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Obsolete Thaumatology
“Last name?” asked the disinterested-looking receptionist.
“Uh, how about, ‘the Bearded?’”
“First name?” continued the stallion, showing no sign of having registered Star Swirl’s answer.
“Star,” said Star Swirl, flatly.
Star Swirl glanced around the room in frustration. It was a rather small lobby, simply decorated and floored with a beige-brown carpet that reminded Star Swirl of his visit to a modern inn. Or, hotel, as they were called, now. The entire interior smelled of raisins and cleaning solution.
“Middle name?”
Star Swirl briefly recalled the incantation for a Bad Hair Day spell. It’d be just enough to let him vent his frustration, but not enough to do any lasting harm. Well, outside of lingering split ends.
Instead, he sighed through his nose and put away thoughts of curses and hexes.
“Swirl,” he answered.
“Okay, Mr. Star Swirl the…”
The stallion trailed off, blinked at the name his own hoof had written, and finally, with the speed of an intoxicated hippo, looked directly at Star Swirl for the first time.
Star Swirl took a mild pleasure in seeing the stallion obviously try to decide if he was the Star Swirl, until a casual shake of Star Swirl’s belled hat made him make up his mind.
“You’re here to see the Princesses?” said the receptionist, in a surprisingly even voice.
“Only one of them,” Star Swirl said. “Where must I go to see Celestia?”
“Um… normally I’m not supposed to allow visitors without appointments…” The stallion’s eyes darted back and forth between the binders open on the countertop in front of him. “But… I think I can make an exception this once.”
“How canny of you, sir,” said Star Swirl. He waited for the young stallion (a colt, practically) to continue.
“Princess Celest—I mean, her former majesty is um…. doing yoga right now. She’s in Class C, and they do yoga on Thursdays.”
“And where does one do this… ‘yoga’?” asked Star Swirl, patiently.
“In the center courtyard, when the weather is good.” The colt finally seemed in control of his wits. He pointed, helpfully. “Just walk down this hall, and go through the doors leading outside at the end, to the left. It’ll be right there.”
“My thanks, sir,” said Star Swirl, as he made his way down the indicated corridor.
It still felt odd calling stallions ‘sir’ even if they were too young to have either earned a knighthood or sired a foal, but that was simply what was done these days.
As he walked, Star Swirl passed several small groups of elderly ponies locked in conversation as they went on their slow way or idled beside padded sofas and benches.
A home entirely for the old. What an absolutely strange concept. Truth be told, Star Swirl found it horrifying in some mild way that these ponies were not living with their adult children to take care of them.
Star Swirl himself had no children, but he similarly had no plans of becoming decrepit and senile.
When Star Swirl took the exit that the receptionist had described, he immediately found Celestia.
She stuck out quite clearly from the twenty or thirty old ponies gathered out there in the grass, all imitating the strange poses demonstrated by a young mare in the front with a soothing voice. While quite a few of the retirees were quite apparently having trouble with some of the stretches, Celestia cut a graceful, sliding figure, as she made idle, giggling small talk with the mares and stallions near her.
“Oh!” said the instructor, as she noticed Star Swirl. “Do we have a new participant?”
Star Swirl felt his cheeks puff out almost automatically.
“No, girl, I’m here to see Celestia,” he said, trying to hold back a barrage of ‘harumph’s and ‘by the stars’ses.
At the sound of his voice, Celestia spun her head around, and her eyes met his.
“Star Swirl!” she beamed, before turning to face the ponies around her again. “Sorry, Cornflower, I’ll have to hear the rest of your fascinating story some other time. I need to step away for a moment, everypony.”
Celestia smoothly brought herself to a regular standing posture and made her way to Star Swirl.
“What a wonderful surprise, Star Swirl,” she said, smiling from ear to ear. “Why don’t we walk to the beach together? It isn’t far, and the path is lovely.”
Star Swirl nodded, and began to follow Celestia’s lead. The weather was good for a walk.
“It’s good to see you too, Celestia,” he said. “I apologize for coming with no notice. I was told by the colt at the front that you don’t usually see visitors without appointments.”
Celestia winced.
“It’s an unfortunate necessity. Otherwise, retirement wouldn’t be retirement,” she said. She tilted her head, and her frown seemed to slide off her face as if by gravity. “Well, that’s really enough about me. What brings you here? Is Moon Dancer not a good fit for you? I can recommend other ponies for your research assistant.”
Star Swirl shook his head, sending several of the bells in his hat rattling.
“Nay, Moon Dancer is a fine young mare,” he said. “Just the other day, she introduced me to the small wave machine.”
If it weren’t for knowing Celestia during her foalhood days, Star Swirl may have missed the little indicators that she was utterly confused. The darting eyes, as if they were looking for the answer. A pinch in her left eye, and a casual smile.
“Oh, blast, I’ve got the name wrong again.” Star Swirl put a hoof to his chin. “Ah yes, it was the microwave machine. Extremely useful—much less hassle than a cauldron. Heats up my reagents in seconds.”
“Wonderful!” Celestia’s full-face grin returned. “I’m glad you two are working well together. She was such an enthusiast of your work, you know?”
Star Swirls mood immediately darkened, and from the look on Celestia’s face, he could tell that she noticed.
“I’m sorry; did I say something wrong?” she asked.
“Nay, nay,” said Star Swirl. He scrunched his muzzle and tried to buy himself some time to think. “How is Luna doing? I’ve always thought of her as the sort with too much energy to take up a life of full-time leisure.”
“Oh, she’s hanging in there,” said Celestia. There was a trace of two of worry still on her face, but she had recognized Star Swirl’s need to change the subject and she was happy to comply.
“She’s really gotten herself engrossed in her ant colony,” continued Celestia. “She’s had to get a second desk to hold the new chambers she keeps adding to the habitat. Really loves the little things.” Celestia put a hoof on her chin and raised an eyebrow. “Although, recently she’s gotten a bit cross at them. Thinks that they’re too dependent on the heat lamp, and she’s been saying that she’s going to turn it off forever if they keep clinging to it.”
Star Swirl rolled his eyes.
“That certainly sounds like the Luna I know,” he said. “Thank the heavens that you two don’t seem to have changed all that much.”
“I think we may have changed just a little bit,” said Celestia.
She suddenly draped a wing over Star Swirl’s back as they walked, and squeezed him tightly.
Star Swirl, caught off-guard, harrump’ed and well-I’ll-be’ed until Celestia let him go.
“I missed you while you were gone,” she said.
“I—er, well…” Star Swirl trailed off.
Celestia laughed and waved a hoof in a disarming gesture.
“It’s okay, you needn’t say anything,” she said. “I know how you are.”
Star Swirl sighed through his nose.
“Truthfully, this… um… touches upon why I wanted to talk to you today,” he said.
Celestia cocked an eyebrow.
“In what way?” she asked.
At this point, they had made it to the beach. Celestia spread her wings to catch the sun as the two of them stepped onto the wet part of the sand, where the cool waves would lap at their hooves.
“I am…” said Star Swirl. “To be frank, I am unsure of, well, how to talk to you, now.”
“However you’d like, Star Swirl,” said Celestia. She smiled. “Nothing has changed.”
Star Swirl barked a laugh.
“Much has changed,” he said. “I am no longer your teacher. You are no longer a hapless filly. In fact, I daresay that you are now much more knowledgeable than I in a great many things. Perhaps, in all things.”
Celestia frowned a little.
“I am not omniscient, Star Swirl,” she said, quietly. “You of all ponies must realize this.”
“I require not from you omniscience,” said Star Swirl. He cleared his throat. “But I do ask… for your council.”
Celestia’s blinked, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face contorted through a whole range of emotions. Surprise, trepidation, a touch of a laugh.
She huffed.
“Now, I’m unsure of how to speak to you,” she said. “It’s… odd the way the thought of giving you advice crosses my mind. In all my memories of you, you were the one with the answers. But please, ask. I would love to lend you my ear.”
Star Swirl tapped a hoof against the soft sand as he thought.
“What is it, that the elderly fear, Celestia?” he asked.
He could see the great gears inside Celestia’s head turning, as though her eyes were windows into the mechanisms within.
“They fear passing away, without ponies to care about them. They fear being forgotten. They fear not making a difference before the opportunity is taken away from them forever,” she said.
“I feared those things,” said Star Swirl. “And now, I can’t help but think those fears were justified.”
“How so?” asked Celestia, concern lacing her voice.
“I… I have discovered that I am still considered a magical genius in this age,” said Star Swirl.
Celestia’s brow wrinkled.
“I am not sure how this contributes to your problem.” Celestia motioned with a hoof, placatingly. “Surely being well-regarded for the past two thousand years is a great testament to the impact you left upon the world.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” said Star Swirl. “I ought to be… irrelevant by now. There ought to have been scores of wizards that took my work and improved it. I ought not to recognize the state of magical studies by now.
“Instead, I am once again a leading researcher. I am returning to the tattered pieces of incomplete spells I wrote two millennia ago, and I am back where I left off with them. Nothing has progressed in my absence.”
Star Swirl shook his head and tried to get his thoughts in order.
“I expected to be as forgotten as the inventor of the plow or the wheel by now. But instead, my work has amounted to nothing, in the most unexpected way I could imagine,” he said.
“I see,” said Celestia. She had a sad, faraway look in her eyes.
“Then you must see the crux of my problem,” said Star Swirl. “How does one handle not being obsolete? How do you handle a world that demands a lifetime of work, and then more?”
Celestia nodded, understandingly.
“There may not be another being on this earth who understands your question as well as Luna and I,” said Celestia. “And the answer we arrived at is not an easy one.”
“Ease is not a concern of mine,” said Star Swirl. It was the beginning of one of his favorite sayings.
“Only efficacy and practicality,” finished Celestia for him, with a ghost of a smile. “Very well then.”
Celestia’s eyes met his.
“The solution we formed, after many years of discussion,” she said, “was to retire.”
Star Swirl blinked. Then he huffed.
“To… retire? To simply, give up?” he asked, incredulously. “I cannot simply stop. The work is too important to leave unfinished for a second time.”
“There will never be a good time to stop,” said Celestia, softly. “There will always be work to be done. There will always be those depending upon you. Moreso, in fact, if you do a good job.
“For me and Luna, immortality became something of a trap. We always had time to give to the work. We always could spare a moment, a year, a decade, a century, for the sake of the greater good. I hadn’t realized just how bad it had gotten until I lost Luna because of it.”
Celestia winced again, and turned her head downwards. She looked much like she did millenia ago—an uneasy-footed adolescent who got her lessons wrong again.
“My little ponies deserved a leader who didn’t have two and a half thousand years of baggage clouding her decisions,” Celestia said. “They deserved a leader who could look ahead without taking two glances behind her, first. And they did get that Princess. I am ever so grateful that they did.”
Star Swirl squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead with a hoof.
“I can’t do that,” he said. “I… can’t leave it up for someone to pick up after me again. It didn’t work last time. I won’t have another chance, this time. I can’t let it go again.”
Celestia nodded in understanding, but Star Swirl could see the wheels in her head spinning again.
“Perhaps the reason it didn’t work was because you didn’t let it go, the first time,” she said.
Star Swirl was struck by the statement, and waited for Celestia to continue.
“When you and the Pillars were sealed away, how many other ponies knew about your work?” asked Celestia. “How many could replicate your findings, and how many understood the goals of your projects?”
“None,” said Star Swirl. “I alone carried out the work.”
“I know much about working alone, for a long time,” said Celestia. Her eyes hardened. “It is a trap of the mind. It becomes easy to righteously burden yourself with the belief that all depends on you. That a pony can change the world by herself.”
The bells in Star Swirls hat chimed as he rested his head on a hoof.
It was an almost indescribable feeling, being lectured at by a pony to whom he had taught letters and numbers. But he felt no anger or embarrassment.
“Perhaps no one was able to finish your work, because there was no one there to continue it when you left,” continued Celestia. Her expression softened. “I think, you need to pass your work on. From there, Harmony can take care of the rest. Ponies aren’t meant to hold on to glory forever. We need our children to take it from us.”
“I… don’t know how,” said Star Swirl. “What did you do?”
Celestia smiled wryly.
“I took on a student,” she said. “And I didn’t teach her everything I knew. Too much baggage tied up in all of that. I only taught her the things that really mattered.”
“Efficacy and practicality,” said Star Swirl, in agreement. “That makes sense.”
He took a moment to think, idly tracing lines in the wet sand with his magic.
“Moondancer would make an excellent successor,” he said, finally. “She is clever, she is familiar with the modern world, and she truly cares about the work… And I will only teach her the things that matter.”
Star Swirl turned his head upwards to look Celestia in the eye.
“Thank you, Celestia,” he said. “I’m grateful for your counsel. And I’m… proud of what you’ve become.”
Celestia smiled a smile that was threatened to be broken by tears, and she hugged Star Swirl again.
This time, he tried to hug back. But his hoof felt awkward as he tried to motion it around her withers, and he didn’t think he did a very good job in the end.
Oh well. He’d have plenty of practice, after he retires and comes here to join Celestia.
Which reminded him…
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Star Swirl, when the two of them were making their way back to the retirement home. “How long are you planning to stay here in this house for elderlies?”
Celestia shrugged happily.
“We’re not sure,” she said. “Maybe twenty or so years, but no longer than thirty years. Just about as long as a regular pony would stay at one of these places. Then afterwards, maybe an odd job or two. I’d love to open up a small store of some kind, somewhere.”
Star Swirl made a small frown.
“Well, if you’re going to go back to work, what was the point of being here at all?”
Celestia laughed.
“Well, we can only retire from being Princesses once. May as well do it right. Get the whole experience,” she said. Then she dropped her voice, in a conspiratory manner. “But if I’m honest, I think this sort of life suits me more than it does with Luna. I think she’s dying to do something, truth be told.”
“She’s always been a silly girl,” said Star Swirl, shaking his head with amusement. “I wonder if I can make it here before she flees.”
“For you, I think she’ll stay an extra year or two,” said Celestia. “But you should ask her yourself! I think we can catch her at lunchtime, at this hour. Care to get a bite to eat?”
“That sounds delightful,” said Star Swirl.
And for the rest of the afternoon, he thoroughly forgot all about spells and research and studying.
“Uh, how about, ‘the Bearded?’”
“First name?” continued the stallion, showing no sign of having registered Star Swirl’s answer.
“Star,” said Star Swirl, flatly.
Star Swirl glanced around the room in frustration. It was a rather small lobby, simply decorated and floored with a beige-brown carpet that reminded Star Swirl of his visit to a modern inn. Or, hotel, as they were called, now. The entire interior smelled of raisins and cleaning solution.
“Middle name?”
Star Swirl briefly recalled the incantation for a Bad Hair Day spell. It’d be just enough to let him vent his frustration, but not enough to do any lasting harm. Well, outside of lingering split ends.
Instead, he sighed through his nose and put away thoughts of curses and hexes.
“Swirl,” he answered.
“Okay, Mr. Star Swirl the…”
The stallion trailed off, blinked at the name his own hoof had written, and finally, with the speed of an intoxicated hippo, looked directly at Star Swirl for the first time.
Star Swirl took a mild pleasure in seeing the stallion obviously try to decide if he was the Star Swirl, until a casual shake of Star Swirl’s belled hat made him make up his mind.
“You’re here to see the Princesses?” said the receptionist, in a surprisingly even voice.
“Only one of them,” Star Swirl said. “Where must I go to see Celestia?”
“Um… normally I’m not supposed to allow visitors without appointments…” The stallion’s eyes darted back and forth between the binders open on the countertop in front of him. “But… I think I can make an exception this once.”
“How canny of you, sir,” said Star Swirl. He waited for the young stallion (a colt, practically) to continue.
“Princess Celest—I mean, her former majesty is um…. doing yoga right now. She’s in Class C, and they do yoga on Thursdays.”
“And where does one do this… ‘yoga’?” asked Star Swirl, patiently.
“In the center courtyard, when the weather is good.” The colt finally seemed in control of his wits. He pointed, helpfully. “Just walk down this hall, and go through the doors leading outside at the end, to the left. It’ll be right there.”
“My thanks, sir,” said Star Swirl, as he made his way down the indicated corridor.
It still felt odd calling stallions ‘sir’ even if they were too young to have either earned a knighthood or sired a foal, but that was simply what was done these days.
As he walked, Star Swirl passed several small groups of elderly ponies locked in conversation as they went on their slow way or idled beside padded sofas and benches.
A home entirely for the old. What an absolutely strange concept. Truth be told, Star Swirl found it horrifying in some mild way that these ponies were not living with their adult children to take care of them.
Star Swirl himself had no children, but he similarly had no plans of becoming decrepit and senile.
When Star Swirl took the exit that the receptionist had described, he immediately found Celestia.
She stuck out quite clearly from the twenty or thirty old ponies gathered out there in the grass, all imitating the strange poses demonstrated by a young mare in the front with a soothing voice. While quite a few of the retirees were quite apparently having trouble with some of the stretches, Celestia cut a graceful, sliding figure, as she made idle, giggling small talk with the mares and stallions near her.
“Oh!” said the instructor, as she noticed Star Swirl. “Do we have a new participant?”
Star Swirl felt his cheeks puff out almost automatically.
“No, girl, I’m here to see Celestia,” he said, trying to hold back a barrage of ‘harumph’s and ‘by the stars’ses.
At the sound of his voice, Celestia spun her head around, and her eyes met his.
“Star Swirl!” she beamed, before turning to face the ponies around her again. “Sorry, Cornflower, I’ll have to hear the rest of your fascinating story some other time. I need to step away for a moment, everypony.”
Celestia smoothly brought herself to a regular standing posture and made her way to Star Swirl.
“What a wonderful surprise, Star Swirl,” she said, smiling from ear to ear. “Why don’t we walk to the beach together? It isn’t far, and the path is lovely.”
Star Swirl nodded, and began to follow Celestia’s lead. The weather was good for a walk.
“It’s good to see you too, Celestia,” he said. “I apologize for coming with no notice. I was told by the colt at the front that you don’t usually see visitors without appointments.”
Celestia winced.
“It’s an unfortunate necessity. Otherwise, retirement wouldn’t be retirement,” she said. She tilted her head, and her frown seemed to slide off her face as if by gravity. “Well, that’s really enough about me. What brings you here? Is Moon Dancer not a good fit for you? I can recommend other ponies for your research assistant.”
Star Swirl shook his head, sending several of the bells in his hat rattling.
“Nay, Moon Dancer is a fine young mare,” he said. “Just the other day, she introduced me to the small wave machine.”
If it weren’t for knowing Celestia during her foalhood days, Star Swirl may have missed the little indicators that she was utterly confused. The darting eyes, as if they were looking for the answer. A pinch in her left eye, and a casual smile.
“Oh, blast, I’ve got the name wrong again.” Star Swirl put a hoof to his chin. “Ah yes, it was the microwave machine. Extremely useful—much less hassle than a cauldron. Heats up my reagents in seconds.”
“Wonderful!” Celestia’s full-face grin returned. “I’m glad you two are working well together. She was such an enthusiast of your work, you know?”
Star Swirls mood immediately darkened, and from the look on Celestia’s face, he could tell that she noticed.
“I’m sorry; did I say something wrong?” she asked.
“Nay, nay,” said Star Swirl. He scrunched his muzzle and tried to buy himself some time to think. “How is Luna doing? I’ve always thought of her as the sort with too much energy to take up a life of full-time leisure.”
“Oh, she’s hanging in there,” said Celestia. There was a trace of two of worry still on her face, but she had recognized Star Swirl’s need to change the subject and she was happy to comply.
“She’s really gotten herself engrossed in her ant colony,” continued Celestia. “She’s had to get a second desk to hold the new chambers she keeps adding to the habitat. Really loves the little things.” Celestia put a hoof on her chin and raised an eyebrow. “Although, recently she’s gotten a bit cross at them. Thinks that they’re too dependent on the heat lamp, and she’s been saying that she’s going to turn it off forever if they keep clinging to it.”
Star Swirl rolled his eyes.
“That certainly sounds like the Luna I know,” he said. “Thank the heavens that you two don’t seem to have changed all that much.”
“I think we may have changed just a little bit,” said Celestia.
She suddenly draped a wing over Star Swirl’s back as they walked, and squeezed him tightly.
Star Swirl, caught off-guard, harrump’ed and well-I’ll-be’ed until Celestia let him go.
“I missed you while you were gone,” she said.
“I—er, well…” Star Swirl trailed off.
Celestia laughed and waved a hoof in a disarming gesture.
“It’s okay, you needn’t say anything,” she said. “I know how you are.”
Star Swirl sighed through his nose.
“Truthfully, this… um… touches upon why I wanted to talk to you today,” he said.
Celestia cocked an eyebrow.
“In what way?” she asked.
At this point, they had made it to the beach. Celestia spread her wings to catch the sun as the two of them stepped onto the wet part of the sand, where the cool waves would lap at their hooves.
“I am…” said Star Swirl. “To be frank, I am unsure of, well, how to talk to you, now.”
“However you’d like, Star Swirl,” said Celestia. She smiled. “Nothing has changed.”
Star Swirl barked a laugh.
“Much has changed,” he said. “I am no longer your teacher. You are no longer a hapless filly. In fact, I daresay that you are now much more knowledgeable than I in a great many things. Perhaps, in all things.”
Celestia frowned a little.
“I am not omniscient, Star Swirl,” she said, quietly. “You of all ponies must realize this.”
“I require not from you omniscience,” said Star Swirl. He cleared his throat. “But I do ask… for your council.”
Celestia’s blinked, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face contorted through a whole range of emotions. Surprise, trepidation, a touch of a laugh.
She huffed.
“Now, I’m unsure of how to speak to you,” she said. “It’s… odd the way the thought of giving you advice crosses my mind. In all my memories of you, you were the one with the answers. But please, ask. I would love to lend you my ear.”
Star Swirl tapped a hoof against the soft sand as he thought.
“What is it, that the elderly fear, Celestia?” he asked.
He could see the great gears inside Celestia’s head turning, as though her eyes were windows into the mechanisms within.
“They fear passing away, without ponies to care about them. They fear being forgotten. They fear not making a difference before the opportunity is taken away from them forever,” she said.
“I feared those things,” said Star Swirl. “And now, I can’t help but think those fears were justified.”
“How so?” asked Celestia, concern lacing her voice.
“I… I have discovered that I am still considered a magical genius in this age,” said Star Swirl.
Celestia’s brow wrinkled.
“I am not sure how this contributes to your problem.” Celestia motioned with a hoof, placatingly. “Surely being well-regarded for the past two thousand years is a great testament to the impact you left upon the world.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” said Star Swirl. “I ought to be… irrelevant by now. There ought to have been scores of wizards that took my work and improved it. I ought not to recognize the state of magical studies by now.
“Instead, I am once again a leading researcher. I am returning to the tattered pieces of incomplete spells I wrote two millennia ago, and I am back where I left off with them. Nothing has progressed in my absence.”
Star Swirl shook his head and tried to get his thoughts in order.
“I expected to be as forgotten as the inventor of the plow or the wheel by now. But instead, my work has amounted to nothing, in the most unexpected way I could imagine,” he said.
“I see,” said Celestia. She had a sad, faraway look in her eyes.
“Then you must see the crux of my problem,” said Star Swirl. “How does one handle not being obsolete? How do you handle a world that demands a lifetime of work, and then more?”
Celestia nodded, understandingly.
“There may not be another being on this earth who understands your question as well as Luna and I,” said Celestia. “And the answer we arrived at is not an easy one.”
“Ease is not a concern of mine,” said Star Swirl. It was the beginning of one of his favorite sayings.
“Only efficacy and practicality,” finished Celestia for him, with a ghost of a smile. “Very well then.”
Celestia’s eyes met his.
“The solution we formed, after many years of discussion,” she said, “was to retire.”
Star Swirl blinked. Then he huffed.
“To… retire? To simply, give up?” he asked, incredulously. “I cannot simply stop. The work is too important to leave unfinished for a second time.”
“There will never be a good time to stop,” said Celestia, softly. “There will always be work to be done. There will always be those depending upon you. Moreso, in fact, if you do a good job.
“For me and Luna, immortality became something of a trap. We always had time to give to the work. We always could spare a moment, a year, a decade, a century, for the sake of the greater good. I hadn’t realized just how bad it had gotten until I lost Luna because of it.”
Celestia winced again, and turned her head downwards. She looked much like she did millenia ago—an uneasy-footed adolescent who got her lessons wrong again.
“My little ponies deserved a leader who didn’t have two and a half thousand years of baggage clouding her decisions,” Celestia said. “They deserved a leader who could look ahead without taking two glances behind her, first. And they did get that Princess. I am ever so grateful that they did.”
Star Swirl squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead with a hoof.
“I can’t do that,” he said. “I… can’t leave it up for someone to pick up after me again. It didn’t work last time. I won’t have another chance, this time. I can’t let it go again.”
Celestia nodded in understanding, but Star Swirl could see the wheels in her head spinning again.
“Perhaps the reason it didn’t work was because you didn’t let it go, the first time,” she said.
Star Swirl was struck by the statement, and waited for Celestia to continue.
“When you and the Pillars were sealed away, how many other ponies knew about your work?” asked Celestia. “How many could replicate your findings, and how many understood the goals of your projects?”
“None,” said Star Swirl. “I alone carried out the work.”
“I know much about working alone, for a long time,” said Celestia. Her eyes hardened. “It is a trap of the mind. It becomes easy to righteously burden yourself with the belief that all depends on you. That a pony can change the world by herself.”
The bells in Star Swirls hat chimed as he rested his head on a hoof.
It was an almost indescribable feeling, being lectured at by a pony to whom he had taught letters and numbers. But he felt no anger or embarrassment.
“Perhaps no one was able to finish your work, because there was no one there to continue it when you left,” continued Celestia. Her expression softened. “I think, you need to pass your work on. From there, Harmony can take care of the rest. Ponies aren’t meant to hold on to glory forever. We need our children to take it from us.”
“I… don’t know how,” said Star Swirl. “What did you do?”
Celestia smiled wryly.
“I took on a student,” she said. “And I didn’t teach her everything I knew. Too much baggage tied up in all of that. I only taught her the things that really mattered.”
“Efficacy and practicality,” said Star Swirl, in agreement. “That makes sense.”
He took a moment to think, idly tracing lines in the wet sand with his magic.
“Moondancer would make an excellent successor,” he said, finally. “She is clever, she is familiar with the modern world, and she truly cares about the work… And I will only teach her the things that matter.”
Star Swirl turned his head upwards to look Celestia in the eye.
“Thank you, Celestia,” he said. “I’m grateful for your counsel. And I’m… proud of what you’ve become.”
Celestia smiled a smile that was threatened to be broken by tears, and she hugged Star Swirl again.
This time, he tried to hug back. But his hoof felt awkward as he tried to motion it around her withers, and he didn’t think he did a very good job in the end.
Oh well. He’d have plenty of practice, after he retires and comes here to join Celestia.
Which reminded him…
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Star Swirl, when the two of them were making their way back to the retirement home. “How long are you planning to stay here in this house for elderlies?”
Celestia shrugged happily.
“We’re not sure,” she said. “Maybe twenty or so years, but no longer than thirty years. Just about as long as a regular pony would stay at one of these places. Then afterwards, maybe an odd job or two. I’d love to open up a small store of some kind, somewhere.”
Star Swirl made a small frown.
“Well, if you’re going to go back to work, what was the point of being here at all?”
Celestia laughed.
“Well, we can only retire from being Princesses once. May as well do it right. Get the whole experience,” she said. Then she dropped her voice, in a conspiratory manner. “But if I’m honest, I think this sort of life suits me more than it does with Luna. I think she’s dying to do something, truth be told.”
“She’s always been a silly girl,” said Star Swirl, shaking his head with amusement. “I wonder if I can make it here before she flees.”
“For you, I think she’ll stay an extra year or two,” said Celestia. “But you should ask her yourself! I think we can catch her at lunchtime, at this hour. Care to get a bite to eat?”
“That sounds delightful,” said Star Swirl.
And for the rest of the afternoon, he thoroughly forgot all about spells and research and studying.
A good answer to a question I hadn't thought to ask. It's one thing to be remembered by history after more than a millennium; it's quite another to have one's work still considered relevant. But Star Swirl didn't exactly have the best track record with the rest of the contemporary scientific community, and so here we are. Plus, I really like this proposed role for Moondancer.
That said, the line between thaumatology and other scientific fields is blurry here. The microwave oven presents several questions in terms of physics, material science, electrical infrastructure, and so forth. Equestria suffers from schizotech at the best of times. In a story about one discipline's apparent stasis, it's especially odd.
Still an interesting thought exercise, though, and I quite appreciated Luna going stir-crazy with her new subjects. The good definitely outweighs the less good here.
That said, the line between thaumatology and other scientific fields is blurry here. The microwave oven presents several questions in terms of physics, material science, electrical infrastructure, and so forth. Equestria suffers from schizotech at the best of times. In a story about one discipline's apparent stasis, it's especially odd.
Still an interesting thought exercise, though, and I quite appreciated Luna going stir-crazy with her new subjects. The good definitely outweighs the less good here.
I liked this quite a lot more than I expected to! Slice of life has never massively been my thing, but the uncomfortable candour between Celestia and Star Swirl really worked for me. It really felt like they were both unsure how to navigate their new dynamic - not awkward, just unsure. And the conclusion reached was a interesting one (and one of the best justifications I've seen for the Princesses behaviour in general).
>>FanOfMostEverything Does raise a good point about the microwave I hadn't thought of though.
Still, a solid piece of work, and bonus points for Luna bringing eternal night to her ant farm.
>>FanOfMostEverything Does raise a good point about the microwave I hadn't thought of though.
Still, a solid piece of work, and bonus points for Luna bringing eternal night to her ant farm.
Another nice one:
I'll echo >>FanOfMostEverything about the talk of microwaves and all bothering me a bit. I mean, that's a whole area of knowledge that's new, which seems to address Starswirl's main complaint right on the face of it. Also, I've always seen his name written as one word, "Starswirl", and you've got Moondancer both as one words and two at various places throughout the piece.
Which brings me to my other problem. In a world like Equestria where half the citizens only have one name--Rarity, Applejack, Fluttershy, et cetera--would the first line of the story even be a thing? I know it sets up the joke, but it doesn't make sense to me that pony society would've developed that question.
These are nitpicks, though, 'cause the bulk of the story is really well done.
Mike
I'll echo >>FanOfMostEverything about the talk of microwaves and all bothering me a bit. I mean, that's a whole area of knowledge that's new, which seems to address Starswirl's main complaint right on the face of it. Also, I've always seen his name written as one word, "Starswirl", and you've got Moondancer both as one words and two at various places throughout the piece.
Which brings me to my other problem. In a world like Equestria where half the citizens only have one name--Rarity, Applejack, Fluttershy, et cetera--would the first line of the story even be a thing? I know it sets up the joke, but it doesn't make sense to me that pony society would've developed that question.
These are nitpicks, though, 'cause the bulk of the story is really well done.
Mike
In which the world moves on and that's okay.
It's a very plain piece, and I mean it in a good way. There's few frills here. The only one I could think of is the name joke at the beginning: the joke could be dropped and, instead, a more normal interaction would have proceeded which would only more sharply contrast the modern things with Starswirl's ancient sensibilities.
The plainness fits the story well. What it lacks (but then again, does it really lack if it doesn't need it?) in style, it makes up for in being a densely-packed short story with its message and the interactions between the two main characters. You focused on the two, made them very distinct, and... well, the message is very touching. The ending wraps it all nicely in a neat little slice-of-life bow, leaving the story in a somber but wistful note which befits, again, the plainness of the story.
This is too good to be in the middle of the batch. This ought to be somewhere in the top.
It's a very plain piece, and I mean it in a good way. There's few frills here. The only one I could think of is the name joke at the beginning: the joke could be dropped and, instead, a more normal interaction would have proceeded which would only more sharply contrast the modern things with Starswirl's ancient sensibilities.
The plainness fits the story well. What it lacks (but then again, does it really lack if it doesn't need it?) in style, it makes up for in being a densely-packed short story with its message and the interactions between the two main characters. You focused on the two, made them very distinct, and... well, the message is very touching. The ending wraps it all nicely in a neat little slice-of-life bow, leaving the story in a somber but wistful note which befits, again, the plainness of the story.
This is too good to be in the middle of the batch. This ought to be somewhere in the top.
What a sweet little fic! It's clever how you turn stasis into a crisis from an angle I haven't seen before, and yet it also feels relatable; at least in my profession, that feeling of giving(/trying to give) someone the tools to succeed and seeing them do nothing with them is a common one. Here, it's writ large, and with it that question that always follows: is it they who aren't using the tools? Or is it me who didn't actually give them what they needed? That's heavy stuff, but the SoL tone serves you well here, keeping this from getting maudlin.
As a nitpick, I think the last line almost works, but is just slightly off; it's trying to tie back that SS being forgotten is a good thing, I get that, but since we specifically brought up the examples of the inventors of important base elements (wheels and whatnot), and since the line references base elements, it comes off to me as trying to bury the important of those elements, rather than their inventors. The wheel's still important, you know? It's just that we do so much more interesting stuff with it now, that the "wheel" part doesn't excite any more. Likewise, SS's contributions are still important--they should just be so basic as to barely be worth mentioning. Maybe something to fiddle with, to tie the bow up that much neater at the end.
But as I say, that's getting kinda nitpicky. Overall, I really enjoyed this story, both its idea and its tone.
As a nitpick, I think the last line almost works, but is just slightly off; it's trying to tie back that SS being forgotten is a good thing, I get that, but since we specifically brought up the examples of the inventors of important base elements (wheels and whatnot), and since the line references base elements, it comes off to me as trying to bury the important of those elements, rather than their inventors. The wheel's still important, you know? It's just that we do so much more interesting stuff with it now, that the "wheel" part doesn't excite any more. Likewise, SS's contributions are still important--they should just be so basic as to barely be worth mentioning. Maybe something to fiddle with, to tie the bow up that much neater at the end.
But as I say, that's getting kinda nitpicky. Overall, I really enjoyed this story, both its idea and its tone.
I'm a sucker for Star Swirl, I'm a sucker for Celestia, and I'm a sucker for introspective stories. You've basically written this story just to pander to my pointless desires. Congratulations.
To be frank, out of all the entries this round, this one is probably in need of an editing sweep the most. There are moments where I did feel that I was being distracted by the sentence-level construction, such as heavily repeated words and phrases and oddly phrased embedded clauses. In a piece that's basically entirely dialogue, these kinds of technical level slip-ups can really bite you in the rear.
Speaking of the dialogue, I did end up getting a feeling of talking heads once or twice. I did notice you inserting actions and descriptions to break up the back-and-forth, but there's really so much you can do to support almost 3 thousand words exclusively of talking ponies. I think it would have been less distracting in a minific, but in a short story length entry, it does wear down on my attention.
That all being said, this story still wins brownie points from me for its subject matter and the cute way it wraps up its arc.
Thank you for writing!
To be frank, out of all the entries this round, this one is probably in need of an editing sweep the most. There are moments where I did feel that I was being distracted by the sentence-level construction, such as heavily repeated words and phrases and oddly phrased embedded clauses. In a piece that's basically entirely dialogue, these kinds of technical level slip-ups can really bite you in the rear.
Speaking of the dialogue, I did end up getting a feeling of talking heads once or twice. I did notice you inserting actions and descriptions to break up the back-and-forth, but there's really so much you can do to support almost 3 thousand words exclusively of talking ponies. I think it would have been less distracting in a minific, but in a short story length entry, it does wear down on my attention.
That all being said, this story still wins brownie points from me for its subject matter and the cute way it wraps up its arc.
Thank you for writing!
Doubling down on Chris's opening comment, it's absolutely fantastic to see Starswirl and the general idea of progress approached in such a completely novel manner. Honestly, I'd never even considered the fact that he's such a big deal even after being gone so long. Looking at real world parallels, we study the history of fields and the early giants plenty (Newton and Leibniz laying the foundations of Calculus, for example) but there's always more after. So, so much more everywhere and growing all the time.
And finishing one of Starswirl's spells was enough to get Twilight exploded into an Alicorn, like centuries of progress erupted all at once in a single spot.
Absolutely fantastic to see one of the Giants whose shoulders they should have been climbing over come back and go, "come on guys, really?"
And finishing one of Starswirl's spells was enough to get Twilight exploded into an Alicorn, like centuries of progress erupted all at once in a single spot.
Absolutely fantastic to see one of the Giants whose shoulders they should have been climbing over come back and go, "come on guys, really?"