A Lapse of Reason
Chapter 15: 15 | Letters from Afar
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Yeah, I think we can both agree to cut the “dear” part out of the equation. And don’t worry, you’re not the only one out of practice at the art of letter-writing, as you can probably tell by my sloppy cursive. I can’t promise everything in this’ll be all that interesting, but I can give it a shot. But please, for the love of all things good and merciful, don’t expect me to become a poet overnight.
Wonderbolt practice has started up again. They morning after you left, I was back on the track; time trials, mainly, to make sure we’re all in top shape. It’s not really necessary, I don’t think, but the team prides itself on maintaining peak physical condition, so even a week’s break demands routine examination afterwards. Considering I was out for a fortnight, lounging around for most of the time, no thanks to you, I was given special attention.
As the exams were happening, we also had interviews. The press always wants to know exactly what we think of a tour after it’s all over, and how we’re faring with the other Bolts, and all that standard jazz. But I knew they’d only ever ask me about you if I let them interview me, so Spitfire was kind enough to let me pass on all the individual ones. She’s a good captain. Always has been. You should meet her sometime, and Soarin, and the rest of the crew while you’re at it, I guess.
But I’m not sure if that’ll happen anytime soon, considering your situation. Not to be a downer or anything. And there’s also the fact I’ll probably find myself under some kind of reprimand — one of the rare few times Spits will be harsh on me.
See, I’m writing this on the day I legged it from a giant press conference after they poked their nose where it didn’t belong. I expected it, but I didn’t think they’d be as brazen as they were. I’m pretty sure you’ll read it in the paper — I hear the Sisters keep up to date with everything. Just know I don’t mean whatever the journalists think I mean. All they want to do is sell the most sensational story. Maybe there were honest reporters once upon a time, but the longer certain institutions exist, the greater the chance they lose their guiding philosophy.
And there I go using the P-word. Sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m either pissed or tired, and I’m a bit of both right now. Tired with the world’s junk, and pissed at myself for letting it get to me. I swear, I’m not always this touchy but things haven’t been going my way recently. Nothing you should really concern yourself with. All you need to know is I’m being forced to socialise a little more. This started before you arrived, and I suppose you can say it's how I ended up in the right place at the right time.
Meeting you again the morning after took some convincing, I’ll admit, but please don’t take it personally — you’re not that ugly. And I can’t say I’m regretting everypony finally shoving my miserable flank out the door. You’re not bad company, and from my experience, neither are the Sisters. I hope you lot are able to get along.
As for my future prospects, I’m not quitting the Wonderbolts anytime soon, despite what the papers may say. No, I’m sticking with them, I’ll just stay out of the public spotlight for a few months. But I hope I won’t be forced to save another falling sky-baby with all this going on.
On a more realistic note, and probably more relatable, Hearth’s Warming approaches, and I’ll be spending it with my family. As usual. I’d honestly consider the Bolts to be family as well, but whatever you do, don’t you dare tell Mum I said that. Or wrote that, or however you’re supposed to label it. Point is, she’s a very traditional pony. I’m not sure if you have anypony like that where you’re from, and I hope you don’t, but supposing our worlds aren’t too different, I think you’ll know what I’m talking about.
But I’d better stop myself there before I turn this into a rant. You don’t need to hear it. I should be asking about you, shouldn’t I? So, how are you? I know you’ve said you’re bored and all, even if I hear the Sisters are legendary hosts — they wouldn’t be our foremost diplomats if they can’t handle the strain — but how exactly does your day go? Any new developments? Familiar faces? Never much been one for gossip, but if I have a spy on the inside, more power to me.
The sun’s setting now. Maybe Celestia’s sending me a warning. I’ve heard she’s clairvoyant as well as immortal, but if she is, I’m pretty sure she’d have stopped every single threat Equestria faced while she was princess before it happened. Heck, she’d have found a way to send you home by now. Wouldn’t that be something?
I think I’ve raved on long enough. I’ll be giving this letter to Twilight in the morning — she’ll know how to get this from Ponyville to you. And if there’s any delay, blame her. She’s probably done something at some point to deserve it.
Regards,
Fleetfoot
Fleetfoot
Well, that was certainly more than I expected from your first attempt, I’ll be honest. Not that it’s a bad thing or anything. Hell, the more to read, the merrier. And thanks for doing away with the formalities. The princesses do what they can to help make my stay more comfortable, but there’s always this rigidity with the staff. Everyone here takes their job so seriously. But then again, they are serving a pair of demigods, so I suppose that warrants a degree of pride.
Your letter arrived three days away from Hearth’s Warming. Since you didn’t include a date, I can’t tell if Twilight posted it on time. Make of that what you wish, but don’t be too harsh on the lass. She’s a frail heart.
As for the holiday itself, I find myself somewhat torn. You see, there’s a holiday almost exactly like it back on my Earth. We call it Christmas. The origins are quite a bit different, and its meaning and traditions have changed over the centuries, but as it stands, yeah, Hearth’s Warming is more or less yet another bootleg version of something I had back home. Same time of year and everything.
And I say I’m torn, but really, I’m actually kind of happy for it — brings back some good memories. Nanna used to make shortbread cookies with cream and strawberry jam centres when she swung by. And she always did, even when she was getting up there in her years. It was also one of the few times any of us would ever get to taste the special dish we only ever knew as “rice, beans and weenies.”
Okay, quick sidenote: I know it’s been said me eating meat isn’t that big a deal, and Luna and Celestia host omnivorous diplomats all the time, but I can’t help feeling it’s wrong now. Like, now that certain nonhumans can talk, and the vast majority of animal life is on the brink of crossing the threshold to sapience, I really ought to reassess myself. Start going vegetarian like you lot, or heck, even vegan — if the concept of drinking another creature’s milk wasn’t disturbing enough already, add the fact that cows can talk and you’ve increased it exponentially.
Anyway, Bootleg Christmas isn’t so bad. The guards and staff are celebrating the occasion in their own time, leaving just myself and the sisters. For the most part. I get the feeling it’s going to be a small, reserved affair, this break from all the management in the realm. Should really get to asking why it’s a kingdom and not a principality, now I think about it.
But there I go, rambling away — you’re not the only one, so don’t you worry. Point is, I’m predicting it’ll be a nice change of pace. It’s just a shame Mum, Dad and Anita can’t be with me, or me with them.
Speaking of mothers, you say yours is traditional. I’m not sure what exactly that entails, but from the sounds of it, I think I get what you’re hinting at. Yes, we do have people like that back home, and yes, they’re not that uncommon. Do I know any personally? Sort of. Between my parents, Dad’s the least open-minded. Not by much, though, and not the worst by far. I can’t recall any specific examples, but I know he’s quicker to judge, and holds a grudge longer.
But I don’t think it’s polite to talk too much about him behind his back. Regarding Celestia’s clairvoyance, however, I think I can safely say those whispers you heard are fairly unfounded. She’s a master wordsmith, I’ll give her that — seems to know exactly what to say and how to say it at any given time — but yeah, she’d have found a way home for me by now if that were the case. She said so herself. Besides, if you’re psychic, it doesn’t make sense for your powers of seeing the future to come and go: either you can or you can’t.
Don’t feel too bad. Spending the holidays with royalty was on my bucket list anyway. Luna’s certainly making it worthwhile. She’s fun. Well, maybe not fun, but an enjoyable conversation partner, and she’s insanely fascinated by my phone and all the music and images stored on it. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been trapped on the moon for a thousand years.
Gods, even writing it, I’m still having trouble believing it.
I’ll keep you updated on that front. Maybe she’ll appreciate whatever music you can’t. Sure, you’ll say she’s far too refined, and so is her sister, but don’t forget: I can be very persuasive. You’ve seen me work my magic with Twilight, and while these two are markedly less manic, they still have that youthful spring in their step. I’ve heard Celestia can be quite the prankster too.
As for the unfortunate press incident, don’t worry about it. I get you. They weren’t respecting your privacy, so you left. Can’t really blame you there, personally, but yeah, I imagine leaving the team hanging would get you reprimanded. But considering your captain is also your friend, I’m sure she’ll be lenient. Nepotism is the bane of a meritocracy, but it has its uses.
See? You’re not the only one who can get philosophical.
I’ll write again come Hearth’s Warming Eve. Hopefully it’ll reach you on the day.
Happy holidays,
Philip
Philip
As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right about the nepotism thing.
It was just a five minute lecture on my responsibility to the team — a warning — and then I was out the door and doing laps within the hour. Spitfire suspended me from any and all interviews until further notice, but she passed that sentence with a knowing smirk. Seriously, that’s like getting a slap on the hoof and earning a million bits for it. A blessing, really.
The rest of the afternoon was spent training, then I grabbed a coffee on my way home. The Mocha Club. If there’s a branch over in Canterlot, I highly recommended it. Best damn lattes you’ll ever find, as well as coffee in general. Just ask whoever it is who mails your letters to pick some up while they’re out and about.
Alternatively, you could simply ask Luna. I hear she’s addicted to the stuff, almost as much as me — it’s how she copes with so many late nights. Or days. Or however it works for somepony who’s more or less nocturnal. Not saying she’d step outside the palace for you, but I can guarantee you a princess always gets what she wants, no exceptions. Trust me, I speak from experience: Flurry Heart wanted to see a Wonderbolt performance for her sixth birthday, so we had to put a tour on hold midway through and improvise a show within a week.
Somepony needs to give that kid some boundaries, but I think we’re all to scared for that — scared she’ll blast us to the next dimension. Heck, might be how you ended up here, somehow.
Speaking of princesses, Twilight did send my letter on time. I don’t suppose Celestia was the one who handed it to you? If she did, I’ll have to thank Spike for incinerating it. Wasn’t expecting to see guards at her castle, though, or this other mare — a unicorn with a sun cutie mark. Seemed pretty important, whatever their meeting was about. Didn’t want to impose, so I left as soon as I arrived.
Anyway, that’s about it. Sorry this one’s shorter than the last; I’m heading to dinner with Mum and Dad soon. Just thought I’d write again considering it’s almost Hearth’s Warming Eve and you said you’d be writing as well. I’m getting cards from other Bolts and fans alike, but I’ll keep an eye out for yours.
By the way, the Equestrian Weather Bureau has put out a notice: it’s going to be a cloudless Hearth’s Warming. Perfect for stargazing. Just thought I’d beat Luna to it, in case she tries recommending it herself.
Regards,
Fleetfoot
Fleetfoot
I’m not much of a coffee person, sorry. Never liked the taste. Besides, while caffeine’s better at waking you up, but an apple keeps you up. Or so I’ve heard. It’s how I’ve done thing for as long as I can remember, anyway. Toast or leftovers, then an apple — Kanzi, specifically, or whatever you call the actual apple instead of the brand. And honestly, if you had a fruit bowl full of them, you’d find it empty before the end of the week. They’re just that good.
Or so I thought. Apple Family apples are insanely delicious, and when they’re baked into a pie, heated, then served with creamy vanilla ice-cream…
If there’s a heaven, I wish it were filled with nothing but that. Ice-cream and apple pie forever in all directions.
But you don’t want to hear me ramble about what makes a perfect afterlife. No, you want to know how Hearth’s Warming is over in Canterlot, don’t you? Well then, I’ll say this: it’s pretty alright. Streamers and banners lining the streets, lanterns lighting up the snow on the rooves. It’s also the first time I’ve been allowed outside the palace. Under royal escort, of course.
I never thought how liberating simply leaving that place could feel — to see the stars and not be standing on a balcony, or in the gardens. It’s all meant for my benefit, I know, and I’m sure I’ve said it before, but it’s grown tiring. I hope this means they’ll start slackening the rules, because for all the stares I received, I didn’t feel terribly out of place. Maybe that’s just the relief clouding my judgment, but I really didn’t mind the attention despite myself.
A little girl ran up to me — well, filly, but I’m not calling her that — and she offered me a candy cane. One of the guards insisted they taste it before I do as a precaution, which just ruined the whole thing and I let him have it instead. Perhaps that was his plan all along. But I thanked the girl for the thought and she skipped back to her parents across the lane, giggling. Cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Pretty soon, though, the whole city hopped on the bandwagon and started offering me gifts left, right and centre. I was swamped with treats and selfie requests, which I plan to let Raven leak to the press. She’s my middleman, by the way — or mare, or lady, or whichever’s the correct and least awkward term — and while she’s a bit stiff, she’s definitely easy enough to get along with. I suspect it’s really just a façade, to keep but the most confident of commonfolk at bay while she goes about her everyday life.
Ooh, look at me talking fancy! That must be Luna’s influence. This time next year, I’ll be the next Shakespeare; a delightful prospect, verily. But yeah, if you read the papers sometime in the next week, don’t be surprised to see my face plastered all over them. I’m not a huge fan of the fame, but I don’t want to promise all those people something and not deliver. That wouldn’t set a good precedent for humanity. We’ve done too much of it in our history already. No need for that reputation to bleed over into this world too.
I saw the annual play as well, about the founding of Equestria, seated between the sisters in the front row of the palace’s main hall, a few hundred other attendees behind us. Honestly, and I hope I’m not being insulting when I say this, but it works better on the page than it does on the stage, even if it’s all whitewashed mythology. At least in a book, you can imagine what that time period might’ve actually looked like.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being too cynical for my own good. Searching for flaws in a comparatively pretty flawless world. Jealous, for all I know, and care to know.
Luna got Celestia a lemon cake, which she grudgingly ate, and Celestia got Luna an “I hate Sundays” mug for all the coffee she’s now ordering from the Mocha Club, no thanks to you. As for me, I got a new wardrobe, and since I had nothing to thank them with, even with their insistence it wasn’t necessary, Luna finally relented and told me to mouth the “lyrics” to Pink Floyd’s The Great Gig in the Sky for them. She caught me doing exactly that in my room once, apparently, and now she wanted to show Celestia as well.
Well, I think it’s safe to say I was more than a little taken aback, but being the brave and resilient soul I am, and having brought this on myself, I did as I was told. And by the light of the hearth in the princesses’ shared living room, with two horse demigods as my witness, I made a complete and utter fool of myself, and I somehow loved every second of it.
The rest of the night was full of mindless conversation and half-baked quips, but Celestia always had the best comebacks. I don’t know how that girl does it, or frankly how either of them have been able to keep it together for so long — a thousand years of banishment notwithstanding.
Seriously, a thousand years, and they sound and act as if they’re no older than thirty.
So, that’s a brief recap of everything that happened. I hope yours was just as exciting. Interesting titbit about the guards and the unicorn at Twilight’s place. You don’t suppose that’s why they moved me out, do you? I doubt it, really, she’s never struck me as the dependant type — using guards seems out of character. But there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Whatever it was about, I hope it wasn’t too serious.
But now all that’s said and done, there’s one final thing I need to address, isn’t there? The music player in the envelope along with this letter. Well, in the spirit of Hearth’s Warming and Christmas of old, I grant unto you your very own copy of my entire music library, complete with all the songs and instrumentals you’d probably detest. Good luck figuring out which is which!
I’ll take only partial credit for this; Celestia thought it’d be better if I made it a challenge.
Wishing you a very merry Hearth’s Warming,
Philip
Philip
Oh, wow, this is the best gift ever! I’m shivering with enthusiasm! I can’t wait to stick my earbuds in and listen to some fucking JUSTICE!
Seriously, thanks. But also, screw you. Now I feel like I owe you something, and I don’t know what to give. And it’s past Hearth’s Warming now anyway, so I’ve missed the deadline, so now I’m the bad guy in this situation because you were more thoughtful than me. And screw you! Thank you, and screw you!
But unfortunately, no, my Hearth’s Warming wasn’t nearly as exciting. Mainly just myself, my mother and father sitting around a table trying to make conversation. Apparently, making friends with you was a step in the right direction, but now you’ve moved away; you’re no longer a physical presence, so it’s time to expand my social circle even more.
The food itself was okay — sweet potato curry with garlic bread and a desert of cherry pudding and sugar icing. The wine was better. Mum always liked wine. Not really my style, but it beats nothing at all.
Gosh, that’s depressing. For the record, I swear, we’re not a family at risk of tearing itself apart, you’re just catching me at a not great time right now. The fire didn’t burn so bright around our hearth that night.
Anyway, you finally made it outside the castle. Good for you. Just beware, maybe that first filly offered you her candy out of the kindness of her heart, but rest might’ve done it for the bragging rights. When somepony starts a trend, you can bet a Canterlotian would be quick to follow suit. It’s not fair to generalise, I know, but I don’t think anypony can deny certain cities behave more a certain way than others, and Canterlot as a whole tends to care for its image more than most. A giant popularity contest to one-up their friends, family, and maybe gain favour with the Sisters.
That’s experience talking. Don’t let it ruin your enjoyment of the city itself — there’s a lot of history there, including some pretty interesting tales of court politics, when you have the stomach for it. Nothing grizzly, don’t worry, just normally a he said she said sort of deal. Gossip, mostly. You’re better off reading up on the more devious tales, like this mare who once convinced the aristocracy she was the secret daughter of Celestia.
It’s been disproven by all accounts, but the Sisters play along, if only to watch her descendants make an ass of themselves — a topic of conversation over dinner. The most recent one’s fashioning himself as a prince. Blueblood, I think he’s called. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Don’t meet him.
Sorry, this isn’t turning out like I hoped it would. Spent half an hour figuring out what to write next. I’m doing fine. Cold weather training is next on the agenda, which means I might not have time to write for the next week or so, but I promise to write as soon as I can. We’re prepping for another world tour.
Joy.
I kid, I kid. The last one wasn’t so bad. Wouldn’t mind seeing those Yakyakistani snow mandalas again. I’ll take a picture for you, if you’d like, and I’ll be sure to give your music library a peruse. More workout tracks are always welcome. Any recommendations?
Oh, wait, that’s right, you’re being a dick about it. Ha. Ha-ha. Very fucking funny.
For real, take care. Hearing from you is nice.
Regards,
Fleetfoot
Fleetfoot
Sorry about your parents. Well, parent. Unfortunately, I can’t say I know how you feel — Dad was happy having me all to himself, seeing as we were both at work together most of the time, and Mum was happy so long as I was happy.
Look at that. Was. That’s like saying it’s all over. But it’s approaching two months now and I haven’t heard of any progress, so I can’t think what else to use. I know it’s not over. I still want to go back. It’s just been too long, I guess.
And yes, I’ve heard of Blueblood. Gods, even writing his name makes me feel dirty, especially after hearing the way he treated Rarity at her first Gala. Maybe he wasn’t really interested in her, but the very least he could’ve done was be nice. Trusting gossip wholeheartedly isn’t healthy, but nobody’s lied to me around here yet. Maybe a deflected question or two, but nothing downright deceitful.
Sweet mercy, if I were thrown into King’s Landing, I wouldn’t last a day.
Don’t worry if you don’t get that reference; no one around here does either.
So, another world tour, huh? Two years back to back abroad? That’s sounds pretty rough, but then again, after being cooped up in the same city for two months, a little variety wouldn’t hurt. Which is quite ironic: I’ve never been much of a traveller myself, and here I am, flung across space and time to another universe. Or however interdimensional physics work. Celestia tried explaining the leading theories regarding them, but that just did my head in. Spent the whole night staring at the ceiling, having a miniature existential crisis.
I never got around to explaining where I’m living, have I? Well, it’s a modest room, as far as modesty goes for royalty. White, purple and gold everywhere. My bed’s made from mahogany, has four posts and a canopy, and the room’s bigger than anything I’ve ever stayed in. It’s like a penthouse all on its own. Leagues better than the motel. Dad would’ve killed for facilities like this.
The halls are lined with stained glass windows and paintings, more often than not depicting some kind of historical event. Considering how many times you’ve visited as part of a Gala, though, I’m guessing you already knew that. But now I think about it, I forgot to mention, I spied something interesting in Celestia’s wing of the palace while I was idling around.
You remember that unicorn you saw with a tattoo of the sun on her butt? I think I may have discovered her name: Sunset Shimmer. A former student, so the story goes, before some vague altercation happened and she ran off, and then another vague happening compelled her to make up on her own accord. Travels to distant lands nowadays, studying other cultures.
I’m noticing there are a lot of heroines here. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. At all. It’s just an interesting twist; in my world, history’s often very much dominated by male figures. I doubt that’s an indicator of a weird reversal of gender norms, as I’ve never heard nor seen hide nor hair of such a custom, but it’s a strange thing to notice. Kind of refreshing, to be honest. I like to read about any and all the warrior queens of old, and I get a small kick out of knowing there are, or have been people who bucked the societal standards and were accepted for it.
Maybe that’s the rebel in me talking. Luna’s starting to stoke it — getting wittier by the day. Can’t recall any specific examples off the top of my head, but I just know she’s feeling more at ease around me. Definitely enough to hum.
You read right. Princess Luna, Diarch of Equestria, Bringer of Night, Guardian of Dreams, Lady of the Moon, loves Tommy Dorsey’s I Guess I’ll Have to Dream the Rest. Who’d have thought? I’ll have to thank you for reintroducing me to that side of my library. The “big band” era is sorely underappreciated, even if it’s quite easy to think their songs are all more or less the same. My only regret now is that I don’t have nearly as many female vocalists. It’s making me feel a little self-conscious.
A petty concern — music is music; what matters is the lyrics and their meaning and beauty. But here I am saying this, and I know a good chunk of that library’s dedicated to jokes, parodies, sendups, mashups, and whatever else you want to call them. Again, good luck traversing the minefield, though some are easier to spot than others.
Anyway, here’s to hoping cold weather training doesn’t give you frostbite. I know pegasi are resilient to the temperature, but kind thoughts are always welcome, aren’t they? And yeah, snap some pictures while you’re out and about. I can only go so far as the sisters allow me, and since I can’t stretch my legs further than Canterlot, I’m starved for new locations.
Take care, Fleetybee,
Philip
Philip
Sorry I haven’t written in a while. This new world tour’s approaching faster than I thought, and I’ve been staying up late perfecting my routines with the team. Spitfire’s had to delegate training the reservist recruits to one of the ground crew, and she’s pretty sour about it. She’s not mean, I swear, she just loves finding new ways to scare the crap out of them. Which you could say is the very definition of mean.
We’ll be going north first, making our debut at the Crystal Empire, do a few performances there from west to east, then a bit further north into Yakyakistan, and east to west through there. Then it’s a southern run straight down the coast of the GK, the Dragonlands, and then west across the sea to Mount Aris. Up to the southern Equestrian provinces, then spiralling clockwise around Equestria proper until we reach Canterlot.
You’ll finally be able to see me perform. And for that show, I’m planning something special. I hope it won’t disappoint. The break afterward has also been extended, as compensation for the back-to-back nature of everything.
I’m also sorry I won’t be saying much this letter either. I’m tired. More than usual. And dealing with Mum getting teary about the whole situation hasn’t helped my patience. “Just when we were spending more time together!” she exclaimed. Mare just can’t let go. But then, it means we’ll miss celebrating my birthday together again, so I can’t exactly blame her.
Updates will be sparse from here on out, and probably take a while, since I’ll have to rely on the local postal system to get it to Twilight, who’ll get it to you. Please don’t feel bad if it takes a while for me to respond. I don’t mean to be negligent. Jobs interfere with life, and vice versa.
Next message will probably be from Rainbow Falls.
Regards,
Fleetfoot
Fleetfoot
Wow, that’s quite a timetable. I knew the Wonderbolts were popular, but that popular? Jeez. You must love your job to be that dedicated.
Nice to know our families aren’t so different after all. As in, how they behave, or would’ve behaved when their children left. I imagine both my parents would be confused and heartbroken, and maybe a little angry, me just disappearing on my way back from a Star Wars convention. Which, for your information, is one of the best known science-fantasy universes out there, and totally doesn’t make me a vanilla-ass nerd.
If I had the two original trilogies on me, I’d show you in a heartbeat. Seriously, for all their faults, they’re worth watching, if only so you’ll understand a number of references I may or may not drop.
Luna grows evermore curious about my taste in music, and she’s requested a copy of my library for herself, techno and all. I’m not sure if she’s planning anything, but I’m a little hesitant for some reason. It’s like I’m a bad influence on her precious, innocent mind, even though I know she’s far from innocent.
Sparing you the details — and you never heard this from me — she’s a sultry drunk. But don’t worry, she’s not trying anything, and as far as I can tell, has no intention to. And I blew a huge sigh of relief when she told me that , because the last thing I need here is a princess, much less a horse princess getting the hots for me, and to be living alongside them for next few months. What a scandal that would cause back home, if they knew the truth.
To be honest, I never thought of you ponies in that way before. Not to sound condescending. You have to understand, in a world where there’s only one sapient species, even thinking about a horse, or dog, or cow or whatever in that way is just a big, big, BIG no-no. I mean, we humans have made games where we can, and more often than not do romance another sapient species, but they’re always humanoid.
This is why I don’t like thinking about that sort of thing here. There are just too many ethical queries involved. I’ll have to accept it, but I’ll never really be comfortable with it, I don’t think. Part of me wants you guys to “stay pure” in my head somehow, but that’s just naïve of me, and unfair, and unrealistic. All I can do is shake my head and despair at how human we really are.
And now that makes me feel racist. Or speciesist, or whatever.
My god, I’m focussing too much on this.
ANYWAY! On a I-totally-wish-this-wasn’t-related-but-kind-of-is note, Celestia posited the idea of what I plan to do if she’s unable to fix things. Where I’d go, how I planned on spending my time, whether I saw myself fitting in or sticking out. She made it clear she wasn’t implying she’d given up hope — and neither have I, frankly — but it’s gotten me a little worried.
Anyhow, that’s nothing you need to fret over. Sorry. I just don’t want to leave my old life behind. The sisters are doing what they can, and I really do appreciate everything they’ve done — it’s more than I probably deserve, at any rate. And strangely enough, I’m missing the Castle of Friendship as well, and especially the nights you, me, Twilight and Spike shared together. Those were swell. Felt like a proper home, in a way. The palace here? I’m not so sure about. And I can’t rightly say why.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just in a funk tonight. I hope travelling abroad fares you better than staying cooped up here is faring me.
Bloody hell, just can’t keep it together. I think I’ll turn in now. A night’s rest always works wonders, and I’ll certainly be looking forward to breakfast: red velvet pancakes with mixed berries and vanilla ice-cream. Living the high life has never tasted so rich.
I’ll see you when I see you,
Philip
Philip
If we’re being honest, talking about that isn’t comfortable for me either, so I’m right there with you when you say you should stop focussing on that. If you want a mature discussion, then fine, but if you don’t want to make this awkward between us, then let’s cut that line of thought off. I don’t mean to be disrespectful or heartless, I’m just saying what I’m sure we’re both thinking.
Luna being a sultry drunk is a new one, though. I’m surprised either of the Sisters could even get drunk. And now I’m wondering if she’s just like the rest of us, or had to drink a couple dozen barrels of champagne. If it’s the latter, that would’ve been a sight, and I’d also have to wonder just how big the cellar is over there.
Didn’t Spike say something about that, and the quality of their mouldy cheese?
Anyway, yes, don’t fret yourself. They’ve worked miracles in the past, so I don’t see why their… well, magic would stop now. Granted, Twilight and the Element Bearers have done the vast majority of the heavy lifting since they were chosen by fate, or however it happened, but that doesn’t mean the Sisters don’t have a few tricks under their wings.
And don’t worry about your family. They sound like a resilient bunch. Heck, if you’ve coped this well after being dropped into an alien world, I’m sure you got that hardiness from somewhere. They’ll be alright. They’ll be sad, of course, but they’ll survive. We’re all stronger than we think. It’s just a shame tragedy has to test us so harshly.
Huh. That almost sounds refined, coming from me. Maybe all that Luna-speak is rubbing off on me too. But yeah, if there’s one lesson I keep having to remind myself of, it’s that I need to relax every now and then. Not worry so much. Recognise we can’t control everything in our lives. Scale back expectations and focus on what we can handle.
And I know, it’s always easier said than done. Trust me, I’ve been making the same mistake for almost thirty-three years now. You say it’s hard to believe the Sisters are a thousand years old? Try thirty-three on for size. Celestia and Luna should be thankful they don’t have a mother hounding them to experience the same joys in life as she has before it’s too late. Nothing makes you feel as ancient as that, let me tell you.
And there I go, ranting about Mum again. Sorry. She isn’t that bad, really, I swear, but it’s just one of those things you can’t get over about somepony — that one detail you just can’t accept. If only they were less of this, if only they were more of that. If only they accepted you for who and what you are. What you always will be.
But that’s enough depressing garbage. You want to know what it’s like in the Empire. Green. Fertile plains throughout the whole basin, always green no matter what time of year. The fields shimmer like emeralds at noon when the wind blows, and the mountains forming the Empire’s borders are massive. Their cliffs glint with the sun’s light at dawn and dusk, filled with so many gems they could feed the Dragonlands for a hundred generations, easily.
The architecture’s beyond compare, even to Canterlot; the Empire was founded after Equestria, but Equestria borrowed the Empire’s culture. The key word there is “borrowed”. You’ll see Imperial influences only in the oldest Equestrian towns and cities, where the majority of the nobility live. Everywhere else kept to their own regional styles, too set in their own ways to change.
We stayed in our airship during most of our performances. I was and still am bunking with Thunderlane, Rainbow — she says hi, by the way — and Wave Chill. Thunderlane snores. Rainbow had the idea to tip some water down his mouth when he inhaled on a particularly bad night, but I satisfied her by smacking him in the face with a pillow.
The shows weren’t all that spectacular, except for the one in the capital. It was as much a light show as it was a performance, really, since we’d arranged for entire performance to happen inside the stadium at night, with heavy clouds over the open roof. Since I was waiting on the sideline until Soarin and I got the signal to pull our Rising Eagle manoeuvre, I have to say, watching coloured spotlights track a dozen pegasi zipping about a pitch-black arena is something to behold. But if the palace has a TV, you might’ve caught a glimpse of it yourself.
Seeing isn’t the same as experiencing, though. I wouldn’t mind if you were able to tag along, finally being able to meet the gang. But we’ll just have to wait for the end of the year, won’t we?
Yakyakistan’s next. Overall, I think this has been a good start to the tour. But save some of those pancakes for me — they sound delicious.
Regards,
Fleetfoot
Fleetfoot
Great to hear things are going well! Not that I ever doubted they wouldn’t And thanks for the words of assurance, for what they’re worth. And it’s okay, you can rant about your mum to me all you like — I won’t take offence. What’s a friend for if you can’t bitch to them about something that’s troubling you, even if that something’s a someone, and as close to your heart as your parents? She doesn’t need to know. I wouldn’t know how to contact her anyway.
I imagine it’ll be quite a while before I hear from you again. That’s alright. Knowing there’s a special day at the end of each month is making me feel better about my stay here, for some reason. It’s like I can now tell myself the mediocrity’s worth something.
But that’s a bit harsh of me. Celestia put aside a day just for me the other week, where we had a picnic in the shadow of not Niagara Falls. And it was nice. Grilled cheese sandwiches — very unladylike of her — and fresh fruits and berries. Pleasant conversation on the nature of things, and shared hardships. It was honestly the most liberated I’ve felt in a long, long while.
Luna’s been up to her own shenanigans as well, deciding, of all things, that my music library should be made public — a testament to the similarities and uniqueness of our two cultures. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. I just smiled and shrugged — I wasn’t really in a position to argue, But despite the fact my world’s copyright or fair use laws probably don’t extend beyond dimensions, I won’t be taking any of the credit: that feels dishonest. So, watch out for any songs on that audio player broadcast on the radio. But don’t worry, I haven’t greenlit any techno.
Another small update, but nothing much has happened. Still waiting for news, still trying to make the most of this situation. That’s all there is to it, right?
Oh, and I watched you perform on TV. You did well, all of you. Can’t wait to see what you have up your sleeves for the next show.
Safe travels,
Philip
Philip
I finished listening through your entire library. Every single track.
Who the heck hurt you when you were young?
I kid, I kid. I can’t say everything’s up to my standard, but your taste in music doesn’t totally suck. More a fan of your older selections, surprisingly enough: 70s to 90s, and a select few from the early 2000s. After that point, it seems all your “iconic” songs are about who had the hardest hitting beat, rather than the deepest lyrics. And before you start pointing to your male artists with that whiney way of singing, no. Just no. Personal failings start and end with you — you can’t just sweep it under the “I’m only human” rug.
So, as for what I like? Well, a lot of your one-hit wonders, for starters — that’s something we can agree on. Basically all of your concept album groups, which includes Alan Parsons Project, Pink Floyd, pre-Ghost Stories Coldplay, and weirdly enough, that musical rendition of War of the Worlds. Electric Light Orchestra I’m iffy on, as well as Roger Waters, but George Michael is a definite yes, and so is P!nk — unrelated to Floyd — Tom Petty, Tracy Chapman. Too many to list.
Yeah, your taste isn’t half bad. Objectively atrocious, considering the presence of Daft Punk and Justice, but not completely beyond saving. My favourite’s What’s Up? No idea why, it just calls to me. Could sit in my bunk all day bobbing my head along, mouthing the lyrics. And the funny thing is, it’s not even that great. But I love it. WHY?! YOU THINK YOU’RE IN A TOUGH SPOT?! YOU’VE MADE ME QUESTION WHAT I VALUE MOST IN LIFE!
On a lighter note, Yakyakistan is always snowy, always cold. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Or the yaks. They’re a very straightforward… people (yes, writing that in place of “ponies” demands a dramatic pause), even the nobles, and it’s such a breath of fresh air compared to Equestria. No pretences, subtext, or whatever other name you want to call court culture. Just plain “I say X and I mean X, and if I meant Y, I’d have said Y”, but in less words. There’s an elegance in being blunt, I think.
Yurts everywhere. Campfires too. Prince Rutherford’s great hall is one of the very few permanent buildings in the capital, which has survived thirteen avalanches. If it’s so dangerous, I wonder why they don’t just up and leave, but I guess they’re too proud for that. They don’t want to give up sovereignty, so they brave the elements and make their own path. And in some strange way, I can respect that. Absolutely foolish, but damn, they have guts and are reaping glory.
As for this show, it was nothing special again. A few loops, a few spins, a few dives, a few Buccaneer Blazes, and the crowd was roaring. And stomping. I managed to take few pictures of the snow mandalas before they were trampled, as you’ll have noticed from the photos in the envelope. I almost always live up to my promises.
What? I’m not the Element of freaking Loyalty. Don’t judge.
It’s the Griffon Kingdoms next. They’re more technologically similar to Equestria, so expect those performances to be televised as usual. Two locations down, the rest of the year to go. We’ll see each other soon enough, don’t you worry.
Regards,
Fleetfoot
Fleetfoot
Glad to be an existential threat. Now, to business…
Luna and I did something stupid. Like, incredibly stupid. And I couldn’t be happier. I’ll show you in person when you swing around, but I promise, you won’t have seen anything like it before. It’s a one-of-a-kind experience I’ve promised will only stay between her, Celestia, myself, and maybe you. Still need to do some convincing, admittedly, but you know how persuasive I can be.
Five months, though. I think. I’m starting to forget. Hard to believe it’s been that long without checking the date on my phone, in any case. My twenty-seventh birthday’s coming up in a few days. It’ll be the first I’ll have spent away from my family, but also the first I’ll have spent with royalty. And I’m not sure what to make of that, honestly; I don’t feel sad, but I don’t feel happy either. It’s a strange “it is what it is” feeling. Reminds me of when I woke up in the hospital and saw you and the nurse.
I swear, I’m not feeling down when I write this. Twilight said we deal with shock in different ways, so I guess this is mine: I just… do.
Celestia met that Sunset Shimmer character the other day. Definitely a former student. Sounded like they were discussing something important, so I’ll see what I can dig up and report back to you next letter. Not much in this one because, again, there’s only so much you can do in a palace.
Hoping for a safe return,
Philip
Philip
I’m sure you already know this, but be careful you don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Not saying the Sisters would do anything cold-hearted, but it’s just a general rule of privacy. And definitely don’t go biting the hoof that feeds you.
Anyway, yeah, What’s Up? is fast becoming the soundtrack to my life, and screw you SO HARD for introducing me to it. It infuriates me. Like, no joke, I get the feeling I’m starting to sing it out of spite more than anything else, but I can’t say where the spite’s directed — what part I don’t like. You’ve legitimately ruined my life.
The workout songs I’ve picked up are making up for it, though. Keeping me motivated, keeping me in tiptop shape. I can tell you the rest of the team’s taken an interest as well: Soarin likes Duffy’s Mercy, Rainbow likes Hey Jude, and I swear, the instant Spitfire heard the first few seconds of this one Save Ferris song, she was itching to get out the door and stretch her wings. Wave has found The Beach Boys to be his calling, and Thunderlane can’t get enough of Holding Out for a Hero. Crazy fool blasts it on the stereo whenever he thinks nopony else is around.
You’ve created an epidemic, Philip. I hope you’re happy.
Griffonia is a very mountainous land, but very beautiful. The valleys are full of grass and sheer, impressive drops, and while the snow never melts completely, it’s not exactly cold. To pegasi and griffons, at least. If you’ve never seen black sand before, or ancient temples and villages based on the highest peaks, this is where you go.
And on the note of temples: yes, they’re still in use. Worshippers of the local deities have grown fewer and fewer the better known the Sisters are, but there are always traditionalists, no matter the culture.
As for the griffons themselves? Gruff and boisterous, but tolerable. They tend to treat you as if you’ve been friends for years, instead of letting you settle into things. You know I’m more naturally reserved, but even Spitfire was taken by surprise when King Gundahar hugged her and slapped her on the back after she held out a hoof to shake.
Since we’d come through just half a year earlier, we needed to mix things up a little. Mass formations — the whole team in one sitting, shorter show, one heck of an applause afterwards. I think I spied Twilight’s former student in the crowd when we were bowing, sitting alongside her girlfriend. Maybe. They were the only ponies in that audience, at any rate, and one was wearing a purple cape.
The Dragonlands are next, and then Mount Aris. More than halfway there, Philip, just bear with me.
Regards,
Fleetfoot
Philip
The news has probably already reached you, but Sun Chaser sprained a wing while practicing on the way from the Dragonlands to Mount Aris. She’s been replaced by a reservist, Hurricane, for the time being. Now it’s her time to shine. Very rarely does this happen, but it happens, and that’s why the reservists are there — to plug the hole in a leaky ship. No, we’re not going to sink, but precautions are always necessary.
I’m going to assume your letter’s either late or lost in the mail, so I’ll just answer a few questions that might probably be on your mind. Firstly, I’m posting this from Klugetown because the Dragonlands are heavily depopulated and Mount Aris is such a small location; we got through both within the month, so most of our focus has been the southern provinces.
Secondly, the Dragonlands is an ostensibly barren, relatively unforgiving volcanic plain. It’s full of crags and lava flows, and what little workable land there is — as we ponies understand it, at least — is overrun by creatures as vicious, if not more so than any dragon could be. The dragons themselves don’t really have too many towns, preferring instead to live in any tunnels, caves and hollows they can find, and if none are available, dig one. Back before Lord Ember (Lady Ember isn’t as intimidating — her words), they’d have fought over living space.
Mount Aris is a towering… well, mountain and, as far as I’m aware, the only piece of land owned by the hippogriffs. It sits at the end of a long and narrow peninsula, which is the only way to reach it by land. That helped protect them from any would-be invaders for a long time, before the Storm King took away that advantage with his airships. But despite their martial history, they’re really quite peaceable. In fact, there’s a garden in the capital dedicated solely to the art of meditation. It sings, like windchimes. I almost fell asleep when I was there.
The southern provinces are largely part of a giant desert, Abyssinia and Saddle Arabia being the two most prominent. The ponies — and other people, mind, such as the Abyssinians themselves, who are bipedal cats — live seminomadic lifestyles, moving from one oasis to another when the sands and seasons shift. I don’t know how any of them can tolerate the heat, but I guess you get used to it after ten generations or so.
The pyramids and ancient ruins are worth a gander, if you get around to it. I don’t think they’ve been studied by archaeologists yet, so whoever built them, we don’t know the names or how their society functioned. Outside oral histories, that is, but I haven’t had time to listen.
The shows have been short, and once again, apart from Mount Aris, I’m sorry everything hasn’t been televised, but we’ll be heading for Equestria proper after tonight. And not too long after that, we’ll have arrived at Canterlot.
See you soon,
Fleetfoot
Philip
I’m at Baltimare now. Still haven’t heard from you. Is everything okay? I haven’t done anything to upset you, have I? Or has the address changed, or something?
I can understand a month of radio silence, but now I’m starting to get a little worried.
Fleetfoot
Dear Philip
I didn’t see you at the performance.
I looked for you beside the Sisters, or close to them, but you weren’t there. Your chair was, but not you. Celestia told me after the show you decided to stay in and watch it, and you’re having trouble “coming to terms” with something. She was fairly vague about it, but said to give you some space and let you do things in your own time. If she hadn’t, I was liable to walk up there and knock on your door without a second thought.
Rainbow and I did a twin rainboom for the finale. Thought that’d impress you — two explosions of colour that wouldn’t send you to another dimension. Was given the go-ahead by the Weather Bureau, who said the storms had cleared up.
I was hoping that’d make you smile. That sounds childish of me, I know, and maybe a little inappropriate, bit it’s the truth. I like making you smile. I don’t like you not enjoying yourself here. And whatever’s happening between you and Celestia, or whatever else, I want to know. You’re a good friend, and I don’t want to let that go to waste. So please, if and when you can, write back, or call me, or something. I don’t want you to feel alone out here.
Sincerely,
Fleetfoot
Fleetfoot
Can we meet up someplace?
Philip
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