Special Circumstances #8

        “I can see why you eat there so often! That was an amazing meal, thank you.” You say as you stand from the table.

       

        Fleur stands as well, counting out and leaving payment with her telekinesis. “I thought you’d like it. A couple restaurants around here specialize in foreign cuisine, which means catering to a wider preference. I’m assuming from you description of your home… land… that fish is a staple?”

 

        You can’t help but giggle at how Fleur stumbled right through the verbal misstep, and nodded an affirmative. “Of course, it’s the only food supply that’s readily available. We get some spices and plants trading with coastal towns, but that usually doesn’t amount to much.”

 

        The two of you start walking away as a waiter comes around to collect the bill. Mous begins floating on ahead, knowing the route back and scouting for any threats. The square is always busiest at lunchtime, Fleur said, but Mous is convinced it could pick out likely attackers amidst all the ponies milling about, no matter how high the volume. Normally you’d doubt it but Mous has saved your hide several times before with its uncanny intuition.

 

        “A lot of the high-society gatherings around here usually sample some more exotic foods as well,” Fleur continues. “I’d be lying if I said I’ve never eaten meat before. Maybe I can introduce you to a friend of mine, and we can introduce some Culture dishes to the menu? Fish isn’t too objectionable.”

 

        You had no plans on building up such a detailed historical background to your fictional nation that you’d have to invent different meals; you were never a chef. You make a big show about considering it, though, slowing your walking pace a bit and scratching the back of your neck. “Maybe another time, but probably not. I don’t even know what would be passable within your social circles. I wouldn’t want to cause any incidents.”

 

        Fleur’s unique, crystal-clear laugh issues forth. “Well maybe we should change that! The unfamiliarity I mean. There’s a gathering tomorrow evening, a rather large one if you prefer less intimate affairs. A new batch of ponies has been accepted into the Ministries so they’re holding a celebration and get-together for the newcomers to grow familiar with their coworkers. As a privileged guest of Celestia herself, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be allowed to join in.”

 

        You have just been handed the perfect opportunity to widen your contact base and further your main mission. You didn’t even try to hide your grin. “Well how could I refuse an invitation?”

 

        “I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking,” Mous sounds in your earbud, “just don’t take it too quickly, alright?”

 

        “You always let me know if I’m going too far,” you subvocalize back

 

        “I was starting to wonder if you ever even heard me, judging by the amount of time you actually heed the advice.”

 

        The three of you continue through the bustling Canterlot streets, Fleur starting to coach you on the particulars and quirks of Canterlot society. As you exit the cramped city for the winding path to the palace grounds, your earbud starts playing music. The gentle melody almost perfectly fits the serene walk back, and you listen through the subtle changes in the melody for several minutes before you request the source.

 

        “Feed from our suite,” Mous replies. “Lyra’s friend Octavia is there again.”

 

        “Is Lyra still working on her report on us?”

 

        “It doesn’t seem so. She was before, but she halted work when Octavia arrived. Octavia was being careful to keep the topic of conversation off Lyra’s studies. “

 

        You mull over that interesting tidbit while you continue to listen to Octavia’s masterful work. When you reach the palace gates however, the piece comes to an end and the feed cuts out. Fleur leads you to the split in the main corridor where you normally depart her company, but before she can speak you tap her on a slender shoulder.

 

        “Why don’t you come back to our suite? I’m sure your boss will allow you to take some time off your other responsibilities to hobnob with a foreign emissary.”

 

        Fleur adopts a cheerful smile. “Of course she won’t, but that’s not going to stop me. Let’s go.”

 

        Shortly after you start walking again, the music returns. After only a few moments you can identify it as the song Lyra had started playing for you in Ponyville, but Octavia’s take is a very different experience. Lyra’s passion and power is replaced by a measured, even approach. Octavia, even with only one instrument instead of two, is able to draw out miniscule details in the melody and throw in flourishes that gave the piece an entirely new spin. The work is very stirring, and when you arrived at your suite door you put a hand before Fleur to prevent her from interrupting Octavia’s performance until she had hit a lull in the music. For several moments you stand before the ever-present guards outside your door in silence.

 

        Fleur looked up at you quizzically, but when you opened the door to reveal the two musical ponies inside, her expression brightened. “Ah, Octavia! Anon must have very good hearing if she was able to hear you practicing with only one ear.” Fleur turns to look to the door after you close it behind her, but as she turns her head she gives you a rather pointed glance. “And I wasn’t aware the palace doors were so soundproof now. I suppose special exceptions are made for visiting diplomats.”

 

        You freeze in place. “Did you have an acoustic dampening field up?” you quickly send to Mous. You realize that with your deafness in your other ear, you weren’t able to notice that the music came from your earbud alone, even right outside the room.

 

        “Yes, but if you hadn’t stopped her outside the door, it wouldn’t have been obvious enough for Fleur to notice. Well, probably not.” Mous replies privately. The drone floats over the ponies’ heads nonchalantly and drifts off into the bedroom.

 

        “I guess so,” you say aloud to try and cover your misstep. “Anyway, it sounds like you all know each other already?”

 

        “Yes of course!” Fleur replies. “Octavia’s only one of the biggest names in the music scene in my circles. And Lyra, it’s been awhile!”

 

        Lyra had frozen in place as soon as she caught sight of Fleur entering, but at the mention of her name, she fixes Fleur with a rather cold glare. “If our last meeting was as casual, we might have seen a lot more of each other between then and now.”

 

        Fleur steps back with a wounded expression on her face. “Oh, come, now is not the time to relive old battles. It’s in the past! Let the subject not be brought up again.” The taller unicorn dons a smile once more, and turns back to Octavia. “Might I ask what you were practicing?

 

        “I was running down a set for the dinner tomorrow. I was just playing one of your favorites, if I remember correctly,” Octavia replies, placing her violin atop her case.

 

        “Oh? Well I’ll be glad to hear you there! I’ve invited Anon, and since you’ll be busy setting up I suppose I’ll take her over myself.”

 

        “Can’t Lyra?” Octavia and Fleur both freeze up at your question. Octavia gives you a look you might be able to decipher if it was on a humanoid face.

 

        “She… won’t be able to attend without special permission. It’s an administrative function.” Octavia says carefully. “Even I can only be there because I’m informally the Court’s musician, and I wouldn’t be allowed to show if I wasn’t invited to play.”

 

Warmth comes to your cheeks as you look to Lyra, who is gazing at the floor. “Ah, sorry Lyra, I should have guessed.”

 

Lyra mumbles something in response, but before you could ask on it Fleur interjects. “Well, I need to get back to my business. Anon, I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch again, right? And Octavia, I’ll see you that evening. I can’t wait.” The unicorn spins smartly and walks out of the room, nodding to the guards on either side of the door before turning down the hall back to her offices.

 

After you close the door behind her, you turn to Lyra. “You two have a history, huh?”

 

        Lyra remained silent, staring at the floor. Octavia picked up her violin and started playing again, a different piece this time. Alleviating the silence didn’t lift the mood any.

 

        “When I had my status stripped several years ago, Fleur was the one to deliver the verdict. We weren’t exactly friends before, but we had a good working relationship. She wrote me a letter some months later, apologizing for what she had to do, but it didn’t matter by then.” Lyra looked miserable with herself, and her tone carried a note of regret. “I suppose I should just let it go but, I don’t know. It’s a hard thing to just forget.”

 

        Lyra falls silent again as Octavia continues her meanderings through different melodies, flowing from one to another effortlessly. She continues filling the quiet with the formless music, and you can again pick out the subtle tweaks and flourishes she adds to pieces as she cycles back to them, each pass different than the last. When you heard Lyra play, her skill was impeccably-timed force, a way of striking each note at exactly the right moment for maximum impact and emphasis, building off each tonal blow as she worked through the song. Octavia instead plays for character, infusing the music with her own flair, a technical detailing that doesn’t alter the original form but enhances it.

 

        At some arbitrary point in the cycle Octavia stops with a sigh. “Anon, if you’re going to attend this ceremony, I recommend something fancier than that. I’m sure the royal tailors would agree and would be happy to oblige.”

 

        You know the comment is supposed to just get you out of the room, but it’s very convincing. The silk robe you currently wear is like a blank canvas, and you think filling it for this event would be a reasonable use of an otherwise empty afternoon. Octavia’s observation is rewarded with a broad smile, “Yes that sounds like a wonderful idea.” As you turn to stand and leave, you subvocalize to Mous in a much more flat tone, “Keep me up to speed on their conversation, no feed.”

 

        You walk out the door, throwing a little salute to the guards to either side. As always, they remain stock-still, apparently not even noticing your existence. You pause in the hallway, unable to remember which way to go, before deciding to hang a right to head towards the central corridor. You aren’t sure if that really is the right path, but as a tiny blur whirrs across the ceiling above you, you know you’re about to receive directions.

 

        “They’re not even talking about you, not directly,” Mous says as the missile flies off to find the tailor’s offices.

 

        “So what are they talking about then? Why did they want me out?” you ask the drone

 

        “Well let’s look at that from the other direction. If they wanted you out, they wanted to speak privately. Since it’s not relevant to us personally, it’s not important you know.”

 

        You sigh to yourself as you wait in the central hall. Ever since you added blackmail to your list of means to ends Mous stopped sharing the juicy secrets it overheard with you until it became the only course of action left. To be fair, the only reason you wanted to know in this case is because you’re nosy; Lyra is in good hands with Octavia in your mind, and you didn’t think you had to keep an eye on her every moment.

 

        Through the doorway to a side hall, the missile zips back along the ceiling. “Found the office,” Mous says. “Down that hall, take the left when it ends, third door on the right.” Standing from the chair, you move across the hall to begin the proscribed journey. The trip is shorter than you expected considering the all-too-large internal dimensions of the palace, and the path takes you to a more normal-sized hallway with rather plain doors lining it. A plaque on the door confirms your destination, and you turn the handle to enter the nondescript office.

 

        “How may I help you?” the nervous-looking stallion behind the desk asked. The desk surface is littered with pattern sheets and some design sketches, in one big messy pile. Other parts of the office are in similar disarray. You take in the discord and wonder if you’d be demanding too much to have even a plain dress finished for tomorrow.

 

        “Sorry if it’s on such short notice, but I’d like to have something a little more formal for an event tomorrow evening. If there’s not enough time that’ll be alright, but having a dress for the future would be very nice. Do you have some time to go over a different design than this?” you emphasize the question with a sweeping gesture over your robes.

 

        The earth stallion seems to relax when you actually start talking to him, but his tension remains obvious when he jerks his head around to look through an open door to the side, presumably to a workspace beyond. “Of course, we’re almost finished with it. We’re a bit limited in how we can alter it at this stage but we’ll see what we can do.”

 

        You give the tailor a flat look. “What’s almost finished?” the line comes out more as an accusation than a question, and you can see the pony tense up a bit again.

 

        “Your new robes of course,” the stallion answers stiffly. “The ones commissioned for you by…” His gaze darts behind you before he drops in a bow, “…Your Highness.”

 

        Princess Celestia stands behind you and to your left. As you spin to face her, part of you wonders if she enjoys catching you off-guard like this. You bend forward in a half-bow before you remember she didn’t want you to treat her so formally. “I’m sorry Princess, I didn’t hear you enter.”

 

        Celestia wears her always-easy smile. “Quite alright, I didn’t expect you to be here.” She turns to the tailor then, “How is that commission coming?”

 

        “We’re almost finished. The unfamiliar design is still taking us longer than usual but it should be finished by tonight. It sounds like Anon was going to suggest some changes though…” the stallion trails off, jerking his gaze between you and Celestia, more nervous than when you first entered.

 

        Celestia pouts in disappointment you can’t tell is real or fake. “I was hoping to surprise you Anon. How did you find out?”

 

        “I didn’t,” you shrug. “I came down to ask for something myself. Censor Fleur de Lis invited me to some promotion ceremony tomorrow night and I wanted to look the part.

 

        A look of hesitation flashes through Celestia’s eyes, a chink in her usually very composed manner. Her previous expression vanishes in what you’re sure is the first completely unscripted reaction you’ve ever seen on her face. Even then she recovers quickly, only a second passing before she responds, “…Ah. I was going to invite you myself.” The usual smile returns to her lips, but it looks rather more strained than normal. “Either way it sounds like you’ll be there. I hope you don’t mind if I stick around while you’re speaking with the tailor over your attire?”

 

        You got the feeling it’s more a request than asking for permission, but you aren’t inclined to turn it down either way. “Of course not, feel free.”

 

        By now an assistant has brought out the pattern sheets to the head tailor. You step up to his desk as he rifles through them and lays them out before you. “We weren’t quite sure what we’d be able to add to the robes to create a more formal appearance, but Celestia suggested a more detailed pattern on it instead. She suggested an ocean theme to represent your home, and this is what we came up with.”

 

You examine the sheets that reveal an intricate detailing of sea and sky across what on your current attire is plain white space. Waves crested just above the waistline, lapping at a light blue sky. The plain black sash around your waist to hold the ensemble together would become a lavender color along with the rest of the currently-black trim, with a piece crossing diagonally across your chest emulating a shoulder sash. The inner fold of the robe emerges halfway up the length to come over the opposite shoulder, creating an attractive vee-cut of exposed skin on your upper chest instead of the more conservative straight vertical fold. At least they had paid attention when you requested in the initial fittings that whatever they come up with should leave your breasts covered. On the back, the Marian dot-grid that represents your home is placed inside a sunburst of orange and yellow, very similar to the solar emblem adorning many elements of the Palace’s architecture.

 

        On the whole you’re thrilled with the patterning on the design. The comment the tailor made about adding onto it struck you though; considering even Celestia right now wore next to nothing but ornamental jewelry, you’d guess for ponies the more cloth they wear the fancier it’d appear. That might make your request sound rather odd.

 

        “I like it, love it in fact. I think you and Celestia did a marvelous job putting this together. Now this may sound a little odd, but I can’t expect you to know about our customs. Instead of adding onto it, do you think you could remove some things?” The tailor exchanges glances with Celestia for a moment. “For a race who wears clothes constantly, in formal situations less really can be more,” you reassure them.

 

        The tailor makes a hunching gesture you can only interpret as the quadrupedal equivalent of a shrug. “Of course. What do you recommend?”

 

        You take the sheets in your hand and lean over the table so he could see them from your angle better. “First maybe we can get rid of the sleeves? Carry this diagonal line up to the shoulder but cut the sleeves off after it.” You trace the false shoulder sash up and bring your finger back down vertically against the side of your illustrated body. “You can border that in the same color if you want. Same thing on the other sleeve.”

 

        The tailor nods and a red pencil floats over to the paper and starts marking your suggestions while you continue. “On the bottom, if we can take where that diagonal stripe ends and carry it down the side vertically, you could make that the overlap and have it bordered with the same thick band as above the waistline instead of jumping back to the front with a much thinner border. It may look a bit better with an unbroken surface across the front of my legs.”

 

        “We’ll see what we can do,” the tailor replies. “Is that all?”

 

        “That shoulder band is too wide to turn into a thin strap, but I like what you’re doing with that design so I wouldn’t request you change it. I think it’s going to look great, again thank you,” you turn to Celestia, “and thank you, Princess, both of you for arranging such a stunning design.”

 

        “You’re very welcome,” Celestia responds. “Would you mind walking with me? I’d like to talk.”

 

        You nod and follow her out the door, closing it behind you after you look up to see Mous’ missile made it out already. The two of you make your way down the ordinary hall. The hallway terminates at the base of a long spiral staircase, bringing you up a tower even more unadorned by the hall before; though strange runes and symbols are etched into the wall for the first couple stories’ worth of ascent, even they disappeared from the unpainted rough stone as you neared the end. At the top you move through an average-sized door at the end into a conservative rotunda. Celestia looks barely clears the top of the doorframe here, a big difference compared to the central halls of the palace that dwarf even her regal form. She speaks into the expanse of the domed room as she walks around its perimeter past many closed cabinets.

 

        “I have some bad news, Anon. After scouring our great libraries and records of magic experimentation, we have very few avenues to send you back home quickly. We don’t have any pilots to serve as navigators on an ocean journey to bring you there physically. Even if you were able to provide us accurate enough geographic information to attempt one, I’m afraid there simply isn’t a will; ponykind isn’t as adventurous a seafaring race as your people seem to be.” She pauses in her circuit, looking to you with a worried expression, “The only chance is if you had performed the teleportation spell that put you here. Was that Mous’ doing?”

 

        You sigh, knowing where this is going and what Celestia would probably be saying next. “Displacement, as we call teleportation, is never carried out by the one being displaced. It’s always performed by third parties, ones far more powerful than even Mous. As you’re far more powerful than your subjects, we’re watched over by benevolent beings of great ability called Minds. But despite their power, with something as tricky as displacement I suppose there’s always a chance for something to go wrong. I don’t think any Minds are aware I’m here; even the one who would have inadvertently put me here in the first place won’t know where I ended up, and I can’t count on a speedy retrieval.”

 

        Celestia cast her eyes to the floor, walking forward to you before stopping in a shaft of light from a hole in the center of the dome and sitting down. “I’m sorry Anon, but I’m afraid you’re here for a very long time, then. As long as you remain you will be welcome at my Court as a distinguished guest and an official representative of your people. I will do everything in my power to make sure your stay is enjoyable, Emissary. I hope you find our accommodations acceptable.”

 

        The image of the regal monarch sitting before you with head bowed low is the picture of humility. But the princess of the sun bathed in rays of light from apertures around the dome above is an unsubtle reminder that you are still in her element. You wonder how many of her subjects and attendants she put such a measured display on for, and how many of them are able to appreciate the full impact. For you, recognizing such behavior is your job; you needed to be able to identify a leader’s mannerisms to play off and against them. For Celestia to put on such a show for people who already revere her not as a politician but more or less as divine, why did she bother? Is it just for sport?

 

        You’d be lying to yourself if you said you aren’t intrigued with the consideration, and with the being behind it. If even that is part of her plan, you think that maybe she deserved victory in the opening salvo of this rhetorical battle. Regardless, her careful easing into a more decorous form required a response in kind, and she had more or less promoted you to diplomat on the spot. Contact would not be pleased with you usurping their responsibilities, but then again Contact isn’t here.

 

        “I would be honored to stay with your Court in the excellent quarters you have so graciously provided me. I’m sure our peoples will be able to cooperate and learn much from each other when more formal ties can be established, considering how universally welcoming I have found your nation. I’m sure that when the time comes for me to return home, my people will be very thankful for your extraordinary treatment of one of their own and grateful that despite the circumstances of my arrival, I was able to return safely.” You emphasize the last word slightly to drive the point home.

 

        The way Celestia’s eyes meet yours even though her head remained bowed confirmed you had scored a hit. “I await that day eagerly, whenever it should come.” The alicorn raises her head then, wearing the smile she seems to prefer. “Just how long-lived might you be, Anon?”

 

        The question is difficult for you. In the Culture, death isn’t inevitable; it’s a decision to be made.  You aren’t sure you wanted to reveal that just yet. “How long the average human lives, or how long I could theoretically live?”

 

        Celestia cocked her head quizzically, “You, personally. How long do I have to enjoy your presence?”

 

         “I can live as long as I like, provided I’m not taken down by some exotic unheard-of disease, or murdered.”

 

        Celestia’s smile widens; the one reaction you didn’t expect. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that,” the princess practically gushes. “Being as long-lived as I is tiring when I must see my friends from other nations be replaced every generation.”

 

        It is your turn to give into curiosity. Maybe there is more to her deification than just fables. “How long have you ruled, Celestia?”

 

        The princess looks to the decorations around the ceiling. “I’ve lived around one and a half thousand years now. Equestria has only been united behind me for a little over a millennium. I’m the only one left with the knowledge of the magic behind the raising of the sun.”

 

“But it isn’t as simple as that, is it? I mean raising the sun. That’s a simplification so everyone can understand the importance of the role you perform, even if it is a misrepresentation.”

 

        Celestia casts a sidelong glance at you, eying you carefully. “Only a select few ponies know exactly what my job entails. Most of them are long dead of age.”

 

        You push on, confident in Mous’ analysis during the solstice celebration you first met the princess at. “Well, I don’t know myself, but based on the great knowledge my people have of the skies, actually raising it can’t be your purpose. I’d love to know what service you do the residents of our world, though.” A sweet smile graces your face, “Your secrets will be safe with me. Who would trust a strange foreigner blaspheming their princess anyhow?”

 

        “I wouldn’t,” Celestia retorts. Despite the rebuke her expression softens considerably. “Maybe in time, Anon. If you’re really that interested in our magic and what we do for the world we live in, I would not be against telling. If you trust me with your secrets I can trust you with mine.” No matter how equitable the request is on its face, you doubt she knows how tall an order it would be. Nevertheless you nod assent.

 

        Celestia turns back to the ornate interior of the dome above. “Like your people, astronomy has always been a keen interest of some of ours, especially those who followed in the traditions and studies of the unicorns of old. Many names and cutie marks recall the fascination with the skies and stars that have always followed the unicorn race. That knowledge, in some form or another, resides here. If you remember the opening ceremony of the festival, this is the chamber I normally perform it from.” The princess returns her gaze to you, her expression still soft despite her tone hardening in gravity. “It is a sacred place. I know who goes in and out of here, and when, and the list of people allowed here is very small. If you ever need my attention urgently or in greatest privacy, come here and I will follow shortly. My guards have told me that you asked them to leave your suite; while I insist they remain there, those at the door far below cannot overhear us up here.” The princess smiles again, “Privacy.”

 

        “Thank you for the offer, Celestia,” You bow your head for a moment, “I may take advantage of it another time.”

 

        “I’ll be waiting,” Celestia responds warmly. “If there’s nothing now, then, I must be returning to my other duties. Come, I’ll escort you down.” Celestia moves for the door and you start to follow her, taking one last look around the rotunda before you exit. The ornately decorated dome and floor clash against the plain walls and ordinary cabinets lining them. You shake your head at the contrasting effect it creates and close the door behind you as you start down the stairs.

 

        As the princess leads you back down the tight stairwell you find you can’t help but stare at her. You imagined descending stairs would be a difficult task for a quadruped but Celestia handles it with the same practiced grace she moves anywhere with. Her hips sway back and forth instead of the slightly jerky motion you’ve noticed even Fleur demonstrates down an incline. The fluid weaving motion gives an air of being well-rehearsed, and now you know just how long she’s had to perfect it. Even her mane and tail add to the effect, hanging in the air like an opaque mist in a gentle breeze, a rainbow displayed through it and magnified to consume the whole ethereal form in bright color. Your mind is taken by the thought that if you reach out and run your hand through her tail it would come back with a fine coat of water droplets. The only thing stopping you from indulging in your childlike curiosity is the fact Celestia might notice.

 

        The princess’ deification is certainly well-deserved, you now decide. Something in the back of your mind darkens; this will probably make your job all that much harder.

 

        “I trust you know your way back?” Celestia says as you reach the ground floor. She is apparently oblivious to your intense observation on the way down.

 

You look above you as you and the princess walk back down the hall with the tailor’s office, making sure the missile has kept up. “Yes, I’ll be fine, thank you.”

 

“Then I guess this is where we part for the day,” Celestia says when you reach the main hall. “Thank you for your time, Anon, and I would love to share more with you later, without the shadow of terrible news. Again you have my apologies and sympathy.”

 

You put on a smile for the princess, “I am not worried or afraid; it’s just another part in my life’s grand journey.” It’s also probably the greatest challenge you’ve yet undertaken.

 

The princess looks relieved. “I appreciate your optimism, Anon. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” Celestia turns and walks towards the throne room, leaving you again admiring her grace alone.

 

Well, as alone as you ever can be with Mous’ missiles around and its voice in your ear. “If she wants one of us to be all official and formal, you can have that. I’m going to enjoy being able to do things without constant supervision and scrutiny.”

 

“And here I thought you were looking forward to a society free from the prejudice against AI and eager to take an equal role for once.” You subvocalize back as you return to your suite.

 

“This magic stuff is interesting and all, but I still don’t know its boundaries. Don’t want to do something they think is impossible and get questioned over it. It’s a nice cover story but it’s probably best I rely on it as little as possible. I like the freedom it gives me compared to some other places we’re been, though.”

 

The two guards, of course, are still outside your door. Figures the one place in the palace you’ve so far come across free from them is one of Celestia’s private sanctuaries. You roll your eyes at the thought as you enter.

 

Octavia is no longer there. Lyra sits alone on the couch to the right, her crwth case open on the table. She’s examining the instrument inside carefully, but you’re not sure for what. “Hey, Lyra! Octavia go back to her place?”

 

“Yeah, she can’t drag her cello around nearly as easily as her violin and she wanted to practice that portion of her set. Her cello is really her jewel; the violin is just a secondary concern of hers. I always had a leg up on her with the broad number of instruments I could play.” Even through Lyra’s distracted tone you hear a note of pride you didn’t detect any other time she spoke to you about her musical ability.

 

“You two play very differently,” you try to coax more conversation out of her on the formerly taboo subject.

 

Lyra looks up to you before making a gesture analogous to a shrug. “We approach music very differently.”

 

“Mind showing me?” you ask, gesturing to the crwth on the table.

 

Lyra looks back at the instrument. “I don’t know. I still have a lot of work to do before I can present my research from Ponyville. Octavia was just telling me that she’d love for me to join the court musicians here in the Palace. I can’t help but think that might be my only way to get my old life back, even if I can convince the Ministry.” You’re struck by how unsure she sounded about a subject she only approached with complete confidence before.

 

“Humor a friend, then. I already know everything about humans, obviously. I am one. I don’t know about your music though, and I’d love to hear more.”

 

Lyra continues to look at the instrument for several moments before sighing. “Alright. I’ll play some things I found during my research into musical history. I could use memories from a more cheerful time of my life anyway.” She hopped off the couch to make her way to the suite’s study, but Mous was already emerging with a stack of papers, presumably sheet music. They passed from his effectors to her telekinesis easily, but she gave the drone a hard look before sitting back down.

 

The rest of the afternoon was filled with a variety of music. Lyra warmed up slowly, you could tell where lack of practice hindered her, but despite these flaws the performance was remarkable. Though still rough her style shown clearly, and the music stuck with you long after she finished, even into the night while you planned out the next day. As you drifted to sleep you wondered if you’d ever be able to join her in a performance of any kind.