"We did not ask you here so that we could torture you…Cian." Conor said in the most soothing tone he could before he shot a look at the other mayor. "We just need your help." The water settled in Cian's dehydrated stomach, a cold liquid chill lingering in his throat. The one light bulb from one of the ceiling fans illuminating the room flickered, momentarily leaving them all in darkness.
"You speak Equestrian." Shay lifted his head.
"We all speak Equestrian." Cian grabbed both sides of his head with his hands, clutching his hair. Everyone in the room was speaking in Gaelic, but after the Equestrian Invasion, God's punishment to humanity for constructing the Tower of Babel was lifted. Their magic has settled across the globe where their influence lies, and that magic made it so that all humans could understand each other.
"But you can also write," Oisin smirked briefly. The magic did nothing to make people comprehend different languages - the spoken word was translated, not the written word. "You want to keep your secret? We have a message we want you to give to the Princesses."
"Are you out of your mind?" Cian hissed, his voice filled with frustration and fear. "You're doing all of this to mail in a complaint?"
"You know that is not what we are doing, Cian. Use your brain." The university president drummed his fingers on the table. "You're human, right? So you are intimate with our suffering. Three times we have peacefully petitioned to improve our quality of life, begging Baile Atha Cliath for help, and three times our appeal was disregarded, purposefully blind to our plights. You're not the only one who can speak their language, but since you are their spy- "
"I'm not a spy!" Cian interrupted with a shrill cry.
"- in a somewhat prominent administrative power position, they will listen this time. This time the words will not only be delivered by the right messenger but come after an action that will demand their attention." Conor continued, unfazed by Cian's claim. We have become desperate, so our only option for betterment is rebellion. We need you, Cian. Éire needs you."
Cian drew in a breath, ready to unleash polemic at the university president now that he realized the purpose behind this conspiratorial rendezvous. These four were a group of agitators, terrorists, who would drag him down into the muck and everyone else they knew. But Oisin stopped him before he could do so. "You want to say that we're idiots, that this is too great a task we're undertaking. Or there are better moments to strike for our rights. Like every other 'well-meaning' traitor, you would want us to be resigned to the relentless tides of oppression." Cian's heartstrings were tugged with every word that came out of his mouth. "But we're tired of enduring the struggle; indefatigability is too much to ask of us."
"You make it sound like they're monsters." Cian retorted, drinking more from his glass of water. "Nobody is fond of Daybreaker and Nightmare Moon, but it's not like they're evil; they just have a very, uh, healthy appetite."
"Is that the excuse you gave them when they bulldozed their way through three buffets in New Yor- I mean, New Manehattan when they came for an official visit?" Conor deadpanned, briefly rolling his eyes at either his verbal slip-up or Cian's poor defense of two of the most voracious beings known to ponies and humanity.
"I wasn't making excuses for them. But there's a big difference between their shenanigans and the depths of destructive nonsense you're implying they get up to." Cian shook his head as he stared at his reflection on the water's surface. "As rulers go, we should at least count ourselves lucky that gluttony is their only vice."
"No blood has been spilled; that much is true," Shay spoke up, finally making eye contact with his employer. "But there is no aspect of our society that Daybreaker and Nightmare Moon do not control. From the day we are born, our lives are dictated by how useful we can make ourselves to our overlords. By day, the farmers hover over the poverty line because it is expensive to maintain their apple tree greenhouses. Our schools abandon the students because they want to study literature or be something other than a mathematician. Come night, that asinine moon cult has free reign of the roads, dragging whoever has the misfortune to stay up past sunset to their rituals, and God help them if it's a new moon. The people returning from those things aren't the same as they were before. They become docile, obedient, and pliant."
"There is nothing, Mr. Mayor, that has not been touched by our equine masters," Niall spoke up from his seated position on a stool at the bar, having been silently observing the discourse until now. "We all have been exploited through the silk glove's deception or the iron fist's authority. We're not planning a complete overthrow of the state; we're just four men. No one will get hurt, but we want them to pay attention to us. And we thought that since you are a Changel-"
Niall was interrupted by Cian's glass of water shattering in his grip. Everyone in the room was silent, save for Cian, who was breathing heavily. His skin was pale and clammy with sweat, tears creeping in at the sides of his eyes, water leaked from the table to the ground, and his hand dripped a soft trickle of blood from the small wound that came from a glass cut. The blood was a different shade of red than human blood - it was cerise, almost pink. "...we thought that…you could relate to our burden, given Equestria's history with…your kind."
“My name is Cian Twohig.” Cian flatly stated after regaining his breath. "I am human."
"Oh, for God's sake…" Oisin palmed his face with a heavy sigh.
"I'm from County Limerick. I am human."
"Please don't make this more difficult than it has already been, sir." Conor was visibly uncomfortable with how the situation was unfolding before him.
"I was raised by a family of dairy farmers. I am - "
"Thorax." Shay reached across the table to place his hand on Cian's hand. Cian's fake hand. Cian's hand projected to look like a human's through glamor magic.
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" 'Cian' roared, lurching out of his seat away from his secretary's touch. His eyes flashed vivid opal, briefly compound, before returning to the human illusion with the sclera, iris, and pupil. "You people have NO idea what you are dealing with! You weren't there when the Hives fell! You don't know how it feels to see your queen, to whom you have dedicated your entire life, be humiliated by those two warmongers! You people are lucky to have a country still! I lost everything and came here to make a new life. I'm not a spy - I'm a refugee. My name is Cian Twohig! I couldn't beat them. My queen couldn't beat them. You. Can't. Beat. Them." His body shuddered, his long thin limbs dangling like loose strands of cooked pasta and his gaunt torso rattling like an old engine.
It was as quiet as a tomb after 'Cian' stopped his rant; no one dared to breathe. All four humans stared at the Changeling in a human disguise while the Changeling stared blankly at Shay. The secretary returned the gaze for half a minute before looking down to dig through his trouser pocket. A bronze pocket watch with the emblem of the Changeling Lands was deposited on the table, and the Changeling's shuddering came to a sudden stop. It was in pristine condition, but this was a much worse scenario than what he had envisioned in his head of it being torn apart. Shay unlatched the metal cover, revealing two things: a clock that kept Greenwich Mean Time and a photograph of him as Thorax with his beloved mistress, Queen Chrysalis.
"You…stole…?" Thorax's voice came out as a horse whisper, tears finally beginning to stream down his cheeks. In the picture was a smiling Thorax with his true body, so unlike the rail-thin illusion he kept as Cian Twohig, the Changeling in the photo was richly flabby due to rubbing off on his queen's penchant for plentiful dining. The black chitin that made up the carapace on his face rounded out in the cheeks and bulged out in a second chin under his jaw. His arms were coated in flabby flesh that reached down to rest at his doughy pot-belly ornamented with several fatty folds. Of course, the majority of the picture was taken up by Queen Chrysalis - she was far in the background, but she was still the dominating aspect of the image, which made sense since she was 26 feet tall and weighed 30 tons when the picture was taken. Every part of the hive queen's body was engorged with lard. In Thorax's eyes, it was a body worthy of rapt adoration, a monument to beauty with monumental measurements. While his cheeks were round as well, they paled in comparison to the wobbling cheeks of his mistress that sagged onto the thick rolls of fat stretching the dark gray chitin of her resilient neck. Her respectfully muscled shoulders slouched as she reclined on her throne, obscured by her engorged hips and even more staggeringly obese posterior. Those hips melted into a mountainous gut that took up the majority of her form in mass and girth, with folds deep enough to get lost in that took so much food to keep sated.
But more than that, more than just how beautiful that more than well-fed form queen was, Chrysalis was...
Choice 1: ...everything the Hives could have wanted for someone to rule them. Kind, thoughtful, loving.
Choice 2: ...a fair and even-handed lady that impressed everyone with her intellect. Calculating, rational, dependable.
Choice 3: ...domineering. Not necessarily the bad kind of domineering (in Thorax's head), but she liked being in control and bringing stability to the hives. Commanding, demanding, soft-hearted with a hard shell.
Choice 4: ...only marginally better than Daybreaker and Nightmare Moon. Rude, crude, generally unpleasant...Thorax had weird priorities.
"You speak Equestrian." Shay lifted his head.
"We all speak Equestrian." Cian grabbed both sides of his head with his hands, clutching his hair. Everyone in the room was speaking in Gaelic, but after the Equestrian Invasion, God's punishment to humanity for constructing the Tower of Babel was lifted. Their magic has settled across the globe where their influence lies, and that magic made it so that all humans could understand each other.
"But you can also write," Oisin smirked briefly. The magic did nothing to make people comprehend different languages - the spoken word was translated, not the written word. "You want to keep your secret? We have a message we want you to give to the Princesses."
"Are you out of your mind?" Cian hissed, his voice filled with frustration and fear. "You're doing all of this to mail in a complaint?"
"You know that is not what we are doing, Cian. Use your brain." The university president drummed his fingers on the table. "You're human, right? So you are intimate with our suffering. Three times we have peacefully petitioned to improve our quality of life, begging Baile Atha Cliath for help, and three times our appeal was disregarded, purposefully blind to our plights. You're not the only one who can speak their language, but since you are their spy- "
"I'm not a spy!" Cian interrupted with a shrill cry.
"- in a somewhat prominent administrative power position, they will listen this time. This time the words will not only be delivered by the right messenger but come after an action that will demand their attention." Conor continued, unfazed by Cian's claim. We have become desperate, so our only option for betterment is rebellion. We need you, Cian. Éire needs you."
Cian drew in a breath, ready to unleash polemic at the university president now that he realized the purpose behind this conspiratorial rendezvous. These four were a group of agitators, terrorists, who would drag him down into the muck and everyone else they knew. But Oisin stopped him before he could do so. "You want to say that we're idiots, that this is too great a task we're undertaking. Or there are better moments to strike for our rights. Like every other 'well-meaning' traitor, you would want us to be resigned to the relentless tides of oppression." Cian's heartstrings were tugged with every word that came out of his mouth. "But we're tired of enduring the struggle; indefatigability is too much to ask of us."
"You make it sound like they're monsters." Cian retorted, drinking more from his glass of water. "Nobody is fond of Daybreaker and Nightmare Moon, but it's not like they're evil; they just have a very, uh, healthy appetite."
"Is that the excuse you gave them when they bulldozed their way through three buffets in New Yor- I mean, New Manehattan when they came for an official visit?" Conor deadpanned, briefly rolling his eyes at either his verbal slip-up or Cian's poor defense of two of the most voracious beings known to ponies and humanity.
"I wasn't making excuses for them. But there's a big difference between their shenanigans and the depths of destructive nonsense you're implying they get up to." Cian shook his head as he stared at his reflection on the water's surface. "As rulers go, we should at least count ourselves lucky that gluttony is their only vice."
"No blood has been spilled; that much is true," Shay spoke up, finally making eye contact with his employer. "But there is no aspect of our society that Daybreaker and Nightmare Moon do not control. From the day we are born, our lives are dictated by how useful we can make ourselves to our overlords. By day, the farmers hover over the poverty line because it is expensive to maintain their apple tree greenhouses. Our schools abandon the students because they want to study literature or be something other than a mathematician. Come night, that asinine moon cult has free reign of the roads, dragging whoever has the misfortune to stay up past sunset to their rituals, and God help them if it's a new moon. The people returning from those things aren't the same as they were before. They become docile, obedient, and pliant."
"There is nothing, Mr. Mayor, that has not been touched by our equine masters," Niall spoke up from his seated position on a stool at the bar, having been silently observing the discourse until now. "We all have been exploited through the silk glove's deception or the iron fist's authority. We're not planning a complete overthrow of the state; we're just four men. No one will get hurt, but we want them to pay attention to us. And we thought that since you are a Changel-"
Niall was interrupted by Cian's glass of water shattering in his grip. Everyone in the room was silent, save for Cian, who was breathing heavily. His skin was pale and clammy with sweat, tears creeping in at the sides of his eyes, water leaked from the table to the ground, and his hand dripped a soft trickle of blood from the small wound that came from a glass cut. The blood was a different shade of red than human blood - it was cerise, almost pink. "...we thought that…you could relate to our burden, given Equestria's history with…your kind."
“My name is Cian Twohig.” Cian flatly stated after regaining his breath. "I am human."
"Oh, for God's sake…" Oisin palmed his face with a heavy sigh.
"I'm from County Limerick. I am human."
"Please don't make this more difficult than it has already been, sir." Conor was visibly uncomfortable with how the situation was unfolding before him.
"I was raised by a family of dairy farmers. I am - "
"Thorax." Shay reached across the table to place his hand on Cian's hand. Cian's fake hand. Cian's hand projected to look like a human's through glamor magic.
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" 'Cian' roared, lurching out of his seat away from his secretary's touch. His eyes flashed vivid opal, briefly compound, before returning to the human illusion with the sclera, iris, and pupil. "You people have NO idea what you are dealing with! You weren't there when the Hives fell! You don't know how it feels to see your queen, to whom you have dedicated your entire life, be humiliated by those two warmongers! You people are lucky to have a country still! I lost everything and came here to make a new life. I'm not a spy - I'm a refugee. My name is Cian Twohig! I couldn't beat them. My queen couldn't beat them. You. Can't. Beat. Them." His body shuddered, his long thin limbs dangling like loose strands of cooked pasta and his gaunt torso rattling like an old engine.
It was as quiet as a tomb after 'Cian' stopped his rant; no one dared to breathe. All four humans stared at the Changeling in a human disguise while the Changeling stared blankly at Shay. The secretary returned the gaze for half a minute before looking down to dig through his trouser pocket. A bronze pocket watch with the emblem of the Changeling Lands was deposited on the table, and the Changeling's shuddering came to a sudden stop. It was in pristine condition, but this was a much worse scenario than what he had envisioned in his head of it being torn apart. Shay unlatched the metal cover, revealing two things: a clock that kept Greenwich Mean Time and a photograph of him as Thorax with his beloved mistress, Queen Chrysalis.
"You…stole…?" Thorax's voice came out as a horse whisper, tears finally beginning to stream down his cheeks. In the picture was a smiling Thorax with his true body, so unlike the rail-thin illusion he kept as Cian Twohig, the Changeling in the photo was richly flabby due to rubbing off on his queen's penchant for plentiful dining. The black chitin that made up the carapace on his face rounded out in the cheeks and bulged out in a second chin under his jaw. His arms were coated in flabby flesh that reached down to rest at his doughy pot-belly ornamented with several fatty folds. Of course, the majority of the picture was taken up by Queen Chrysalis - she was far in the background, but she was still the dominating aspect of the image, which made sense since she was 26 feet tall and weighed 30 tons when the picture was taken. Every part of the hive queen's body was engorged with lard. In Thorax's eyes, it was a body worthy of rapt adoration, a monument to beauty with monumental measurements. While his cheeks were round as well, they paled in comparison to the wobbling cheeks of his mistress that sagged onto the thick rolls of fat stretching the dark gray chitin of her resilient neck. Her respectfully muscled shoulders slouched as she reclined on her throne, obscured by her engorged hips and even more staggeringly obese posterior. Those hips melted into a mountainous gut that took up the majority of her form in mass and girth, with folds deep enough to get lost in that took so much food to keep sated.
But more than that, more than just how beautiful that more than well-fed form queen was, Chrysalis was...
Choice 1: ...everything the Hives could have wanted for someone to rule them. Kind, thoughtful, loving.
Choice 2: ...a fair and even-handed lady that impressed everyone with her intellect. Calculating, rational, dependable.
Choice 3: ...domineering. Not necessarily the bad kind of domineering (in Thorax's head), but she liked being in control and bringing stability to the hives. Commanding, demanding, soft-hearted with a hard shell.
Choice 4: ...only marginally better than Daybreaker and Nightmare Moon. Rude, crude, generally unpleasant...Thorax had weird priorities.
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April 19
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