“How do you tell if somepony’s a changeling?”

I set my lager down on the counter and peered at Figment. He gnawed on his lip and stared at his own beer, untouched as it slowly gathering beads of condensation on the bar.

“Huh?” I asked. Smart of me, yeah.

“If somepony was a changeling, how would you know?”

“Well, they’re insects, they have shiny black shells, and suck out your love.” That last part seemed rather salacious to me; I kinda wanted to see it in action someday.

“I’m serious, Clocks.” He spoke to his beer, not looking around the crowded bar. “They can look like anypony. One of them pretended to be a princess for weeks straight, and nopony caught her. And the invasion…”

Fine, I could play along. “The Guard has spells to find them now. There won’t be another invasion. They’re not stupid enough to try.”

“How do we know those spells work, though?”

“The princess said they do. Ain’t that enough?”

“Is it?” Figment’s horn glowed, and his beer lifted on the counter to his lips. He barely took a sip before setting it back down. “I just don’t… How are we supposed to know anymore, man?”

I took another swallow of my lager. “You just gotta trust ponies. You’ll go nuts if you think everypony’s a changeling.”

Yeah, I actually said that.

Celestia, I was a fool.

---

It was days before I saw Figment again. Not unusual – we met at the bar most evenings, but it’s not like we were married or anything. A stallion can spend time by himself if he wants.

I waved to him from our usual spot at the bar. He caught my eye through the late afternoon crowd, started, then trotted over to a booth by the wall. A little jerk of his head asked me to follow. I snagged an extra beer from the ‘tender and walked over to join him.

“Hey man,” I said. “Been busy or what?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, just… tired lately.”

“Yeah? You okay?” I slid his beer across the table toward him, and took an extra long look. I didn’t like what I saw. His hair was lank and greasy from days without a wash, and his bloodshot eyes darted around the room. He wasn’t sitting normally, either. He sat sideways, his back against the wall, staring out at the crowd.

“Peachy,” he grunted.

“You, uh, you need help with anything?”

He took a drink. “Sure. You got a way to tell if somepony’s a changeling?”

This again. I sighed. “Fig, there ain’t no more damn changelings.”

“That’s what we thought before.”

“And we’re right this time.” I leaned over the table. “Look, do you think somepony’s a changeling? We can go to the guard if you’re sure.”

He shook his head. “They’d just say I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, man. Maybe a little paranoid, though.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he stared out at the crowd, his eyes dancing from pony to pony, never lingering long. He took a few more sips of his beer in the time I finished mine.

Finally, he closed his eyes and spoke. “They say they have a hive mind.”

“A what?”

“A hive mind. A thing that lets them talk in each others’ brains. That’s how their queen commanded them.”

I scratched my chin. “That’s gotta be weird. Just, like, hearing ponies talk in your head?”

Silence followed. I waited for an answer, but he remained motionless, eyes closed. Lost, perhaps, in slumber.

But no. His eyes opened, and he took a sip of his beer before setting it down and sliding it away.

“Not always ponies,” he said. “Other things, too.”

The bar seemed to grow quiet, receding far away from our little booth. I froze, because what else could I do? I was stupid and callow and young and a coward too, I suppose.

We sat together, silent. In time he stood, gave me a little nod, and walked out of the bar.

---

I keep coming here, to this same hole-in-the-wall, to this same spot at the bar. I order two drinks, but only one for myself. The ‘tender asks me, sometimes, where Figment went, and if he’ll ever be back.

I hope he will.