There were three to five of them. They refused to count themselves. It was more secure that way.
It may be best to describe them by what they would, should they be so unfortunate as to be captured by what was now clearly completely untrustworthy authority, insist they were not. They were certainly not former employees of the palace who had worked as head chef and line cooks. They had not been fired by a very tight-lipped Princess Celestia for inciting a riot during the first eclipse demonstration. Surely the ponies who had tried to escape and warn the populace before the Guards caught up and dragged them back were coincidental near-twins: it was a big continent and there were only so many color combinations possible, right? Or there were enemy agents operating in disguise in order to ruin the good names of completely innocent ponies. But those ponies were not them. However many of them there actually were.
She is staring at the quasi-polished irregular piece of rock (not quite silver, not too far away from it either, a metal unseen for centuries) which serves as her mirror and wishing she could do something with her mane. With the room, which is overly weathered and shows the open signs of far too many repairs, several of them recent. It is confining and grey and dismal and she has to sleep on the floor because one of the more recent things to happen took out part of the side wall and swept their beds out with it: they'd been lucky not to have been within them at the time. For now, there is a pile of blankets in one corner which is hers. It smells like despair and the weight of just barely hanging on and like every pony who used them before her, which means it also smells just a little like death.
There are no splinters within the floor, which is one of the positive things to working with a base of bedrock. Light comes in through a pair of irregular openings which might have been rectangles once. Those are sealed when the chaos storms come and ponies huddle in the dark waiting to see if they will die — with the survivors emerging to find out just who has.
There are no furnishings. There are barely any possessions. As a potential love nest, the only thing which has any hope of qualifying it at all is that for the moment, there is also a complete lack of sister — she trots over to those blankets and pokes them with her front hooves, just in case — plus her parents are —
(my father just)
— not present at the moment.
a dream sequence from A Mark Of Appeal provides a glimpse into what seems to be Celestia's original home — and the Discordian Era.
They are reporters. I do not expect them to be informed, and I have yet to be disappointed.
Aerodynamics came in first. This led directly to physics, which had a brief illicit affair with gravity that resulted in several foals, all of which left home to start careers in the sciences. Biology shortly came into play on the family tree and brought some friends known as anatomy, musculature, and calorie burn rates, all of whom seemed to be having sex with each other. At one point, time dilation occurred, but it turned out to be no part of the flying process: just an incidental side effect of the lecture. Quantum tried to get involved and wound up wandering off while nursing a migraine.
What it's like to be on the receiving end of a Twilight flight lecture, from Triptych - Chapter 18: Scrumble.