The only other time Diamond Tiara visited Sweet Apple Abattoir was just before it opened for business. Her sire was making sure the establishment complied with the stringent regulations placed on such places, though that wasn’t his only purpose in coming in pony: he also wanted to make sure he wasn’t throwing good bits after bad, as well as instructing his precious filly on the intricacies of investing.

(That’s one of the things she admires most about her sire: his ability to combine purposes efficiently, like he is wearing multiple hats while doing the same work. It’s even better when he gets paid multiple times for the same work, but he always claims those to be coincidences, not intentional double-billing, and not something to strive for, which seems a little counter-intuitive.)

The atmosphere was much different then. There had been nervousness among the changelings as they checked the spotless walls, stomped on the black tile flooring so clean you could eat off of it (not that she’d touch anything that came from there), and tested the reinforced tables large enough for the heaviest bull to lay upon. Racks stood close at hoof, laden with knives of every shape and size, all sharpened and gleaming in the harsh overhead lights. Her gaze had lingered on the thick cleaver that all but demanded a demonstration of why such a heavy implement was prudent, or even necessary, though she was relieved such an exhibition was not coming.

It had just been the four of them: her sire, herself, Thorax, and Pharynx. There was plenty of space to maneuver if she didn’t want to get next to anything in particular, such as the cleaver. It was quiet, eerily so, with none of the whimpering or begging or squeals of pain and despair she imagined would fill such a space. But that was the whole point of their visit, right? To make sure the animals (or creatures (or ponies)) didn’t suffer unnecessarily before their processing. Even when they were moving the clip-clop of hooves faded to nothing. A conversation on one side of the main floor was nearly inaudible on the other, and forget about hearing anything from the basement even if the double doors to the stairs are open.

The place reeked of off-brand antiseptic, which she later found out was a cleaning compound created (regurgitated) by specialized changelings. It irritated her eyes and caused her nose to scrunch up. She even sneezed not once but twice, spraying one of the tables with droplets; both times Thorax cleaned it up with an apologetic smile and more of the solution that caused the sneeze in the first place.

She is surprised, as she steps into the Abattoir, how similar it is to the first time she came.

The antiseptic stench hits her first, stronger this time. It masks an undercurrent she doesn’t want to place but finds herself associating it with the emergency room of Ponyville General, sterilized but not fully covering a hint of foulness. She does her best to not let it bother her, merely scrunching up and lifting her nose a touch while scanning the fairly open main floor.

The main addition is a wooden counter at the front with wrapped packets and tinted bottles available for quick purchase. On top sits a dull black changeling nymph. The bloated, hamster-sized ball happily munches from a plate of grape-sized marbled meats. Diamond Tiara can’t smell them - the sterile odor is too strong, which is just fine with her - though she worries as the nymph struggles to cram each piece in her gaping maw. As soon as the nymph notices the door opening she hastily swallows and quickly shoves the plate behind the register, followed by two bowls containing soupy mixtures, one a chalky white and the other a thick, oily black. She grins and waves at Diamond Tiara, showing off a set of sharp teeth closer to the changeling’s original wicked and oversized fangs than the pony-like flat-topped molars they’ve adopted after their transformation. The earth pony waves back, gamely keeping her grin.

The biggest difference is the hustle and bustle that makes it hard to concentrate on any one thing. Half a dozen (and probably more) brightly colored weeks-old nymphs, these ones sleek and thin like squirrels, scamper underhoof. She’s amazed how rapidly they grow, the newly hatched nymphs able to snuggle into the frog of her hoof. Is it from their diet, a steady stream of nutrients and freely offered love? The nymphs carry various minor items such as small brooms and dustpans, cloths stained all different colors (none her dam or Mrs. Rarity would approve of), and sealed containers with indiscernible contents.

Well, she knows what the containers contain, but it wouldn’t do to show her disgust at the butchering process. Any more than she can avoid, that is.

While she can guess which one belongs to which adult based on the color schemes - light green and teal to Thorax, pale blue and pink to Ocellus, crimson and purple to Pharynx - she’s not terribly confident in her accuracy, as the changelings exhibit just as much if not more variation as ponies. And that’s just in their coats; they also vary in their vaguely-pupiled compound eyes (there is a lighter spot in the darker eyes that seems to indicate where they are focusing, unlike the previous changeling’s pure, unvaried teal), wings, elytra, horns, and occasional jewel studded along their throat.

Diamond Tiara’s gaze follows one of those nymphs to the end of the barn and their target. Pharynx seems to be… inhaling something from a comatose ram, if one could gulp and gulp and gulp and never run out of space in your lungs. Ocellus stands next to him, running what would otherwise be a soothing hoof along the wooly back. Then she picks up a limp hind leg and clamps it to a chain dangling from the ceiling. Only once both legs are secured does she bark a short command to Pharynx, muffled by the distance, and approach Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo.

“Hey, you two,” Ocellus greets with a friendly smile, her ability to mask her motives quite disconcerting. She slips past the two, ostensibly to wipe her hooves on a towel she dips in the white bowl, but it seems her main purpose is to turn the two so they have to twist their head all the way around to watch Pharynx, who is barfing a thick blue liquid into a gallon jug. The pink changeling’s thin smile falters for just a moment, laced with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Diamond Tiara answers, a little confused at the ‘you two’ until she realizes that Silver Spoon didn’t follow her. She feels a little self-conscious at interrupting, and the fact that a dozen pairs of eyes in the room remain trained on her no matter where the nymphs scamper. Still, being in the spotlight is a position she must show comfort in, not distress. “We had a question about how you see yourselves.”

“Oh.” Ocellus’ light blue ears, which normally stick out to the side, droop down much like a pony’s. One hoof rubs at her side while her gaze flicks from nymph to nymph, mostly focusing on the pink ones, before settling at her hooves. “A-about?”

“If I use the word ‘everypony’,” Diamond Tiara asks bluntly, “would you feel included?”

It takes a moment before Ocellus’ ears - indeed, her entire expression - perks back up. “Oh? You’re not asking about…” Ocellus clears her throat. “In a normal, everyday context?”

“Yes.” Diamond Tiara motions to herself, Pomarbo, then Ocellus. “If I said, ‘everypony, let’s go outside’, would you think I am including you?”

Ocellus clarifies, “But without you pointing at me, or anypony else?”

Diamond Tiara rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

Ocellus thinks for a moment. “Yes,” she says. After sensing a flash of anger and disappointment from Diamond Tiara she hastily adds, “But I was an infiltrator; dodging suspicion was part of my training. I took on disguises. For all intents and purposes I was a pony, and I had to act and react like one would.”

Diamond Tiara huffs. “Okay. But if I said ‘everyling’, would that include me?”

Ocellus looks between Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo, then at the other ‘lings in the room. She hunches down slightly, becoming smaller and less imposing. “No?”

Diamond Tiara barks out a short laugh. “See?” she imperiously notes to Pomarbo. “You wouldn’t be-”

“That’s because-” Pharynx interrupts from behind her.

“Ee!” The voice scares Diamond Tiara badly enough that she jolts upward. She spins around, hyperventilating - it shouldn’t be possible for a crummy creature to sneak up on her like that!

Pharynx doesn’t seem to care. “-pony and ‘ling mean different things. You aren’t changelings. ‘Everyling’ means a group of all changelings. ‘Everypony’ means a group of equines. It’s not our fault you can’t tell the difference.”

“Hey!” Diamond Tiara objects, more out of force of habit of defending ponies than a serious argument for their ability to spot changelings in disguise. “Wait, that’s my point! We should use words like ‘everypony’ when it is a group of only ponies, and ‘everyling’ for all changelings. But we need to say ‘everycreature’ when it’s a mixed group.”

“That sounds de-equanizing to me,” Pharynx argues back. “What if we want to be seen as ponies? After all, we’re in a pony society. Ponies get perks that other creatures don’t.”

Diamond Tiara rears up to her full height, which isn’t terribly imposing compared to the changeling soldier. “Well, that’s because ponies provide those perks.” She has no idea what perks he is talking about. Living in Equestria itself? Not thinking their neighbors are genocidal warmongers who would gladly devour them?

Pharynx shrugs off her objection like it is a weakly thrust dagger at his hard chitin. “You want us to do more than carry foals for you?” Ocellus hunches down even more, ignored by Pharynx. “We pay taxes. We follow your laws. That’s enough for your Princess, and our Q… Chief Architect. I don’t see what else we should have to do.”

“Now, now,” Thorax cautions as he steps up from the basement.

His appearance surprises Diamond Tiara, but not as badly as Pharynx coming up behind her. She glances over at the table where Pharynx was working, her eyes going slightly wide at the lack of ram or any indication there used to be an animal there at all. Did he process the whole thing already, or just incapacitate it for later? She shudders at either option being true.

“Chryssy, err, Chief Architect Chrysalis said we should work together.” Thorax offers his fellow changelings an overly wide smile, mostly aimed at his brother. “Right?”

“We can have disagreements and still work together,” Pharynx says, bristling. “See? We’re doing it right now.” He snags one of the dirtied cloths from a nearby nymph and begins cleaning blood off a thick blade, one Diamond Tiara only now realizes he is carrying. Once he wipes it clean he grabs a whetstone; the ominous screech of metal on stone grates on her ears. He doesn’t seem to care when she and Pomarbo flinch at the unfamiliar and eerie sound.

Thorax sighs heavily, and Diamond Tiara suspects this isn’t the only area in which the two don’t see eye to eye. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“I’m not,” Pharynx counters immediately.

Thorax sighs again, seeming much smaller than his fairly bulky body would suggest. “I wish there was more we could do.” He glances at Ocellus, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I…” Ocellus starts, pulling herself into a ball nearly as small as that fat black changeling. Diamond Tiara frowns at the despondent way she rocks back and forth. “I, I’m not supposed to lie, but I’m not supposed to show you this, either.”

“Show what?” Diamond Tiara asks, having never seen a changeling sad, or even upset. Thorax always seems so happy, positively giddy, and she rarely sees anything but a smile on anyling not named Pharynx.

Words gush out of Ocellus, almost as a distraction. “It’s just like using the word ‘everyling’, it means a group of all changelings. And we only use it when we know it’s all changelings, even if we’re in a disguise, even if we hate wearing our stupid disguise, because it’s more costly to get comfortable for a moment and risk being spotted. We use it when we belong, when we know that everyling around us has our back, because the world has always been against us, and if we aren’t careful, if we don’t cover all our tracks, then they might find out and come after us and then it’s all over.”

“It’s-” Pomarbo starts, shocked, his eyes wide.

Ocellus keeps going. “And after things buck up and when we make it out - not when, if - it almost doesn’t even matter if we do, Queen Chrysalis wouldn’t care about you, and she shouldn’t, she has the whole hive to think about, and if you’re so incompetent to get found out then you deserve to be cast out, so any love that might have gone to a worthless wretch like you can go to someling who deserves it!”

“Ocellus,” Thorax barks, more of a command than Diamond Tiara knows he has in him. She straightens up, stifling a sob, her eyes wet in a remarkably pony way.

A part of Diamond Tiara feels sorry for the wild-eyed changeling; was this what life was like for them before they joined the ponies? A weight around their neck, constantly reminding them that if they make a single mis-step their entire world might come crashing down? She nearly scoffs - try being a Rich pony. Being disowned by her dam would be the least of her problems.

“She’s right,” Pharynx interjects with a callous shrug. Diamond Tiara nearly compliments him for taking the unpopular, though correct, position.

Thorax scoffs. “But her starting position isn’t.” He bends down to nuzzle Ocellus, and it takes Diamond Tiara a moment to realize that Pomarbo is there, too. She probably ought to join him. “She would need to mess up first.”

“But I have.” Ocellus presses her hooves against her chest. “I… I haven’t done what the rest of you have done. And I’m not giving up on my Queen. On Chrysalis.”

It takes Diamond Tiara a moment to realize what, exactly, the changeling is talking about. Ocellus, being with Mister Doug, is not with foal, or whatever human offspring is called. She only has nymphs, while Thorax and Pharynx have tell-tale bulges of their abdomens.

“Maybe,” Diamond Tiara starts, offering a hopeful grin. Her practice definitely pays off, as it brings a curious glance from Thorax, a muted scoff from Pharynx, and a peek from around her shell from Ocellus. “But that’s what makes ponies so great. We understand, we offer a way forward, and when necessary?” Her smile widens. “We forgive.”

“But,” Ocellus quibbles, not quite giving up on her sorrow, “what if I can’t?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Diamond Tiara’s grin becomes something of a diabolical smirk. She really needs to practice keeping that from happening. “How would you like to help us develop a routine showing that?

Next Chapter: Ch. 132 - Poacher's Aim, Part One Estimated time remaining: 11 Hours, 11 Minutes