“Lyra, stop, you've been driving me up the wall with this!” yelled Bon Bon from upstairs. The cottage had been home to a large debate over the existence of humans or merely whether or not her friend had any sanity left.

“First you practically wailed all night long when I let you watch the season finally,” Bon Bon replied; Lyra glared at the top step, focusing all her rage, “Did you ever find out why your horn didn't stop glowing?”

“Well, no, but-“

“And then you start claiming that you’re seeing fictional characters in the street.”

“Bon Bon,” moaned the mint unicorn from the bottom of the stairs. “I’m telling you, I almost caught Frank!” She scowled at the bottom step. “Then he slipped through my hooves, using that quick wit of his,” she muttered as she kicked the step. She winced and regretted the action, before gazing back up stairs.

“Look, beside the fact that you think you chased a cartoon character around Ponyville without waking anypony, there are so many things wrong with that story.” Finally, a cream earth pony appeared at the top of the stairs. “Number one: you say you saw Princess Luna there, if you recall her whisper can rip Carrot Top’s carrots out of the ground. I think we would all be aware if she turned up in Ponyville.”

She began her descent, her hooves gently slapping with each step. “Secondly, you said he managed to steal Pinkie Pie’s balloon and somehow teleport in a burst of flames. You never said humans could use magic.”

“Okay, that was because he used Spike to send himself away. Probably to the Princess now that I think about it, that’s where Twilight says the letter goes to,” Lyra replied, before an enlightened expression consumed her face. “I’VE GOT IT!” she screeched, bouncing around the living room with her hooves clopping.

“Oh for Celestia’s sake.” Bon Bon groaned, reaching the bottom.

“The humans were meant to go to the Princesses because they’re real and are visiting Equestria,” Lyra said, hopping over the coffee table. “Everypony knows Luna is a humare so it makes sense she would escort them!” She stopped bouncing around and smiled at her roommate. “But then there was the whole Brony incident and the humans had to scatter,” she added, darting behind the couch. Her head popped out enough for her eyes to discretely scout the room; her tactic would have been effective had it not been for the horn shooting out of her head.

“So it took even longer for her to find them. Then I found Frank and chased him around, he must have known about Spike’s messenger flame so he used that against me and teleported himself to Celestia!” She wound up landing directly in front of her friend.

Other than the deep breathing of Lyra, the room was completely silent. Bon Bon studied her friend, spying the large grin. She rolled her eyes and looked as if she was going to speak. Suddenly, the sound of a cuckoo clock startled her, but not the mint mare. She regained her breath, looking at the clock above the TV. She noted the time and began to head towards the kitchen.

“Lyra, it’s ten in the morning and I’ve got to go to work in half an hour,” she said looking back to a bewildered mare. “Can I at least have half an hour without your usual antics?” Lyra grumbled in response, before glancing at the clock as well.

“Oh hey! The library should be open by now.” The aqua equine turned and headed for the door, spinning her head around to see the cream mare routing through the upper cabinets. “See you later Bon Bon, just going to get my book back off Twilight.”

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Shadowman writhed in agony, the soft voice of his captor hushing him as the wooden utensil dug further in. The cook’s tranquil state rivaled the dark, blooded, cellar room; many of the previously used sharp tools reflected a crimson smear from the single, flickering light.

“Shhh,” the behemoth spoke, cradling the mangled head of his friend or, in light of recent events, the package the ingredients came in. The quivering wreck, a former shadow, still tried to fight the brute’s strength, but to no avail. His arms bled as they remained chained to the ceiling, which rattled with every pathetic groan.

Splinter… had wriggled itself to the back of his eyeball.

“Thanks for doing this for me, Shadow. I’m glad we put our encounter behind us; still hard to believe you wanted to kill the Prince,” Hank chuckled, prying the eye out. A single cry oozed out of Shadowman’s mouth, as did a waterfall of scarlet. “Not a lot of people try out my more experimental cooking.” Blood, sweat, and tears merged into a vile concoction of pain and suffering as the droplets pooled around a fallen pair of shades.

The titan gazed over to a stained bowl, filled with a few fingers and parts of the assassin’s calves. With a sickening snap, he ripped the optic organ from his friend’s skull and threw it into the bowl, landing right next to a tongue.

“Oh, but you’re gonna love what I’m gonna do next; I feel like breaking out an old family recipe,” Hank chirped, stepping back from his hanging companion. Or rather, what was left of the naked carcass. The rhythmic rising of the chest ensured the chef that he still had time to finish his catering before having to move onto the deserts.

Sharpening a knife he plucked from a sink, the polluted water appearing to be some form of cardinal oil spill, he walked back towards the meat sack and spun him around.

“I think a few steak and kidney pies would tie over with the nobles, but hey, fuck ‘em if they don’t eat them. I can have whatever they can’t stomach.”

Another piercing scream…

Shadow couldn't stomach any more. In a fit of silent disgust he launched the book at the wall, followed quickly by a small throwing knife. The book remained pinned to the wall, hanging by the hardback title page.

Frank, too say the least, was shocked. His jaw dropped as he glanced between the phantom clutching his head and the defenceless short story affixed to the wall.

“Hey!” he yelled, catching Shadow’s attention, “Do NOT simply damage books like that you fiend!” he scolded, pointing at the ruined publication in question.

Shadowman shook his head as he walked over, before tearing the book from the wall. In one hand he held the meat of the story, in the other he had the title cover. Before Frank could explode, he tossed both halves on the table in front of him. After pointing from the cover to the tome Frank had been reading, the genius put two and two together and began looking it up. After muttering the title whilst skimming through the pages he can came to a stop.

“Ah, the ‘Royal Buffet’, by Trixie Lulamoon. She sounds kinky,” he commented, looking up to the neutral stare of Shadowman. Even with his shades on, despite the emotionless mask, Frank could tell he wasn’t all too impressed by the way he folded his arms.

“Lighten up,” he said, slightly disgruntled, “what’s the matter… oh. OH!” he said, his eyes widening as he registered the text in front of him. Every so often, he would give his team mate a worried look, sometimes one of sheer terror.

“Is this what you… well, is this what made you... unstable?” Frank struggled to get his words out, the revelation of this occurrence was tremendous; both explaining a long forgotten portion of Shadowman’s past and yet obscuring the truth with even more questions.

“Is this story, word for word, exactly what… you know.”

Shadowman sighed, gingerly nodding his head.

“Does this story best describe what happened?”

Again, another nod of the head.

“Do you mind if I read it?”

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Twilight rolled over in her sleep, avoiding the sun’s rays. It was a scheduled event, sleeping in a little longer than usual, and merely happened once every two months.

Not for long though, she did have studying to do after all. Then again a few dreams were sometimes worth the few seconds that went over the allotted time, such as the one currently leaving a small grin on her face.

She giggled subconsciously, fidgeting her hind legs about under the sheets; Spike stirred as footsteps strolled past.

She mumbled something inaudible, the grin expanding as she nuzzled the pillow. The newest occupant in the room paused, he cocked his eyebrow as he watched her forelegs grip tightly to pillow. A pleasant sigh got his attention causing him to make his presence known.

“Twilight?” The man asked, rubbing a screwdriver underneath his ponytail. His cheeks were burning up slightly as he watched her take a playful nibble on the white object of her sleepy affection.

“Twilight?” he once again repeated, edging closer to the bed. She didn’t reply, in any form whether it be an acknowledging mumble or a twitch of any part of her form. However, the moment he saw a slithering tongue poke out he bellowed, “TWILIGHT!”

The mare shot out of bed, flinging the slightly damp pillow at the man. A startled Spike leapt out of bed, searching for the source of the disturbance. The man, blinded by the pillow, wobbled backwards. Spikes eyes dilated as a large biped stumbled close to him. He crushed Spike, both releasing a loud yelp. The mammal threw the screw driver in the air, accidently embedding it in the ceiling creating a small twang.

“FRANK?!” she screeched, glaring at the man. She sat up, her hind legs feeling slightly weak, “What are you doing in my room?” Tossing the pillow to the side, as well as pulling the lizard’s tail from underneath him, he looked back up at the lavender unicorn. A sly grin formed on his lips.

“Oh nothing, just thought I’d say good morning to our generous hostess,” he remarked, standing back up. “So…” he said coyly. “How’d you sleep? You seemed to be having ‘fun’.” The mare blushed, looking away and darting her eyes around.

“Err, great, thanks.” That was an understatement. “W-w-what do you mean I seemed to be having fun?” she asked, her voice buckling slightly. He had two options, one he would gladly exploit even if he caught Prince Albert in a similar situation. Especially Albert.

However he knew it would be rather rude to do so and, regrettably, said she was rolling about. Given that she was providing shelter and safety from the easily excitable masses of ‘Humares’ and haters- as he found out through the book- he chose to simply spare her the indignity.

For now.

“How did you get in?” she asked, curiously studying the door. He pointed lazily to the ceiling, before double taking at the glare the drake gave him. Spike continued giving him a fiery stare whilst muttering uncomplimentary statements based about the waking hours, and waking methods, of mammals.

He waddled out the room, rubbing the spines on his scalp, as Frank said, “As you know -and I do know you all know- I can access any entrance, door, chamber, vault, force field, or generally get past any high security barrier in an average time less than three minutes.”

He rose to his feet, rubbing his lower back as he reached for something on a nearby cabinet. He turned around and revealed a dismantled golden door knob in his right hand. He held a single screw in his left and inspected it closely.

“I suppose you could say I’m a pro at screwing with any entrance.” His worried gaze turned back to the open door, missing the tint of rose resting on the mare’s cheeks.

“Why are you here? Couldn’t you wait until I woke up!” she scolded, dragging her mind out of the gutter. He turned around, reaching into his jacket and producing half a book.

“WHAT? DID YOU RUIN A PERFECTLY GOOD BOOK?!” she yelled, launching herself out of bed. The covers shot up as she stomped around the bed, attempting to unnerve him. She only grew more agitated when he glared right back at her.

“Of course not! I would never do such a thing,” he replied, pointing the cover at the mare. After a magenta glow wrapped the face of the book; it shot out, sliding between his fingers and almost burning them in the process. “It’s just that my friend, Shadowman, might not agree with this particular novel, or what it did to him for a few months. He went from anti-social to practically invisible over night. Doesn't sound like much considering his previous profession, but it was noticable whenever we confronted him,” he added once she finished reading the title. Her widened in terror, sweat poured from her brow as she looked between him and the cover.

“You, err, didn’t read it… did you?” she squeaked, wincing slightly under his gaze.

“Yes.” That word, that single, daunting word, spoken with an eerily serene quality. He looked down his nose, sending a subtle message.

She couldn’t help but fear how realistic he was, the attention to detail in the single lock of hair out of place spoke of a slightly uncollected mind; the way his beady eyes narrowed, as if he had been wronged in some way, caused her step back; the scabs on his hand became apparent as he stood at the door, legs spread apart, and his arms crossed.

This was the Frank she had seen before demanding answers from troublesome students, a side that whenever apparent she would support no questions asked out of fan driven devotion. To be on the receiving end, in the real world, was something to cause slight dismay.

“We-what- what?” she stuttered, speaking before she could actually prepare a sentence; this was the last thing she wanted to come across, largely due to how she was unprepared to handle such a situation.

“Look, I may not understand the entire situation, nor do I comprehend what form of existence we are currently in and what it means to us,” he said, massaging his forehead. “But I know of the cult called humares and bronies.” He scrunched his face up slightly, holding a pained expression before releasing a sigh. “I… have also read that your kind have often generated, err, tributes, depicting images, music, and stories about us. So I have a few questions, then we discuss that book.”

“How did you find out?” she asked. His stances slackened slightly as he let out an amused sigh, grinning back at her.

“I’m the data collector and the technical support; my job is either bypassing security or gathering information and handing the useful bits to my colleagues. You let me sleep in a library on a strange world, what did you think would happen?” She smiled sheepishly at that comment, her ears drooping down.

“First question,” he said, taking residence on the bed. He jumped into the air, swinging his legs up to become parallel to the bed. After bouncing twice, he rested with his hands behind his head.

“Are you a brony?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. He took note of the small pause, before she answered with a reluctant shake of the head.

“Yes, I am; was a member of the Brony community, although seeing as it consisted largely of humares you should probably call it the humare community, like the rest of us. The correct term for me is ‘Humare’, seeing as I am a mare. ”

“Oh don’t worry my pretty purple pony,” she flushed incredibly; some stallion said the same thing in her dream, “I never doubted that. What do you mean you were a member? Did we become uninteresting all of a sudden? Trust me our recent misadventure could win you back.”

“I, and a few thousand others, saw that. Sorry about that.” She rubbed the back of her head, giving a sincere look. “You’re not mad at us? Not…creeped out by me?”

“Well, I’m more worried about the written aspects of your fandom, and well I am a little bit uneasy about alien equines knowing a few of my dark secrets.” He gave her a suspicious look. “Just out of curiosity, what do you know about me?” Another awkward silence flooded into the room, followed by a few moments of her opening and closing her maw.

“Well, I know you’re accident prone with your inventions, all of which are brilliant by the way. You… can be sarcastic, narcissistic; you often use your brother as a stooge; on many occasions you have tried to pry a voice from Shadowman, sometimes by unethical means.” She blinked a few times, before scratching her head. “You’re also scared of really small insects.”

“Okay in my defence, that’s because I fell into an ant hill when I was fifteen; I was studying them and well, I kind of lost balance.” It was his turn to blush, as he scratched his chin. “The kids picked on me for a while, calling me the walking-talking- tomato; didn’t really get me any dates for a while, low self-esteem and all.”

Twilight was stunned; this was unheard of news, legible backstory, but most importantly: canon fact!

“Wow, I never knew about that! You never went into any sort of detail about your high school years.” She cracked a smile, her eyes widening as her grin grew larger. “I just learnt something nopony else knows!” She looked back at him, spying the amused look.

“I guess you don’t know everything about me then. I expected as much, that’s… in all honesty a great relief.” He released a deep sigh. “You’re more like the tabloids recounting our more extraordinary days, albeit with more access to the private moments of our lives. I suppose I am not angry to be in this world; my inner scientist it screaming for me to study it, rather than show disinterest or dismay at a potential reality.” He was about to lean back into the pillow, stealing more comfort, when he had a sudden realisation.

“Oh, and thank you for describing me as a charming, handsome, professor slash inventor. You really got my good side.” Twilight released a chuckle, before waving him off.

“Sorry, that was my first assumption of you. Later on I realised you were the intelligent, honest, person who only wants the best out of ponies, err, people. You do show some level of concern and friendship for your friends, especially your brother, when they are in trouble. You just have a funny way of showing it, hence why you’re pegged as the slightly dark comedian of the group.”

“You mean I beat Shadowman? Good, if you said that he won by telling a joke I probably would have flipped a table. Is there an award?” he asked, earning the shake of the head from her.

“Okay, so back to the issue at hand.” He sat up, crossing his legs. Twilight frowned when she saw traces of dirt ruining her starry bed covers. “That book, as I understand it, is a rather controversial topic amongst your herd.”

“Community.”

“Cult.”

“Community.

“Religious order.”

“COM- oh forget it.”

“As I understand there have been few stories that have been published, and that was one of the more horrific of them all. How many books have been made?” he asked, turning on his side. Twilight brought a hoof to her chin whilst staring absentmindedly at the floor panels.

“I think there are twelve actually; ever since the first seas- err, the first time we saw you, ponies have been writing stories. Stuff called fan-fiction, and well, there is a competition where the actual members of the wrrriiiiirrrecorders- yeah that’s them- recorders. They record your events and show them to the rest of us.” She gave a nervous chuckle before clearing her throat. Frank didn’t let the incident go unnoticed, but chose to let her continue anyway.

“So, these recorders judge the stories over the pony net and the top three every year are published, and well, four times three is twelve.” She finished with a painfully large smile.

“Okay, so do these ‘recorders’ register them as actual events that take place in our world or are they simply regarded as a good, false story on our lives?” he asked, awaiting her answer with a hidden anxiety.

“Oh no, see, the only ‘real’ events we know of is what they show us. They are only saying they approve of a story and want to make a book out of it. Probably for marketing and financial gain.” She gave a small shrug, and opened her mouth to reveal that she had a few for her own personal entertainment. “I actually have a few of my favourites, err, but now I’m not so sure since you’re, well, real.”

That and the fact that, hidden away, for her personal pleasure, were two stories she would completely put the humans into disarray. Fortunately, they were locked away in her chest.

“Don’t worry too much, I suppose if I met a few mythological beings, and had stories based upon them in my room, I’d be reluctant to share. Then again, I am a scientist at heart, so it would probably be a good idea to let me read a few.” His smile fell as a small hint of disgust shone in his eyes. “This particular novel is not one of your favourites was it?”

“That one there is just their way of taking an attack and turning it into a joke; I swear it’s only here because it was requested by a few ponies here in town. I hate it!” She gave another sorry look, to which he ignored and was staring at the cover page, more specifically the gaping hole in the sinister picture.

There’s something she’s not telling me. Wrriiiiirecorders is clearly an attempt to hide something. It’s the missing piece I know it. Wrrriii-wri-wringlers? No. Wrrrriight? No. Wrrr-writers? His eyes briefly widened, before subsiding to their normal level.

Writers. Writers means story. A story can be a play. A play has a script… a cartoon is scripted. He sighed, once again attempting to process the information, but to no avail.

So it is true. Primane is a lie; our lives were meaningless until now. Still, why until now? What changed? He wasn’t going to get an answer, nor did he want any more at the moment. Well, at least not on this subject.

“So, you think that these stories don’t affect us at all, don’t you?” He slowly craned his neck around, losing any look of positive emotion on his face. “Well, you’d be surprised what these stories have done.” He got up out of bed, missing the confused expression upon Twilight’s face.

“What do you mean?” she asked as he headed towards the door with heavy steps.

“You’d be surprised what they meant to us, and what they did to Shadowman. I’m interested in finding the other eleven, though, it’ll help test a theory of mine. I’ll tell you later, right now, I think we need to get those drinks.” He stood in the doorway, turned around and said, “If you can, make mine a nice teal coloured unicorn.”

Her fan mare side, almost, almost reached her throat, but a disciplined mind beat the squeal into submission as cleared her throat.

“W-Why a unicorn?” she asked, smiling brightly.

“Don’t rightly know, going off you, they seem rather interesting.” He smirked back, reaching for the door handle. After fondling the air, he remembered that it was missing and left with an awkward chuckle as he closed the door.

Twilight, at that nano-second hopped around the bedroom restraining an ecstatic yell. A few times she stopped to perform a victory dance, or debatably, a victory spasm.

Thank you ‘Frankie goes to Hockywood!’

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The blazing sun in the sky burned with an intensity, matching the speed in which Celestia was writing her latest fan-fiction. She had another possible twenty minutes before the next session of her royal duties, mostly explaining to a certain unicorn why mistreatment of staff wound him being pelted by rotten fruit by a, now, ex-member of the royal kitchen. Other than that it was the standard ponies with quarrels, worries, on the odd occasion, a wonderful gift to brighten the day.

Still, given the choice, this new, inspiring, dynamic piece of literature had to be written and she would happily prefer to continue doing so. Another humans in Equestria story, based upon the season’s finale.

Names were always an issue, but she found one that she believed suited a side of her female character, currently aiding Prince Albert. She was written to be a bit more on the … floozy-ish side of a lady. Although, her ideals of being generous and polite were predominant so far; the Princess was far above petty jealousy.

So she told herself.

“Well, it would be rather rude of me to not help you; I’ll give you fresh attire if you wish, something to help keep you warm,” Miss Tart spoke softly, approaching the man. He gave a quick once over of his attire. He spied his slightly torn jade sleeves, the pants he wore shredded around the ankle, his armoured chest held a dent.

“That would be marvelous, thank you. Miss Tart, how could I repay you? I doubt my currency means much here.” Prince Albert cocked an eyebrow at the fluttering of her pretty little eyelashes, but disregarded any notion of what they could potentially mean.

“Nonsense, I couldn't let a gentlecolt like you leave without proper attire. You would catch a death of cold, and I would hate to be responsible for that.” Her horn glowed, pulling various fabrics from nearby shelves and plucking a tape measure from a draw.

“Now then,” she said coyly, her voice like the silk of her bed sheets. “Take off your pants.”

Suddenly a bright flash tore her from her story, what now seemed more like a ‘Fact-Fiction’ of sorts. The startled Princess spilled ink across the pages of her work, generating a small whine. She spied a scroll, still bearing green vapours of smoke, lying on the far side of the desk.

Rather than inspect it, she gave a mournful glance at the stained page before her. Moments after, her face shifted into a state of shock.

Oh my, that was… rather atrocious of me. How could I portray her in such a way? She is a lovely, generous mare and is nothing less than ladylike, why, she could put a few nobles to shame. She sighed, her horn a glow as the mess she had created began to clean itself up.

Maybe I am a tad envious of her position; Rarity is after all going to be in more contact with him than I. This is not the way I should be behaving; I will bear more dignity, eloquence, and take the higher ground on the matter. My personal pursuit aside, I have to ensure their safe return. A tiny smirk grew as she gave the newly arrived scroll short look, before deciding to read it.

Still, if he becomes a stallion, and comes to visit Canterlot, she’s not invited. Also I image a few wine stores may have to be restocked. she released a small titter before her eyes began downloading the information before her.

Dear Princess Celestia

I believe that whilst you are not present I should update you on our new friend’s progress.

To start, unfortunately, I believe that Frank may be drawing ever closer to discovering the truth. This morning he interrupted a rather fantastic dream to tell me that he had discovered about humares and bronies, he then asked if I was one, to which I admitted to him I was. I have no doubt that he would have stumbled across that fact sooner or later; recalling season three, episode nineteen, hiding the truth from him and the others may not be the best option. Although, similar to that episode, I wouldn’t be in any danger, but I would rather not wind up like the Doctor.

I don’t like syrup in my mane.

Or wallpaper paste.

Another issue is that Shadowman read one of the published stories, and sadly it wasn’t ‘My Little Shadow’. He read ‘Royal Buffet.’

She released sharp gasp as her eyes tore away from the letter. She, as an avid reader and fellow author, looked upon a large army stack of stories on a shelf nearby. Amongst the mile long plank were numerous tales she had collected during her time ruling, mostly adventure with the odd romance thrown in.

Eleven, slender hardbacks, plus another bulky tome, stood in dedication to the show. However, their number dwindled in comparison to the other stories collected over the years, high above the Diarch.

One slim book in particular caught her eye: Royal Buffet. She chose to keep the story, not out of support for the tale, it was diabolic by her standards, but as a testament to how her ponies were able to turn the other cheek as it were. She read on.

What I found more startling was how Frank seemed to hint that these particular stories may have influenced their lives in some way. Unfortunately he refused to mention in what ways, but given the nature of the published stories I can only assume that in some cases the results were not always beneficial.

Looking back at the twelve books, she gave a variety of expressions; from grimacing to cracking a merry smile, she found herself laughing at the thought of one particular story, but giving a wistful look at that last tome.

That one should be sweet, but I can see why he may not like it. Then again if he has often looked beyond the superficial appearances, then perhaps he may like it. I know I enjoyed reading it. she thought before returning to the letter.

As for my next course of action, I plan to try and attain a species changing potion from Zecora, given such a thing is possible. I have asked for Shadowman and Frank to remain quiet about the subject until there is time to discuss it later, as for now, I have asked them to remain hidden in the basement until I return from Zecora’s.

Also, you should know that Hank makes an amazing omelette. I mean I knew he was meant to be a great cook in all, but wow! Shadowman doesn’t seem too phased by the story, but whenever Hank grabs a knife of Splinter he often takes a step back; Frank has already begun tinkering with some of the old broken equipment in the basement, after breaking into my room to wake me up. Also I have some great news, in my opinion…

He WANTS to be a teal unicorn!

I almost squealed like a filly on Hearth’s warming eve.

As a side note, Prince Albert has removed his armoured chest plate. I have it right next to me, and it clearly looks like it’s been through Tartarus. It also looks like some of the paint from the Frokalock Festival is still here. Titan Strong gave a good guess when he said the purple paint smells like grape.

From your faithful student, Twilight Sparkle.

Celestia sighed, once again feeling slightly envious; she couldn’t help but feel as if she had been missing out, but centuries of practice had restricted her from partaking in many of life’s joys. Well, since late into her first century anyhow. She glanced over towards the sun, using her internal body clock to judge the time. You’d be surprised how well one can estimate what time of day it is when they are attuned to the sun.

“I’d best be returning to my duties, I can contemplate why I have to be kept away from my favourite character after I’ve finished helping my little ponies.”

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“I must ask my good friend, what is the issue you wish to mend?” the zebra asked, emptying the vat of useless black gunk into a sink.

“Well, I was wondering if you know any potions that could transform one species to another; we have visitors who may not be, err,” She rolled her hoof around, searching for the right choice of words, “welcomed at a first glance.” She gave Zecora a smile, to which she replied with a strange look.

“A disguise to avoid distress? This must be a serious matter to address.” The mare moved out of the kitchen, followed by Twilight. She asked for the purple mare to wait by the empty cauldron, offering a few treats whilst she searched her room for an old tome. Returning minutes later, finding Twilight to have eaten a single blue cupcake, she placed the tome on a desk nearby.

“It is an old potion, that which you seek. Fortunately for you, it can be done as we speak,” she said once she found the page she had been searching for. The librarian studied the page and found strange pictures noted around the yellow pages.

Two large outlines of circles, one on each page, were formed by the Zebrican language. The maroon lettering encased the picture of an equine on the left and a picture of what appeared to be a red river embalming the same pony on the right.

Around the edges of the left page were what clearly looked like ingredients composed of flowers and other vials, complete with name and quantity underneath each miniature diagram. On the other page, arching along the right hand side of the large circle, was a small paragraph that Twilight couldn’t decipher.

“So is this how all of your potions are written down? Seems rather messy.” Twilight commented, looking out of the book.

“It is a recipe book unlike the kind of which you know; yours may give the whys and how’s of an ingredient though. Here the book gives the results and the needs,” she replied before pausing. A small frown formed on her brow as she studied the ingredients. “It appears I must use the last of my Poison Joke seeds.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Can I help you collect some more?”

“It is fine, dear Twilight, I can gather more before the moon’s first light.”

“Thanks Zecora, what does that paragraph say?” Twilight asked, pointing to writing in the bottom corner of the page.

“It is the expected results of the concoction, merely stating the effects in motion. Although it shows a pony, it affects a number of creatures; the flow in this picture is the changing of features.” She pointed to the red river that wrapped around the pony before moving off to collect her ingredients.

“I must ask my good friend, what would need a disguise, and to what end?”

“Oh, well, let’s say these creatures are famous and really don’t want the attention. A lot of ponies would want to be friends with them and a few may want to hurt them as well.” Twilight replied, still making assumptions from the book.

“What creature would be liked and welcomed by you? Another question would be why they’d be hated too?” Zecora reached for an olive coloured flask, unhooking the string before pouring a pinch of the substance into the cauldron.

“Strange, you have not considered magic; I suspected such a response to be automatic,” she added, giving a suspicious stare.

“We have tried, but even Celestia and Luna’s combined magic does not have any effect on them, it’s like their immune. However, when one of them was hurt we used your healing lotion and it healed him completely. We think it’s because their skin stops magic passing through and changing them, but your lotion was absorbed through. It’s quite interesting actually.” Twilight beamed a pleasant smile at Zecora, who was already up to the brewing stage.

Zecora let out a small chuckle.

“Ever the curious mare, so I see. Tell me, what do these odd creatures want to be?” She added a spoonful of heart shaped, and coloured, petals, before scanning a shelf nearby. “The potion also needs a few things from you guests; some fur or hair would be best.” She looked back at the mare with a smile. “Now tell me Twilight, what are they to be? A pegasus, unicorn, or earth pony?”

“Oh, well…” she paused, pondering about her next course of action. “Well. One of them wants to be a unicorn, err, Zecora?” Zecora had returned to the cauldron, depositing some blue powder before stopping to look at the mare expectantly.

“Can you affect the way they look? He wants to be a teal coloured unicorn,” There was another pause as Twilight bit her lip slightly, “With a snow blizzard, blue mane and sapphire eyes and a chiselled horn.” She pulled a large, innocent smile before saying, “It’s just that that is what he asked me to tell you. He said he wants to be teal stallion with a light blue mane and sapphire eyes, maybe a bit bigger than me. Yes, that’s what he said.”

Zecora shook her head, before bringing a hoof to her chin. “The colour of fur is not up to us to decide; that magic is in the potion, where it resides.” Twilight looked slightly disheartened, but quickly dismissed the thought. “Now Twilight Sparkle, listen closely. For as it is written, I need to know what species they be.” Twilight hesitated; such knowledge was best not being shared, unless circumstance required it, which it did.

“They are-“ she started out, before scrunching her face up. She released a sigh, earning a curious look from the alchemist. Twilight inhaled deeply, before unleashing an outburst like a breached dam. “Theguestsarereallivehumans!”

Taken back, Zecora merely blinked before she stopped stirring the violet mixture. “That was quite a mouthful, my dear, I must say though that none of it had reached my ear.”

“Look, Zecora, my guests are… humans.” Twilight winced upon stating this fact, slamming her eyes such as she leaned away from the zebra. There was an awkward silence, followed by a small giggling noise. Taking a sneak peek, she spied the witch doctor tittering to herself.

“You believe to have found a creature of tribal lore? Tell me, Twilight, why have I not seen them before?”

“Well, wait, why did you say tribal?”

“It is an old tale, that of a hairless chimp; they can be dangerous or like a mischievous imp. I am certain they are the stuff of idle imaginings; nopony, no griffon, nor dragon, has ever seen such beings.”

What soon followed was a debate, or rather a negotiation. Zecora’s firm belief she had wasted ingredients was not only confronted by the mare opposite her, but also by the reputation of said librarian; Twilight has never, to her knowledge, fabricated such a poor tale and attempted to pass it of a genuine fact, especially in the name of science.

Still there was the matter of creating, as she found out, four potions to turn them into three separate species of ponies. However, perhaps that would be the proof Twilight needed.

Zecora sighed, regretting ever attempting to reason with one whose debating skills were honed sharper than any blade. “You say they are real, yet bring no proof. If I were to see for myself, I could offer a hoof.” The thought didn’t seem entirely unreasonable, given Twilight could persuade her not to reveal the identity of the stallions to anypony else.

“Do you promise not to tell anypony else?” Zecora gave a single nod in response, beaming a smile.

“Pinkie promise?” the purple unicorn asked, frowning from the other side of the cauldron. Small grey bubbles ascended from the foamy mixture, bursting between the two and releasing a small hint of daisy into the atmosphere.

“Cross my heart, hope to fly. Stick a cupcake in my eye.” Zecora replied, miming the correct actions to the Party Pony’s oath.

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“Forgive me, Frank, but I just don’t understand; tell me again, what is are these human- I mean ‘humares’ or ‘bronies’” Albert said curiously, not taking his eyes of the phantom. He had been subtly watching his movement, eyeing the way Shadowman would stay from being between Hank, the basement, or the kitchen.

“They appear to be a cult, or rather a ‘community as Miss Sparkle pointed out. Some use our lives, our misadventures, to help them through their daily toils. We seem to inspire many and,” he said before breathing between his teeth. “Create an unimaginable hatred in those who deem us deadly, corrupting, and a down right abomination to this land’s animation department.” Frank looked at Albert, grinning.

“I for one think we add a little class and spice to their daily lives, given that many bronies and humares are introverts. So these ‘haters’- yes, that’s their name- seem to spend time focusing on us, the people they hate, by watching episodes and finding flaws, or by writing atrocities like that book. Whether they hate us or love us, they can’t seem to get enough.” Albert blinked a couple of times, Frank watching the wheels spin in his mind.

“What a strange culture. The both love to hate us and hate to love us, and yet they cannot resist us. I feel as though we’re both idols and yet carry some form of plague to be purged by flame.”

“You’d be surprised how often the phrase ‘Kill it! Kill it with fire!’” Frank quoted dramatically, feigning utter disgust before returning to his calm composure to say, “cropped up in my research.”

“Perhaps we can inquire if the others are, err, members?” Albert replied, both proposing the question as a whole and to whether or not that last word was suited. The phrase ‘Fanatically, crazed, stalkers’ sprung to mind to describe the events of the day before.

“Well, I have found out that our hostess is one, but I doubt we have anything to fear; she has a level head and a resourceful mind.” He leant back against the wall, propping a leg up to flatten his foot against it. “She also has a good sense of humour.”

Albert gave a sly grin, arching an eyebrow. “Seems familiar to an old flame you once had, an avid reader and experimenter too judging by the basement equipment.” His friend blanched in response, generating a small chuckle from the prince.

“I prefer my women like I prefer bike: bipedal.” It was now his turn to grin. “Besides, at least I have done something with a woman, even if I can count using one hand the number of times.” The ferocious stare of his leader was met by the flushed red cheeks residing below those ice blue eyes.

“Oh, yes, I went there.”

“You better back pedal, or else I tell Hank about the time you were drunk… with Mrs Digigdum, from the Eastern Province.” Frank paled, his eyes darting about.

“So the little dragon, Maria!” he exclaimed, grinning as Albert nodded slowly.

“That’s what I thought.” He spoke with pure authority, laced with the intention of a cruel executioner. After his expression softened, he said “The name of the assistant is Spike, and is he a humare?”

“Well, technically he would be a brony, you know, being a male and all. However, he is not. Twilight mentioned that sometimes he couldn’t watch us if we were about to do something violent, or as I pointed out, ‘righteous and noble.’” He smirked, earning a similar response. “As for the others he was sent to retrieve, I am certain that the pegasus is a humare, as well as the indigo princess.” Once again, he cracked sly smirk.

“The other princess, however, I caught…taking an interest in you. I guess you had to find a princess eventually, and all it took was for her to see you and for you to never talk to her.” He leant closer. “Unfortunately for her, you have already spoken to the Princess so it’s only a matter of time before you muck up.”

“You two gonna keep blabbering about being stuck in here, or are you actually gonna figure out why that book did what it did years ago?” Hank chided, stepping out of the kitchen.

Instinctively, Shadowman leapt into the air, clutching the railing as he walked past. The ground bound trio gawked at his sudden movement, watching as he swung himself over and casually began searching amongst another bookcase.

“It’s spooked him again, hasn’t it?” Hank asked, rubbing his hands together. He gave guilty look at his knuckles, pretending to wash away some invisible stain.

“It-it doesn’t look as bad as last time.” Frank offered, cracking half a smile.

“Aye, at least he’s not catatonic… or constantly trying to murder you whilst you sleep, Hank.” Albert added, still studying the trench-coated figure. The titan nodded, bringing a hand on top of his vest where a few scars remained hidden underneath.

“By standards alone, this is a far better reaction.” Frank added confidently, allowing the smile to cover his face.

“Yeah, remember the first day? He actually screamed.” Hank added, recalling the voice. It wasn’t enough to apply to an imaginary conversation with the mute, but it gave volume to the interpreted, mimed actions of the assassin. “How long was he, err…”

“Traumatised? By your cooking?” Frank said receiving an elbow to his chest from the prince before Hank could embed him into the wall with a single blow.

“Well, yeah.”

“I believe it was for four months; he often kept to himself, complaining about nightmares, visions; all of the finest psychiatrists said he experienced ghost pains. Four months.” Albert shook his head, grimacing at how Shadowman would often sneak around the castle, disappearing for days, and at one point and entire week before willing to be seen again. “For four months he was brought to the edge of insanity, and we never knew why.”

“Hank,” wheezed the younger sibling, “have you read the book?”

“I-I- I couldn’t get past the chapter called ‘Haggis’.” He wretched slightly, his breathing became ragged slightly. “Is that-is that what he was seeing? All the time? Me? Doing all of THAT to him?”

“I’m afraid so.” Albert said with deep melancholy. “You didn’t see the story he wrote, in an attempt to give me a vague idea, afterwards he suddenly recovered. It was the simplest form of that story, it lacked the adjectives but apparently the words on those pages are the best summary we have to coming close.” He gave a saddened look towards Shadow, catching the man glimpse over his shoulder.

Hank made his way over towards the table, where the pages of the book remained. Due to the hole in the center of the page parts of the story were incomplete; often the victim’s colleagues, and alleged butcherer, were thankful to not have the scene completely described to them.

Picking up the book, his grip hardening enough to slightly tear pages one to three, he strolled back with a look hate burning in his eyes. “Frank,” he said as he held the book against his brother’s chest, “I need you to find out who wrote this.”

“Already taken care of; we’re looking for a Trixie Lulamoon,” he glanced back towards the diarch, who had stoic expression, “an apparent anti-brony.”

Albert raised his chin, remaining silent as he continued to listen in. Looking back at Hank, the trim man continued with, “Hank, I understand that you probably want to settle this… as you usually would-“

“Damn right.”

“Hank, you must listen to reason,” Albert interjected; his tone was calm and collected. “I understand you must be upset-“

“That’s a fucking understatement.” Hank remarked harshly, immediately backing down as he looked down at the glaring prince. “Begging your pardon, sorry… Sir.”

“That’s alright, as I was going to say, we are all rather disturbed that these creatures can influence our homeland, and that some would write such fiction. However, we must take into consideration how they would react if we were to suddenly attack the inhabitants of this land.” Before Hank could voice his colourful opinion, Albert continued.

“But do not think justice is not an option, this…mare?” he gave Frank a confused look, to which he replied with a hesitant nod before shrugging. “She will answer for almost driving Shadow to insanity, but I’d rather we keep the peace until a suitable punishment is put forward.” He arched an eyebrow towards the human tank.

“We don’t want a repeat of Handsterdan.”

“I was only messing around with those guys.” Hank replied, with a wave of his hand.

“Twelve accounts of grievous bodily harm, over two hundred thousand coins worth of property damage, sixteen accounts of arson, anything else Albert?” Frank sniped, grinning at his ruler.

“A bank robbery where none of the currency was recovered.” He paused to grin at the giant. “On the plus side, I heard many of the lesser off seemed rather dapper with some of the clothing they suddenly bought, and the estate agencies seemed to have sold a few houses.”

“I guess it wasn’t all bad that day,” Hank remarked, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m surprised you cleared those charges.”

“I did it because you seemed good at heart, and were simply misguided. I knew I could show you how to use your abilities for a better cause.” He watched Hank and Frank share a look, the elder giving a nod to show his gratitude. “Also, you were lucky that when you two took separate paths after high school, he wound up working in my castle.”

“Yeah, wish I stayed back at home, but that gang really wanted to move to a less lawful part of Primane.” Hank replied with another rub of his shoulder blade. “So what now?” he asked, looking to Albert.

“Frank, were there any stories about us, because I admit I have seen a few… visions.” He frowned at the book in said person’s hand. “Although mine have not been as dark or as sinister.”

“Actually,” Frank grinned deviously at the man, causing him to feel a sense of dread engulf his gut. “Theirs is one called ‘The Prince and I’ and it’s a romance adventure novel.” Whilst Frank repressed a powerful urge to howl with laughter at the sight of his majesty paling, Hank’s brow returned to that default frown of his.

“You mean him?” Hank pointed towards the horrified man, “The Prince?”

“Me,” Albert started, weakly pointing towards himself, “and a pony?” Frank completely lost it at this point. He clenched his gut as he cried with laughter, bending over in an attempt to aid his catch his breath between snorts.

When he was finally done, between deep breaths, he said “Oh, but don’t worry, it was between the same species.” Albert’s expression subsided into less of a terrified revelation and to more of an uneasy discovery. “Where you were an Alicorn and she was a unicorn.” He chuckled after the prince gave himself a once over, trying to imagine himself as similarly to Celestia. Once he finished, he held a small look of embarrassment as he spoke up.

“Well, I suppose I should be flattered. Who wrote this story?” he asked, receiving another diabolic smirk from Frank. “If you continue to think, or say, anything remotely suggestive, I’ll personally feed you to your humare fans.” Hank chuckled deeply as the younger sibling’s expression darkened. “And that’s a royal oath.”

“Somepony named Tea Slice created the story, and took the community by storm. In fact, much like another tragic story about a pony raising our mute comrade from birth, only to have him taken away by you, the story has generated a few spin offs on something they call the ‘Ponynet.”

“Ponynet? Really?” deadpanned Hank.

“I wouldn’t care too much; this world is one big pun.” Frank sighed, but returned focus to the Prince. “Anyway, if you want to see those we need access to a computer, and Twilight doesn’t have one.” Frank mulled over this, before shrugging with a grin. “Then again a majority of the research on the Primane wide net comes from books and journals, so living in a library is actually more beneficial.”

“What about those friends you made?” the titan asked, folding his arms. In response, Hank gave a curious glance, eyeing him up and down before replying.

“I was about to get to that. We could walk around when we’re ponies, well as much as we can without looking too much like we’re marionettes operated by a six year old. I’m sure we can persuade them to use theirs, I think I heard Octavia say something about having one of the latest.” Frank said, reminiscing whilst looking towards the ceiling. Albert nodded, smiling brightly.

“So it’s settled, as soon as we can, we find a way to the pony net. We’ll be in disguised, you are already on friendly terms of the residents of the household; the wonders of the ponynet will be revealed, as would the truth about this community and it tie to us. We’ll see what exactly these humares and bronies think about us and also what tributes they have.” He shrugged and gave the uncertainlooking Hank a reassuring grin.

“What’s the worst we could find on the internet, Hank?”

“Ask him.” The group followed Hank’s finger, spotting Shadowman standing against the wall behind Albert.

“Tell us, what is the worst that we could find?” Hank asked the new arrival. The blank, cryptic stare offered no answer, but the gesture towards the remains of the book had a clear meaning.

“Hello, Twilight? Are you in here?” a feminine voice cried out, startling the squad. Each member’s eyes snapped to the entrance, where the door opened. Time slowed to a halt, igniting a spark in Albert. Acting on instinct he pulled his team mates towards the basement door, flinging it open. Albert, Hank, and Frank managed to get downstairs before the front entrance opened up.

Shadow on the other hand had already disappeared.

“Twilight? Spike? You guys in here?” a mint mare asked, strolling through the library. The warm, pinecone scented air was embracing in comparison the bitter wind, nipping at her ears and fur. Her eyes scanned the room as she stood in the center waiting for a response. When none came, she moved towards the center table, where something dull and metallic rested.

With her curiosity peaked, and her thoughts drifting back to last night, she crept towards the strange artifact. Sitting by the table, her horn lit up as the sheet of armour was lifted up for closer inspection. Lyra spied the engraved emblem; an Excalibur sword with wings sprouting across the upper half. The sense of déjà vu consumed her, especially with the help of the singe running along the right hand side as well as a few dents scattered across the abdomen.

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks.

With an ecstatic gasp, she made contact with the chest plate. Sliding a hoof along the sword’s edge, feeling the surface of the armour, she beamed a smile.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed, bringing the large plate to her chest in a tight embrace. It covered a good portion of her form, but there it only came to two thirds of the way. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!” She began swinging it around, practically dancing with it on her hind hooves across the library floor. She had an idea, a humare’s wish.

Eagerly, she slipped on the piece of armour and attempted to fasten the straps. She wound up fidgeting about, squirming on the floor whilst fiddling with the metal buckles. She wormed her way over towards the door-frame, her horn aglow as the straps took on new life. She thumped her head against the still open door, stunning her temporally. As her eyes spun their sockets, she caught a glimpse of something in rafters.

It seemed dark, almost out of place by the way it was lying across a beam in a shadowy corner. The strange contortion was minor, similar to the bulge of the tree that wasn’t trimmed off. It seemed to be a plausible explanation, until she spotted something reflective plummet towards her.

The glimmer of the midday sun bounced of the blade's surface as it headed towards her chest. Flinching, she covered her eyes, awaiting her demise. It made contact; bouncing of the dulled, steel protective coating, the dagger embedded itself into the floorboard.

Taking a second to peek at the serrated blade, her eyes immediately shot up to a strange carved beam.

Her eyes widened as she the straight, smooth, plank of wood that stretched to the center of the Library She could have sworn the slightly misshapen beam was directly above her, and yet it seemed to have corrected its composure. Controlled by fear, she climbed to all four hooves, and backed away until she was standing outside the library.

“H-H-hello?” she stammered, eyeing up the empty library. Still no answer but there were signs of movement. More importantly, she had evidence for her claim about the existence of her favourite characters. Could she leave the mystery of the library, the potential resting place of the world’s first humans, simply to generate a reaction of disbelief from her roommate? Then again, could she risk what lurked in the shadows? There was no doubt that something was in the room. In fact, it may have just made an attempt on her life.

The truth was dangerous, and remained enshrouded amongst the rafters. The evidence offered a glimpse into what was hidden, but could easily be distorted and ridiculed as a fan-mare’s fanatical attempt to lie to the masses. Albeit, it would be a solid, borderline plausible belief, the fact that many have replicated the authentic piece coating her body would greatly hinder her case.

Standing there, meters away from the door, Lyra came to a decision.

She would venture deeper into the library, even against Twilight’s wishes…

But she would not be alone…

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Author's Notes:

Lyra is now armoured... be afraid, be very afraid. I've been dying to get this concept across, about how popular fanfiction can affect their mind. As you may have guessed Celestia may calm down, then again, why the hell should she?

Quick question, how long do you prefer your chapters? I planned on sticking to around the 6-7 mark, but I feel as though I can move onto around 9k a chapter. What do you guys think?

P.s. may need art for the future chapters. I should mention now that I cannot pay for it though. PM if you are willing to help with a few pictures.

Shout out to Recovery 565 for being able to proof read my story for a third time ladies and gentleman. Thanks.