The two military ponies stared at Rockhoof, mouths agape.

The large ice-blue stallion in front of them stared right back, calmly wiping his bloodstained shovel against the dead leaves beneath him before sheathing it.

He’d clean it properly once he was back at the castle.

“Everything alright? That was close… any of you have any idea what that creature was?” He asked in French, distastefully poking his hoof at the decapitated head of…

Well, whatever that thing was supposed to be.
“It’s a piast.” Starswirl told, popping up behind him in human form.
“So it’s got a name.” Rock nodded. “What else do you know? By the way, is that thing used in alchemy? You know, to bribe your fairy ex.”
“Just take the whole head, I’ll ask Meadow to process it later. They live in the Lady of the Lake’s domain, north of here. Think of them as lake-based sea serpents in essence, though they’re part water spirits as well, with just a touch of dragon… or wyrm rather. Normally they used to live in Eire, but somebody ran them off the island so Vivian decided to make use of them as guards.”
“Lady of the Lake uh? One of the fay?”
“Correct.” Star confirmed. “But Lady Vivian is not quite the same as Morgane. Where Morgane delved into darker lore and obscure magics, she fused with a water elemental to attain her powers and create her realm at the bottom of a lake. I don’t think she scorns me quite as much as Morgane, but she’s always been a bit of an isolationist and… not very inclined to change her opinions.”
“Can we ignore her for now?”
“For now? Of course. But she does have something we’ll need eventually. A relic of immense power…”The mage told him. “It feels like she set a couple wards around, but nowhere near as extensive as the ones Morgane set up.”
“Yeah, you mentioned those earlier. She blocks monsters from coming in?”
“No, it only prevents them from teleporting in. They can just walk the old-fashionned way. Though… I can ‘port around just fine, and our summoning circles a couple days back weren’t impeded, so it’s not a full jamming array.”
“Guess that’s added to the list of things you’ll have to ask her.” Rockhoof shrugged.

A soft cough behind them interrupted the two Pillars in their tracks. They turned around, finding the two military ponies had apparently gathered their wits after the little altercation with the piast.
“Excuse me Mr Merlin...” The pegasus mare started in English.
“Hold on, so you do speak Equestrian?!” Rock interrupted before rounding up on Merlin. “What was that about locals speaking P-, I mean French then?” He asked.
“She’s American, she’s not from here.” The second pony, the unicorn stallion, explained with a thick French accent to his voice.

There was a pause.
“What’s America?” Merlin asked. “I mean… pardon me if I’m not up to date on local news but I’ve literally been living under a rock for the past millennium… and then some. I’m still not fully sure how long that was exactly.”

The two newcomers’ jaws dropped simultaneously before the stallion shook his head firmly, muttering a couple words in French under his breath.
“Long story short Mr. Merlin, her country is all the way across the Atlantic and is an ally of France. Our respective armies have a… partnership of sorts where we sometimes let Officers graduate from the other’s academies. I’m a Sous-Lieutenant, from Saint-Cyr, and she’s a Second Lieutenant, sent here from West Point for an exchange program.”

Merlin’s eyes twinkled with genuine curiosity as he leaned on his staff, the ghost pensively stroking his beard as he looked at the two ponies with newfound interest.
“France you say? Do you mean the Franks? That’s… I’m surprised their territory would extend so far west, what with the capital in Tornacum. Didn’t think young Clovis would even manage with the Visigoths to the south…”
“With all due respect… that’s quite outdated monsieur. Clovis more than managed with the Visigoths. He conquered and united territories to the point that he later became known as the first King of nowadays’ France. Unfortunately, saying empires have risen and fallen ever since would be a gross understatement.” The unicorn explained. “And we moved the capital to Paris. Tornacum… is that Tournai? That’s not even in France anymore.”
“Paris? Hmm… I’m afraid the name draws a blank. I take it the city was founded relatively recently?”
“I’m pretty sure you’d know it as Lutetia.” The mare interjected.

That simple remark got the stallion to throw her a surprised look, to which she replied with a cocky grin.
“Surprised? I read it in Asterix and Obelix.”
“As-… what? You’re the first Yank I meet that even knows the comic exists. I’m amazed.” He admitted.
“I read it for a bit of cultural immersion before coming over here. It’s a lot less boring a read than stuff like Journey to the End of the Night. No matter...” She focused her attention back on Merlin and Rock. “I’m sorry we got lost in the woods on the way. Where are we exactly, now?”
“West of the castle. You went right past it.”

Both lieutenants winced in unison.
“Now, I don’t want to bother too much since I suppose local history is interesting and all, but I’d rather we discuss it from the safety of the castle than in the middle of the woods where we can be jumped anytime.” Rockhoof interrupted. “Merlin?”
“I told you earlier, no teleportation. I need to scan the magic field.”
“So be it...” Rock sighed dejectedly before pointing his hoof in one direction. “Follow me, castle’s that way.”

The Earth Pony led the way home, though he kept quiet for the entire trek. Behind him, Merlin kept asking questions to the two newcomers, his friend genuinely curious as to what had happened during his absence.

And Rockhoof was rather surprised by what he heard too. Equestria hadn’t gone through that many regime changes in the span of time he had spent sealed away, so catching up wasn’t too hard barring all the cultural and political reforms.

France however? When Morgane entombed Merlin, the place was split in multiple kingdoms with very different cultures from east to west and from north to south: Bretons, Normans, Visigoths, Burgundians. Several times over the course of the centuries, one warlord would rise to power and unite all those regions, before his dynasty inevitably split it all up between his descendants.

In fact the region they were in, Brittany, only really was integrated into France proper by the 1500’s, having been a fringe province with its own sovereignty for the better part of its existence. And even then, it still kept a culture that was quite different from the rest of the country, influenced more by its pagan Celtic past than by the Frankish culture that latter coalesced to make up modern France.

It was all a bit too much for the Earth Pony to wrap his mind around, though his mage friend seemed quite eager to just soak in all the two lieutenants told him.

Speaking of lieutenants…

He managed to interrupt them just long enough to get an explanation as to who they were exactly.

Turns out, the military base east of Trecesson castle was actually a military academy. For officers. Camp Coetquidan, as they called it, had been set up as the new spot for training army Officers when the capital of Paris became too cluttered to keep a school there and remain practical. Both of them were last year students a few weeks short of graduating when the Event struck. They got caught just as they were driving back to base after a night out drinking.

Whether it was the alcohol in their blood or the transformation that caused them to total the car, they didn’t say.
“So what’s your name anyway? Forgot to ask...” Rockhoof said.
“I’m Miles.” The mare answered.
“Miles… isn’t that?”
“Yeah...” She grumbled, glaring at the path in front of her. “Used to be a dude.”
“I may be able to devise something to give you your masculinity back.” Merlin quipped. “Not immediately, since I have to figure out how to properly merge human and Equestrian magic so the enchantment would stick, but I might come up with something.”
“That… thank you for that.” She smiled. “Could you-
“I can’t make you human again.” Merlin interrupted her, making a cutting motion with his hand. “Modern humans cannot survive exposure to magic. If I were to turn you into a human, you’d die in a matter of minutes.”
“But aren’t you human?” The unicorn stallion asked. “I’m Emeric by the way.”
“Well met Emeric.” Merlin said, bowing his head slightly. “And to answer your question: yes and no. For one: I’m dead, and for second I’m from an era where humans could still practice and survive magic.”

He was also technically linked down to the soul to a creature from Equus, to the point where both shared the same conscience, so he really wasn’t an example of what humanity should be at its core.
“Lady Miles, I’m afraid I have to warn you: I have a lot of topics awaiting research, and very few assets to work off of. Making you male again may take weeks, months even, as it’s rather low on my list of priorities.”
“But that just feels so unfair…”
“You’re not the only pony in that situation you know. As far as I know, there is about a third of humans who come back that have their gender swapped… somehow. And in some cases that involves age as well.”
“Age?”
“Yes, age.” Rockhoof joined in. “There have been cases where middle-aged and elderly humans came back as pre-teens, kids even. You may even have lost a year or two yourself without noticing.”
“You’re saying that as if you weren’t human yourself.” Emeric said.
“That’s right, I wasn’t.”

The unicorn did a double-take.
“Come again?”
“I was always a pony. Didn’t Merlin tell you?” He asked, throwing a glance towards the mage that was now trailing behind the group.

Merlin just shook his head.
“Guess he didn’t. Thing is, I’m basically an alien as you’d call. Long story short: a demon or two escaped from our planet when our two worlds got too close, along with their clique of monsters and criminals. We had to bring something to help you combat them. Problem is… that thing won’t work for a while, so I stayed behind with somepony to keep an eye on it.”

Both lieutenants stared at him in disbelief.
“An alien?” Miles repeated.
“Eeyup. Closest word I can think of.”
“I thought aliens would be more...”
“Modern? Nah, we’re not like that.” Rock said. “Plus it’s even worse for me because I was sealed for a thousand years like Merlin over here. Technology and I don’t really mesh together.”
“So how did you even come here?!” Emeric burst out.
“Magic.” The stallion shrugged simply before returning his focus to the path ahead of them.

The group kept going down the trail back to the castle, and with the two newcomers now silent Rockhoof elected to give them a quick explanation as to how he intended to run the castle. Lacking anywhere else to go, he was more than willing to let the two of them stay in one of the many rooms available, be it inside the castle itself or even in any of the outbuildings that made up the farm.

But they’d have to pitch in, and he told them up front this wasn’t going to be easy. He damn well knew they could have salvaged food from anywhere in nearby villages, but that supply could only last them so long. Farm work it was, and farm work was hard work.
“We’re military, hard work doesn’t scare us.” Emeric boasted.
“Sure you do.” Rock smiled. “But remember one thing: I do things old-school, so don’t expect me to pitch in if you want your modern luxuries. That means electricity.”
“That supposed to be a challenge?” Miles scoffed.

Rockhoof rolled his eyes. Might as well be talking to Flash Magnus. From one planet to another, from a millennium to another, military folks always would be irrevocably cocky.

Eh, they’d have all the time they wanted to change their mind. Plus, the looming challenge seemingly got the human-turned-mare to look beyond her current gender problem. He sincerely hoped Star wasn’t lying when he said he might be able to come up with a solution.

A couple minutes later, they finally reached the castle, and Rockhoof was surprised to see Martin rush out to great him with a hug. Meadow was there too, with her mane tied up in her usual beehive so she could easily work in her garden.

Rockhoof tossed Martin on his back with a smile and walked across the courtyard to greet her, throwing one forehoof over her shoulders and planting a quick peck on her cheek.
“How’s the tree?” She asked him.
“Growing just fine, pretty quick even.” He reassured her. “And over here?”

Meadow glanced over Rockhoof towards where Merlin was now chatting about the castle with the two new ponies.
“Martin dear...” She told the fawn on his Rock’s back, seamlessly switching to French. “Merlin is here, do you want to talk to him?”

The kid’s head turned so fast Meadow wouldn’t have been surprised if it snapped, his features immediately brightening up with utterfanboyish glee.

And in a second, he was off Rock’s back and rocketing towards the ghostly wizard with a squee.
“Diversion?” Rock asked.
“Martin’s a sweet kid, but I think he’s a bit too young for that kind of talk.”
“Oh...”
“Oh indeed honey.” Meadow whispered, breathing in the stallion’s musky scent mixed with the smell of forestry. “Remember that potion Starswirl mentioned? I managed to brew it.”
“So you mean you...”
“If it’s with you? I’d take this potion as many times as I can so we can fill up the entire castle with foals.” She said tenderly.
“You’re not worried about age?”
“I’m a master alchemist dear, and I have another potion for you and me so we can live as long as we need to see these foals all grown-up.”

Rockhoof looked off in the distance pensively. At the edge of the castle’s moat, reeds broke up the silvery surface of the water, and there a mallard hen had made her nest, with half a dozen little ducklings trailing behind her.
“Tonight?” He whispered.
“Tonight.”

He’d have a family again. And this time, he wouldn’t let himself be separated. Not anymore.

The mallard quacked.

“Hold it!” Schmitt called out. “Don’t touch that engine until we’re all green, alright?”
“Yes ma’am.” The reply came from the group of sphinxes gathered around Fugro’s port engine.

Admittedly, the orange dragon was a bit angsty. She was standing on the bottom of the graving dock along with Todd and Erik, respectively Fugro and Rhine’s Chief Engineers.

Now that she thought about it, it was a bit weird that all Chief Engineers in the fleet had their gender swapped by the Event. What were the odds?

One in twenty seven. Her mind supplied the answer.
“Stressed out?” Todd casually asked.
“Well obviously.” She said, crossed her arms over her chest, one puff of smoke escaping her nostrils. “It’s you who’s a bit too confident about that idea of yours.”
“Schmitt, we do need to extract the engine.” Erik reminded. “We’ve gone over the operation, if we want to leave the dock on schedule we need to work on the engine in the shop.”
“That I agree with.” She frowned. “What I don’t is how you wanna go about it.”

And she felt like she had every right to be. Erik and Todd’s idea of an engine removal involved gathering all the telekinetic leverage they could (a.k.a. sphinxes) to lift the 40-tons hunk of Rolls-Royce metal out of its seating and pull it out of the side of the ship.

Granted, there already was a fair-sized hole there ever since they had removed the damaged structure, but she’d much have preferred if they cut open the deck above the engine room to lift it thenormalway. Using the cranes the bloody repair yard was already fitted with. The gigantic yellow cranes with a SWL above the thousand-tons mark. Samson and motherfucking Goliath!

But nooo.

Let’s save time and use sphinxes, of course. The idea was that the sphinxes, being already powerful creatures as far as magic went, would have enough leverage in group to lift the engine for a short distance out of the hull. And once it was up in the air, a couple flyers would swoop down and attach the straps so one of the gantry cranes could then take the burden.

On paper? Sensible if you squinted and used a non-western safety culture.

In practice? It meant that if only one of the sphinxes released their grip they might have a marine engine-sized wrecking ball falling down through Fugro’s hull and causing a catastrophic failure.
“It’ll be fine.” Todd insisted as she adjusted the bandanna holding back her wavy purple mane in her telekinesis.

Schmitt dubiously glanced down at the unicorn mare out of the corner of her eyes. The Scottish mare looked confident at least, the bright look on her muzzle shining through despite the numerous oil stains she had over her white fur. Todd certainly wasn’t the kind of Engineer that had her subordinates do all the work, she was rather ‘hooves on’, which was all the more bizarre to anyone who took a look at her. Her post-Event body was more that of a fashionista than that of a blue-collar worker.

Well, at least the engine wouldn’t stay aloft too long. Remove it from the ship, and then the crane would deposit it on a superheavy trailer.

“Alright, let’s do it before I change my mind.” Schmitt barked after a couple seconds as she pulled out her walkie talkie.

“Attagirl, that’s the spirit.” Erik nodded.

On that note, the three of them split up to install themselves at key position, with Schmitt opening her wings to fly up to the top of the gantry crane they had brought above Fugro like a gigantic yellow arch with the letters ‘H & W’ proudly displayed in black on the crossbeam.

Was it Samson or Goliath again? Didn’t matter.

The two cranes were engineering marvels in and of themselves. Built to match the scale of an ever-growing shipping market, each had their crossbeam seated at an impressive 90 meters above the graving dock and were over 140 meters wide. They were asymmetrical too: most of their weight was supported on one side by a wide pillar that also contained a lift, and an A-frame on the opposite side provided some much-needed stability to the 4000-tons machines.

In fact the cranes were so big they hadanotherjib crane on top of them just to get parts to the trolley atop the crossbeam. Said trolley which was in fact Schmitt’s current destination.

It was in times like that she counted herself lucky her transformation into a dragon came with a set of wings. Damn practical to get around,particularly since it saved her from having to go up the crane the old way.

The trolley was a house-sized cabin with red-painted metal walls installed atop a pair of rails that coursed over the length of the crossbeam. Not a small thing by any stretch of imagination, it contained all the pulleys and cable drums used to lift loads, motors to drive all the machinery, as well as the 1.1MW diesel generator that powered the whole crane.

Yeah, turns out they were wrong assuming the cranes ran on the local electric grid. They’d just needed to top them off and tune up the gensets before the hulking cranes were ready to resume work.

The crane operator (an A/B griffon from Fugro… Floyd if memory served) had already gone through the startup procedures, as the airborne dragon could see a thin plume of smoke rise up above the trolley. She angled her wings to change direction.

Unlike other gantry cranes she had already seen in the past, the operator’s cabin wasn’t situated in one of the support pillars or even directly on the trolley. Instead, she beat her wings and approached a small beam that arced at a 45° angle below the trolley to peek underneath the crossbeam. There, at the end of the beam, was the cabin.

Or, as aptly described by one crane operator that vehemently refused to climb in the thing: a glorified fishbowl suspended twenty stories in the air.

Schmitt didn’t mind, and neither did Floyd apparently. Not much of a surprise to her: winged species didn’t have the fear of heights that plagued their grounded counterparts.

That train of thought brought her back to wondering how much her transformation had affected her mentally, something she’d rather not think about too much.

‘Keep that for later...’ She told herself before folding her wings. She smoothly landed on the cabin’s roof before letting herself fall down a small hatch in the roof. Floyd was there, the Brit mumbling a soft ‘Ma’am’ before going back to observing what was going on below them, a thermos of coffee in hand and a cigarette in his beak.

“Everything working alright with the crane?”

“Yeah...” Floyd quietly nodded. “Controls are a bit… weird, but all winches are in working order. Even had the time to inspect the cables for rust damage. Just waiting for them to get the engine out before I lower the hooks.” He explained, talons drumming against the control lever.

It wasn’t long before she heard her radio crackle with Todd’s voice giving the order to begin the operation. She didn’t see it, but a part of her could feel the thrumming power of all their sphinxes as they began lifting the massive engine. They didn’t even have that many sphinxes in the whole fleet, so it was a testament to their raw magic power that they could even lift it at all.

“Lower the hooks.” Schmitt ordered Floyd.

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” She insisted. “Get them as close to Fugro as you can. Let’s not make them keep up the thing any longer than they have to.”

The kestrel griffon in the operator’s seat gave a firm nod before letting his talons dance over the crane’s controls. With a loud whirr from all the winches up in the trolley, Schmitt watched the cables slowly descend closer to the ground.

Not too soon either, because a minute after they came to a stop next to the opening in Fugro’s hull, they got their first peek of the water-damaged port engine. Most of the damaged parts had already been stripped off of the engine block to shed weight, leaving behind a sky blue-coloured skeleton with only its silver grey manifold left attached to it. The entire metal block was wrapped in the ethereal light of telekinesis as the obviously strained team of sphinxes under it floated it out of the vessel.

Schmitt’s blue eyes flew towards the top of the engines, right where the welders had attached a couple rings to connect the hooks. They had put them on either side of the engine, right below where the exhaust and turbocharger manifolds connected to the engine proper.

“Flyers that’s you cue.” She called over the radio. “Get those hooks in place, the sphinxes won’t last long. Out.”

Just as she said that, a group mostly composed of griffons and hippogriffs flew up to the crane’s hooks that were now positioned right next to the floating engine. They had to flap a bit harder to pull the heavy-duty hooks in position, but they managed to attach them all correctly under a minute.

“Don’t release the weight yet.” She heard Todd warn over the radio. “Smooth, let the crane tension the cables slowly and take the weight. We don’t want shock loading today okay? Out.”

“Alright, tensioning cables… now.” Floyd flicked a switch, and the winches above them started turning in the opposite direction.

Rumours had it the cranes could bend half a meter in the centre when they were near maximum load. That would have been several hundred tons. The engine however? Its weight may have been significant for the sphinxes holding it up at the moment, but it was downright puny in comparison to the scale of the crane. The cables in the pulleys didn’t even groan when Floyd started reeling them in.

“Okay, I got the engine. Tell them they can release, good job sphinxes.” The griffon said.

From then on, the rest of the operation was pretty smooth. And that was the keyword with cranes: smooth. Most accidents with them (barring the odd weather-related breakdown) didn’t occur because someone tried to load them past their SWL, but because operators were in too much of a hurry and didn’t account for load inertia. Masses in motion don’t just stop instantly, and creating a pendulum effect on a carried load was about the last thing you wanted to happen with a crane.

Except for wrecking balls of course.

That in mind, Floyd went to work on the crane’s controls. Reel in the cables to lift the engine above the graving dock’s levels. Rev up the electric motors at the base of the gantry crane so he could roll it on its rails closer to the quays, and then he just had to slide the trolley to a position above the trailer they had decided to use to carry the damaged engine to the workshop.

Fifteen minutes later, a team flew in to detach the hooks holding the engine and a truck came to take the trailer to the workshop where the engineering teams would begin the hopefully not too lengthy process of bringing the engine back to operational status. Schmitt stared at it as it disappeared under the roof of the hangar, distractedly chewing on a used drill bit.

Eh, at least drill bits lasted longer than cigarettes. Probably a lot healthier too, at least for dragons (and maybe Diamond Dogs).

“Well, guess I owe Todd an apology about sphinxes being unable to do it.” She concluded, crossing her arms. “Good job with that crane by the way.”

“Meh, work as usual.” Floyd shrugged. “Say… may I ask a question?”

“You just did.” Schmitt snorted.

“Classic...” Floyd rolled his eyes. “So I was wondering… dragons like you, so far I’ve only seen them bein’ from Ireland, maybe Wales, or Eastern Europe. And you don’t sound like either. Maybe… German?” He guessed.

“Close, but not quite. I’m from Luxembourg.” She corrected him.

“That… doesn’t really answer my first question. How come you’re dragon?” He swivelled in his seat to face her. “You’re the first Luxembourger I meet by the way.”

“White Emigré.” She simply said.

“Come again?”

“My family—at least on my mother’s side- comes from Russia. Saint-Petersburg to be precise. Problem is… we were sided with the White Movement so when the revolution went wrong my ancestors had to flee to France. Later on we moved to Luxembourg of course, but that still doesn’t change the fact I got Russian blood.”

“Oh… guess that explains it.” Floyd commented with a whistle. “So you speak Russian?”

“Among other things.” She nodded. “I speak… Luxembourgish, German, French, English, Russian –with a bit of Ukrainian-, Portuguese of course, and a bit of Italian.”

Floyd blinked.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Eh, don’t act shocked. We start in Kindergarten.” She explained. “I was raised in Luxembourgish of course, but that doesn’t long. We switch to learning French and German before we turn eight in school. Then they add English later on. On the family side, we always did reunions in Russian ‘cause gramps said so,and I had to learn it. By extension, Ukrainian wasn’t too much of a stretch, and it’s rather useful what with how many of them you see in the maritime industry.”

“But… Portuguese?”

“They’re one of the biggest ethnic groups back home. There’s like… a hundred thousand of them, and remember Luxembourg only has like… six hundred thousand people in the whole country I think? So that too, was useful to learn.”

“And Italian?”

“Okay, that one was just because I like the country. You ever been to Gubbio? Lovely town I tell ya.” She said with a smile.

“Man… you ever get the feeling you’re overdoing it?”

“Nah, seeing foreigners react like that never gets old.”

The removal of Fugro’s engine was the biggest event of note that occurred that day. Naturally work carried on as usual around the docks, with teams scouring the harbour's warehouses for salvage, engineering crewmembers spending their time in the hangar molding raw materials into parts capable of fixing the engine, and various groups training for this or that or even just resting.

Them having Fugro in dry-dock didn’t mean they weren’t doing anything to Amandine either. Much like the removal of the offshore vessel’s port engine, they had decided to remove the half-burnt equipment in the bow thruster room and send it to the shoreside workshop for repairs. That was significantly easier to achieve than with a main engine thankfully, and with a bit of elbow grease, some minotaur muscle and clever use of telekinesis, the engineering team managed to extract all the parts and toss them on a trailer.

That included the generator and the electric motor directly connected to it. Both would have to spend quite a bit of time in the shop, but at least that would enable Amandine to recover some much-needed low-speed manoeuvrability. In other words: the ability to moor without tug assistance.

Once they cleared out the burnt machinery in the compartment, Carlos got to work on repairing all the damage the fire had wrought upon the electrical installation, which, needless to say, was a lot. His arm still in a sling from his injury, the Filipino parrot had to resort to using Radiant as an extra set of limbs what with Danny already being busy welding and cutting metal all over Fugro’s hull.

And obviously the Equestrian was intensely curious as to how an electrical installation worked. Granted he agreed with Angelo that Radiant could be nice to hang out with when it came to geeking and playing video games…

But the bloody pegasus just wouldn’t shut up with his questions! It was just in and out, an endless barrage of rapid-fire questions.
“Bonding? Earthing? What’s the difference?”
“So how does the colour-code work with the cables again?”
“What’s a multimeter for?”
“Tumahimik ka!” Carlos eventually squawked out in frustration, the cockatoo’s crest flaring up from sheer irritation.
“Beg your pardon?” Radiant meekly asked, his ears now laying flat against his skull after the outburst.
“Just… shut up. Please.” The one-eyed parrot pinched his beak. “Can you just focus on what we’re doing right now.”
“Oh… sure, sorry. I mean… we didn’t have electricity like that on Equus, so I’m just curious you know.”
“Yeah, I noticed. I promise, I can give you a couple syllabi later if you’re interested, but didn’t Aleksei teach you anything about it? Even the basics?”

Radiant shook his head.
“She told me to stick with you today. Said she was busy prepping tomorrow’s recce in the countryside and… buck, there was something else but I forgot.”
“Probably Micha’s birthday.” Carlos shrugged. “Bet she’s helping Vad’ with it.”

Radiant set down the multimeter he was using to check the new fuse box they had just installed.
“Oh really? She holding a party?”
“Not really, Vadim told me he wanted to keep it private, so they’re just having dinner… somewhere.” He shrugged. “Didn’t say where, just that he needed Aleksei to cover for them and watch Andy. I think.”
“You think?”
“Well it’s not like I pried. Ain’t none of my business.”
“Oh...” Radiant blinked. “You know… at this point I’m surprised I forgot not all species are as social as ponies.”
“It’s not like you’d be familiar with humans anyway.” Carlos replied while he quickly checked his list for what they needed to do next.
“No you don’t understand. As far as I’ve seen, you do match the general social behaviour of the species you turned into.”

Carlos pocketed the list.
“Elaborate.”
“Depends on the species, but for one I can tell the griffons and dragons on the crew sure are as solitary as those I met back on Equus. Vadim and Micha, they don’t have social circles that big, Schmitt mostly hangs around with the Captain and the Chief Officer, and Artyom...”
“With the veterans.” Carlos completed.
“Exactly. That’s always below half a dozen ponies they hang around with. Now if you look at the parrots.”
“What about us?” Carlos put his uninjured claw on his hip and stared down at the pony next to him with his sole good eye.
“Ahem...” Radiant clicked his tongue, doing his best not to look at Carlos’ eyepatch and the scar tissue around it. “Bigger circles, but not by much. Thing is, maybe I’m wrong but the groups you hang out with amount to about the same size as the flocks of parrots I’d see around the airship towers in Mt Aries. Like… they used to treat their fellow aviators as a second family. Maybe I don’t know… do you feel closer to the crew than before?”
“Fair enough.” Carlos gave a curt nod. “That is true. Now… list here says the fire busted a fuckton of sensors, and I’d rather we get that done before supper, ‘kay?”
“Fine by me. By the way, what was that earlier? ‘mahimi ka?”
“Tagalog, my mother tongue.”
“Sounds nice. Can you teach me some stuff?”
“Eh… why not?”

That beat the technical questions at least.

Later that evening, Micha was flying circles above the Titanic Quarter. At this time of the day, the sky had already taken an orange hue, with the last rays of daylight hitting the massive silhouette of the Titanic Museum and reflecting off of the many windows and silvery panels that made up its facades.

The gigantic thing was actually pretty impressive, even in the eyes of someone who didn’t have much taste for modern architecture like her. Built in honor of the ill-fated ship right next to the slipway where she had been built, its architects had designed it with four corners each mimicking the shape of Titanic’s prow, down to the angular edges that contributed to the reflection of light against the panels covering the facade. All four ‘prows’ of the building then merged into a bigger all-glass inner structure in the center.

From her position up in the sky, the museum looked like a blooming metal-and-glass flower enshrined in the ivory slabs at its base. Not bad. Then again, with that much budget a Victorian-style building would probably have looked way better.

And yes she was a bit disingenuous at times. Modern architecture wasn’t her favorite by a wide margin.

Micha’s raptor eyes quickly spotted her goal on the relatively featureless surface of the facade: a hole in the glass, somewhere towards the top floor and marked with bright spray paint. She angled her wings smoothly, turning her level flight into a soft descent that carried her through the opening. She came to a landing on all fours, stopping herself after a quick jog further inside the room.

A little issue she had found out recently with her raptor eyes: her eyesight may be far better than a human’s in daylight and nightlight, but her pupils were nowhere near as quick to adjust to changes in luminosity, which forced her to blink repeatedly before she could fully look at the room she’d just landed in, just about enough time to run her talons over her clothes to smooth them down.

Vadim had insisted she come dressed in casual clothing, so naturally she took this as her occasion to try out her new suit. Instead of her usual coveralls, she was wearing a green shirt that matched the colored feathers around her eyes, along with a pair of light brown cotton pants recently refitted to better hug her frame and with a tail hole. Above that, she also had a green scarf around her neck, and a black leather jacket with studs around the waist (actually closer to her midsection now). Not too bad, though maybe taking advice from Sandra (the sole actual female on the crew) wasn’t the best idea, as the batpony had insisted she make the clothes a lot tighter than she’d have liked. She also didn’t have shoes on, safety shoes were only really necessary when working on the docks, and being barefoot was more comfortable anyway. Exception made for the black leather gloves she had around her talons: hygiene was still a thing, and she had to eat with those claws.

She was in a hallway… of sorts. Heavy curtains blocked off one side, with the windows where she’d just flown in from on the other. A thick velvety carpet was beneath her, her paws reflexively kneading its surface. Obviously there was light inside, ever since they had restarted the power station in Kilroot electricity wasn’t much of an issue anymore as long as they bothered flipping the breakers. It was coming from somewhere further down the hallway.

What was odd was the violin tune she caught coming from the same direction as the lighting. She found herself humming along as she followed the sweet sound, eventually winding up in a much larger room that had her blink in surprise.

Make no mistake: Micha had already seen James Cameron’s Titanic. Several times over in fact. That gave all the more effect when she found herself atop an exact replica of the iconic ship’s Grand Staircase, down to the clock, the intricately shaped wood carvings and the little cherub statue.

At the bottom, a ballroom had been built to mirror First Class areas of the sunken liner: fancy carpets, a host of little round tables with pristine white tablecloths – one of them with a chandelier and a couple plates-, a bar in a corner with veneer furnishings, and finally one scene on a raised dais where Vadim was playing the violin whilst sitting on his haunches. If anything, the grey falcon griffon was dressed rather fancily: white shirt paired with tan trousers that matched the fur of his cougar half, to which he had even added a tie and white gloves.

She rather liked how closely the shirt fit his frame, highlighting the well-packed muscles of the male griffon. Where hens of their species were lean and thin, males were a bit shorter (length wise), but with a much bulkier frame.

Silently, she padded over to her mate who had yet to notice her. She let him play his instrument for a couple seconds more, before gently wrapping her arms around him from behind, her beak burrowing itself in the fluffy down of his neck.

“Nice evening don’t you think?” Vadim purred, carefully depositing his father’s violin in its case in front of him.

“Way to greet me champ, you’ve overdone yourself.” She replied in Polish.

“I got help.”He admitted.“This evening? It’s just you, me, a fancy dinner, and a First-Class suite replica until tomorrow morning. Happy birthday dear.”

“Who helped? Just asking, you know...”

“Hmm, let’s see.” Vadim turned around, tapping a talon against his beak. “Andy and Rahul helped with the cooking to make you some Pierogi – kid loves working in the kitchen mind you-. Aleksei helped me set up the ballroom and the suite. Alej’s picking up our watches while we’re here. Sandra and Camille helped pick the wine. And Angelo’s the one who gave me the idea in the first place, plus an extra… here.” He said, pulling a small package out of the violin case.

Giving him a quick peck of thanks, she eagerly opened it, finding it to be a CD with a note attached to it.

“So… I know you’re a big fan of Sabaton and the group’s probably not going to play anytime soon… but I know they’re Swedish so I managed to grab this from a recording studio while we were in Denmark. Found it across the strait in Malmö.”

Micha looked down and turned the note in her talons.

‘Prototype record. The Last Stand. All tracks incl. Winged Hussars. NOT FOR PUBLIC SHOWCASE’

“So I know… they weren’t supposed to release it for one year yet and all b- Gah!” He squawked when he suddenly found himself pinned to the ground by his own mate who was now happily rubbing her beak against his neck feathers with much purring on her part.

“Dziękujędziękujędziękuję!” She exclaimed giddily. “I thought I’d never get to hear it in my life!”

“I take it you like the gift?”He grinned before jabbing a talon towards the table with the chandelier. “So… wanna try out those pierogis Rahul made for you?”

She sure did.

One thing was for certain: coming up with something even half as good for Vadim’s birthday was going to be a challenge.

Author's Notes:

First off: yes, I know Sabaton released that album in 2016 and not 2015, which is why I made it a prototype version.

Alright, now that's out of the way...

It's kind of hard to find out exactly when the Arthurian Legends (or rather: A Matter of Britain as a whole) happened. So I decided to settle for the earliest estimation I found: 5th or 6th century. Which is much earlier than a Matter of France. That one is easier to situate in time since the Song of Roland features a knight of Charlemagne's army.

So:
*A Matter of Britain (Arthurian Legends) → 5/6th century → Merovingian dynasty (Clovis)
*A Matter of France (The Song of Roland) → 9th century → Carolingian dynasty (Charlemagne)

Incidentally, since the Song of Roland is considered to be the beginning of the French language and Merlin was sealed way before that, he couldn't possibly have learned French on Earth and would have been speaking ancient Gaellic, Breton or (most likely) Latin at the time since it wasn't too long after the Fall of the Empire.

So he actually knows it from its mirrored tongue, Prench, in Equestria.

Little details.

Another little detail would be that the somebody that ran the piasts out of Eire (aka Ireland) is actually... Saint Patrick, the Alpha Paddy.