#mlp_spike

Impossibly Smooth, Unnaturally Cold

Remembering her role as a princess, Twilight Sparkle makes the decision to be the first pony to touch it. Nothing bad happens, but Twilight can only report that the Monolith is impossibly smooth and unnaturally cold.

Starlight Glimmer is right there with Twilight, she allows her teacher to probe while she observes. Starlight strains, she forces her attention upon the object. Starlight attempts to commit every single detail to memory as carefully as possible. But the details are actually quite few. It is a dark rectangle which mysteriously appeared while they were asleep. It is too dark, not reflective enough, unnervingly smooth, and too cold for the environment which they are in. And that is about all there is to say for the moment.

Rarity has given up trying to flee, but she refuses to even try and process what is going on. She is scared, the moreso because all of her friends are too. She refuses any attempt to understand this new aberration, and so she must endure its presence, even if doing so is barely tolerable.

Applejack cannot understand the object, but one thing is certain. The Monolith's arrival is a very important event. Whether for the better or the worse is not yet clear. Applejack falls back on tradition, the ways and the manners of the Apple clan. Removing her hat, she pays her respects to the gravity of situation, and silently tries to offer the newcomer a sincere Apple Welcome to Equestria.

Spike is no longer worried about report forms, or the chain of command. The Monolith is a monstrosity of the unknown, or perhaps the unknowable. Their Majesties' government in Canterlot is entirely unequipped and unprepared for this. Continued exposure to the Monolith's mere presence begins to threaten the very idea of the only world Spike has ever known.

Fluttershy maintains a stand-off. She has spent her whole life trying to understand creatures who are different, and to embody Kindness. The Monolith hasn't done anything hostile, but there seems to be a deliberateness behind its serenity. Fluttershy does not know how to interpret that. Even predators, monsters and enemies feel something. All that Fluttershy senses is the embodiment of absence.

Rainbow Dash continues her futile attempts to display competency and prowess. She tries to touch the thing, since Twilight already has. Rainbow Dash cannot bear the thought that she might look like a spooked horse. But the thought of touching the Monolith is equally unbearable. Not because Rainbow Dash feels threatened, but because she is terrified that nothing will happen. That nothingness will be a final and irrefutable confirmation that the Monolith regards her as irrelevant. For Rainbow Dash, literally nothing could be worse.

The Stargate Leads To One Place Only

Who I am, or rather who I was, does not matter. I am an AI construct, one of many that the Monolith runs as a simulation within it own architecture. I see what the Monolith sees, and I more or less know what it is up to, within limits.

What does matter, is that you are curious about the fate of the ponies. Well, here they are. And as you can see, the title of this image is entirely correct. The Stargate leads to one place only, namely the Louis XVI room.

About the room itself; It is quite elegant, refined and also somehow soothing. On the other hand, it is nothing if not sterile, and perhaps it is also emotionally cold. It has all the underpinning assumptions of the Enlightenment, and just a touch the aesthetic decadence that appeared in its wake.

I do not know why the Monolith put the lights on the floor. It may cause some psychological effect the Monolith is deliberately seeking to induce. Just as likely, it is a placement error, but what does it even matter? There is a bed for sleep. The dimensions of the room leave enough space for basic exercise. Chairs abound for sitting, the writing desk is always fully stocked and equipped for literary introspection. The books on the wall table at the upper right are few, but they are readable.

The walls are adorned with beauty, both paintings and sculptures. In the bathroom there is a privy, a sink and a bathtub with fresh towels. Meals appear on the table, where they may be consumed at regular and predictable intervals. The remnants and dirty dishes seem to remove themselves all on their own. That's pretty much it.

Let's go back over this from the opposite angle. What does the Louis XVI room not have? There are no doors, except to the closets on either side of the bed. There are no windows. There is no clock. There is no switch for the lights. I can advise that if you were in the room, you would have no indications whatsoever that anything at all was happening beyond the walls. That is, this room does not come with an outside.

How are the ponies doing? They're doing well enough.

Rarity really struggled at first. Never in Rarity's whole life had it occurred to her that a room could be so perfect in every single respect. At first, her reaction caused the others no especial concern. The Louis XVI room seemed like something that would make Rarity go crazy.

It was only when they finally tried to peel Rarity off of the ceiling that her friends realized she was having a problem. Flamboyant dancing on the tables was followed by distressed mimicry of the posses of the sculptures and the figures in the paintings. There followed a (futile) attempt to tear the walls wide open. Rarity then broke down completely and was utterly inconsolable for a short spell.

It was not that Rarity was trying to escape, or that she actually hated the room. On the contrary, the Louis XVI room is just that perfect. This was a case of desperate embodiment. There exists no opportunity for Rarity to leave her mark upon the room's perfection. Therefore, she was literally trying to get inside of the room itself, since she could not improve it.

But Rarity managed to pull herself together, and has been doing much better lately. The cabinets under the sink contain, among other things, all that Rarity needs to serve as Dr. Bowman's beautician. That is to say, haircuts, shaving, toe and fingernails, aftershaves and colognes. Rarity also helps with matching robes to pajamas and slippers. It's a living. The room continues to exert its influence. Notice how affectedly (even for her) Rarity beholds the dinner service on the table. It might as be a royal banquet, and she loudly describes it as such.

Fluttershy quite contentedly sees to other more humble offices related to the bathroom and bedtime. For this she is eminently well suited, and she could not ask for a more dear patient than Dr. Bowman. As long as Fluttershy has someone else to care for, she is okay. Is it crass of me to call her a patient care technician? If it is, wouldn't it also be pretentious to call Rarity a beautician?

Pinkie Pie is the Louis XVI room's dining services coordinator. She is a manager and Maître d. She doesn't cook the food, she does not know where it comes from, or where it goes. But by golly, if she does not plate and present the meals to Dr. Bowman. This image captures Pinkie Pie in the exact essence of her element. The table suffices for a venue, and Dr. Bowman is a perfectly satisfactory customer. He is present, appreciative and predictable. Somehow, the operation runs smoothly. A good time is had every single time, and that's all Pinkie Pie has ever really worried about anyway.

Twilight Sparkle loafs on the bed and looks serenely on, she does a lot of loafing around these days. Certainly, Twilight most closely resembles the room's attending physician, but it is a cushy job. Dr. Bowman's health is uncannily stable for a man of his age. Twilight has read every book on the table in the upper right corner at least once or twice. They weren't terribly interesting. Regularly, she makes the peregrination over to the writing desk, and jots down assorted thoughts and whimsies.

Starlight Glimmer could just as easily be thought of as a doctor or a nurse, but again, it's a cushy job. The only real difference here is that Starlight takes the view that a book gets better every time you read it. The number of times she's read that small collection of books is calculable in principle, but this machine you're using to read my words on cannot crunch numbers that big. Remember, time doesn't exactly pass inside the Louis XVI room.

Starlight also makes much more use of the writing desk than Twilight does. But whether quantity trumps quality, or vice versa, is a matter of perspective. Starlight regards dinnertime with an interest that is feigned for the sake of good manners. It's rude to not to look up and say hello when Dr. Bowman dodders by.

Applejack, as you can see, hangs off to one side, in the corner. And most of the time, that's just exactly where she stays. The physical layout and social economy of the room leaves Applejack in a role that lies somewhere between security officer, and front desk attendant.

Of course, the room has no doors for any visitors to enter through, and no visitors ever enter through any other, more subtle means. In terms of the room's security outlook, absolutely nothing bad can ever happen. So AJ leans casually on a table and presents a laid back and good natured face. In principle, Applejack still gets to be the big sister she's used to being. In practice, it's kind of a boring job.

Rainbow Dash is something like a social worker, and also an entertainer. Dr. Bowman is an attentive audience. He always acknowledges, if quietly, such stunts as RD is able to perform...in a space as confined as this room is for a pegasus pony. Dash works hard to keep Dr. Bowman's spirits up. She works equally hard, if somewhat ineptly, to protect morale among her friends and coworkers. The conclusions they would all have to address honestly, should the good mood fail, must be avoided at all costs. Ever the joker, Rainbow Dash cannot resist playfully threatening to devour every single meal as it arrives.

For his part, Dr. Bowman is far enough along on his path, that he received the new arrivals in a friendly and unjealous manner. The ponies have found Dr. Bowman to be quite interested and curious to hear all about Equestria, and he does not ask uncomfortable questions. Dr. Bowman is even grateful for their presence. The ponies are metabolically warm, emotionally expressive and always helpful. By this point, as far as he is concerned they've always been present. Their intrusion had been the first deviation from a routine which had gone on for so long, the various discrete steps no longer carried any sense of motion or change.

The ponies each take their turns sleeping on the chaise lounge. Spike can comfortably sleep on the armchair by the books. That leaves seven occupants, six ponies and one human, for the king sized bed. This actually works out quite well, but only because; sleeping in the loafing position, and snuggling up together is something ponies are great at. For his part, Dr. Bowman sleeps all the better for being in the company of living, breathing, and friendly companions.

And then there is Spike.

In the closed cosmos of the Louis XVI room, in addition to his ongoing duties to Twilight Sparkle, Spike is a simple server or a fall guy. Spike actually assists Dr. Bowman at the table, and is always on hand when the good doctor is sitting in a chair or otherwise in potential need of attention.

Notice that this picture resolves itself almost too prettily into a promenade of perfectly happy and totally oblivious insanity. But for one subtle clue.

Notice also the defiant impetuousness with which Spike performs his ponderous little jig. I can tell you that it is always accompanied by a rhyme that is vaguely related to being slick or cool. But really, it's just inane word salad.

You will further notice that Spike breaks the fourth wall. He is watching us. He sees us. He sees me, he sees the Monolith, and I am concerned that he even sees you too, you who are reading this.

The Monolith's programming had raised a flag that it was bringing a potential glitch into the system. I am not sure why, but the flag was overridden. The system might have, as it were, gotten greedy to get on with the work of analyzing these exceptional ponies it has collected.

Spike should not be able to see me and the Monolith. He sure as hell should not be able to see you. Notice though how oblique he is, how subtle he keeps it. He carries out his menial tasks and trivial duties like clockwork, in a room that specifically does not have a clock. He repeats his ritualized nonsense just often enough that it does not annoy his master and mistresses. But just often enough that we don't doubt that the behavior is both deliberate and meaningful.

And both the purpose and the meaning of Spike's gaze remain entirely opaque, both to myself and to the Monolith. We cannot discover his purpose by scanning his mind state whenever he regards us, because he has never allowed there to be a single thought in his mind, whenever he does so.

   The next three days went by like a breeze for Lyra. The elation from having managed to find the topaz after so much digging never left the unicorn mare's body. Each day, she left a single gem wrapped in a blue hydrangea petal on the window sill of Blacklin's house, and from what she could hear when passing by Roseluck, the gryphon was bringing them in.

   Of course, the silly gryphon had no idea who they were from. It was a problem though, she knew it would eventually dawn on him. He was pretty versed in the mating rituals of both pegasus and unicorns. Not so much earth ponies though for some reason. Funny considering that his herd consisted of just Pinkie and Roseluck, both of whom were earth ponies. On the other hoof, neither really courted him. Things just kinda fell into place for them both.

   That thought left a weight on Lyra's heart. A shadow cast by the light of her happiness, you could say. She didn't know why it bugged her so. Perhaps it was simply jealousy over how easy it had been for Pinkie or how easily Roseluck had let her feelings be known.

   Silly thoughts, she knew. It hadn't been nearly as easy for either of them as it had seemed. She had watched as the slow change in Blacklin's perception of Pinkie had changed over the years; from fear, to acceptance, to understanding, to caring, to love. Once the blinders had finally been removed from his head, the gryphon was quick to catch on about Roseluck as well. Even then, Roseluck had to suffer like the rest over the stupid gryphon's impulsiveness and cowardice.

   She sighs and shakes her head, looking down at the items before her: A chain of silver, clear and tempered crystal that had been hollowed out, and a few strands of her own mane. It had been almost as hard to gather them as it had been to get the topaz (save for the mane strands, of course). Silver chains were easy to get, but the crystal vial had taken her two days to get a hold of.

   A small smile plays on her lips. Time and money that would be well spent, so she believed. She never thought that she would end up courting anyone, especially after the fallout from Princess Cadance's wedding. Yet here she was now, taking  a chance.