Author's Notes:

So here is the sequel of These New Days making it the fifth installment of the Changing States of Knight series! I'd like to thank everyone that has followed so far, and to those that have supported me recently. You're positivity and critiques have made this whole thing so freaking awesome !

It starts with To See Both Faces. I cannot stress how important it is to read this in order to understand the world this is set in, but to summerise: anthro ponies are tastefully nudists unless specifically stated otherwise. No rude or explicit material will be described in this story.

As always, please like if you favourite and please leave a comment. They fuel my mind and soul and will sustain me this winter, and all criticisms help me improve further. Enjoy!

Ser Vincent followed after Zecora along a clearing beneath the haunting canopy of the Everfree. Her staff thumped the earth with every hoofstep, her traditional shaman wrappings jingling with rings. His boots crossed gnarled roots and his gloves pushed aside the hanging, gangly vines. He felt a bulb between the fingers and snagged it, putting it in a plastic bag and then into the gathering satchel hanging by his side.

“So what are they for?” Apple Bloom asked from beside him. Her inquisitive eyes moved to the limp vines hanging around as he turned his mask down to her.

“Nothing too special. Samples from the Everfree are always welcome in the Royal Alchemy Society back in Canterlot,” Vincent said with a shrug, keeping an eye on the undergrowth deeper in the forest. He remembered the timber wolves.

“Is that like a super alchemy club?” she inquired with a smile. “Are you in it?”

Vincent bobbed his head from side to side, raising a hand with a gesture of shaky balance. “I guess. I’m an honorary member; good enough to be a part of it, but something prevents me from officially joining.” He shrugged. “I get some privileges but I’ve proved I’m just as good as their best. So I’m an external consultant, running tests, collecting herbs if I can, etc.”

Heck, as it stood currently, he was the best at his field of transmogrification.

“Wow!” She leapt into the air, snatching a vine in a three-digited pony hand and then a bulb. The stretched plant slung back on release. She presented it to the knight. “How’d you get in then?”

He took the bulb and stored it away, “That’s a secret.” He gave her ear a gentle flick, his voice warming with mirth at her small pout, “Can’t make it too easy or else it won’t be that special, will it, Little Miss?”

“Please! I won’t tell anypony!” she persisted to no avail. His blank masquerade offered no sign of weakness, especially since he wasn’t even looking her way.

“Are we far, Miss Zecora?” Vincent said after noting the zebra’s wry smirk when she looked back over her shoulder.

“We are but moments away, Ser Knight,” she said as she moved a shrub from the path with her staff, “The mischievous plant is within our sight.”

‘Good, I’m absolutely tired after last night’s mission. And why must every guide remain fifteen minutes or so away from anything, regardless of how far we’ve traveled towards it, or from when I last inquire?’

He stepped beside her. Like a spill of blue ink the poison joke blossomed in bright contrast to the greenery surrounding it. Star shaped and with dark petals, the flowers had spread here, the illusion of an azure wild fire completed by their eerie, subtle sway. It pooled out and deeper into the forest, a thin safety trail visible.

He’d seen these plants out in the wilds, incredibly uncommon at best and he’d hardly had time to study them. Ser Vincent knew that nopony really wanted to go near these things, even most researchers were reluctant. Far too troublesome, or so they said. ‘Well, Nopony was going to now, won’t I?’

Ser Vincent looked down to Zecora by his side as she rested on her staff. “J’ckinal, Shanagin Zecora” he said with complimenting, gratuitous head bow.

She beamed a smile in return. “Dytana, dytana.” She then raised and waggled a finger before him, “That I am a shaman is very much true, but please, my masked friend, Zecora will do.”

“Very well,” he said, voice flattening with deadpan as he looked back to Apple Bloom, “ I suppose you want me to stop calling you ‘Little Miss’, too?”

“Nah!” she replied waving him off and grinning, “I kinda like it!” She grew concerned as she watched him migrate to the edge of the poison joke before crouching down, carefully digging around the roots. “You sure it’s safe for you to do that?” She edged closer but kept behind the knight.

These blue plants were as tall as her thighs and a single petal brushing her fur would cause her to fall victim to their nefarious pranks. Hence why she remained beyond their reach whilst she was unclothed. Yet, there he was, kneeling and hunching low enough to shoulder the flowers out the way.

“Don’t worry, Apple Bloom, I’m perfectly fine.” He raised a free arm after adding a poison joke to his bag, looking back to her. “All these layers aren’t just for show, how about that?” He threw out a chuckle, not that he found it particularly funny but it did the job of placating her.

Zecora rested on her staff, ear twitching with the flight of passing birds. “A bountiful harvest of humorous magic, is your research worth an ending comedic yet tragic?” she asked, eyeing other magical plants that she could see.

“Oh, I’ll get to the others in due time, Zecora,” he replied, seizing another that had half developed. “I’ll be quite the frequent visitor for, let’s see…” He paused to look up from where he crouched, scanning the area and pointing at strange plants respectively, “Dragon teeth, gator scales, virutiants…”

“What about this?” Apple Bloom asked from behind the knight. He turned and almost got a mask full of flower. Almost.

“Gah!” He quickly scrambled back, trampling a trail further into the pool of poison joke as he evaded her offering.

“What?” Apple Bloom asked, looking to the silver and pink plant in her hand. It resembled a pink and purple rose but with four fuzzy, silver anthers poking out the centre. She dropped it, her heart starting to race as panic took hold. “What was it?!” she looked to Zecora who swiftly knelt beside the child, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Easy dear Apple Bloom, this flower will not spell your doom.” Zecora then noticed the foals quickened breathing. “You may feel the urge to run, jump, or flee; silver rush excites the heart of a pony.”

Apple Bloom took notice of her heart attempting to bash out of her chest, her ears falling flat and tail going limp. “W-what’s g-going on, guys?”

“Silver rush disperses pollen that results in ponies feeling more energetic,” Ser Vincent explained for the child from where he sat on his bottom amidst the poison joke, like a mountainous island amidst a sea of blue. He offered a hand as if it held the explanation. “Its pollen is good for smelling salts, a stimulant for the heart, and some medicines. However it can easily get caught in the throat and possibly the lungs but don't worry; it won’t hurt you. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t feel fine!” The young farmer began hopping from hoof to hoof, rapidly glancing back and forth between the two. “Then why’d did you jump back like that?” she said with an accusatory point of the finger.

Zecora added to her comment with a quirked brow, “Your knowledge of the plant seems well versed, but I’m quite curious about why you reversed.”

“Let’s say its effects are stronger on me,” he answered, climbing back onto his feet, “It irritates the throats and snouts of animals, dispersing and further spreading pollen through coughs and sneezes. Typically, this is its secondary method of pollen dispersal as--" He cut himself off, saving that lecture for the worried foal for when she was interested another time. "Whereas the pollen dies in your throat it lingers in mine much longer and in its raw state can trigger my abilities.”

Oh, he remembered this plant. He was the first human in Equestria and the first human with magic. ‘But of course I couldn’t use it like a unicorn.’ The bitter truth was that he shouldn’t have his magic and when it was discovered that he possessed it, tests were needed to understand this strange, powerful development.

He was examined in a manner that was clinical and wasn’t invasive. It was like any other trip to the hospital he supposed, well for what was essentially an alien child that was different from his parents, though usually he wasn’t huffing a refined gas made from this stuff before running on a treadmill as fast as he could…

Looking back on it he could only be thankful that he was allowed to stop when he wanted to, or skip trips entirely. It was scary at first but he’d hate the thought of not controlling this broken part of him; the examinations helped him understand himself more and more, about what he really was… something rare growing up.

But, as it stood, continuously inhaling something that sustained an heightened physical and mental state for hours could be detrimental to his health. The medical version given to him was safe, drastically diluted and harmless compared to encounters in the wild; he’d fallen into a bed of silver rush once in his career and it was a horrible experience. The mana burnout nearly left him slipping in an out of consciousness for two weeks and he still struggled to remembered what happened after. At least the report on the matter mentioned that he'd finished his mission first.

“S-so what happens to me now?” Apple Bloom asked, still hopping from hoof to hoof.

“I think we shall put this harvest to rest. Calming you down might be for the best,” Zecora said. She nodded away from the poison joke, a comforting smile forming. “Perhaps you’ll find wisdom in this lesson, my friend. Snatching bright plants can lead to a terrible end.” She patted Apple Bloom’s pink bow before leaning back onto her staff. “Fret not, child, your spirit I will not crush. What you experience is – how you say – a sugar rush.”

“Pretty much, Little Miss.” Vincent added, batting away a blue petal caught in the breeze. In actuality she was feeling a antsy sense energy, the kind associated to the young paranoia that made one sprint across the landing, back into bed, after turning off the bathroom light. Just in case ghosts did exist. “It’ll wear off soon enough.”

With Apple Bloom feeling somewhat reassured, not completely however, they all departed.

Vincent shook his unconcealed head to rid himself of the fatigue.

He was in his lab, sat by the workbench spanning the wall, several glowing vials holstered in test tube racks on either side of him. His armour was in his bedroom and he sported an old fitness shirt that felt tight around the abdomen. His hair was growing out, appearing to have never known the touch of a comb in years; he’d have to get it cut soon.

Though he was sporting latex gloves fit for humans – not cheap to purchase considering that these were made for human hands not ponies – he was not using potions that would stain or cause severe damage to his skin. Unless he was daft enough to not wash up properly after himself anyhow.

His copper stubble itched but he ignored the urge scratch with honed discipline. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked to several emptied small hourglasses and running stop watches and then sighed.

“Missed all the testing marks…” he mumbled, halting a stopwatch with a vindictive click. Wasted chemicals were the mark of a poor alchemist. Well, at least the other full vials further along the bench were still bubbling away. The cork caps were punctured by tubes that fed gasses into a neat network of coiling pipes and beakers, silver and golden fluids soon dripping into a boiling tray a the bottom where a new batch of his special bandages soaked in a gently heated green liquid. Glowing seeds of blue were seen floating along the bubbly surface. If he simply left the tray heater on then it would be safe to let things run until morning; Blueblood had purchased several upgrades for the lab during the pharmacy's renovation.

Inside each of the tubes were different pieces of posion joke anatomy, from the flower down to the root, each aspects separate further and further. Primary roots, lateral roots, axillary buds, apical buds, ovaries, sepals, pistils, and even stigmas; the dissected pieces were all being tested by universal magical indicator that changed to a specific colour depending on the arcane nature of the plants pieces. There were far better indicators but that required one to know what type of magic you were looking for, and even within that field, the time it took for the colour to first appear would help provide for greater accuracy.

The fact that he awoke from his micro nap to find the plethora of rainbow neon tubes before him had rendered this test useless and had cost him six plants in total, at different stages of growth. All though it meant the plant could wield all manner of magic, it did not specify sub-categories, in turn, he could not deduce what methods were needed to extract such magics.

Vincent grunted before peeling off his gloves in a manner to avoid his bare fingers touching the outside. He tossed them into a hazard bin before sliding to the other side of the room on his seat. The knight arrived at the other work bench, a larger one with a few selected tomes open to his right, several dissected poison joke flowers to his left and an open book before him. Many blue petals had become strewn across the work bench.

His mask hung in front of him from a nail he had imbedded into the chemical cabinet door suspended on the wall. It watched with stoic interest as Vincent drew a rudimentary sketch of poison joke’s flower at full bloom to accommodate the other illustrated pages of this plant. Sure he’d found pictures already but with this being a hardly studied plant there was little detail in the nature of the plant.

Bzzzzz!

Startled the knight swiftly acted on rooted reflex, one hand flattening to table as another reached for the mask. At the same time he spun around, panic setting at the expectation of seeing someone at the door to his room—

He wasn’t in Canterlot castle. He wasn’t in his old room. He was in a new lab that still had the front door buzzer connected to it so that the old pharmacist would know when guests had arrived. He sighed heavily, a large smile quickly forming as he began to fit the mask onto his head. ‘Rather silly of me, wasn’t it?’

Further buzzing eroded his sense of bashful mirth as he descended the stairs, his shin-plated boots hammering with each step. “Hold your horse for one moment if you please!” he called to the door as he sought out his long coat, the one with the embroidery on the right shoulder. The room was lit by several electric lamps as he preferred keep the blinds closed.

“Take your time, big fella!”

Miss Applejack was calling, late this evening? ‘Oh joy, what is it now with this town?’ He rolled his malachite eyes. He then pulled up the cloth he kept around his neck before popping up his timber hood, to which he then realised he’d been without his gloves this whole time.

Quickly he searched his pockets, rummaging deep into his outer ones before finding them in his breast pocket. Soon enough, he opened the door wearing his pony-gloves.

Miss Applejack stood before him, a chipper grin as tired but as bright as the setting sun behind her. She raised her hat as she looked up to him (though given she was the tallest of his only visitors it wasn’t too far).

“Well, howdy, Ser Vincent!” she greeted.

“Miss Applejack,” he returned with a cordial nod of the head, “Is there something I can help you with?”

She opened her mouth, eyes scanning the new variation to the knight: the shirt. “As a matter of fact-“She abruptly stopped for a moment at around his gut.

He looked down with minor interest, seeing the only noticeable difference being the lack of his potion belt. He looked back to her a titled stare, “Is something-“

“Nothin’!” she blurted, eyes looking elsewhere. She coughed into her fist before continuing but he noted the slight wilt of the ears. “Say, I know it’s not really your thing, but d’ya think you can help around the farm for tomorrow.” Quickly she raised her hands, ears perking up. “If you’re not busy of course!”

“Shorthanded for the next harvest?”

“Well, it’s just that Rainbow and Fluttershy are heading out for their relay try-outs tomorrow and I’ve been trying to get some extra hands, even been making sure the loads gonna be light.” She offered a sweet, freckled smile, emerald eyes shimmering desperately. “’Course, if I can’t find help then I can’t go, and at the same time I know you might need to be called out… but if you can, we need a set of dependable strong arms.”

He recalled Princess Twilight informing him that she would be attending, as ‘Twilight Sparkle’, not as a princess, therefore he wouldn’t be needed. He really regretted accepting that agreement the other week; he’d intended for it to count only in Ponyville. Alas, she had spoken with verbal fine print and technicalities.

He folded his arms and leant into the door frame, appearing to look away due to the mask but he kept her in his field of hidden view. As a human not being enhanced by his magic, he was on par with a fairly developed earth pony. Without it, as a human in peak form and physique going against an earth pony in its prime… he was the inferior organism. Fortunately strength wasn’t his only trait and most weren’t hitting the gym regularly, but the fact remained all the same. He'd swear he'd be the worlds first half-pegasus-half-earthpony if he was a pony, forever stuck to never reach the full potential of either.

“So who will I be working with?” he asked with a tilt of the mask. He lightly tapped a gloved finger against his arm as he spoke, “I assume, as skilled as you are, you don’t work alone. Despite you physique.”

“Oh, well, there’s gonna be an extra hand or two, but my brother’s a guarantee.” She rested her hand on her hip, the other flicking her Stetson up. “And maybe a small bushel of apples as a reward to boot.”

She didn’t need to tempt him so but he wasn’t going to decline either. He regularly bought apples as a part of his diet, so why not remove that from his weekly costs? He hummed, bringing a gloved hand to rub the chin of his mask.

“What jobs will I be doing?” he inquired.

“Just a bit of heavy lifting and cart loading, maybe a bit of apple bucking if need be.” Her straw tail whipped as an errant thought crossed her mind. “Um, can you apple buck?” After he silently rolled a hand she got the message. “Can you kick a tree hard enough to shake a couple of apples out?” She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, an expression of unease taking her as she maintained eye-contact. “I’m only asking ‘cause you’re, well, you’re not a pony.”

“Miss Applejack!” he began with obvious, faux shock to his voice, “Are you discriminating against me for what I am?” He meekly brought his hand to his heart and felt his cheeks pull the corner of his mouth.

She smiled, a brow cocked as she let loose a cute snigger. “Just making sure you can do the job, Ser knight.”

“Sadly, no, I can’t kick apples out the tree. You’ll find my legs aren’t nearly long enough.” He let her chuckle warmly before offering a shrug. “I can probably assist with the heavy lifting. I’ll stay as long as I’m able, Applejack,” he conceded with an exaggerated nod. “You’ll understand if a mission comes up then my priorities will lie with it but I might last the whole day.”

She only nodded in kind, with great enthusiasm as she reached for his hand. Her smile dropped as she recoiled, remembering who she was dealing with. “Ah, well, that’d be just better than two zap apples harvests!” She held her hands behind her back. “See you bright and early Ser Knight!”

She stepped back as the knight stood up straight, only stopping when he offered a hand.

“I’ll see you in the morn, if not, then upon your return.”

She grinned and seized his hand. She gave a friendly shake as she felt his grip tighten in kind, solidifying the gesture. “Mighty kind of you, Vinny, mighty kind.”

“Be sure to give Applebloom my regards, I suspect that she’s fine by now,” he said with sincere concern in his voice as he quickly put his hand by his side. “And best wishes to Rainbow and Fluttershy, of course.”

“She is, just a bit shook up but Zecora tells me she’ll be right as rain soon.” She turned to leave, waving. “I’ll pass the message onto the girls. Bye for now!”

He waited. He waved with his hand, the one that hadn’t been snared in what felt like the jaws of a hydra. He then returned to his abode, flexing the ache out of his crushed hand. ‘Do these apples put up a fight before she harvests them?!’ Quickly he removed the glove, freeing his fingers and thumb and letting them curl and flex.

He yawned, becoming painfully aware of how tired he was. That was enough excitement for the rest of the evening. He sluggishly walked upstairs, his head quickly clouding by the time he had finished cleaning up the lab. He could take off his mask, his other pony-glove, and even the coat but… the bed was across the hall and waiting.

He fell onto the king-sized bed, a size that always felt big for extravagance sake. He’d only ever needed a single bed. This wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep in his attire, but typically it was on a train back from a painful, exhausting mission or at the very least he was wearing his reinforced chain-mail chest piece.

With a long exhale he folded his arms on his chest and closed his eye beneath hood and mask. He squeezed his gloved hand, feeling its warmth and security. He flexed his exposed fingers, feeling the cool soothing air run over his knuckles.

Alas, had he checked his long coat pocket before he plunged his right hand into it he would have found a blue petal. And had he checked his fingers, he would have found the sliver of poison joke caught under his fingernail.

The morning was harsh and hazy and the sun wasn’t even up. Ser Vincent’s head didn’t hurt, per se, in fact, whatever discomfort that throbbed across his body felt more of an itch than blistering pain. He traversed the halls rubbing against his coat or pants helped soothe the sensation. It came and went and came back enough for him not to mind.

He reached the bathroom and let the sink run with steaming water. He yawned, the soft baritone rumbling within the mask as he kept his three-digited gloved-hand on the tap. He blinked once, twice, thrice, and the sink was nearly overflowing.

He quickly stopped the water flow and looked into the mirror of his toiletries cabinet. He couldn’t see much with it having steamed over and so he wiped it with his hand—

And found a grey stallion staring back.

Surprised, he jerked his head back. He blinked and rubbed his eyes until the world look crystal clear again. It was just his mask! He released an amused sigh, chuckling to himself as he reached up to remove his hood.

‘By the Fates, it’s been a while since I’ve dreamt of that.’ He grunted when it wouldn’t move.

“What?”

Vincent struggled to peel back the hood and strained when he dared exert himself. He tried to run his hand between the brow of his mask and the lip of the timber hood, finding his fingers not only were halted by a sealed crease but that he actually felt his bare hand touch the metal of the mask. As if he were touching his own skin.

“What…” he traced the snout, feeling not only the edges but also the trepidation of a finger trailing the outline. Disturbed by the development, he reached for the bottom of his shirt but found that too was sealed to his belt-less pants and that pulling the fabric felt like a dull pinch.

He could lift the lapels of his coat but couldn’t remove his coat. He could roll back the sleeves of his right arm a little but it was firmly melded with the skin of his exposed wrist. His right hand was very much human but he couldn’t even remove his left glove nor could he wriggle the pairs of fingers that filled it. He stepped onto a towel and it startled him; he felt the cotton under his boot!

Then, Ser Vincent felt a twitch and stopped his self-study. He paused, mild horror in his heart as something twitched again. He shifted his hips and turned, putting his back to the mirror and looking back into it.

His false tail, his short, brown, trimmed mop head for a pony tail… was now flicking from side to side whenever he thought hard enough.

“What!?” he barked, without a mouth, in terror.