still sitting on the couch where she was when you came in, but has assumed a more natural position for a pony. The pillows she was resting on have somehow found themselves scattered all over the floor. Shortly after you walk into the room they levitate and arrange themselves neatly at the other side of the couch; the lack of a magical aura means it was Mous’ doing. Octavia watches them with curiosity before looking back to you with a warmer smile than when you first entered the suite. She looks over your shoulder and nods at something behind you, probably the drone.

 

        “Octavia, this is Anon and Mous, as I was telling you about earlier.” Lyra then turns to you, “Octavia is one of the greatest musicians in the whole of Equestria. If it has a bow, she can play it.”

 

        Octavia gets off the couch and bows to you following the proper introduction. Upon rising she looks to Lyra, “Don’t make it sound you aren’t as accomplished. I still can’t say I’ve mastered the crwth you’ve given me.” The earth pony glances at an instrument case beside where she sat at the couch.

 

        “I’ve… fallen out of practice.” Lyra’s smile grows a bit strained. You glance down at the case Octavia looked towards and are able to make out the label from here; CRWTH. You repeat what you heard in your head and then subvocalize to Mous, “You didn’t tell me that third letter could make an ‘oo’ sound. You told me it was a consonant.”

 

        “Lingual anomaly; I believe it’s a very old word. You shouldn’t see it enough to cause difficulties while you learn.”

 

        Lyra looks back towards the kitchenette, opening up various cabinets, mostly empty. The unicorn frowns, turning to you as you settle into a chair off the corner of the couch. “I’ll ask for some lunch to be brought to us.” She paces over to the wall panel by the door that calls the various services and pushes a button with the tip of her hoof. After a full fourteen seconds the impatient pony opens the door, sticks her head out, and then looks back with a smile. “I’ll be right back!” She trots out into the hall.

 

        You look to Octavia, who merely shrugs. You make your own way over to the door and peer out around the frame. Lyra’s making good progress down the corridor, mostly obscured by the bulk of the guard on that side of the door. You quickly glance upward to confirm the missile is still wedged between the wall and the ceiling above the door and clear your throat to get the guards’ attention as you look back down at them. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we have our own protection. Thank you for your dedication but you can leave anytime you like.”

 

        The unicorn guard grunts and resumes staring at the perfectly blank wall across from the door. “Princess’s orders; we’re not to leave on any circumstances, even if you wish so.”

 

        You frown to yourself and pull your head back inside the door, closing it. When you turn around, Octavia’s at the refrigerator, rummaging through a decent number of food items within. Hearing the door close she looks to you, and her cheeks grow flushed. “Lyra could never cook, she knew all this food was here but I think she was just looking for an excuse to get someone else to do it. I didn’t think you could either, since you’re new here, sorry if I was rude.”

 

        You wave your hand dismissively. Octavia’s eyes grow wide at the gesture and the earth pony recoils, “Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to offend-“

 

        She’s cut off by a laugh you couldn’t quite restrain. “No, don’t worry about it. I am hungry, thank you for the thoughts.”

 

        “Try to be less animated when you speak,” Mous coaches you privately. “Even if the natives have equivalent gestures your arms are a much more prominent appendage compared to any one of their legs.”

 

        “Easy for you to say, wiggley-fins,” you shoot back as Octavia gathers several eggs, a red vegetable, a small bundle of greens and a block of cheese. “Mind telling me what Lyra’s been up to?”

 

        “She’s been writing, mostly. It looks like she’s trying to pen a report about you. Twilight told me she’d be looking for something big to hand to the academic community here, and hopefully it’d let her back in their graces. All she packed was a lot of her own notes and two instruments, both also in this room. Several books on her table she didn’t bring with her, but are authored by her. Celestia must have arranged for them when they were preparing this suite; the bookshelves are packed with books on musical theory and cultural history.” The drone dutifully reports back to your earbud, over the gentle clack of pans and utensils.

 

        You’re a bit troubled about this, in light of Twilight’s wishes and how much grief it’s seemed to cause Lyra so far. “Octavia,” you look to the pony currently cooking, “Have you ever played with Lyra before?”

 

        “Of course I have” Octavia responds without turning. “In fact my favorite performance was just the two of us. Beautiful pieces, grand crowd. Wasn’t challenging or even particularly complex but sometimes it’s nice to take a break from the more complicated work I normally do.” A slight chuckle from the stove, “And we got in trouble for one particular part of the set, actually.”

 

        “Lyra’s stopped playing, from what I gather. Bon Bon made it sound like she hasn’t done much of anything musical in a long while.”

 

        There’s a long pause punctuated only by the shuffling of a spatula. Finally Octavia sighs, “I was worried about that. Especially when the only time she showed up back here, at Cadance’s wedding, it wasn’t to play. That’s what tipped me off in the end really. I hope I can convince her to get back into it, Equestria’s lost some great talent if she’s put the lyre down forever.”      

 

        The silence that follows feels uncomfortable; the mood leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You latch onto the first thing in your mind to break the silence, “So you got in trouble for playing a song?”

 

        “Yeah, it’s Lyra and I’s fault that the content of public performances need to be pre-approved now. I had no idea that piece meant what it did until Lyra told me. She dug it up during her cultural research; I’d say it’s the greatest thing she found in her short time in the Ministry of Rites’ good graces. Well besides the several instruments she recreated from Equestria’s past. The Highwaymare, it was called. I guess it covers a bit of history they’re not supposed to teach in school. I thought it was just a story until we were visited by the Royal Guard the next day.”

 

        “That’s… interesting. Can’t say I’m familiar with the phenomena,” a lie, “because the Culture doesn’t really have any sort of central authority,” the truth. “I’d be really disturbed if I found that my rulers were trying to actively suppress the nation’s own history.”

 

        After a pause, Octavia replies, “Princess Celestia must have a good reason for it. Hope you like eggs.” Octavia brings two plates of scrambled eggs to the table, adorned with sprigs of green and diced tomato. The way she keeps steady with a three-hooved gait while balancing both plates on the fourth, outstretched foreleg fascinates you. After she sits back down on the couch the two of you dig in.

 

        Lyra picks this opportune moment to come back to the room. “Hey, found someone! What do you…?” The unicorn stops when she sees you and Octavia eating. Octavia points towards the counter, where a third plate sits. Lyra slowly turns and says something outside the door, walks in and closes it behind her. She looks to the pristine stovetop, and back to the plate prepared for her. “When did you guys get this?”

 

        “I made it,” Octavia says after swallowing carefully.

 

        Lyra again looks to the immaculate cooking surfaces and sighs. “I didn’t even know we had pans in here. Well, thanks either way.” Lyra examines the plate, and fetches herself some utensils.

 

        “She definitely knew we had pans,” Octavia leans in to whisper. The two of you share a grin.

 

        Lyra sets her plate down next to Octavia and the three of you share lunch. When finished Octavia mentions an event that evening she needs to prepare for. You and Lyra see her out, and Lyra finally agrees to help you learn how to read to round out the afternoon. Nightfall comes quickly, and soon you’re both in your beds, for Lyra the first time she’s seen the bedroom at all.