Historia Segreta et Alterna De Poena Crepuscoli Scintilla.
by Daxn
First published
Twilight Sparkle, after her adventures inside the Kindergarten in Canterlot, gets a hold on a box full of papers. Papers that may show her another side of her own story...
Days, weeks and months have passed since the end of Twilight's unusual punishment in a Kindergarten in Canterlot, and since Princess Celestia has given up to her quest for Twilight's regression. In this time, Twilight has been living her life as usual, thinking that the issue was done for, and never to be brought up again but as a quirky tale.
However, one day, Twilight receives a box destined to her. What is inside of it will show her the presence of a previously-unseen unseen agent in her story where she had fought against her mother's wishes. And, later on, she will receive yet another pack, which will describe how her tale could have gone, with some changes in the timeline...
Credit to SnowForst, a wonderful gal that has written most of this work.
Prologue.
The gentle breeze of a late Summer afternoon blew inside the bedroom of the house carved inside the tree where Twilight Sparkle resided. The aforementioned mare was currently sitting at her desk with parchment and ink, writing down the town's After Summer Sun annal by piecing together the headlines of that year's newspapers, financial reports, crop yielding listings, and other documents, for write down the unusual events that had happened all the year round, and give a brief and quick overview on the economic situation of Ponyville.
Twilight murmured to herself the words as she wrote, the sound of the quill moving over the parchment, her voice and the rustling of leaves begin the only sound that could be heard in the room.
"On the 14th of July of this year, a three-headed monkey has been allegedly born inside a pigpen part of the farming complex owned by the Apple Cl..." Twilight whispered to herself as she moved the quill delicately onto the parchment, trying to keep up the good calligraphy. However, the sudden sound of something made of wood breaking caused her to jolt up startled and spill ink all over the table and her fur.
"Gah! What was that?!" She asked to herself, before noticing that the ink had been spread all over the table and fur, causing her to groan very loudly and grit her teeth.
"Well, whatever it was," she thought, as she took a pack of paper napkins from one of the desk's drawers, and extracted one for then attempt to remove the ink from her fur with said napkin "it surely was strong enough to both ruin the parchment and turn my fur into the one of a printing press worker."
Twilight rubbed the napkin on the stained areas, eliminating some of the ink, but still leaving some spots of a darker hue of purple. As she cleaned herself like that, somebody knocked on the door.
"It's open!" Twilight said a bit frustrated, after snapping her head towards the door, the stain-removal process by the means of paper tissues still going on.
"It's of me, there some mails for you!" A feminine voice answered from outside. Twilight sighed, as she threw the used tissues in the bin and opened the door of her bedroom.
"Derpy, you should get a surgery for your eyes' muscles on of these days," she said slightly annoyed while going downstairs "because I'm starting to think that sane insurance companies have put you on a 'Do not Accept' list."
As Twilight reached the base of the stairs, she saw the gray mare walking inside, her body a little scraped and her eyes still rolling at ludicrous speed like a roulette.
"Of sorryings Zac- I mean, Twilight, I'm still of insuranced, but I cannot into monies for surgery." Derpy Hooves said, as her eyes slowly stopped rolling and picked up a prancing step for seemingly no reason at all.
"Anyways," Twilight said with a sigh "what do you have for me?"
Derpy ripped off one of her feather and gave it to Twilight, and, to this bizarre offering, Twilight facepalmed.
"A feather? Really?" She said, causing Derpy to blush embarrassed, run outside, and return a few seconds later with a package on her back. Said package was light brown, had some scorch marks, and several ropes were tied around it.
"Of sorrying, I got confused," Derpy said after giving the package to Twilight. Twilight took it in her magic and read the label attached onto it:
"To: Twilight Sparkle, Romea Street N° 1, 44049, Ponyville. From: Snow Frost, Criogeneo Plaza N° 20, 88889, Fillydelphia.
Salutations, Twilight Sparkle.
I've been hearing many tales about your deeds for protect and expand the State, and I've always been left very impressed from those. And, despite the apparent silliness of it, your punishment in Kindergarten has intrigued me still, if anything else, because it shows how it is never too late for understand yourself by examining the past. However, I can and do understand that some parts of the tale had to be omitted or lessened in their crudity, for it to be unthreatening to your reputation. I also imagine that you may want to keep all the original versions of texts about your story under your property as precaution against future possible slanderers and blackmailers. So, when I discovered, buried deep in the storage room of a library in my home city, a box filled with letters regarding your adventure, I could not help by think that such knowledge should not be left inside a dark and moldy corner of a library lost in a far-off part of Fillydelphia, ready to be picked up like a ripe apple from a tree, but rather send it to your library, where I'm sure you will take extreme care in preserving it... or destroy all of it, if that suits you."
Twilight mumbled, as she read the letter. Once she was done, she rose her eyes from the ticket, and saw that Derpy had already taken off and went in her deliverting rounds.
"No fee for the delivery?" Twilight said, as she borught the box in while shrugging "Oh well. Once I get my table cleaned, I will examine whatever it is inside."
Then Twilight noticed Spike eating some hard candies stolen from a drawer that had gotten open after Derpy's noisy crash against the external wall of the Library.
"Spike!" she ordered, causing him to jump high in the air startled, and to burn off an hard candy, probably sending it to Celestia "Stop raiding those candies, and come over here to help me in cleaning up my desk from ink!"
Spike, after bonking his head against the floor, rubbed the back of his head, then he said with a groan. "I will do, Twilight."
"Good," Twilight said to herself, as she brought the package upstairs while Spike looked around in the kitchen for rags, cleaning agent, and non-potable water "let us bring those upstairs, and examine them later on."
An hour of desk-cleaning and ink removal, the desk in Twilight's bedroom was now squeaky clean and almost shining.
"Am I free now, or do you want a slice of my butt too?" He asked, as he wiped the sweat off his metaphorical brow, making Twilight groan.
"You have done barely anything! But, anyways, yes, you are free now." Said statement made the dragon rush out of the room to downstairs, leaving Twilight alone with the box and everything else in her room.
She picked up with her magic the silver paper cutter lying on the desk, and then cut open the top of the box.
"Let's see what is inside..." she murmured, before she moved away the two cardboard shutters, revealing three folders, one yellow, one olive drab, and the third one was cherry red. Each one of them had scribbles made with a black marker.
"Report on the Element of Magic's state- First part; Report on the Element of Magic's state- Second Part; Report on the Element of Magic's state- Third Part."
"Let's start with the first one," she said, taking the yellow folder in her magical grip, before lying in on her bed for open it.
Inside, Twilight found several scattered papers. Isnde the first fodler, there was a yellowed page, with this written:
Name: Screwy Words
JOB: Tier-2 reporter, free to lay claim to leads, allowed limited budget during course of investigation
Three Best-selling investigations: “The Parasprite Conspiracy”, “Animal Antics at the Gala, Depravity within High-Society”, “Luna, in Recovery or Usurping the Throne?”
Awards: “Most malicious muckraker” (Awarded year ’77), “Employee of the month” (4 months concurrent), “Bestselling calendar” (Stallions of the Presses, year ’78), “Least likely to be promoted” (nine years concurrent)
Demerits: “ Repeatedly bailed out”, “Highest incidence of trespassing, breaking, entering, and leaving without cleaning up”, “Never treats nobility with proper respect”, “Repeated unfounded last-minute articles on issues of conspiracy and government cover-up”, “Single”
Current assignment: Jumped at the opportunity to investigate the third “Twilight Sparkle” case, after the failures of the second case (His accusations of the princess' student being more than a student were swiftly regarded as lies, dropped sales, accusations of nepotism due to brother’s influence in the guard were nothing new and lead to no noticeable difference in sales). Keep eye on for blatant fabrications and potentially loose imagination.
First Folder- De Prima Periclitatia
To the desk of the ‘Equine Inquirer’,
I’m anxious writing about this, but I think I have a lead for my favorite paper. You probably already know this, “We tell the stories the others don't” and all, but an extra letter will let you know exactly how big this is.
Our local librarian, and the element of magic (yes, of the elements of harmony), has caused a riot in our town. She was so scared of failing the Princess that she resorted to drastic measures… namely enchanting her barely held together doll, probably from foalhood but she’s a weird one, with some curse that caused all of us to want it more than anything else, it made the Gala Ticket Fiasco (I believe that’s the last thing I wrote to you about) look calm and orderly.
There are rumors, especially among those that knew her, that she got sent to Magic Kindergarten, something tells me that’s an euphemism similar to ‘moved to the settlements’. Either way, she got sent on a train to Canterlot, please investigate. If the Elements are being systematically determined to be not loyal or, Princess-forbid, a danger to the world despite saving it twice, it’s your duty to provide the facts to those who would rather remain ignorant of the truth.
From an invested subscriber,
Roseluck
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Current Month's Stories (order of priority)
Thestral Emigration to Prance: With the return of the Princess of the Night, the Eastern Thestral population has had higher emigration rates than usual, an anonymous tip sent in with a Royal Seal stated that it’s a secret invasion to make sure that the Princess of the Night has a realm to fully rule upon while her sister reigns in our glorious land. Journalists assigned to this project will receive full payment, travel, and housing provided in Prance. Taken
Kelpies and Your Foals: A close source to the Minister of Education has stated that the school system has started removing swimming from the Physical Education regimen, not due to limited funding to build and upkeep indoor pools, but due to kelpies moving into schools via the pipes for easy meals. The journalist assigned to this project will be required to take a background test by the MoE, and have no criminal background whatsoever. If passed, then the journalist will be granted full leave to explore the school system, followed by a foray into kelpie reservations, armed guards will be included for the interesting interviews to follow. To Be Taken
Blueblood Pregnant?:Rumors abound, from several close associates of the honorable prince, that his exploits in high society have finally had karmic results. The journalist assigned to this project will be granted limited leave to a nearby town to understand why Blueblood took leave. Taken
Element of Magic Knows Nothing About It: The entire subscription population of Ponyville has sent in a request for investigation on what happened to the Element of Magic, supposedly relocated to Canterlot for ‘re-education’, has supposedly started a riot that required Royal intervention. The journalist assigned to this project must be willing to interact with high-tier society with ease and without fear, they will receive overtime if stuck in waiting rooms to speak to proper authorities on the matter. To Be Taken
Love potions and Failing Marriages: Divorce rates have been steadily dropping since ready access to Cloudsdale by non-pegasi, while statistically unlikely to be caused by Love potion creation, and more likely related to the lack of the draconian laws passed out by the Boulè of the Free City, it is to be investigated and reported as a possibility. The journalist assigned to this project must be a Cloudsdale native, and be willing to look for difficult-to-find information, all according to their best judgment. To Be Taken
Journal Entry #0436
I have been assigned a new project. Simple really, the mare upstairs thought that I’d make a good observer of the ‘Sparkle’ family, one of the more-curious higher society families without one of those pretentious Romean derived names, but still with strong influences from them. I don’t know why, due to my previous work on them I’ve been called everything from a ‘bully’ Find out the true story of Pony-Cattle relations, that word had to come from something to a ‘manipulative piece of’.
Supposedly, this is a low-tier story, a fragmentary and un-trusted lead, but anything involving the government being anything but ‘Noble and Harmonious’ is commonly covered up and redirected towards celebrity drivel and banal statements on ‘oh how wonderful it all is’… if I know anything it’s that the government will gleefully lie and perform any action to keep a bright and happy façade.
The story itself is unreal if taken at face value, but that just supports my faith in this. “Sent to Magic Kindergarten” is either a horribly unimaginative euphemism, or a horribly imaginative one. Regardless, I’ve never heard it before, it’s something that sounds like you’d tell to your little colt about where their leukemic sister went, after you finished crying at the failures and deceptions of modern medicine. The possibility that the source misheard is to be kept in mind
Talking about magi tendered garden, Staked and magic forgotten, Making magic for Snide Carpenters, Faking magical kin and mark
Well, I may be awful at trying to find out what the source misheard, but it shouldn’t be necessary, just take proper precautions and investigate properly.
I, Screwy Words, take the solemn pledge to find out, and spread the truth to the ignorant masses.
Journal Entry #0439
Some may call me a hoarder, but without my finely-tuned organized chaos I would’ve had to resort to the government-printed address book to find out where the family in question lives. The old slip of paper provided by a domestic servant of theirs should be accurate; the oppressed masses will always tell you what you need to know in contrast to the bureaucratic methodologies of The Regime slowly inducing insanity and hatred of self-actualization. Of course the oppressing methodologies are relatively more up-to-date than a seven year old piece of paper.
The directions to get there were hastily written, smudged, and marked with the years of loyal service as a coaster. Some of the roads have been renamed or altered to some extent from what I remember, and the neighborhood has gone a bit south. The cracked bottles of the proletariat who seek some form of relief from their burdens litter some of the streets and alleyways. It's good to know that the nobility get their entertainment from watching this world ruin itself one drop at a time.
By the time I found the house the celestial scorching embodiment of the state was low in the sky. The still-proud home of a family line that stretched back to the initial EUP founders was almost losing its battle against nature, if the weeds were anything to go by, but, at the same time, the architectural style transmitted a sense of unbroken dignity. If it wasn't for the lights throughout the home and the scents of dinner being prepared then I would’ve thought that there was just one more family that lost its proud heritage and property to higher uncaring machinations.
It could be a trap laid for those who seek the truth, contact with anypony within the residence would have to wait until there was some degree of certainty of what’s going on. Being the stallion to inform the family that their daughter has been taken away never ended well for me in the past.
Sadly the only progress made today is knowledge of where the home in question is. I may still have my previous contact, it’s unlikely given the tendency of the upper-class to use ponies and throw them away, but it remains an open possibility to be exploited.
Journal Entry #0438
In order to meet my contact, I needed to wake up well before sunrise. The last time I investigated the family and the circumstances surrounding it she was indispensable in providing information relating to the history of the occupants and the day-to-day activities of the residence. Her name is Sedula Serva, a prime example of a fine looking and competent mare. Her loyalty to the family is firmly entrenched with her lack of limits on helping anypony who is in her life. In fact, I have reasons to think that maybe her long term service started out as a small favor for them and she just became a fixture and honorable family member in her own right. That, or the pay was really friggin' good.
Getting into the estate was simple enough, the front gate was unlocked and it was early enough I could feign drunkenness from a night of revelry if I was caught. The overgrown grass muffled my movements and the dewdrops felt nice on my sore legs from all the damn walking I’d had to make at these early hours. I didn’t remember where the kitchen was, but my nose lead the way better than any map could have done.
I’m still confused by why her immediate response to a stallion knocking on the window in the early morning is to smile, open it, and ask if he wants a muffin. However, I also doubt if there is any better way to meet each other, after many silent years of accidental encounters. Somehow she remembered me after all these years, mentioning a calendar of some description, but she didn’t hold ill will towards what my previous articles did to the household. She laughed and said that whatever harm my articles could have done were removed by the fact that it was me who was doing the writing. I chose to take that insult as one directed at the outlet through which I work through. and its celebrity gossip. rather than my capabilities as a journalist.
The data I got was slim, but invaluable, apparently, for some unfathomable evil reason, or some unfathomably ill-thought out conspiratorial reason, Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic, Student of the Raiser of the Sun, was really in Magic Kindergarten, not a re-education facility… assuming that Sedula wasn’t being fed lies. Given how quick she was to offer me assistance and let me in on what was ‘really going on’, it could be possible, likely, that an independent investigator was a possible scenario that the higher machinations were prepared to confront.
Journal Entry #0439
For the third time in my life I saw Twilight Sparkle, same youthful form as ever. The downcast eyes and flattened ears were all I needed to see to understand that this wasn’t a pleasurable ride for either of us. She was in what appeared to be a large smock. It was odd fit, a bit bulky tail-side, but it seemed to be functional for the purposes of sitting around and rehearing the ‘education’ she probably helped to some degree distill for the minds too young to shield themselves from the occasional lie. Maybe the bulk was due to the sedentary lifestyle that comes with being fed whatever the higher machinations taught her through Celestia. A plump populace is one that engages in hedonism rather than questioning and exploration.
Twilight’s Mother, if I recall correctly, Velvet was providing escort, and to my surprise literal hoof-holding. The state went far to properly inflict this punishment on an errant tool in their set, probably to ensure future loyalty and minimum fuss down the line. Embarrassment always is a powerful tool against mares, young mares especially so. This dedication to the task would leave her more or less broken, if kept up, but it was low-key enough that it didn’t draw attention to the failures of the system as a whole.
Shadowing them through the morning crowds was simplistic enough, lots of ponies going to work, and as we moved further along it became clear that the ratio of foals going to school was rapidly increasing. When the school was reached, due to several occurrences I feel pointless to describe, I had to stand aside and let the flood of foals, doting parents, and late employees go past me.
The building was something resembling the archetypical reminder of the matriarchic oppression, the sleek curves and deep embedded entrances well maintained in opposition to the crumbling jutting fountain taking center stage, just to serve as a method to split and direct the rushing hordes.
I heard a not so subtle cough behind me, and I turned to see Mrs. Velvet eyeing me before she opened her mouth and asked me if it was also my foal’s first day at school, what I thought of the educational standards there, I believe there were also a few other what I suppose qualify as ‘parental small talk’ questions. I answered to the best of my ability, but the biggest hint that I was being expertly played was when I asked what her foal’s age was, the answer I received was 3 and 7, which wasn't just the wrong answer, but not even the difference between Shining Armor and Twilight was correct. It turns out that the small talk you make with random guards while being escorted out of various events occasionally pays off with interest. The possibility that she was lying to save herself from embarrassment was there, but with the certainty behind her voice. I felt that it came from some sort of pre-written script.
After we said our goodbyes I had to enter the building itself, just to ensure that my information was correct, if Twilight was being put in here as a ruse, a trap triggered by my acceptance of a muffin from a mare, then it had to be verified.
As I entered the building I found myself quickly lost, the use of animal motifs to denote age was confusing, but eventually I found myself at the head office where I could hopefully acquire something resembling proof. A calm discussion with one of the staff members left me with a map of the building and a brochure detailing the system through which the school was organized, both invaluable to future endeavors here if necessary. Although I’ll likely only need to head there once more in order to get proof that the cover story is exactly that, if this is just as absurd as its starting to appear it might be useful to commit this information to memory.
Journal Entry #0440
First time back at the office this week, the mare upstairs repeatedly questioned how my investigation was going, and I promised to have an article to her by tomorrow. Before anything, of even minor detail, could be written with accuracy, verification of data was naturally needed. The only reason I came back to this den of unhinged rumor milling and paranoid fear-mongering was to get my orange laborer’s vest, hard hat, and clip board. This combination of attire can get you anywhere, even with the flimsiest of the excuses, as long as you look and act professional.
She was assigned as a student, classification ‘chicks’, congruent with the Magic Kindergarten story, I still have difficultly believing that this was the particular method of punishment used by the state for such a high-tier example of their incompetence. My initial thought was that the difficulty was going to be finding the room where the mare was located, but all I had to do was see which hallway was cordoned off by a single member of the guard. The State may keep things hidden, but it does it by covering it up with pink paint. After non-committal greeting I was almost stopped by the guard, but by raising my eyebrow and writing some nonsense on the clipboard caused him to step aside.
A quick peak into the class confirmed everything. Twilight Sparkle was looking at a cardboard clock, as if by force of will its cardboard hooves would spring to life and move forward to the end of the day, and she wasn’t the only student with the same apparent attitude. But the majority seemed to be engaged in idle elementary conversation and something made with glittery paint to show it.
The question by a teacher broke me out of my observational state. My only reply was questioning if this was the room where the leaky pipe was located and a quick apology for barging in where it was clear that vital educational work was being done. I walked out and apologized to the guard, his question “Did you find what you were looking for Screwy?” was met with an affirmative and after confirming he was Doppia Picca, the one who repeatedly escorted me out of Blueblood’s art gallery due to my educating of the nobility on the subtle mental influences that is put into ‘mainstream art'
Turns out that my encounters with the Right and Honorable Monopolists of Violence was worth the occasional scar, since I was escorted out. The only conclusion I could come up with was that the higher machinations don’t tolerate failure, and punish in a way they find fitting to the crime… it’s a shame that this isn't anything new.
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Name of Reporter: Desiderata.
Staff position: Assistant Secretary, Main Office
Incident: An orange-cream unicorn stallion came in looking for information regarding the layout of the facilities, tours, and basic knowledge. Although initially it was supposed that he was interested in enrolling a student it became evident that wasn’t the case when he couldn't keep the supposed name of his likely non-existent spawn straight. He eventually asked about a specific student, a filly in the chicks, his description of her sounded like he was describing a young attractive mare rather than one of our students. When I told him that she was indeed enrolled, and asked what connection he had with her he mentioned that he was an ‘revealer of truth’ and followed up with a request about the room's number and the seating arrangement. It was here when I pressed him for his name and relation with the filly, his response was to run out of the room saying ‘that he won’t go down that easily’, suggested response is to keep watch for this suspicious and likely dangerous individual. His cutie mark appeared to be a triangle with something in the middle of it. Please report this stallion to authorities if possible.
Time of report: First hour of the tenth day of a new semester, what a great bucking way to begin off.
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☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴
Rank: Sergeant
Station: F12Canter-Subsec 9
Name: Doppia Picca
Suspect previously mentioned in School Warning and Reports file was identified as “Screwy Words”, file on suspect is known to be a source of amusement for those who work in the Bureaucratic Section.
He was identified by his infamously one-off disguise and the mark on his flank. He seems to be doing a report for the Inquirer on Twilight Sparkle’s enforced vacation and home arrest. No course of action was taken and he was let through, after a brief interaction with the Head Educator of the Class, he left.
Friendly banter was made as he was escorted out. Suggested future course of action is to instill a press-blackout on any paper (no, the Inquirer doesn’t count) that gets wind of this unique situation as previously ordered by higher authorities.
If he makes his continued, already alarming to staff, presence on school grounds, then I will do what it takes to get him to cause the least amount of panic possible. If an arrest warrant is requested for Mr. Words, I will happily offer my services as I have previously to detain and potentially question him.
☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴
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Page 25 CANTERLOT: The Element of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, has caused an anomalous and uncontrolled magic event in the township of Ponyville, the results of which involved local societal and herd breakdown. Intervention of Princess Celestia herself was required to end the situation peacefully. The event itself was a form of mass emotional manipulation stated by our source in the township itself to be caused by fear of failing her teacher, although it is unknown how fear of failure leads to mass use of a powerful manipulation spell it is assumed that either there is more of the story to discover or the Element of Magic uses magic for everything from opening doors to going up flights of stairs.
In repercussion for the event, and due to our Princess’ good sense of humor, it was deemed necessary for the purposes of punishment that Miss Sparkle regain a formal understanding of the basics and principles underlying her element and education. The most appropriate means to do so was by assigning Miss Sparkle to an undisclosed Basic Education facility in Canterlot to attend Magic Kindergarten.
If our investigations on the case are any indicator, this punishment is being closely monitored and being kept under quite a bit of control. This could be out of fear of public attention on sensitive governmental affairs, or what an embarrassed and backed-into-a-corner high tier mage would do if provoked further than she already has been in Ponyville.
Consequences of this event are still being played out, and it is in question if this punishment is a punishment at all. Sitting around and hoof-painting may just be Princess Celestia’s methodology of keeping her protégé’s embarrassment out of the public eye for the duration of Ponyville reconstruction and as a means of letting this event fade from memory of the public while keeping her prized pupil out of prison where she could work on a completely different set of arts and crafts which would be inadvisable for a member so close to Royalty to know.
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Journal Entry #0441
It seems that the higher machinations are not so dumb after all. I've caught wind of two reports about my involment in that building of re-education, and only thanks to a seemingly-distracted bureaucrat. Oh well. My investigation is in a standstill for now.
Second Folder- March Foward to... Smoke.
To the desk of the “Equine Inquirer”,
Thank you for paying attention to my lead, I don’t really appreciate the choice of journalist you sent on the story, but if it’s any consolation I thank you for keeping my identity a secret. I have another lead, that contradicts your investigations: all the remaining Elements of Harmony, and the local group of punks that call themselves “The Crusaders” have been rounded up and supposedly went to Canterlot to ‘Check on Twilight', despite having full time jobs, and in the case of the Crusaders, school to attend to. When they returned they seemed a bit distant, and refused to talk much about what happened, and the Crusaders’ activities have been comparatively limited as well. The biggest damnation of your shoddy investigative skills, or some sort of long term plan on part of the Kingdom, is that the Element of Laughter is amiss and the others only state that she ‘chose to stay behind', or ‘keeping Twilight company'. I know that mare, and unlike Twilight she is completely and utterly invested in the well-being and happiness of the town, so her staying behind in the capital, which is unusual of her, is unheard! Please check this out even further.
A less invested subscriber,
Roseluck
Journal Entry #0441
I’ve noticed that there has been a pony watching me since that article came out, unicorn mare, white coat, bluish curved mane, tail unseen. Never got to identify her cutie mark, seemed to be one of those darn star things that permeate the butts of the servants of the state. She’s been around mostly at twilight and dusk hours, when the higher machinations are at their strongest and when their mask, the state, is at its weakest. It's the time when they have the least limitations to accomplishing what they desire, but also have the smallest roster of pawns available to them. If anything is to be said about those times, it’s to be careful of those who you’re unfamiliar with, as they can only act through their pony agents embedded in society rather than the rule of law or the manipulation of noble elements. I’ve seen her out of the corner of my eye, often in an alley or on a rooftop, maybe my age is catching up with me, but I’m near certain it’s the same pony, and I don’t know anypony who looks like her, except a passing resemblance to the Snow Cone Mare who repeatedly blocks the entrance to the Inquirer’s building every Summer Sun Celebration, of which I’m pretty sure I’ve memorized the jingle that damn cart plays after years of patient and constant interference with the institution that I try to use to educate the sheep with.
If the higher machinations want to make sure that I’m in my place, this indirect method of letting me know that there’s more to the story than what I’ve picked up so far is an excellent way of making sure that I keep digging. And, if that’s what they want, fine, I’ll play their game.
☵☵☵☵☵☵☵NOTICE☵☵☵☵☵☵☵
Stories Open to Journalists (order of priority)
Owlbears, Fleur de Lis’ hidden past: A member of Fleur’s infamously large bag-carrying division has stated that he overheard that Fleur has a history of affiliation with and raising by supposedly non-existent Owlbear communities in the western forests. She is paid quite handsomely to keep the information on the locations of their allegedly private machine factories a secret. The investigator assigned to this case will be given a long term wilderness survival pack, and a polygraph kit along with the address of Fleur’s supposed parents in Lutezia. To Be Taken
Colt named Herostratus gains Cutie Mark for Burning a Fire Temple, How To Prevent Your Foal from Finding Talent in Crime: While this is a commonly reprinted article, and source of constant parodies nowadays, it is still something that is read. An investigator is needed to head out and interview the colt responsible for that act and the officer who arrested him in order to fill in the blanks needed to keep it relevant in the eyes of the reader base. To Be Taken
Elements of Harmony being slowly relocated to Canterlot?: The entire subscriber population of Ponyville wrote in with a follow-up lead, although Screwy Words is the default assignment, a backup journalist is needed should he find himself in the situations he’s known to get involved in when we let him investigate something unsupervised. We love barely tolerate you, Screwy Words! The backup journalist will be given all of the notes taken thus far on the case, and an increase in pay due to the increased security and paranoia present at the site of investigation. Taken
Race Tensions in Appaloosa?: No lead on this one, just an idea propped up by a journalist in the staff room after he lamented about the alleged rudeness of the integrated Buffalos there. While seemingly dishonorable and audience-alienating, it may be a good way to gain a new, article-hungry audience, now that the Litalian magazine "The Defense of the Race" has gone bankrupt. Journalist undertaking this will be provided with a proper body armor, a train ticket to the border, and a Blackhoof-Equestrian bilingual dictionary. Taken with the strength of hundreds of boiling Suns!
Journal Entry #0446
The mare upstairs didn’t even give me an option this time, I’m doing a follow-up article, lest we lose our entire subscribership in Ponyville (which I checked the records and determined the number of subscribers in that boondock is a grand total of 1, and she seems to be a florist of some sort). At this point I don’t even care about the number of subscribers, this is the first time I’ve noticed that the higher machinations and I are working towards the same goal. I don’t know what’s going on, beyond hoofpainting, foal games and ABCs, but if I get to see an agent on my tail long after I’ve given up hope of uncovering something deep, that’s a sign from some sort of higher power, maybe even one that actually cares about us, wee little ponies, beyond tax revenue and servitude.
Supposedly the ‘Element of Laughter’ has also been taken hostage and other parts in the community, including some local criminal elements, are stating that it was of her own free will, despite that town being her life. I don’t know any of the characters personally, but a brief jaunt to the library saw HER on the way there told me that she was a chef and community organizer, with a history of well-intentioned misdemeanors and volunteer work. She sounded like the type of mare I’d get along with, had I had few less decades and kilos weighing me down.
I didn’t miss the commute, but, given the things that happen when I don’t look at that household, it might be the case that I can be enough in shape to the point where the years don’t make too much of a difference. I have too much extra ‘baggage’ from laying around for years and trying my hoof at the ‘Juice Reviews’ ' we have to look forward to, if I don’t manage to rescue the institution with this article.
Journal Entry #0447
I hate the need to be discrete about this whole affair, making contact with sources before sunrise, trailing ponies, and lying through my teeth. It makes me feel like I’m part of the higher machinations myself, but the danger inherent in going against them requires remaining hidden… well, given that they’re almost certainly watching me, it means that being discrete is preventing them from seeing me as a threat to be eliminated. After all, a cockroach on your kitchen floor is different than a manticore in bed with your daughter.
I was thinking on my walk to the residence, starlight overhead, whether this counts as a new investigation entirely or just a continuation of the previous one. If it’s the latter then it makes sense that I continue where I left off, but if it’s the former it would make the most sense to reframe what I’m looking for. It was almost moonset by the time I started to smell the fine aroma of Sedula’s baking.
I did get a friendly surprise as I was greeted by Sedula standing outside the front-door: she offered to let me inside for a longer than usual chat and some coffee, as we both needed it. She agreed to let me write down what we chatted about in my notebook, although it was mostly idle banter, it also did include valuable information on the current situation… I didn’t like what I heard.
The conversation was cut short by Sedula, but what little information I did get pointed towards the punishment being a fair bit more... extraneous than I thought previously. Apparently, the bastards aren’t fine with just putting a spear to the back of a mother’s head. They decided that it was best to make her genuinely believe in the punishment, or possibly the spear isn’t back to Velvet’s head, Night Light is supposedly ‘hard to reach’… which point at him being used as collateral. A soul-mate in harm’s way can make one a sudden master thespian in my experience. No certain answers as of yet, due to the conversation forcibly switching to family and work-related topics, which is frustrating, but I can understand Sedula’s desire to have a bit of reprieve from the higher machinations, or more likely, just the state. in this instance, pushing her between a rock and a hard place of her duty to the household and her love of the occupants. She said that with work she felt that she was just going through the motions, better to be stoic and hope it all washes over. The ability of the mare to persevere and follow through with bizarre commands is a great compliment on both her character and her ability to know when she’s being used.
About bizarre commands, Sedula did give me a request for me to do some investigation for her, she wanted to know what this ‘medicine’ as Velvet calls it was. It was supposedly to keep her ‘little fillies' regular, but Sedula wanted more information, if the current prisoners of the state were being poisoned, I saw no reason why I couldn’t count this as an immensely valuable lead.
She didn’t know where it came from, but her description of it made it sound like either a brown powder with some medicinal properties or white medicine tablets, and was politely asked if I could go to somepony who might know what it was… which while I accepted her request. I must state that, at the time, I didn’t know of anyone who could educate me based on such minute details. My follow-up question of where Velvet gets the drugs was answered with ignorance, but she affirmed that she went out recently for buy it.
While I did leave the home once activity was audible from upstairs I didn’t leave the premises, because if Velvet picked up a new package of drugs recently, then I might be able to find remains in their trash bins. I was lucky that I didn’t think that Velvet (or others) would’ve thought that the trash was too open of a place for such intelligence. Although part of me wishes that I didn’t find what I did, another is thankful that I didn’t have to physically touch the stuff, magical envelopment and feedback was bad enough as it was.
The bins weren’t too bad in of themselves, sure, there were more of them than the usual, but normally when searching through what society deems waste I search through a sea that uses the bin as more of a focal point. Of course, what society deems as waste is a different matter entirely than what the equine form deems as waste. The search through the bins for some sort of clue on what drug Velvet used brought to light what is best described as a wide variety of foal products, far too large than any foal could handle but seemingly adult use and seemingly used already. There were soiled disposable diapers, large fleece blankets that had choke-up and shards working as accents to chewed-through holes, toys and a cardboard book clearly broken out of frustration, and too many jars of what could be barely called food for three-year olds, much less adults.
At least, thanks to an empty can of this medicine called "Cristofinocchiax," now I know I need to go look up what “Ricinus populis maleficus” is.
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Me: You’re certain that it’s going to fine? Nopony’s going to barge in here while we’re talking?
Sed: It’s the weekend Screw, everypony who wants to is sleeping in.
Me: Is there anypony who doesn’t want to sleep in?
Sed flips a coin
Sed: Pinkie are you there? she motions for me to be silent, and her ears are searching in all directions for a sound That would be no, at least for today.
Me: The Element of Laughter is here too?
Sed: Not to my knowledge, but Pinkie Pie is here, and she certainly takes joy in things which nopony in their right mind finds even remotely joyous… which seems to be just me. Maybe I’m the only one that’s out of my head, that would explain why I’m seeing a stallion which I normally just see on Nay ’77.
Me: First, That is indeed the Element of Laughter’s name. Also, I’m certainly grayer and tubbier than I was then. She doesn’t respond Out of their right mind? Care to elaborate on that?
Sed: Well, Twilight is the same as ever, mostly isolated in her own head. Velvet is delu. And Pinkie Pie just seems to find joy in entertaining Velvet’s delusions.
Me: Velvet, she previously told me that she had two children, 3 and 7, respectively. Does that sound familiar?
Sed: sigh and nods I don’t want to talk about this right now, I have to put up with it all day, these mornings, when Luna’s blessing still graces the sky, are the time which I get to be away from that.
Me: I can respect that, at least this once, you’ll have to tell me eventually or I’m going to have to find some other way.
Sed: Such as?
Me: I’m pretty sure that I can always just talk with Night Light about this, and, if that doesn’t work, I can always try to use my guard contacts to talk with the High Captain.
Sed: Good luck with either of those! Shining had enough of his mother’s interests after the weekend he stayed over and Night Light is going to be hard for you to reach for a while. Now stop writing an_____ . . . . .
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Journal Entry #0448
I arrived too late and the library was closed, I decided to rest on a bench and rest after the cross-town march. The sun was slowly descending past the horizon so that the scheduled time for sleep, dreams, and rougery could commence. The light drizzle that seemed to qualify as "rain" to the local pegasi served as a small comfort against the backdrop of sheer ignorance of what I was up against. Me and those pegasi serving Canterlot's skies were in a similar boat: the local weather teams were seemingly too small for organize the weather in the unicorn city half-heartedly, and I was going against the higher machinations on a front which I was also ill-equipped to be fighting. Twilight Sparkle. Pinkie Pie. Those were the names of the souls branded for containment and isolation by the higher machinations. The state obliged to torture the living relics for its master like any other loyal servant.
The pony watching at first revealed nothing more than the citizens going through their lives: foals playing, couples on their way to romance, adults hustling to attend their aging parents after a long day at work, and the senior citizens telling the foals to shut down everything and go home. I eventually saw the mystery mare out of the corner of my eye, trotting to one street corner and back to other end. She either was new to the job of shadowing ponies or they wanted me to notice her for reasons unknown.
I don’t know whether the purpose of getting me to see that young star-spangled flank was to get me to just be definitely aware of her but there were also decent odds that it they had some sort of plan if I chose to try to get her attention. In the interest of killing a cat, I hailed her and motioned her over on the pretense of helping a lost mare find her way. I wish I had the courage to write down what our conversation while it was happening, but the primary details I remember was that she was told to say her name was Lore Lay, that she was familiar with my clever work and that we had mutual interests. I never let on to the fact that my education was better than what the machinations thought, and that this poor attempt at flattery was a good tip-off to the femme-fatale’s alleged real goal. I did tell her she was welcome to further interact with me; she just needed to schedule an appointment with me via the main offices of the newspaper. Despite her earlier admittance on needing help finding something, after the conversation her mind seemed to know that the corner street leading downtown was the correct path.
I achieved a small victory in surviving a brush with the higher machinations, if I could feign the ignorance of the way the world really worked, then I could potentially get more out of their agent then they’d otherwise want. Although having a living and breathing agent to interact with was potentially a few marks against my long-term survival.
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Ricinus populis maleficus
Most commonly found in the wild around Fillydelphia, but supposed to have originated near Maretonia, it has been, until recently, one of the most resilient and insidious crop weeds. This shrub's leaves are very similar to the ones of a young willow, but its fruits are said to resemble horseshoes and to smell very strong of something akin to natron when the fruits are ripe. The seeds are burred and often are considered a nuisance to residents due to their magical resistance and physical resiliency. Its uses, detailed below, have been discovered only around three decades ago.
This plant is not safe for grazing: while useful when properly processed to cure constipation and inflammation of joints, if consumed wholesale or used carelessly it can induce diarrhea, nausea, hallucinations, disorientation, and, in extreme cases, seizures.
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Journal Entry #0449
The knowledge that Velvet was using pulverized shitting plants from Fillydelphia, in combination with previous evidence just exacerbates my feelings of pity for the hostages. They are supposed to be the physical incarnations of the societal ideal of harmony, and yet the state is forcing them to shit themselves. Real harmonious, certainly better when you know that all the other Elements and a minor gang of ne’er-do-wells know what awaits them, if they go too far out of line from what the higher machinations want them to do. If you mess around with the state very badly, then you get an ironic ‘punishment’ on part of our ruler White Cuddle Mare Rainbow Mane. If you mess with the higher machinations you’ll normally just disappear, but, when you’re as important as the Elements of Harmony (the ne’er-do-wells, I'm sure of it, have a place in their plans as well) to their plans messing up will result in you being contained in a place where you’ll be literally babied and mentally starved until the only thing you can do for greater society is wearing a necklace that shoots rainbows.
Said rainbows are powerful enough to defeat abominations from beyond the higher spheres, and also reincorporate previously-rebellious elements into their fold, so maybe leaving the ones who can activate them in a safe place is an excellent idea… but taking their free will, whether through fear or through torture, is inexcusable.
I was going to write about today’s adventures, but that can wait until tomorrow, this topic depresses me far too much to think about the possibility of progress on this case.
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Page 5 CANTERLOT: In addition to being treated a Kindergarten student by the state, it is apparent through our investigative efforts that the Element of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, has also been forced to be treated as a foal at her location of detainment. There is also evidence that the local authorities have at least allowed her to have a friend of her choosing as a reminder of home for an unknown duration of time.
The methodology of the law enforcement system is unknown and kept secret, our source reports the use of foal’s food, toys, games, and garments as methods of punishment. Although this punishment may seem strange or very lenient on the causer of the magically induced riots, our source reports that it’s actually appearing to be possibly too effective, to levels approaching torture in their words.
It’s unknown what the full extent of the punishment is at this time, due to the limited time scale through which the investigator assigned to the case can work with a family under house arrest. They do apologize on behalf of the Inquirer’s subscriber base on the lack of firm details surrounding the case, but state that the government’s repeated interferences are slowing down the progress that would otherwise be made.
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Journal Entry #0450
I previously wrote on writing about yesterday’s adventures, because past me is an dolt who doesn’t recognize that the entire purpose of this journal is to record the day's discoveries and mindset as they’re fresh on the mind, granted the implications on the topic were dark enough to let me lose sleep.
The initial walk to get breakfast, as Sedula is quickly becoming my source for it, I had only a single sighting of Lore Lay, and she ran off as soon as I called her name, but it was worth seeing her cute little canter as she tried to look casual while moving down the middle of the street when Luna’s dominion was hanging overhead.
The breakfast itself started normally enough. Sedula and I talked about possibly seeing each other outside of a mad house one of these days, but then I had the glorious enjoyment of having my eyes covered with hooves and asked “Who is it?” repeatedly and incessantly until Sedula told Pinkie Pie to quit it and go back up to her room. Pinkie Pie refused to comply until she got to know who I was, I believe I wrote the following conversation down, but the end result was further knowledge and appreciation of the Element of Laughter. She supposedly has SOMETHING planned, and it’s going to take everypony, yes, even those in the state, off-guard. Prisoner escapes always catch my fancy in fiction books, maybe they can catch my fancy when they happen to the oppressors.
It was followed, appropriately enough, with another long walk in the sunrise to the offices where some of the Daily staff were being given a tour of what could be their next conquest. Some of them were chatting with Reasonable Story about the pay raise and the board member position she’d be getting. No comment on her questions about all the other employees’ pay, however. The article I had to write as a follow-up was weak, but, compared to the drivel that goes through the presses here on any other occasion, it was about par. Then again they posted it today, so maybe there’s a reason I’m not on the second floor making the decisions.
The final stretch of the day involved me going to the library and picking up a book that revealed the truth about the existence of crystallized shitting plants, which anypony (really, I should be the only one who ever looks at my journal, but it might eventually pass on to a soul who has a similar disposition) who read the last entry here should know how well that went.
I hate not being in the moment or on the verge of losing the moment when writing this. A lot of the "in the moment" realizations that get absorbed into the subconscious still have their source remembered, rather than just being knowledge that you ‘know’ but not where it came from. While clearly not something designed by the higher machinations, the value of this aspect of mammalian neurology is invaluable to the propaganda that the world puts out.
On the other hoof, when I don’t exercise distance, you get an entry half as long as this one on the topic of shitting plants.
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Pie: Are you sure that writing on a soggy napkin will work?
Me: My special talent involves writing, and magic associated with writing is quite flexible. For example I don’t even have to focus on the quill, just talking will do the trick, as magic does everything
Sed: If you even think about singing, Miss Pie…
Pie: She’s good, a real keeper you know.
Sed: How'd you know that? We have met only two days ago, and sure as Tartarus I didn't say anything about myself to you.
Me: Waiving dismissively I’m not interested a relationship with Miss Sedula beyond a professional friendship Miss Pie, you said that if I answer a question that you’d answer in kind?
Pie: Uh-huh, who’re you?
Me: I’m just somepony who is looking for answers in unexpected places, and currently talking with a young pink mare in what appears to be a very foalish undergarment on her flank, do you care to explain what it is?
Pie: Oh, my diaper?
Me: Flarlglfell
Pie: Do you speak rock?
Me: No… just… just tell me about-
Pie: That certainly sounded like rock, maybe Maud would know the dialect
Sed: Miss Pie, please tell the nice stallion about your diaper.
Pie: Oh, it’s clean.
Me: For the sake of Tartarus, not THAT!
Pie: My turn! What’s your favorite color? Is it green? Mine is orange-blue-purple!
Me: It’s slate grey. Why are you wearing it?
Pie: Well, if I went on the floor it would just be another mess for hard-working Sedula to clean up, no? What’re your thoughts on the deficit of labor supply in the Manehatten region agricultural economy?
Me: I don’t have any, and if I did I wouldn’t be here talking to you. Why are you here?
Pie: I’m here to keep Twilight company: she got dragged away from all her friends and I’m here to remind her of home. Do you have any pets?
Me: No, they just stab you in the back later. When did you stop being here of your own free will?
Pie: Uh, never, I’ve always been here because I fully, absolutely, completely, really enjoy it here. Now, why are you here?
Me: Same as anypony else, I didn’t have a choice what planet my mother chose to get knocked up at. Does Velvet genuinely believe that you and your friend Twilight are her little fillies?
Pie: Well, we are, why wouldn’t we be? Well, we’re not REALLY little, but it’s fun to pretend, and Miss Velvet doesn’t like when Twilight tries to stop the fun. It will take time to move things into place, I have a plan that they won’t see coming. You know what I mean?
Me: Yes, I do indeed believe I know what you mean, thanks for your time, and if you need anything, ask Sedula to ask me.
Journal Entry #0451
The mare upstairs ordered that I check out the school again, even though all the previous times I did check it out it just resulted in me seeing a bored young mare surrounded by excited foals and occasionally getting lunch with Iron Pike after his shift to reminisce about old times. I don’t know what went through her little hornless head, but occasionally there is indeed a reason why she’s upstairs. She must always actually think with her gut, given that most of the time her ideas are just full of crap but occasionally she seems to know things I don’t. Of course, her being told to send me there today by somepony higher is a valid option, but thus far the higher machinations have been uncaring towards the free press. Maybe the magical source in Ponyville told her, as has been the case all the damn times she got in my britches about the case.
Either the higher machinations actually did directly provide the instructions on the path to take, or an ally of mine did, because they took me through an alley-way where I took a look on Lore Lay. Given the way she tried to scamper away and her muzzle-first impact into the wall, I’d state that I was an unexpected development of her day. Although, given the lack of injuries on her body, I’d say that she had a fair bit of earth pony blood in her... or maybe not enough. She eventually just sighed and went back to foal-watching. I guess everypony has their hobbies, and with what I’ve seen recently, this seemed pretty tame. She asked me what I wanted, either she forgot her “OMC, I’m such a huge fan” excuse from last week, or thought I saw straight through said excuse. My reply, on other hoof, was a simple request for answers and she pondered for a little while, before saying that she had an idea that could satisfy both of our interests.
She wanted to know what the families of the foals being indirectly effected by the madness were experiencing now, now that Twilight has been in class long enough to potentially have some influence on the domestic life of the families of the foals. However, she was unable to put in any time into it herself, due to her being busy for most of the day, although I suppose whenever I do start marching through this aspect of the investigation, she’ll find a way to be in the corner of my eye at sunset.
The supposedly tricky thing was finding out who the members of the family are... which would require a class list. My plan at the time required waiting until after school was properly out, which meant enough free time to ask Ms. Lore Lay for a cup of coffee and a chat, on the pretext of apologies for the broken nose. She did accept, on the condition that it was tea rather than coffee, which I suppose was the higher machinations methods of cutting down a self-sufficient local economy by forcing trade with lands abroad in addictive substances. It all started with Celestia, and it apparently went down 'till it reached little fillies playing secret agent as well.
The conversation wasn’t recorded, and my horn still hurts when I use basic spells due to the forceful methodology of which I was informed of that condition of the conversation. She seemed overall to be a pleasant young mare who seemed very amused with me taking issue with her working with the higher machinations, she even tried to get me to spill the beans on how much I knew. She seemed especially interested in the matter of the state and the princesses being just the shield and spear of the system, but she refused to mention what part of the body she belonged to. She even respond that I was ‘entertainingly wrong’ at one point, but that at least means that I know for certain that there are certain areas where while I’m wrong in the How’s and Why’s, I’m not wrong in the What’s, provided she was being honest in the conversation and given her continued use of a fake name, I’d say she likely wasn’t.
Once school was over (and added a certain tea-shop to my ‘centres of operation’ list) and I made it back on my own accord, well aware that I was being watched from somewhere, maybe everywhere. The actual methodology of getting to the classroom was eased by the lack of any familiar faces from the guard. Mainly the methodology included the long-heralded tradition amongst ponydom of putting one hoof in front of the other until I reached my destination.
The meeting with the head teacher was brief, but thankfully she didn’t recognize me from my previous visitations. This was the second time which was more than just a passing glance to verify that there were certainly no re-education facilities secretly within Canterlot, no reeducation facilities here at least, the castle is another story entirely. I used a trick they commonly called ‘honesty’, mostly used by those desperate enough to risk giving away the only secure immaterial thing they have, namely personal knowledge, in return for something brief and likely material in nature. Of course, when you have nothing else to give, it works out well. I showed documentation as a reporter for the Inquirer and a clipping of the first article on the topic and I stated that my goal was in finding out more about how the community was dealing with the situation, now that time and first shock has passed. After assuring her that Twilight would know of it, I was given two pages of a small selection of home addresses to evaluate, not the amount that Ms. Lore requested, but enough to where I could find out more than enough to satisfy my personal curiosity.
Does it count as working for the system when you’re doing out of selfish reasons and a desire to eventually destroy it? I’d say yes, but unlike a certain tea-slurping mare I don’t have to be happy it in the least.
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I don’t know where my prized journal went, tearing through the office revealed nothing, tearing through my home revealed nothing. Pressing the mare upstairs on whether she gave my journal to somepony else was met with multiple declinations and offers to taste test multiple grape flavored juices, and I declined: I didn’t need any more sugar in my veins, in addition to the treats I got when I visited Sedula.
I’m nigh certain that my socialization with the Femme-Fatale is the reason why my precious journal was taken away. My goal and purpose today was to find her and beat her skull in with it, but I had an understandable lack of success. She got what she wanted, why did she need to trail me anymore now?
Were they pouring over my discoveries past and present? Or was it being held hostage, telling me to go do my job for them before I could do my job for ponykind?
A silly diary for silly fillies, Copyright 87
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The first one in my "targets list" of foals was a certain Bright Light. This colt lived inside a (horrible, I have to say) neo-romean styled-apartment complex near the borders of the city. Sadly, I could not ask anything to his parents or caretakers, since I read a notice on the glued on the glass door stating that all apartments were getting de-ratified after a long time, and that all residents had to move away for two days. Whether the higher machinations were planning to re-educate the ponies usually living in those flats or were doing some hairy charity, I do not know nor it mattered much. The point was, the colt's family was surely not there and I didn't know where to find him and his family otherwise.
Due to this, I passed to the next one on my list, a filly this time, named Pearly Handle. This filly resided not too far from Bright Light's abode, as she lived inside the palace (also built with that horrible and oppression-inspiring style) at the opposite side of the road where the complex, the one I tried to visit previously, stood. Looking at the list again, I checked for the parents' surnames and then looked at the label near each doorbell for find the right one. Took me five minutes, but I finally found it and, when I did, shortly after ringing,
the voice of a seemingly young stallion with a weird and thick accent answered me, and, once again, I told her the truth about my position. I didn't expect it to work, however. The stallion opened from the apartment the door to me, and I pushed inwards as he told me excitedly that he was at the third door on the fifth floor. A few minutes going up the spotless and dimly lit stairs of the palace, I reached the fifth floor with my forehead wet from sweat. But, hey, I've been eating muffins like a hog for several days, what did I expect?
The third door was, not surprisingly, wooden and with a simple bronze door knock and knob. I used the first one, and, shortly after, the door was opened for me, revealing the guy that answered me at the door. He was indeed a young stallion, in fact, he looked (and acted) far too young to be the father of the filly, making me assume he was the filly's brother or foalsitter. I was going to leave, but, since I was already there, I might as well could have tried. The inside of the apartment was, for the most part, nice and tidy, to the point to look as sterile as a recently-cleaned hospital room, maybe not so surprising in hindsight, considered that the owners of the house were doctors.
The stallion told me his name (Admnistrador Abençoado I think), asked me if I wanted some coffee, before we started the "interview," and then asked me if Pearly Handle's presence was necessary for what I needed, and naturally I said yes, to which he said we were going to wait for her nap to end before she could come, and me begin me, I decided to start off anyway.
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Admini: Taking a sip from his cup Tão, we start?
Me: Sure. Now, I don't know what is your exact relationship with the little miss...
Admini: I'm her foalsitter.
Me: Oh, okay then. So, with that out of the way, I'm here to ask you if Pearly has been talking about a pretty peculiar character that attends the same classroom, and how much do you know about her.
Admini: Seemingly confused as he takes a sip of coffee Attends to? What it means?
Me: It means "go to school."
Admini: Oh, alright. Well, she says to me that Twilight Sparkle, I think aquele is her name, is big as the teachers and that she speaks fancy.
Me: But does her name reminds you of anything?
Admini: He shrugs Yes, her name reminds me of a celebrated girl I tried to embark after the defeat of Discord. She said that was her name, but she rejected me. Still, I'm sure she isn't related.
Me: Actuall, she is related. More than you think she would be... because she's the same pony.
Admini: He looks aghast at me You say on serious?
Me: Yes, I do. Why do you ask?
Admini: Oh Celestia dea, what happened to she?
Me: She was put back in Kindergarten, but don't ask me what exactly caused her to be sent in there. I'm only the one that will put on paper your precious knowledge on the matter for all to see.
Admini: That's really curious. But I do not know nothing about it He turns his head around and perks his ears, the menina is still asleep, and senhor and senhora are out until twelve and half.
Me: Thank anyway, then.
VVVVVVVVV
After this fruitless attempt, I got out from that damn oppressive palace and looked at my list of addresses again. Skipping over a certain Sitòn Ligostos due to the fact he lived in a far-off fraction, my next target was a filly called Lex Populi, whom, interestingly enough, she lived near the center of the city. I infiltrated deep in the home territory of the higher machinations, hoping that reaching the address to speak wasn't going to result in my (not-so-untimely) demise, once I had rang the bell of the house.
When I shook the rope of the bell, I was greeted with a raspy and annoying voice of a mare in her late years telling me something in a language I could not understand, to which I asked what she just said, propting more unintelligible phrases spoken with an angrier tone, probably curses directed at me. I tried again, and, this time, a blue mare with gray mane, thick glasses, back tutor and a wrinkly face in tow, came into my sight, who was shortly followed by a light pink filly with a white curly mane. The little filly her naivety be blessed after a few seconds of looking at me sideways she greeted me with a weak hoof wave, and the mare glared at me as she said something unintelegible once more. At that point, I gave up and left the area as fast as I could.
The last one on the list was the family of one “Olive Oil”, a lad that, judging from the fact he had a small print in his name that read "To be moved into Tutoring Class," seemed to be struggling in his education, and the seating chart given to me put him close to Miss Sparkle, making him the ideal last attempt to contact in this little excursion away from my primary objective.
Usually when I go staking out a home I expect them to be a home, with the families here in this sparkling city normally being employed by the state or one of the larger operations of capitalism it’s to be understood that a home is a home alone. I fortunately found what one would find in one of the less corrupted settlements such as Ponyville or Las Pegasus with the innate entrepreneurial spirit of ponies shining through by combining their living arrangements with their talents and goals. The front-end of the building was a high-rise restaurant, appearing to be designed to fully function as an eating establishment.
The home itself was more or less a tumor growing out the back of the restaurant, trying to absorb the least amount of resources and space from the host body, the patriarch was dedicated to pursing his passions. The best I could gauge on his passions involved the obvious culinary obsession, if one can call dreams an obsession, and his son. Given that most of his property was meant to spread his talents and creations with other ponies, and what little remained was meant as space for the young colt to grow up and successfully find a purpose to his life. At least, I hoped I was accurate lest he just be another stallion putting on a façade of accomplishment and happiness over the reality of discontent and self-loathing.
The food, itself par for the course among those with talents in such things, combined with what little I learned from our conversation, made the night worthwhile. All I got out of the endeavor is that the kid has a background common to too many, and that if Twilight is a corrupting influence, she’s either so excellent at it she’s undetectable or so pathetic that she’s negligible and undetectable.
It’s interesting: I keep sensing something deeper, but it keeps eluding me, like a mare standing on a rooftop at sunset, it keeps vanishing before I can get a good grasp on it.
A silly diary for silly fillies, Copyright 87
VVVVVVVVV
Me: Thanks for the dinner Mr. Oil, it was filling. Now, I believe you understood my purpose in being here tonight?
Fryer: Hopefully I did, normally inviting somepony back into my house is either for something my son did or for personal, er... satisfaction Twiddles his hooves given out by my wife. And what I understood was that this is barely related to my little stallion, right?
Me: I’m just here because your dau-, son, is going to school with a unique character, how much do you know about her?
Fryer: Well, he did repeatedly say there was a "big girl" there, but that’s hardly unusual, since he calls everypony a year or two older "big." Outside of that, I can’t really say, is there a noble foal? Oh wait, it’s another one of Blueblood’s bast-
Me: As much as I wish that were true, that’s hardly a story these days. But does the name “Twilight Sparkle” ring any bells?
Fryer: Can’t say it does. I mean, sounds familiar, but it’s a bit of a loaded question, ain’t it? There are probably at least a dozen fillies running around the school with a similar name. Now, I want you to ring my bells for me, why is a little filly worth barging into a stallion’s restaurant and asking to talk to him for something about his very young son?
Me: She’s hardly a little filly, Mr. Deep. Twilight Sparkle is.. you read current events right? He nods Good, she’s the one who put Luna back onto the throne, and she had a... little outburst that lead to displeasure of the government, and she’s back in Kindergarten.
Fryer: So, is she a little filly again?
Me: No, she’s a fully grown mare still, and I’m not here to educate you, you’re here to educate the populace with your words, with my pen merely being the medium it goes out into the world, spoken out loud by the masses!
Fryer: A bit full of yourself bud? You’re asking a father about his son’s possible gossiping to further ruin the reputation and integrity of a mare who already lost both, you’re probably not a step above any of the others at your despicable Inquirer.
Me: Consider it a desperate gamble to achieve enlightenment with acceptable casualties. Tell me a little about your family, are you married? How’s your son doing otherwise?
Fryer: He grumbles "Know when to fold ‘em, know when to ante." I suppose that’s what you columnists with your party crashing and ‘hard questions’ need to know how to do. I’m married, to the fine, fine, mare that birthed my son, and about him, despite his lack of focus, he’s learning the tools of the trade. He’s a near-prodigy, almost as good as I was when I was his age, and I'm sure he'll net me money soon.
Me: Care to tell me more about your lovely wife, where’s she?
Fryer: He looks uncomfortable and he gulps, but still looks weary of me She’s out giving tours to people unfamiliar with the capital, it’s her job you know?
Me: She’s giving tours at this hour? Quite the dedicated tour guide to give tours to those who can’t stand basking in the open daylight.
Fryer: My son’s doing fine, he told me nothing about this mare you are asking for and it’s time for you to recognize you stayed past your welcome! Gets up and chases me out
VVVVVVVVV
☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼
Besides the little mare on the rooftops, it’s been difficult to get any sort of understanding of what’s going on beyond the inevitable ‘the child didn’t really say much’ from a foalsitter and uncooperative father. House to house, home to home, I didn’t get much besides the students not finding her out of place besides her size and somewhat behviour… which is when it struck me to change my line of questioning to one of understanding how similar she’s become to her younger untrained comrades. That started to get results, mainly that she’s completely and utterly lost her continence, if what I’ve been told about her accidents is correct. Which points at the physiological trauma of the homestead as being worth further investigation, the Magical Plant of Soiling the Floor possibly wasn’t even necessary anymore, just being something that Sedula is being forced to keep on adding for the love of the household and hope for Velvet’s reconciliation with reality.
If Twilight is ‘going native’, then there’s no real hope for saving her outside of forcing her out of her current environment, and that’s likely a path in my life that will result with at least a night in a jail cell with Ass In-Dolore again, at most a life on the run with a mentally scarred young mare loyally devoted to the higher machinations.
I won’t be able to save her, but that just makes her another reminder of what I’m fighting against and what they’re willing to do.
A silly diary for silly fillies, Copyright 87
Journal Entry #0452
HI THERE! Don’T bE so grumpY All ThE TimE, AnD ThE lEAsT you coulD Do is bE sTraighT forwArD AbouT why you AnD SeDulA Talk in ThE mornings. You Don’T hAve To worry AbouT The rEsT of ThE fAmily gETTing upseT AbouT whAT you’rE Doing. If you lovE hEr you cAn bE opEn AbouT iT, shE’s noT A shy TEEnAgE filly you know. I know ThAT Mommy can be, oDD, somETimEs, but ThAT DoEsn’T mEAn you hAve to hiDE AnD bE scArEd To bE upfronT
Several days without my prized journal and I find out why. Ponies call me ‘paranoid’ but this is why I’m goddamn justified in my advanced methodologies of security.
Everything in here seems to be in order at least, so whatever purpose the pink mare is working for at least respects my privacy, or more likely finds my investigation as a non-threat and this is their way of letting continue this little charade. They have a lot of faith in me to assume that I’m incompetent of finding what I search for. I previously stated that I had to further investigate that home, beyond my occasional morning visits, but I guess I’m being given no choice when the state takes away my prized possession and ‘convinces’ their hostage to write in it, either she’s been manipulated to an extent or she’s completely gone in the same vain as Twilight.
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PAGE 3 CANTERLOT: Twilight Sparkle, the honorable Element Bearer of Magic, has been confirmed as being affected by her assumed to unusual method of punishment for the past riots in Ponyville.
Previously confirmed to be going through the process of Magical Kindergarten, she is also known to have been given additional punishment while under house arrest.
Twilight Sparkle is now known to be mentally effected by this lax punishment by the Princess, which suggests that we were indeed wrong to question her as some of our letters to the editor duly note. She has been confirmed, through conversations and interviews with affiliated students and parents, to have been adopting the persona and the mannerisms of her younger peers in the class.
It’s inevitable that through the mundanity and mindnumbingness of basic education that all of us found some form of coping measures, be it daydreaming, drawing, interacting with peers, or for an unfortunate few taking an interest in the material, for Ms. Sparkle it appears to be that she is taken to the lack of stimulation for someone in her mental stature by lowering herself to the point where it can interest her.
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Journal Entry #0453
The most recent article put words into my mouth that I didn’t want, mainly making my assumptions, uncertainties and outright fabrications about the situation seem like genuine fact, but it’s more concrete than whatever Mrs. Lemon was writing about buffaloes' supposed rudeness to ponies living in that penal colony disguised as town.
Hopefully for once the next one will actually inform the populace of what I mean rather than what the mare upstairs thinks will sell a few more papers, or will fill out enough space to ensure we can keep in business until we have to spend our time writing at the level expected to be read by seven-year-olds.
The long early walk to the Sparkle residence was only punctuated by one sighting of my little admirer, poor bitch can’t seem to get out of her boring job of tailing a stallion who’s probably just a little bit closer to the truth than most of the sheep, while poor me keeps having to check on the same boring places for some hopefully not boring pieces of new evidence that indicates as to what’s the meaning to this insanity… and inevitably neither of us will get results other than the forlorn gazes at each other as we pass each other by, commuters on the roads of conspiracy and enlightenment.
The standard meeting with Sedula was interrupted by both a blur of pink and a blur of grey. Clearly I was both expected and prepared for. In hindsight it’s obvious that there being more than two plates and actual utensils laid out meant that I should’ve expected early risers that particular day, but when one settles into a routine it’s easy to lower your defenses and awareness of the situation.
I had the chance to have a morning breakfast conversation with all present, and while uncomfortable, it did provide me evidence of this being set-up, they knew I was coming, and had all the pieces in place to convince me that resistance is futile, and their machinations are unstoppable, even if they show me a good portion of their hand.
Although the muffin was heavily appreciated, it hardly helped the mental discontentment I was going through. My goal for the rest of the day was to find ‘Lore Lay’ to try to get some sort of beat on the eccentric and cruel methodologies that the higher machinations were employing in this operation of theirs. Given her predictable pattern, which I suppose was a combination of a taunt and a response to my own terribly predictable patterns, I figured that I had the rest of the day to kill, mainly by going back to office and checking out our future prospects.
They weren’t bright; our little organization for truth was being buried underneath declining sales figures, with the inevitable response of pandering to even a baser clientele, who were always assumed to be slightly less literate than our previously assumed reader base. The eventual outcome being enough insulted or uninterested readers to lose further market share. The harsh cycle would keep repeating, part of me once assumed that the higher machinations were involved, eventually I just concluded that those with intelligence but not loyalty to ponykind were too smart to be involved here, which left me surrounded by idiots looking for entertaining busywork or those who are only loyal enough to work for the cause of truth when it suited them.
The mare upstairs was upset at my low output on this project, who can blame her? I wrote barely enough for to fill a full page, much less an actual break-through. I was always being teased with more information, and quite a bit of the information I got either is too disturbing or too unsubstantiated to find their ways into an article. Doesn’t stop others from putting out made-up nonsense, but somepony here has to have standards of publication, even if the editor just pushes it down to a level that is comfortable for the mewling and baaing masses.
I don’t know whether it’s my job on the line or my loyalty to ponykind that moves me forward, maybe its general idiocy of some sort.
VVVVVVVVVVV
Vel: Good morning Night Light, sleep well?
Sed: He has slept fine, we were just having a chat about his work Mrs. Velvet.
Vel: Oh, did he now? Honey, what were you telling Serva?
Me: Ow, no need to pok- ow, It was just the usual… hun?
Pie: Are you okay Mommy?
Me: Is anypony okay here?
Vel: I’m fine little one, just daddy seems confused, do you need more sleep?
Me: No I don’t, still groggy I guess, could you pass me that pot of coffee over there?
Vel: Remember what we talked about last week?
Me: No…
Vel: Stallions, the adults in the house drink from the containers with the pink sticker, we agreed to this when we decided to give Twilight her medicine. Ms. Serva remembers, or am I just going crazy?
Sed: If I didn’t remember would those stickers even be on the containers?
Vel: See? I just wish that you remembered our conversations more often sweetheart.
Pie: Moooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmm, are you sure you’re okay?
Me: That reminds me, Pinkie Pie, did you happen to write in my journal?
Pie: Uhhh
Vel: Pinkie, did you write in daddy’s journal?
Pie: No, I didn’t write in daddy’s journal.
Sed: Did you write in any stallion’s journal?
Pie: Maybe?
Me: Well, my journal here was missing for a little while, and when I found it, there was this message in pink crayon.
Vel: Could I see it?
Me: Hand that back!
Sed: Here it is madam.
Vel: … Pinkie is going to lose her crayon privileges for this. But I’m going to ask you a favor honey, if I hand this back to you do you promise to talk with Pinkie about how a mommy’s and daddy’s love is different than a proper appreciation for your servants?
Me: I have no choice in the matter do I?
Vel: Think of it as punishment for forgetting our previous conversation. I’ll go check in on Twilight, see you later dear.
Me: I’ll have the conversation later… honey, I need to go out and work, remember?
Vel: Don’t you have the weeken-
Sed: Today’s a special day and he needs to file those papers. I guess you both need to work on your memories.
Me: Thank you Ms. Serva, I’ll take a muffin to go if you don’t mind…
VVVVVVVVVVV
Journal Entry #0454
I bucking forgot to include my meeting with Lore Lay in the previous entry, apparently past me think it’s better to end on a questioning note rather than actually use this journal for its intended purpose. It’s a habit I have to eventually break out of. Also, five days without entires. Darn, I suck at memorizing things
It wasn’t hard finding her, mainly took going to her favorite tea shop in the area at sunset. She came in a rush, galloping and sweating, surely an uncleanly look for the mare. Actually, it suited her a bit as punishment, actually sweating while doing her work rather than doing her agency work from the nice cool shadows. Also good to know that when I’m in a place the machinations don’t expect they caused panic in their agent, a minor victory is still a victory, a minor defeat is but a sacrifice for the greater good.
She seemed happy getting her order and sitting down across from me, no questions from her, no introduction, nothing, just waiting for me to reveal a fraction more of where I was in attempting to go. My questioning of her didn’t result in much as she just wanted to know what the results of my investigation on the students and their households were. I left nothing out, they likely already knew what I knew, and this was just a test to see how gullible, or at least cooperative, I am. Let them think I’ll fall into their clutches, being near them just opens their belly to a proper evisceration with their hooves close to what they think is a useful idiot.
She did seem surprised with my information; mainly that the foals didn’t find the situation all that odd or unusual, or they weren’t even affected by it. It’s like she was expecting less mental stability in Ms. Sparkle and her classmates. Maybe rather than expecting she was hoping, it would fit in line with the vibe I was getting from the sickness permeating the thought processes of them all.
Pressing along that route revealed that indeed, the higher machinations were indeed targeting Sparkle for breaking down, but along a route that I didn’t expect. They were using a specific family for their methodologies, and that it might be in my best interests, if I was actually interested in being enlightened, at investigating a small colt that went by Ostoba… and that I was ‘behind schedule’, and supposedly the list I got was supposed to have his name on it, and this threw things into a pinch. If I recall the conversation correctly, being forbidden from writing during our encounters is a pain in the flank, but it’s needed for a degree of civility in our confrontations. Anyways, Ostoba was supposedly already en route to being a mechanism to further torture Ms. Sparkle, it’s excellent to know that those who I pay taxes to take innocent foals and make them into dangerous elements to harm those who fail them.
Why are they being so open with their hand? Is this a test of some sort, or am I seen as so gullible that I have to be led by the muzzle to be of even the slightest use to them?
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☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴
Rank: Sergeant
Station: F10Canter-Subsec 5
Name: Doppia Picca
Suspect, previously identified as “Screwy Words’ made his first appearance after a few weeks of not showing up to cause further trouble. He appeared after school hours demanding information on one Orvosti Ostoba, and was denied his request by Mrs. Lux. His reaction afterwards was to attempt to coerce the information out of the assistant teacher, followed by repeated accusations of her being ‘anti-pony’, her reaction was to attempt to force Mr. Words from the room, which was when I was called into the scene. The suspect immediately laid down any attempt of resistance, with one exception of attempting to run down an alley, and shouts of various expletives and the code phrase “Lore Lay”, no nearby suspects were detected and the site is considered to be secure. The suspect held no resistance to being taken to his detainment facility outside of those incidents near the time of moon rising.
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[---------
------]
Name: Screwy Words
Reason for Detainment: Hostile actions towards others, resistance of arrest
Location: Canterlot, Jeanne De Balestre Quarter
Current Cell: #310
Date of trial: 20th of the month ROYAL PARDON EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY
Previous Convictions: Resisting Arrest, Breaking and Entering, Littering on Public Property, Interference with Public Service, Aggravated Slander, Scam, and Disruption of Legal Processes
Further notes: Suspect is normally fairly relaxed, though impolite, all requests to keep his journal are to be obeyed, as suspect is known to pathologic or unpredictable without it. Regular medical visitation by mental health officers is to be advised until further notice. All gifts and visitors are to be thoroughly examined for potential contraband. Any irregularities in sleep schedule are to be reported, if continual contact with anesthetic specialist is advised.
UNDERNEATH ROYAL AUTHORITY SCREWY WORDS IS TO BE RELEASED AFTER A PERIOD OF 24 HOURS ALL VISITORS ARE TO BE PROTECTED BY AT LEAST ONE GUARD
Journal Entry #0455
They keep throwing me away into these fortresses of oppression, and never have the courtesy to state their actual reasons behind the arrest. Always about me ‘resisting arrest’, none of what that arrest was for, the answer of ‘getting too close for comfort’ is never given, always an ‘antagonizing innocent civilians or nobles’. Celestia forbid I actually harm an innocent! I just focus on getting to the truth, and while there may be some accidental casualties of those who didn’t deserve it, it’s necessary to take down the machinations which cause many thousands more casualties by the day for reach whatever ‘oh so harmonious’ goal they have in mind, if they have one beyond their self-perpetuating desire for power and control.
It’s infuriating to be locked up with those common criminals whose only contributions to the cause is as meatshields, ensuring that the state has something to point at to justify its own existence, and pretending to not know that their existence and the criminal element are often intertwined and cooperative to the goals of the higher machinations. I sit here, with only today’s unusual addition of a royal pardon; the guards were just as surprised as I was. Maybe I passed Ms. Lay’s little test and am more useful outside these bars, don’t know how, or why, but for once being at the center of a conspiracy is something I find double edged rather than something purely malevolent.
A Royal Pardon, to be enacted by the next sunset. I look forward to that which awaits me on the other side of the night’s rest. If I’m lucky enough I’ll have tea with yet another fine agent of the higher machinations.
Journal Entry #0456
The meeting wasn’t what I expected to be… I hoped to meet somepony who I could recognize as an agent of the ever familiar, and increasingly twisted, oppression. Instead of Lore Lay, or Princess Celestia herself for that matter, I got to meet a middle-aged mother who supposedly served this country proudly in the past against some raiders, in a town lost in the ass of Equestria called Borgo Cagamattoni. She stated that, after reading my work, she had gotten interested in my current line of work, investigation, what have you. She also told me something I didn’t expect, mainly that she had an idea for aid me in my research of the truth, by the usage of powers that go my wildest imaginations. Normally I would back away from such an encounter, they are either crazy ponies, have sinister intent or both, and this time it appeared like it was both. However, backing away isn’t much of an option while inside a cell, and when she’s accompanied by a royal guard (I think it was Steeled Sword, must remember to apologize about the Library incident) it’s strictly inadvisable for both practical and societal reasons.
She gave me pictures of her son as evidence of what was going on. I'm certain that, if I wasn’t pardoned, the mere act of looking at such images would guarantee an extended sentence, if not additional crimes against equinity. There are certain things that I understand the higher machinations do for their end goals, but these sort of things I classify as both beneath them, and completely counterproductive to their (or I guess what I once thought was) goals. Foals are supposed to be protected, and all previous information I had told me that the higher powers wanted them even more innocent for the harshness of reality than what we were raised to be.
She gave me an address, where I could hopefully contact her further, and HOPEFULLY reach the bottom of this damn conspiracy. I'm not sure if this is truly a good idea, but, at this point, there is nothing else to do but look inside the latest revealed passages... even if they might appear to lead to Tartarus.
Third Folder- Foul Play (CLOP)
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Dear Reasonable Story.
I have come to believe in the course of this investigation that this is definitely a story that may save our paper. It has upper-class intrigue, insanity, corruption of youth by the highest of powers, and the ever present lure of finally showing the common masses of sheep (as much as I hate racist terminology in metaphor you know it’s accurate) that this society isn’t as harmonious as the propaganda claims.
Due to the nature and location of this investigation, which as you know (or I hope you know… maybe they’ve been editing my words again to keep you out of the loop) is in the upper districts particularly around the school. In order for me to properly stake out and understand this story I request a pay-raise to cover the overtime which I’m putting in just getting here each day.
I wish I could talk further, but they’re always watching and seeking to undermine our efforts to find out the truth.
Sincerely,
Screwy Words
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Dear Mr. Words,
First and foremost, if our paper wasn’t in the position to become a subsidiary of The Daily, we would actually be able to raise your funds for your misguided interests ‘investigation’, but as it stands you’re aware that (or I pray for your job that you at least feign awareness) we can barely keep the press going at this rate. If you desire to afford your, investigation as you call it, get a second job.
Secondly, your anti-government positions, while previously valuable to showcasing issues of corruption and investigating the nobility with relentless enthusiasm, is clearly clouding your ability as an unbiased reporter on this case. I would suggest a vacation if the Union didn’t mandate that it would have to be something we’d have to pay you for.
Finally, please be aware that this is the final warning before we start marking you for your non-friendly speech towards the fine sheep of the land, and the relentless accusations of their fine and many qualities being something that you can feel free to slander.
-Head Supervisor of “Equine Inquirer”: Reasonable story
Post-Script: Your investigation is hanging by a thread, if you mess up our reputation as a paper, again, I will see to it that your reputation in the industry is forever tarnished. The only thing you’ll be writing for is the bathroom stall in the homeless shelter.
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Journal Entry #0457
By the time I made it to the home of the most corrupted youth it was well past the foal’s bedtime... well it should’ve been. I guess corruption of the soul also breaks a kid of their fear of curfew. I expected to find one Master Ostoba at the location, but I wasn’t to have that sort of luck last night.
I suppose that while I remember it clearly now, it will be lost in time unless I actually write down what I think is one of the biggest leads yet.
The home was what one could expect from a family with both a lawmaker and soldier as the heads of the estate, completely orderly and not a sign of any of the discontent surely beneath the surface, what little decoration was in the corners of the fine-kept lawns, simple statuary and a small garden were the only signs that ponies lived here that had passions beyond blindly marching to the state’s commands.
The ramp to the door was made of damn oak; it’s strange what one will remember in times of a mindset such as curiosity. A single knock was all it took for the door to swing open and be greeted with the visage of a smiling mare. I’m still curious if that smile was an optical illusion of sorts, the teeth she showed were too many for me to be comfortable with, I felt like a predator was excited and ready to swallow its newfound prey whole. Her rapid gestures to come in and repeated assurances that everything would be safe did little to curtail my attitudes, once a slave in the service of murder for the state always a servant of death to those who would oppose it. Ignoring my mind’s warning signals I walked into the hallway ordained with paintings of lawmakers past and present. The things I do to gain insight to what is hidden from the sheep.
The wheelchair supporting her wounded legs had one of those silly purple gift bags hanging off of one side. The goddamn scent that was defining this investigation wafted from it. That alone told me that despite her disabilities she was still drafted to serve in the plots of the higher machinations.
She slowly trotted past door after door, frequently looking behind herself and giving a small, I guess maternal is the best word, smile at the continuous revelation that the strange stallion in her house at the dead of night was still trailing her down a hallway.
I don’t know how many right turns we took, but it caused me to suspect that the home was more like it’s owners than I thought possible. The internal confusion was probably intentional on part of the architect, make it more difficult for somepony unfamiliar with the layout to get lost and be easily neutralized should they have ill intent, but it seemed poetic enough that it could’ve been just another aspect of the universe’s innumerable warning signs for those going where they should recognize no magic will assist them should they need it.
We eventually made it through the maze to a door that after some inspection and knocking by the mare seemed to fit her standards. She opened it slowly, stuck her head in, and made the clicks for her errant child, when nothing happened she opened it fully and lit the lights and did her odd gesturing for me to enter.
The study was stereotypical of a wealthy household; the books on the shelves could’ve been untouched for generations. Plush brown chairs were in various locations, all wide enough to support lounging relaxation and reading. Low hanging lights to aid with reading, the white-red light softly glowing with the force of stored magic coursing through their artificial metallic veins. There was a foal’s block or two lying around, and the heavy desk had to deal with the defilement its current user forced upon it one stuffed animal at a time until it just became a glorified shelf.
Madam Ostoba was scrutinizing my wandering eyes, but remained relatively stationary before making small coughing noises to get my attention. Her motions for me to sit down in the chair by her side were rewarded with me choosing one facing her occupied with a stuffed fish, she had me where she wanted, but I was going to do my best to make her understand I was there under my freewill and control. She didn’t care much for my disobedience, but at least the only demand I had to put up with was to take my fat ass off the plush fish (or ‘Mr. Current’ as she called him) and give it to her. Her controlling nature was probably from the military, but being an unemployed servant of higher machinations could mean that she was open to lashing out in what little ways she could.
Her opening line to the conversation was “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you”, which after my quick glance at the door was met with a giggle and the lie that “The big meanies out there won’t take you away”. She was a mare who knew how to take advantage of me for a lark, and knew that she could get away with it.
All my questions to her were met with silence until I asked her what I’d have to do to make her talk; her response was to tell me that I’d have to play a game first. Given that my only alternatives were to walk out and get lost in the maze, or to ask my questions to a mare who would respond with either clicking or silence I took her up on her offer. I don’t want to write about what the ‘game’ entailed, nor do I need to, I’m certain that the depravity of the acts will haunt me for the rest of my life, and if they don’t then having them written down will just open up the possibility of reintroducing memories better forgotten.
Although she tried to convince me that my reluctance and revulsion were unfounded because her foals all love this game, it just served to open my eyes to the more base nature of the corrupting influences throughout the kingdom, possibly the entirety of what lies underneath the sun. The garrison of plush on the desk was fully scattered around the study by the end of it and served as a reminder throughout the remainder of the visit of my weakness and desperation for some sort of answer.
After the interview I was offered to stay until breakfast was served, I chose to wash my hooves of the affair and declined on the basis of having a job to get to. With a look of resignation she gave me the bag that has been hanging on her wheelchair since I first arrived and told me that it would hopefully help me out on accomplishing my investigation. The kiss she gave me on the cheek just left me feeling ill.
When I got home the immediate concern was a desire for sleep, but the bag was supposedly my next objective, and with a possibility of the truth hanging from my teeth I knew there were higher priorities than sleep. The most worrying thing was the name tag, namely that my name was written in the ‘To:’ section, the ‘From:’ was left blank. In the bag was a bottle which had the aforementioned scent, a few white instruments of containment and control, and a book.
The book, titled ‘De Rerum Pedestria’, had a note attached, warning of potential knowledge that could hurt my ‘widdle’ head, but it also mentioned that it wasn’t the watered-down modern rip-off… I decided to store the book in my home safe. The other objects of corrupting influence were tossed into the trash for disposal. If this tome was somehow dangerous, it might be best to find the ‘watered-down’ version first. At least now I know the form through which the higher machinations have chosen to deliver their evil through. I don’t know if this was her final remnants of free-will trying to help me unravel this situation, or if I was just falling for a trap and about to become just another cog in this conspiracy, but I felt like the truth was near. The rising sun was for once not a symbol of the Celestial powers of the state, but rather a sign that the gauntlet was thrown.
VVVVVVVVV
Me: You’re a sick b****, but I did what you wanted, all of it, an-
Her: You were creative with Mr. Current, such a clever boy at your age, Mama’s proud of you.
Me: Can we get to me asking the questions rather than you demanding actions?
Her: rolls her eyes I don’t know.
Me: Why are you doing this? What’s the end goal?
Her: Doing what?
Me: Engaging in actions that are blatantly immoral, having your son act in ways no foal should ever act, and doing things for the government without thinking of the repercussions of said actions.
Her: Young stallion, I just do what all the foals of the world want me to do and teach them a bit of self-sufficiency, I can’t be there do to it for them everywhere and all the time. And what’s this about the government? You’re too young to worry about such things.
Me: Are you seriously insinuating that all foals, even those too young to know the seasons, desire sexual relations with adults?
Her: Honey, of course it’s true, everypony who has ever been a foal knows it, and you proved it yourself.
Me: Those bastards…
Her: LANGUAGE!
Me: They took it all from you didn’t they? Your legs, your self-confidence, your youth, your control, your ability, your self-respect, and your clarity of mind. And wouldn’t you know it? Your foal’s innocence is a small price to pay for them. They don’t even care about the brave mare deep down in there, they only care about the sacrifices you’ve made, you’re making, and with your ability to function as a good loyal servant completely gone, pretty soon they’ll find a way for you to make your final one.
Her: You’re far too young to be worrying about me hun, I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but mama will keep you safe while you’re here, that’s a promise.
Me: They, the higher machinations as I call them in my notes, already have you. You’re just a mentally degenerate foal fiddler now thanks to them, but can you answer a final question. Why? To what end do you think this activity with foals would accomplish? Provided, hypothetically, that it was immensely unhealthy, immoral, and illegal to do so.
Her: Pondering silence for five minutes You have some imagination, if only I was your age again I might be able to keep up with you. But, if it were those things, the only reason I can come up with would be to hurt them somehow, and keep them hurt. Sorry for giving you a sad answer.
Me: It’s fine; at least enough of you is left in there to confirm one of my suspicions. In fact, if anything that gives me something to work with in concrete detail. Out of curiosity where’s your son?
Her: Oh, my husband is out running a few errands with him.
Me: At this hour?
Her: The boys have a lot to get done.
Me: It’s 0400, Do you think your husband is trying to keep your son safe from somepo- something?
Her: Well, he’ll always be looking out for him. As long as I get my mother-son days and pick him up from school I can be sure that he’s fine and growing up into a fine stallion.
Me: Thanks for answering my questions.
Her: Would you like to stay for breakfast?
Me: Sadly, I think I have to get to work, and it sounds like there’s quite a bit that needs to be done.
VVVVVVVVV
Journal Entry #0458
I’m writing this from the library, out of a desire to express my frustration at something is the best explanation I can come up with. The book’s so called ‘modern version’ is out of stock, the higher machinations either corrupted Celestia herself with this disease or the book club is but one of many lies. The latter preferable, the former would be unsurprising. Putting a book, which leads a mare to commit unholy and lustful acts on her own foal, onto a list of public recommendation by the widely adored puppet-ruler of the state was one of the few acts that I thought the higher machinations were above. Certainly it being just a watered-down version isn’t something that improves the situation. Celestia, the friendly felt puppet for the sheep to bow to and enjoy the pretty flow of her mane, is also one of the individuals who I hoped would one day cut the strings and reveal that she is but a marionette. I clearly had too much faith in her, one of the ones who knew true loss on a grand level might feel that being a completely empty shell for the higher machinations to use as a front would be better than taking a stand and losing everything from the life of luxury to the divine status. Maybe she’s always been a but a tool for the higher machinations, wouldn’t be surprising, but then the question then becomes,
WHAT DID THEY SEE IN CORRUPTING THEIR MOST POWERFUL ASSET????
000000000000000000
Lemon Blunderbuss: Calling the final petitioner, Screwy Words, to the Throne Room.
Mr. Words, Cream unicorn with an unkempt gray mane enters, and doesn’t bow before her royal highness, even after given explicit instructions to do so.
HRH: May I ask what brings you here today Mr. Words?
Words: It is to my… und-understanding that you promoted a book recently, correct?
Her royal highness laughs
HRH: My little pony, you could ask me that any day and I’d answer yes. Reading is one of the most important activities my subjects can engage in, a good novel can open the mind’s ability to imagine, and even a seed catalog can give the farmers of the land an idea that they wouldn’t have had otherwise; promoting higher yields and food stocks. With your name I’d take a friendly wager that you already were aware of that however.
Words: Did you promote a work titled ‘De Rerum Pedestria’?
Sir Blunderbuss and Sir Rapier leave their assigned positions and near the current petitioner, Mr. Words notices and edges forward towards the throne.
Words: If the state is this insecure in its book promotion, then it needs to get a better critic.
Her Royal Highness smiles and motions for the guards to edge back, Sir Blunderbuss and Sir Rapier comply but appear to be letting their professionalism slip.
HRH: Do you know what that book is my little pony?
Words: Given your repeated use of the phrase ‘little’ it might be fair to say that you’re familiar with it thoroughly. No, I don’t know what it is beyond being the mechanism ye sic are using to corrupt the innocent and pure.
Sir Blunderbuss and Sir Rapier are gritting their teeth at this point; their armament is visibly close to being readied.
HRH: Ponies engaging in what they desire is hardly the worst thing imaginable, I do indeed care about all my little ponies, and that also includes those in more undesirable trades. The topics of the book would help revitalize certain industries and it was also partially on the basis of removing the old illegal, but similarly titled book, from public memory once and for all.
Mr. Words: And tell me, on what basis was the old book illegal?
HRH: It was indecent, promoted unspeakable crimes, and undermined the establishments of society. It was prohibited because the fear and uncertainty it caused, along with the toolset it gave to those willing to use it. More important things than myself, such as the wellbeing and health of the population, demanded that it be removed from print once and for all. Higher machinations than concern over a book brought you here today Mr. Words, would you care to explain what you’re really here for?
Mr. Words: I don’t see how promoting a book with watered-down content and the same title will do anything to prevent the same issues from reoccurring.
HRH: The things in the original that would harm society and the so-called education it offered was removed, and the entire book rewritten to have a less offensive rhetoric. By promoting, an admittedly scandalous, work the entirety of the stock of the old book that was a danger to the regime would be replaced with something more suitable, if distasteful, to society. Are you certain that’s everything Mr. Words?
Mr.Words: I got what I needed, thank you for your assistance, or what little you have the ability to give me.
Journal Entry #0459
Celestia was more than willing to tell me what I needed to know, too bad she couldn’t say too much. Supposedly the two versions were different, but one the higher machinations deemed a threat and the other was deemed as an acceptable alternative. If the higher machinations were willing to allow Celestia herself to be humiliated in order to remove something from public memory, and flood the market with ‘non-threatening’ versions, it meant that they actually saw the original as the so-called manticore in the bed.
The differences between the two would be the key to finding some of the weaknesses and fears of the higher machinations, something to use to fight, and something to use to allow ponies of all creeds the ability to have true control over their lives.
Granted, I still have no clue how a book about abusing foals in such a way is something that would be viewed as such a threat to the systems in place, but given that the modern edition doesn’t sound too far removed in that respect, the foal abuse is probably just the pre-text for the cover-up. What actually was covered up is a damn mystery until it becomes my turn to have the book loaned out to me.
Journal Entry #0460
I don’t understand, once I managed to get a proper copy it was just full of sexual activities directed towards consenting adults, rather than the supposed content of the old one being much the same but with the caveat of the focusing on youths. Are the higher machinations actually bucking fearful of innocence being taken away? While it fall in line with their ‘harmonious’ propaganda and agenda, it undercuts their actual actions. Part of me thinks that they’re actually being honest in this effort to keep society together and harmonious… but this could have been done in so many ways other than getting the Celestia-Damned Celestial Princess Celestia to sacrifice dignity and the projection of purity through promoting of something so bucking deviant.
There has to be something here… somewhere, am I too dense?
Or is it so simple that the higher machinations just… just warped our moralities to assume that anything anti-higher machination is inherently bad or evil? I regret to say that further investigation is required.
Journal Entry #0461
I requested further involvement with Madam Ostoba, as she, while lost to the corruption, is the only one involved in this damned state of affairs that even remotely comprehends what this means. What this entails and what I can even do to combat it. I knew that I had to drag those damn corruptive influences out of the bin, they were bucking key to this affair, even if thus far all I’ve seen of them was their inevitable end result behind the home where Twilight was under control, and the scent in the damn chicks section of that poor school being repurposed to serve vile ends. She required them previously, and I thought that in order to get anywhere I’d have to reengage in that perversion of sane existence and order she called ‘playtime’. Maybe I should’ve thought that it was already too late, but hope is a funny poison, it keeps you going even if cutting it short would prevent you from being destroyed and hung, your corpse being a future example to those who pressed on due to their hope and naivety that things might actually turn out in their favor.
The walk this time wasn’t punctuated by anything, the moonlit sky hanging still with nopony below to enjoy in the splendors of the dancing stars. They clearly thought that I wasn’t worth bothering with, maybe they’re right, but at least Lore gets a break from all of this madness. That tea-slurper deserves it for following my old rump around.
Chateau Ostoba was slightly more unkempt than the last time I came, or at least I was noticing the cracks in the walls and weeds in the lawn of the once noble home. I suppose the same could be said about the home’s matriarch waiting at the front ramp leading to her home, her greasy coat and messy mane smelling strongly with only faint traces of the corruptive influences.
She looked at me with the wet and haunted eyes, before failing in her attempt at smiling while weakly holding open the door. No talking, no looking back at me, just slowly walking and winding through the maze of hallways to our destination. She kept her head down the entire trip, seeming to be more focused on the patterns of dust on the floors rather than moving forward.
The study itself was actually cleaner than the last time I was there, granted the ‘playtime’ involved did damage and likely stained a few pieces of furniture and the surrounding floor. The stuffed animals were solely on the desk, with the chairs repaired and all the books dusted, shelved, and organized.
I didn’t expect her hug, she was damper and more acrid than most mares who saw fit to hug me, but I needed to persevere. Her lunacy was thus far non-hostile, just uniquely capable of ruining the lives and souls of those who she gets engaged with. She also had more knowledge, or at least I think she had more knowledge, than what I did, and if our previous encounter was any indication she wasn’t entirely under the sway of the higher machinations, more of her was bucked up by those darker carnal desires.
She asked me if I brought back the book, the answer of course was a yes. She asked me if I read any of it, and I answered in the inverse. She looked like she was disappointed in me, but then she perked up a little and asked if I wanted it read to me. I agreed, mostly because she likely had a built up immunity to whatever effect the book has on the reader. I should’ve seen her request for me to put on the corruptive articles as soon as she made offer, but this isn’t exactly a field of expertise for me and I pray it never becomes one. Sitting on the floor in front of her was better than the other alternatives offered.
She started reading from the cover, which resulted in my hearing to the title twice over, along with some interesting information such as it being printed thirty years ago by ‘The Fallen Press’ in Fillydelphia on the initial cover… the author wasn’t mentioned anywhere beyond the foreword mentioning that it’s an older tome with disputed authorship, more likely due to opponents of the ponies listed as potential authors putting forth claims in order to slander their reputations rather than a pony even thinking of claiming to have had a hoof in the construction of the unholy tome.
The tome itself seemed to be written in nine sections containing various subsections equivalent to lessons or small teachings to a so called ‘disciple’, presumably the reader unless the work was dictated to an extremely diligent note-taker learning of these crimes. She only read the first two sections to me during this meeting, wanting me to “try to be big enough to read the rest of it” myself. The two sections were oddly and poorly prosed, but they seemed to have a bizarre message to them that worries me greatly and provides additional insight into why the higher machinations might have seen it fit to be marked for censorship and destruction.
The meeting was cut shorter than it should’ve been by Madam Ostoba looking at the clock and muttering about the coming sunrise, seemingly anxious or worried. She stopped ‘story-time’ and apologized for “not having enough together time to change [me] or [my] ways”, another damp hug and I was sent on my way into the outside world and the approaching dawn.
This book, it may be more than I thought it initially was…
Section 2:1
The true and eternal power,
Old as it may be,
Lies in the innocent flowers.
Initial terror is but the precursor,
For the methods of harnessing these energies,
are not seen by the amateur as the foal’s liberator.
The truth dear disciple,
Is much simpler than what those above tell you,
Their sweet innocent forms are archetypal.
Before the great catastrophe and the sundering,
We were all similar, innocent, pure,
And looked at the eternally twilight skies eyes wide and wondering.
The ascension and creation of the heavenly spheres
Lead naught to anything as promised,
But rather gave left us nothing but mortality and fear.
Those who are young remain true,
For they have yet to be here long enough to lose the raw power
Given to all ponies, but only remains in those who are young and new.
Journal Entry #0462
It’s a tract of thought I had before, or one similar enough anyways. It’s common among those who have only base ideas of the higher machinations to blame the Princesses as being secretly or openly tyrannical and manipulative of the ponies. Section one tells of the purpose of the work, the mysterious author thinks that the truest forms of magic are represented physically, what with those who can manipulate the weather having wings, those who can manipulate the flowing energies having horns, and those who can manipulate nature having thicker hooves. She, or he as the case may be, takes this to the conclusion that aging and maturing are symptoms of the ‘purest’ magic being stolen, and is represented as the life cycle that we have supposedly just ‘grown accustomed’ to. Section two deals with the larger philosophy and belief systems, she thinks that the princesses orchestrated this as some sort of trade, what we supposedly got in return beyond sunlight, the dancing stars, and an absolute ruler she also hasn’t heard of Luna apparently, then again neither have I until a little while ago isn’t elaborated upon.
It seems like the standard conspiracy whackaroo drivel that gets pumped out unnoticed and regarded as a non-threat by the higher machinations or the state on a daily basis… with the exceptions that it supposedly allows access to ‘pure’ magic through decidedly impure acts that are described in the rest of the sections and that it struck a chord with someponybody in the higher machinations, maybe she was right about some of her historical hypothesis of what she describes as the ‘pre-sundering’ and her declarations to use these forms of ‘pure’ magic as a tool against the forces in power and to take back the fates of the common pony would otherwise resonate strongly with me if they didn’t involve spilt foal’s blood and sexual fluids deposited in arcane patterns. Most of the time there weren’t any patterns, it just seemed like she performed a trial-and-error process to gain useful patterns and combinations the author found many situations which she (or he) just found thoroughly enjoyable.
She can’t be entirely correct, no matter how sure she is, or her disciple is for that matter, because if she was correct then either this tome would be completely unavailable, or the higher machinations would already be in the dustbin of history along with other failed controlling machinations like the Nightmare Cabal and the Discordant Remnants.
The sections after two are about specific goals one has in mind, with sections six and seven being gender specific on the ‘instrument’ or ‘resource’… sick things to call an innocent child. Section four was most intriguing to me because it was about patterns and methods to channel this ‘pure’ magic into service of enhancing the user’s capabilities, such as strength, intelligence, or luck. Section three however, was the most sickening (relatively speaking, just reading the thing makes me worry about my soul) due to it being about methods to capture, subdue, manipulate and harness the ‘instrument’.
In search of truth one must look past the pleasant lies and illusions maintained by the state, accept that there’s a reason why many ponies intentionally choose the illusion, and work on determining if the truths you thought you uncovered aren’t just another layer to the charade. Madam Ostoba, if she was just a tool being used for our collective subjection, would likely just confirm what the book states in order to keep on this potentially false path. In order to be sure… I’ll have to experiment.
Section 1:5
She sits upon the ivory throne and with every breath
Our past sin haunts us and weakens us to the eventual dust,
For she knows that without resistance we accept our death.
In the time since the establishment of the current state
We all have toiled, loved, fought and died;
But my disciple, with this grimoire in your hooves you can take back ye fate.
Journal Entry #0463
I was beginning to enjoy the transitional period between day and night, night and day. Light and darkness, forever switching places in a dance meant to serve them and show to those of us below those spheres how powerful those who ruled over us were.
Not powerful enough to protect her though.
Section 3:12
Disciple, you must’ve learned by now that the darkness is your ally,
The transitional period between the spheres however is best,
The powers that be can’t protect their weakest from being made to comply.
A combination of both perhaps, an area of darkness during the dusk.
Many of the instruments are not yet reigned in, and are not under her eyes.
It’s best to tell them the truth of wanting to help them, to earn their trust.
Although they possess raw power, they are quite incompetent to resist.
Many are trusting; due to the lies and manipulation she spread.
For the few who fight against this honorable service, bluntly and forcibly insist.
Once you have acquired the new resource you’ll take advantage of the encroaching night.
Darting from alley to alley is inadvisable, just act like you found what you were looking for.
Once you finally make it back to your base of operations, it’s time for delight.
☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉
An old bad habit, during times of difficulty I’d write out my issues and stresses to a notebook, or as the guys like to joke ‘my diary’. Regardless, the putting down of thoughts and emotions is an outlet that prevents them from overly clouding the mind during operations.
We don’t have much to go on, some hair from somepony’s coat, a few barely coherent hoof prints, signs of a light struggle, and remnant magical energies, but that’s it. Although we know that we have a filly to save, we don’t have enough to go off on, and the statement issued to us to watch out for ponies with an orangeish coat doesn’t exactly convince us that we’ll find out who did it. Such an event hasn’t happened in years, it’s rare, and it’s not something that we’re proud to know happened while we were supposed to be keeping the ponies of the land safe and secure.
Here’s what I know, the entire affair happened in, at most, five minutes. With the filly initially putting up a struggle before simply being thrown against a wall and being carried off. It might have been more helpful if she was a runner or screamer, but she was a fighter who was too little to put up a competent resistance. The perpetrator then went through the alleyways, and walked out onto Sassafras Street, where multiple ponies did report seeing a pony carrying away a filly, but when pressed for further details the eyewitnesses often didn’t have much in common with their testimonies. One mare blamed her neighbor, citing the fact that she rarely lets her cats out as evidence that she has a gap in her heart that she’d result to filly-napping to fill, while others blamed everything from a stallion in a trench coat to a mare who tricked ponies into letting her go along by apologizing for her ‘daughter’s’ rude behavior. Despite the relative weakness of eyewitness testimony, we know when it happened, and the rough direction they were heading thanks to it. They were heading eastward, towards the mountain and the lower-tier housing, and it was almost nightfall, which indicates that the location of the filly isn’t too far from where she was taken. So we’ve increased our presence in both the local area of the foal-napping and I’ve had the good fortune to have my patrols be moved from the Sparkle case to an area where the guard and other law enforcement officials are seen as threats rather than protectors.
Her parents want to know that she’s safe, but knowing the statistics on the time she’s been missing, it’s unlikely that she’s unharmed; we’ll thank the princesses if she’s in a single piece when we find her. We can’t make any promises to them on their daughter’s safety, but we can hope that a ransom note will eventually come, or that this was just a bad break and we actually are somewhat competent.
I guess there has to be some difficulty, it can’t just be hall monitoring and dragging off crazy stallions that drank too much punch.
☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉
‘Dear Diary’, words which I hear the others say, with an irritating lisp, when I took this thing out to write down my thoughts when I feel too clouded or irrational after another day of frustration and despair at this scenario.
It turns out that what I once thought was something mostly inconsequential, the whole remnant magical energies thing, turns out to have some useful signatures to it that can be pulled out of it by a trained specialist, and I owe Gum Shoe a proper apology for thinking that his job title of ‘Remnant Energies Specialist’ was just something that got him paid more and to justify having an educated unicorn on the staff who knew how to get in easily with the pricks at the various educational establishments.
We now know that we’re looking for a stallion, which narrows down the search a tad, and that he’s mostly untrained in magical technique. This narrows it down to pretty much every unicorn male that isn’t at those previously mentioned educational establishments. I’m impressed that he could get that much from just reading the energies a day after it happened, but most of that information was already inferred from the other pieces of evidence. The more useful thing is that it gave us a signature to compare with previous criminal records, but outside of crimes which have one’s magical signature as a key piece of evidence we rarely keep such things on file, so we’ve narrowed it down to being a perpetrator who has never done a crime before (or at least hasn’t done one which had their magic as a key component), which in this land doesn’t narrow it down much further. On the bright side, if this happens again we’ll be able to tell the parents that we have proof that it was the same perp who cut the Amber filly into bite sized chunks and tossed them into the public playground.
Gum Shoe did state that he would be more than happy to compare and contrast various suspects’ signatures with that of the remnant energies, but the bigger deal in my book is now we can now say we have solid evidence on a fair few traits of our criminal, and it should narrow down who we’re looking for if we put up a public notice.
<<MISSING FILLY>>
Amber Ale
Last seen in the Aurora Dawn neighborhood saying goodbye to her friends
After a long afternoon of playful activities to head home. Her parents ≠End
That she didn’t make it back home, and they began to worry. They co≠ye sins
The local authorities a little after sunset to help look for her. A few trac≠for now
Magical or non-traditional were detected of her or any suspects. ≠you’ve begun
Said that we must stay strong and remain on the lookout for an≠the oh so ‘dark’
Individuals in the area. The royal guard has been contacted≠path to knowledge.
And they state that while such incidents are rare it’s be≠You desired it didn’t you?
At all times, for even rare events do occur. Amber≠The filly is begging and pleading
And currently sans-mark, she responds to ‘Amy’ ≠and yet you know what to do to
Likes things associated with plant life and ≠with her don’t you? Section 6:12, should do.
If you find her, immediately contact th≠Oh so wonderful peasant guard who serve her?
And tell her that her mommy and ≠Daddy? Mommies and daddies only serve them.
Very very very very much. ≠Disciple, you’re still reading this torn piece of paper, get
They miss her and are ≠working hard to liberate the power needed to acquire the truth.
The reward is ≠It’s what you wanted right? Knowledge, truth, and all that… or did you forget?
At address≠Did your path to enlightenment take a turn you didn’t want? Well, everything
Funeral≠has a cost, and in order for you to gain the same enlightenment as I have,
You’ll need to play by my rules disciple, to gain what I have as I have.
Journal Entry #0464
The daisy in her auburn mane, the short breathes she was taking, the flaxen coat moving up and down, in rhythm. She was cute, I’ll admit that much. I won’t admit to desiring her in the ways the higher machinations were, apprehensive towards, but I’d be willing to adopt her if given the opportunity.
The initial meeting was rough, she took a little bit more damage than she had to, but she eventually realized that she was needed to see if what the book said was in any way accurate. It’s always wonderful whenever a young mind is opened, in spite of the current circumstances.
Is the book in anyway true? I can’t just get the materials for experimentation without doing the experiment itself… and I can’t bring myself to do it. If the book is inaccurate, or a fake, then I’ve just fallen into a rather well set-up trap. At my current point, I’d just be jailed, but once I cross the line, it’s all over for my hopes of not being banished in my lifetime. As to where I’d be banished to, it’s almost certain that the state uses the term to refer to a death penalty, and don’t want the public to know that they can engage in the barbaric acts of capital punishment. I don’t want to die, but at this point it seems like that’s the only option I have, and I’m not getting any younger either.
If I’m going to die, I might as well either deserve it or have the tools to fight my fate. It might be easier if she had her mark, but alas nothing seems to be simple, straightforward, and easy these days. They’ve been wondering where Amber went, she’s been wondering when she’s going to go home, and I’m wondering when I’ll finally work up the guts to actually try to get something of an answer.
☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉☉
Speaking of public notices, they’ve actually helped us narrow down the search to a radius of a few blocks. It’s difficult to wonder where the suspect is when the area where they’re most often taken down is roughly where we expected them to head, and with a frequency that exceeds the neighborhood’s notoriety for ignoring or destroying the things. One probably shouldn’t try to prevent the others in the neighborhood from identifying you when said neighborhood never does that anyways, at most it bought him a day or two, but more likely his actions just cost him a solid week of us narrowing down things. Less time for him to do whatever he was going to do with her (or more likely, he’s already done it or is still using her). Although I am content that we’re slightly less likely to come across a cum-filled corpse which will have to be thoroughly cleaned before we even think we could present it back to the family.
The rumor is that they’ve already started to plan out for the worst, a bit of a pessimistic bunch if you ask me. Granted, they’re probably smart in doing so, but normally parents and family are infamously irrational in these sorts of affairs. Gum Shoe stated that he’s open to doing a door by door search, and would like some guards to assist with the manner, I did happen to get volunteered for the operation, but I would’ve done it of my free will regardless.
Whomever did this is going to pay, provided that it isn’t just a punk who is tearing down public notices around his house due to her recently reading some anti-governmental material. Who knows, maybe we might inadvertently stop other crimes while in search for the specific one.
Journal Entry #0465
Today, I’ve done it.
It had took me all my strenght, and to set aside my repulsion. But I’ve finally put in practice what the book said, gone against higher machinations with some success, even if it was in a way I’d never guessed I was going to go.
I need, for the duty of chronicling, write down the events that happened today, in all their glory and horror.
After waking up the “borrowed” filly and Ma’am Ostoba’s little colt, they were getting something in their stomach for breakfast in Madam Ostoba and mine presence. While the colt ate his oatmeal slowly and evident lack of liking in it, the filly was faster and had put some milk and cinnamon atop of the mush to give it something resembling taste. At the offer of having some of… that fudge, I declined, opting for just coffee and bread (even if stale) instead.
While I ate in company with the two soon-to-be instruments for channeling, I could not help but look at them and think. Think about what it meant to try to fight the unseen controllersof the system with actions that I wasn’t sure if they were wrong because they were dictated by common morality or because of the propaganda imprinted in the mind of most. I even questioned if what Madam Ostoba and the book were saying was actually true and not an elaborate ruse to trap me, or a dangerous dead end. I wasn’t sure what to do… not that I do now, all thigns considered, but I’m directed now.
Anyways, after some thought, some bites on my lips, and some moral qualms begin silenced, I gathered my courage, and, not without stuttering and timor, asked to try to use the ‘instruments’ for the first time.
She got almost too glad in answering me.
She said that ‘as soon as my cup was empty,’ we were going to ‘meet the playmates closely...’
When my cup of coffee had only the small pulverized leftovers of the beverage on the bottom and my bread has been eaten thought, she brought it all back in the kitchen, along with the empty bowls that the two young ones had used for their breakfast. This done, she wheeled her wheelchair along, telling me to follow her in the ‘playroom’ where her son and the auburn-colored filly could properly be used, or, as she preferred to call it, in a sick show of humor, play.
The walk in the maze-like hallways was faster than all the previous ones I had. Understandable, as I was extremely nervous and divided… almost devoured by doubt. But I guess that’s how it goes in this kind of things.
We reached that wretched study again, and, this time, she took a box, one that I had never noticed before, from under the chair where I sat the first time I came inside. When the top was removed, I could see a dark red gruel contained in an opened tin, along with several condoms, whose future use in the context was, sadly, predictable.
She told to her son to get his training pants off and lie down, and told likewise to the filly. Neither of them protested that order. Then Ma’am Ostoba dipped her hoof in the gruel, before asking to me which power I’d wished to boost at the time, and, as I much I felt that improve my vision was tempting, I decided to settle on improve my strength temporarily, as I feared about the idea that it meant to put my dick in the eyesockets of either of them.
She told me to sit down and let ‘mommy take care of your willy.’ I’d be lying, if I didn’t say that feeling her hoof painting two couples of stylized legs bucking something on my crotch with the dark red gruel didn’t arose me, but, as soon as I saw her paint up ten thunderbolts around the filly’s untouched privates and a smaller version of the legs painted on my crotch, I felt guilty in popping it.
Then again...
Madam Ostoba told to his son in a sickeningly sweet voice to ‘get up and put that cute lil’ penis in there,” and the colt, to much of my surprise, gulped and went near her, as the filly looked confused at both the colt, who was smaller than her, and at the colt’s mother, who was smiling. The colt suddenly touched the top of his sheath, making his naturally-small penis erect and ready for penetrate and deflower the older filly. The filly gasped when the colt had put it inside her vagina, but, once the colt had started to desperately push harder and more inside, she started to moan slightly, asking what was going on and why was she feeling funny down there. I was almost going to answer, but I couldn't, as I had noticed that the signs painted on the two small children's crothes had started to glow weakly of a purplish light. I didn’t recognize it, but, by the look of it, it wasn’t a good sign.
All of sudden, the filly let out a long, stretched-out musical note, clearly a sign she had reached orgasm. When that was done, the gruel fell off little Ostoba’s coat, turning into a very fine ash, while the painted thunderbolts on the filly's lower areas turned purple. At this point, Madam Ostoba told me and the filly to wait for her to ‘take the game rules book out’ and ‘read the rules to us ’.
The steps for boost your strength, according to the De Pederastia, were to make the child (or, as it is called inside that book, ‘ instrument’ ) tickle your testicles, then lick them, just before giving it a couple of stroke, then make the child give a mouthjob.
Madam Ostoba read out loud the first instruction, and I lied down, so to allow the filly to reach my family jewels easily. But Madam Ostoba said that I had to stand up for this. I got up, and let the filly tickle me. My chuckles were on-par with my growing desire to have sex… but with a wench, not with a young filly. Then Madam Ostoba read out loud the second part, and the filly reluctantly agreed, and, as her tongue passed on my balls, I felt my desire growing, until it broke the threshold where I could discern not-right from right, now just wishing for somepony to screw me, moaning loudly and almost salivating. I went in full-on salivation as soon as the filly stroke my penis, whispering something unintelligible, likely something about the works of adult male anatomy, especially my likely-oozing semen. I suddenly felt my penis engulfed by something, and I realized that now the filly was holding my penis in her mouth… and that she was sucking. I started to grunt, moan, yelling out phrases of lustful pleasure, until I came in her mouth.
I came. In her mouth. Cumming, in a filly’s mouth.
Anyways, when the filly detached herself from me, she commented on the taste of my semen, commenting it was ‘yucky’ and that ‘she didn’t want to ‘put anymore boy’s parts in her mouth.’ Madam Ostoba sighed, and asked her if she had liked something else… and she said that the ‘colt putting her parts in my vagina’ part was enjoyable.
I honestly don’t know anymore.
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Finally we got somewhere, after days and days of waiting. We had got a where and a likely whom. We discovered was actually Screwy Words, that conspiracy theorist guy that had caused a lot of petty crimes in the National Gallery and in the Council of Nobles, that had kidnapped the filly. We also discovered, to much of everpony’s surprise and horror, that an honorable veteran, Arma Smussata, was the commissioner of the kidnapping and, apparently, the main “user” of these foals. The filly showed some damage… down there, and her legs showed signs of wounds caused by chain tied too tightly. I prefer not to think WHAT she had to go through, but I’d rather not think too hard about it, as the idea make me almost want to puke. But at least she’s alive and that her parents will get her back, albeit very changed.
Journal Entry #0466
IT WORKED!
Granted, the whole horrid affair was something that I never wanted to do, but I guess there is something up there looking out for me. Now, if I were to find another place to keep investigating, that would be nice, as Ma’am Ostoba is now behind the bars, the gruel’s can has been destroyed on the spot, and the book narrowly avoided destruction only because I had put it in my bag just before leaving for a coffee.
But at least the state and the higher machinations failed to catch me while I tried one of the many methods to try to subvert them. Sure, the system for fight them wasn’t the most moral or cleanest, but it could have worked, given it more time and material to experiment on. But I can say I coudl be in a worse state than I am now.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Oh, yes, Fillydelphia is a good idea. Cheap ticket, big city, and a dissolute hellhole where I could get material, just as long I spoke to the right dealers of it. Now, I could check at the end of the De Pederastia for look for any name of an ancient family of sellers. Who knows if they went back to that business.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
No such luck. Found this poem written on tear-stined paper instead:
Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque,
et quantum est equorum venustiorum.
Filiolus mortuus est meae aulae,
nam mellitus erat meumque norat
ipsem tam bene quam puer patrem,
nec sese a gremio meus movebat,
sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc
ad solam dominum usque pipiabat
et bellus et tener corpus dabat ad me.
Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum
illuc, unde negant redire quemquam.
At vobis male sit, malae tenebrae
Orci, ac maleficae plagae
quae omnia bella devoratis;
tam bellum mihi filiolum abstulistis.
O factum male! O miselle filius!
Tua nunc opera me flendo rubent ocis.
Et, pro suam memoriam, omnes pueri,
qui mecum remanere et teneri corpi dabat,
libertate et domi concessum est e mea delibratio.
This poem… I’ve got no translation for it. It doesn’t look like anything written before. It deosn’t look like a closure page… it doesn’t look like anything!
I must find a translator of Old Litalian, as it would reveal what the author meant to say in the poem...
⏆⏆⏆⏆CANTERLOT BI-WEEKLY⏆⏆⏆⏆
She’s Safe!
By: Injected Ink
Editor: Winter Quill of Terrificato.
CANTERLOT PAGE ONE: Young Amber Ale was successfully recovered by the proud members of the Royal Guard from unspeakable crimes (Adults, please turn to page 8 and cover your foal’s eyes, information to keep them safe is contained in a pamphlet within) in an old veteran’s house.
Miss Ale is being cared for at Canterlot General Hospital, and is expected to make a full physical recovery within a week. As per psychological recovery, we may never know, our only hope begin she won’t get involved in scriptures about this subjects with unusual types later in life.
Her parents are happy to be reunited with their daughter in one piece, and are being given full support of the government and Princesses to outlast these chaotic times. Princess Celestia also seems strongly invested in the subject, but, besides a statement of support towards the filly’s family, no reasons have been given.
⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆⏆
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
Haven’t seen Screwy Words in a while, normally that’s just due to him being Screwy. However, when I normally don’t interact with the stallion for a period of time it’s more due to him being off on a hare-brained scheme that causes some minor kerfuffle with the nobility or the guard. I don’t usually suspect what happened today, or really ever suspect the guard to bust in with a warrant for Screw’s arrest. Well, that was the pretext at least, I’ve never seen a group of stallions rip and tear apart an office with that much ferocity since the time the exterminators handled Ink Press’s pet parasprites.
Poor mare never did manage to appreciate the cat we got her to make up for it.
Anyways, this isn’t good. We sent him on something simple, straightforward, and easy…. and he somehow manages to turn a low-tier investigation of foals barely past toilet training, if that, to something that lead to our offices being considered a crime scene. Not like last time when we were considered ‘sedationist’, no, he did something that we can’t make up excuses or talk out of, despite us not knowing a damn thing after the whole ‘Yeah there’s something up gals” filler he sent us. Bucking twit.
There are a total of three things that could’ve caused this, he either discovered something big, did something that will put him away for the rest of his life, or he finally managed to try to take out the diarchy for a so-called ‘Republic’. My bet is on the second, personally, although we always expected it to involve gunpowder, glue, and a parrot, not small children. Then again he could’ve used the small children as glue.
I figure the less I know the better. I want to remember the stallion which pushed boundaries and got results, mixed ones sure, but results. The Inquirer lived with him, and died with his actions, whatever they were. I guess it’s best that we close a chapter on a failed newspaper with a failed stallion.
Juice Reviews will be a bit bitter now, but it we’ll dedicate in memory of whomever he hurt.
