Chancellor Neighsay looms upon his high-backed chair that looks every bit as stiff and uncomfortable as he. Behind his slicked-back mane and sharp goatee shines the seal of the Equestria Education Association, a hoofprint surrounded by a wreath of wheat, and above that the Celestial crest in dull brown and black instead of gleaming gold. Nine mares and stallions perch underneath, some gray and wizened while others merely act the elder with manes in taut buns and stricter features carved on their muzzles. Their seats ring the lower entrance, each ready and eager to tear into whatever hapless creature dares step hoof into their inquisitorial arena, though all defer to the one who sits above.

The heavy wooden doors open with a great *thud*, permitting an alicorn whose elated expression shares nothing in common with the cold demeanor of the rest of the room. A yellow foal trots at her side, barely keeping up with ten levitated books, each marked with colorful tabs equally out of place. At the exact same time a timepiece buzzes in front of the hard-nosed Chancellor, which he silences with an indifferent glance.

“Even Princess Celestia permits herself a few seconds to spare,” Chancellor Neighsay drolls to the approaching alicorn, “lest she be considered late.”

“A Princess is never late,” Twilight Sparkle corrects without missing a beat. “Nor is she early. She arrives precisely when she means to.” She mimes checking the sun, but the wall mural is only accurate once a day. “And I mean to arrive on time.”

Chancellor Neighsay grunts dourly. “And do you plan on running your school with such… punctuality?”

Twilight nods, eager, not letting his droll attitude dampen hers. “The mares at Stalliongrad run the trains on time. Why not here?”

“Indeed.” A smile every bit as flinty as the city the Chancellor hails from crosses his muzzle. “As you well know, I am Chancellor Neighsay. And if you, Twilight Sparkle, take education as seriously as you take your time-keeping, then I see no reason why your… extraordinary undertaking will not be accepted.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Twilight returns, offering a slight bow of her head. She hasn’t quite gotten her courtesy to the point of Celestia, who manages to make even the tiniest bob seem a sweeping curtsy. She levitates the ten copies of her proposal to each mare and stallion of the board. “I hope to answer any inquiry, and assuage any fear you might have.”

“Indeed.” Before any of them can open the thick tomes, Chancellor Neighsay brandishes a short scroll, the golden header clearly visible. “I have a letter from Princess Celestia, requesting that we grant legitimacy to this… School of Friendship. In it, she professes that she trusts your judgement, and has every faith and confidence in you.”

Twilight inwardly grins. Then this is in the bag! With Princess Celestia’s recommendation, then-

With little fanfare, a burnt orange aura envelops the scroll. It bursts into flame, quickly smoldering into ash. Twilight can only gape at the callous desecration of anything of Celestia’s, much less a letter commending her ability.

“This council puts as much faith in a Princess’ praise as any other piece of paper.” Chancellor Neighsay fixes Twilight with a hard scowl, her confidence dissipating like the ash blowing onto the stone floor. “Your proposal shall stand, or fall, on its own merits. And we at the EEA expect you to do things By. The. Book.”

Twilight takes a deep breath as the last three words echo around the chamber, accompanied by three hoof stomps that bang like a judge’s gavel. She regains her composure only with great effort. “That is fair, Chancellor.” He levitates to her a thick blue book, which she zips through with alacrity. “And I think you’ll find my curriculum meets all your requirements.”

“Of course, I have personally read every page of this plan,” Chancellor Neighsay grimly states, blitzing through the tall stack of colored paper next to him. His green eyes narrow as he stops at the pages she changed at the last minute, pulling them out and setting them aside. “And you have certainly concerned yourself with… every aspect of this… venture. But, as I am sure you suspect, we at the EEA have some questions.”

“I would be happy to answer any and all of your questions,” Twilight returns with a casual, if guarded, smile.

“Particularly,” Neighsay continues, as though she hadn’t answered, “those pertaining to how much accommodation you will give to, for example, the diet of creatures such as those… griffons.”

“Of course.” Twilight nods, taking her time before answering the question. It bothers her that speciesism could be so prevalent, but it could also just be Neighsay doing his job. Griffons have been visiting and living in Equestria for hundreds of years, though the winged lions have mostly confined themselves to Canterlot and Cloudsdale. Relationships have been strained at best, with border skirmishes along the north or with opportunistic griffons stealing across the sea. But that’s all in the past! “We have contracted with a local company, Sweet Apple Abattoirs, for any products our fellow ponies might find… distasteful.”

Chancellor Neighsay tilts his head downward at the pun. “And when some ponies find the entire practice… disturbing?”

“The solution is the same for both sides,” Twilight answers quickly and confidently. “Respecting differences and communicating. It’s important for ponies to recognize that not all creatures do things the same way, or the pony way. When the other creatures see that we are willing to respect their differences, they will do the same to us.”

Excited murmurs skitter around the council chamber like shadows from their shaded lamps. “I see,” Chancellor Neighsay states, silencing the whispers. “And when other creatures refuse to give up their practices, these… differences you so quickly gloss over?”

Twilight knows the answer he wants, though it fills her mouth with bile to give it to him. “We should be prepared to defend our way of life.”

“The EEA concurs.” His sharp nod and smirk sicken her. “Everypony should learn how to protect themselves.”

“But,” she immediately continues, to his disappointment, “oftentimes, the best way to a solution is not through the clash of hooves and charging of horns, but better understanding.”

Chancellor Neighsay’s frown deepens. “‘Understanding’ that a griffon wishes to fill her hungry belly does little to stop their claws from rending pony flesh from bones.”

“Maybe in the instant,” Twilight concedes. Applejack’s preferred line of ‘defense’ comes to her mind. “But if we can provide them with equinely harvested alternatives tailored to their taste, then surely we can live in Harmony without resorting to exterminating any who ‘might’ become a threat.”

Hard green eyes narrow. She can see the gears turning, that any line of argument that pushes for such preemptive action could also be used against the Princesses’ stallion, a ‘solution’ sure to be overruled at the highest level. “And your plan for dealing with any… infractions?”

Twilight gulps; the only reason the debacle with Silverstream didn’t turn into a national scandal is because such events are expected at Ponyville. “They are on Equestrian soil, and subject to Equestrian law.” By Griffon law, a duel could proceed to the death, and the winner entitled to the loser’s remains. And that was after the reforms that forbid the open hunting of ponies. “We shall ensure they are properly informed as a top priority.”

Chancellor Neighsay’s gaze shifts to the first page he pulled, one detailing Pinkie Pie’s plans for confetti cannons. ‘S’, plural, and how each student would be instructed in their construction, proper handling and storage, and ammunition - of which living creatures is a category. He lingers on the ‘each student’ part. He briefly gives Twilight a hard look, carefully inserts the page back to its original spot, and turns to the next.

“And can we trust you to follow through with this plan?” Two pictures flicker in his burnt orange, Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy, the earth pony giddy while a camera flash seems to have surprised Fluttershy.

Twilight frowns briefly, almost glancing at the yellow foal at her side; it would appear Meringue accentuated Fluttershy’s redeye to the point that her pupil disappears entirely.

“Or,” Chancellor Neighsay continues, his focus again training on her. “Will you leave the school unattended to gallop off on your… adventures?”

It pains Twilight to admit so, but it is the Honest thing to do. “My responsibilities as a Princess and Element of Harmony may occasionally prevent me from teaching every class. I have a seventy-point plan if that should be the case. But I, and my fellow teachers, will make every effort to be present, when we are not otherwise engaged with our duties.”

“Yes, Equestria does owe you a great debt for your… continued service.” It looks like it pains Chancellor Neighsay to say that as much as it hurt Twilight earlier. “But our consideration must be to the well-being and education of your future students.” His gaze shifts slightly, to her belly. “And what provisions have you made for next year when those… responsibilities of yours multiply?”

“At the present time, the possibilities are too varied in scope to make any hard and fast arrangements.” The evasion brings an itch to Twilight’s coat. “But, should the situation require it? I had an awesome foalsitter before. Alternatively, I may find a more permanent instructor to take my place.”

“A solution it would appear you have already had to implement.” Burnt orange distorts the pink coat and purple mane of the next picture, but the long, haughty nose is instantly recognizable. “At least you have made one acceptable choice.”

Twilight has to remind herself that Celestia smiles at all sorts of things she finds objectionable. “Spoiled Rich has long been devoted to the educational arts: head of the Ponyville School board, her filly is school president, and she has substituted a number of times. I have every confidence in her ability as a teacher.” Now, if I can get her to stick to the right curriculum…

The picture sets down with a reverence Twilight feels is undeserved. “This council is well acquainted with Mrs. Rich.” Her smile pulls tighter at the dismissive remark. At least he didn’t state outright that he doesn’t require a Princess’ opinion.

Chancellor Neighsay pulls up the next picture, an azure unicorn. He frowns at Trixie’s relaxed, almost suggestive posture: laying down with her belly exposed, one hoof behind her head while the other invitingly traces a line along satin sheets.

Twilight’s throat constricts; that is certainly not the photo she included, but isn’t sure if Trixie is the culprit with some sort of dissolving paper or if she enlisted Meringue to do her dirty work. She can’t help but roll her eyes when one of the older stallions, a mottled gray missing most of his mane, gives an approving whinny.

The grimace above the black goatee intensifies, yet Chancellor Neighsay slips the picture back without another word.

Twilight sighs in relief, a great weight lifting off her withers. Yet one remains, the heaviest yet. If she thought his frown was bad before, it’s nothing to the withering scowl at her final choice.

“You cannot possibly expect us to accept this.” Chancellor Neighsay brandishes the next picture as though it might bite him.

Twilight gulps. The malevolent grin and dagger-like fangs refused to dull, no matter what position Chrysalis took, even if she lay like Trixie. “I have every-”

“-You already know our position on Princessly opinions.” Chancellor Neighsay leans forward, boring into the subdued alicorn. “Or will you next tell us you’re instating Discord as Vice Headmare?”

Now that’s something Twilight would like to see, much as his scathing tone hurts. “Chief Architect Chrysalis has more hours teaching than everypony in this room put together. She has trained her kind in every position imaginable. She is adaptable, and has agreed to follow my curriculum to the letter.”

Gray hooves steeple under the pointed goatee. For a long moment Chancellor Neighsay merely stares at Twilight, as harsh an interrogation as any of his other questions. “And why,” he asks, cold and slow, “is receiving EEA accreditation so important to you? Are we some box to check, some gilded stamp you wish to see star your project?” He leans back, seemingly resigned. “Surely you could shrug off our suggestions, do things your own way.”

Twilight straightens; this is the point she’s been waiting for! “When I was a young filly,” she starts, hopeful and smiling, gracious in victory, “I attended Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Foals. At the time, and until a few days ago, I had no idea that anypony besides her was involved. But now, I know that I have you all to thank just as much as Princess Celestia for the stellar education I received. I want to pass that same education on to as many ponies, and other creatures, as I can. By the book, but with a little more, how shall I say, claws-on experience than normal.”

That fierce, combative side returns to Chancellor Neighsay in the blink of an eye. Twilight manages to hold her composure - it was another ruse?! - as he gathers quick nods from the other nine. “Very well. As your work is in order, provisional EEA approval is granted. We will need to observe your school up and running before it can be fully accredited.”

Twilight nods, grinning from ear to ear, barely holding in her excitement as he stamps the wreath of wheat onto her curriculum. “Then, please, join us for Friends and Family day; it’ll be the perfect time to see our progress!”

Next Chapter: Ch. 96 - Grand Spectrum, Part Three Estimated time remaining: 16 Hours, 46 Minutes