*Scritch scritch scritch*
The clattering of a cart on the city’s cobbles rumbled through the window, temporarily drowning the scratching of the graphite lead, then faded into the low urban hubbub. The sense of silence and stillness returned.
The stallion moved his head away from the paper, considered its contents with an impassive glance, then removed the pencil from his mouth to look at his interlocutor. He went on in an even voice:
“Violence was a common occurrence, then?
- Yes… well, at the beginning. Then, things got quieter. Everypony… submitted.”
*Scritch scritch scritch*
Once more, Satine wondered what she was doing here, in this cramped room only lit by a half-curtained window, facing a dull stallion she barely knew. Professor Mush, as he had introduced himself, had unexpectedly waltzed into her shop this afternoon, and had just gone through basic courtesies before he got to the point. She had momentarily felt a frosty pang in her heart, which then started beating wildly. She had started stumbling for an answer, but the Professor had cut things short with a:
“I do not wish to disturb you unduly. Think about it quietly. If you are disposed to grant me some of your time, here is where you can find me.”
He had then torn a page from a notebook he carried, scribbled something on it, left the note on the counter, and, after a curt good-bye, walked away.
*Scritch scritch scritch*
“After how long?
- I… I don’t know. Two days? Three? It… it really happened very fast.
- Was there no resistance?
- Of course there was!” she retorted more vehemently than she would have expected. “But… the old guard was no longer there, and Sombra’s soldiers were everywhere. We… we weren’t… I mean, we didn’t expect it. We didn’t know what to do.”
With no indication that this moved him in any way, he picked up his pencil again. There was something annoying to his indifferent attitude, as if all of the world’s misery could only slide on his unkempt gray coat, drip along his pencil, and flow in straight, clear lines on his notepad. She felt much the opposite: her throat was dry, she felt queasy, and right under the front of her skull, there was the faint emerging pain of a migraine she could only associate to her Gray Horn. Nothing threatening, at least for now, but the awareness of it, in addition to the reminiscence of her past, disturbed her.
*Scritch scritch scritch*
She had indeed thought about it, but far from being “quiet,” she had felt her nervousness and confusion grow as the day went by. She had gone through her daily tasks like a malfunctioning automaton, coming close to making several beginner’s mistakes, which only added a sheen of aggravation to her perplexity. The way he had come to her, walking in then out as he pleased, had first stunned her, then infuriated her. Silently, she had munched on her anger, trying, without much success, to focus on her work instead. The time to close her shop had come, and she hadn’t felt any less indecisive.
She had considered going out for dinner right away, or for a walk, or to visit a few acquaintances to take her mind off it all… And yet, almost despite her, she had found herself staring at the notebook page, on which she could read the following words, etched in precise, slightly cramped writing:
Canterlot University
Chiaroscuro Building
Room 218
*Scritch scritch scritch*
He paused, scratched his short chin with an indolent hoof, then considered her for a while with his still, heavy-lidded eyes. She thought he was about to say something–something that would be a change from the litany of questions she had been subjected to so far–but then, without displaying any emotion, he went back to his notes.
“Did you ever happen to see Sombra?”
The sentence was like a cold burst that sent a sudden chill through her spine as a sharp pain stung her horn. Memories of nightmares, both faraway and recent, droned in her mind, and for a moment, she believed she was going to be ill, to start crying. However, out of pride as much as from self-control, she struggled to keep herself in check, grasping for at least a veneer of calm with big gulps of air.
“Take your time.”
Composed, restrained, in a slightly raspy baritone that hinted at some measure of oratory experience. His gaze still rested on his notebook, but she could yet feel that his attention was devoted to her. Somehow, the cool-headedness he radiated had something stabilizing, almost reassuring.
That was at least one thing to Professor Mush’s credit: he had nothing intimidating. At most, he was severe. He reminded Satine of her childhood’s teacher: a boring old-timer named Ergo who was innocently made fun of by the entire classroom, and who seemed to feel for his work a sort of tarnished pride. What had become of him since Sombra’s coup? She did not know. She had never really thought about it… in some way, he was just part of the many figures of her past that had faded away from her daily life since the beginning of the rule of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza… all these ponies swept from the pages of history…
With a deep breath, she shook away from her daydreaming:
“Once…”
*Scritch scritch scritch*
Driven by some sort of stubborn pride, she had ended up going straight for the University, her hooves striking the pavement with grudging determination. She refused, with almost childish stubbornness, to show what could be perceived as weakness. The words he had sententiously pronounced rang in her mind:
“As a subject of the Crystal Empire, I wish to be granted your testimony about the rule of King Sombra. It would be a precious reference for me, as the sources of the University on the subject are, most unfortunately, very few and lacking on the subject, and I will probably not get the opportunity to go to the Empire before some time. Therefore, you would do a great service to historical science by accepting to go through such an interview.”
The unbelievably pontificating, bombastic tone, in addition to what he expected of her, had left her flabbergasted, but now, she was determined not to play the part of the suggestible, unknowing little filly. She was going to answer squarely whatever he might tell or ask her.
Twilight had begun to spread her crimson wings on the City of the Princesses, and most of its inhabitants were now getting ready to go home for the night. Who knew? Maybe she would disturb him in the middle of dinner, or even during his sleep? That would show him!
*Scritch scritch scritch*
“… he was parading through a street in front of my house. I… I peeked through the shutters. I wasn’t supposed to go out, you know… it’s… unicorns… Sombra… didn’t want any…” she took a shuddering breath. “And there… there was a pegasus… pegasi too they… weren’t accepted. I don’t know if he was a guard or… somepony else… he was tied up and they dragged him to a sort of… platform. And Sombra… he… he was smiling, like… He…”
Memories started cascading inside her head, and she felt herself getting swept away. She strove to keep her remembrances and emotions at bay, but they irresistibly flowed back in, threatening to actually submerge her for good this time. From the far reaches of her memory, the deep, sonorous laugh of the Cursed King rang, about to swallow her whole, to crush her will…
Then, like the sound of a blade cutting through a patch of mist, there was a hiss of rustling tissue, and with a start, she became aware of an intangible heat on her. Through her fluttering eyelids, she saw a beam of garnet light sucked through the now open window. Bathed in the rays of the now setting sun, the small university room seemed momentarily drowned in a ruby-colored liquid. The sight of it was so striking, so unexpected, that for a second, it whisked away her dreary thoughts. It was all she needed to steel her resolve, the dark influence slowly fading away in front of the sudden vision.
Her eyes quickly got used to the new lighting, and she was able to make out the thick shape of the Professor who had just opened the curtains wide, and was now laying on her a look full of… disappointment? Commiseration? Condescension? Perhaps of nothing in particular, actually.
“It will be enough.”
A mere statement, pronounced without animosity, but which yet stoked her pride freshly wounded by her past emotiveness. A frown instinctively settled on her face, while relief washed over her that she had not lost control to the point of letting her Gray Horn appear.
“I can go on. I… I wasn’t done.
- I know enough, believe me,” he said, tapping his notebook, as if to prove his point. “This interview was not as exhaustive as I had initially hoped, but you have taught me much.
- Ah?” she was skeptical.
“Of course. Written reports and data can allow us to learn a lot, but it is first and foremost the experience of witnesses that sheds light on history. In that regard, what you told me largely provides me with the information I needed.
- If you say so.”
Doubtful all the same, but calmer now, she slowly, almost gingerly climbed down from the stool on which she had been sitting, and walked to the window’s stony ledge, settling next to Mush who seemed to be gazing absentmindedly at the horizon.
The sight of Canterlot, glorious, grand, and above all guardian, soothed her heart, and appeased her troubled mind. The end-of-day vermilion was now fading out for good, and she let out a low sigh, stealing a quick glance at the Professor. In the scarce carmine light, his dull-looking eyes seemed to glimmer like raw opals, bringing out the green hue of his irises that she had formerly believed gray. Suddenly, the presence of this stallion, previously professorial and sententious, became peaceful, placid.
“My apologies for having… made… well, for having disturbed you,” he said, not without visible embarrassment.
“Oh… it’s okay. It was my decision to come, after all.”
She glanced at her in a way she could not help but identify as puzzled, then nodded slowly.
“So it was.”
And silence settled back.
It was still somewhat awkward to be in the presence of this pony, who was probably at least ten years her elder, and whom she was still not familiar with. Yet, perhaps owing to the ambient darkness, their distance seemed more muddled, so that she almost came to appreciate his composed bearing, his serious look, his measured manners. There was in this whole behavior a sort of reassuring… no… soothing, rather, influence. A few additional handfuls of seconds went by, during which she could make out the faraway shapes of torch-wielding pegasi busy with lighting the lamps placed along the streets for public lighting.
Mush opened his mouth, clearly about to say something, when a cavernous grumble rose from his stomach, which he stared at with a dumb, mortified look. Without even thinking about it, she felt herself burst out laughing, entirely unable to hold back in front of the down-to-earth incongruity of it. Any guilt she might have felt for apparently making fun of the Professor was quickly drowned in her rekindled liveliness. Her merriment actually found no reason to decrease when, endeavoring against all odds to keep a proper front, he coughed loudly before observing in a tone whose affected indifference was doomed to failure:
“It seems it is time for dinner.
- So it is!” she almost yelped between two guffaws whose hilarity obviously–she could see so in spite of the lack of light–reddened the cheeks of the learned historian.
Draping himself in pride and indifference, still in vain, the stallion went for the door of the room he had been alloted and which, barely a while ago, had been the nexus of the young unicorn’s anguish.
“I will be going to the refectory for dinner,” he said in a voice he almost managed to make sound casual. “Do you wish to join me?”
The invitation was clearly out of politeness… or was it? In contrast with his attitude during most of their interview, he was now looking at her straight in the eye. Although his face showed no particular expectation or interest (then again, it had to be said that so far, apart from possibly a certain haughtiness, it had not shown much), his stance seemed less stiff, a bit more relaxed.
Satine pictured a dining-hall buzzing with the chatter of conversations along with the clinking of cutlery. She thought about her house, the location of her dear shop, but also of her room, the cradle of her fears. She envisioned the depressing loneliness of an individual meal, mulling over the orders she had to complete, in order to avoid sinking back into the past. She reflected that she did not know many people in Canterlot.
A smile settled on her lips.
“Sure!”
