Chapter Four

QUIZZICAL

Chapter 4 – Harmonics

                “Thank you for helping me, Quiz,” said Sweetie Belle, as the two fillies walked from school.  “This shouldn’t take long; I have most of my notes, I just want you to go over them and help me organize my outline.”

                “Organization is important,” agreed Quiz.  “Especially with a short report.  It allows you be concise.  Otherwise there is a tendency to over write.”

                “Um...actually, Quiz, most of us don’t have a problem with writing too much,” said Sweetie Belle.  “We can use can use the Carrousel Boutique.  It’ll be more quiet than home.  Rarity gave me a key for when she’s out of town.”

                At the Boutique’s door Sweetie Belle began to let them in.  “That’s funny, the door’s unlocked.  Oh, well.  Come on in, Quiz.”  The bells over the door rang as the fillies entered.

                “Hello?” someone called from a back room.  “Sweetie Belle, is that you?”

                “Rarity?” gasped Sweetie Belle.  “Oh, no!  Quiz, I really should have warned you about my sister.”

                “There is more to Ponyville that I have not been warned about?” said Quiz, growing alarmed.  “Will this involve balloons?”

                “Rarity, you weren’t supposed to be back from Canterlot until next week!” squealed Sweetie Belle. 

                “Well, I had some business here, then I’m off to the big city again,” called Rarity.  She emerged from the back room.  “Oh, good, Sweetie Belle, you’ve brought a friend.  Please intro…”  Rarity’s eyes fell upon Quiz, and Rarity froze.

                “Is…s-s-something wrong, Ma ’me?” stammered Quiz, backing away.

                “Oh.  My. WORD!” gasped Rarity.  The scene looked much like a cat with a cornered mouse. 

                It was much too late to run.

                “If there is a problem, I could just…,”began Quiz, looking over her shoulder at the door.

                “Problem?  Oh, no,” said Rarity, a mad glint in her eyes.  “No problem.  In fact, my Dear, I believe we have always been destined to meet.  I only wish you had come to me sooner.”

                “Sis, calm down now…” said Sweetie Belle.

                “I really must go,” said Quiz.  “I promised Scootaloo she could teach me something called a barrel roll…”

                “Nonsense, my Dear,” said Rarity, “This takes precedence over EVERYTHING!”  She indicated the salon chair by the sink.  “Into the chair.  Immediately!”

-

                “You really haven’t given me enough to work with,” said Rarity, working conditioner into Quiz’s mane.  “You must come back to me once you’ve let it grow out some more.”

                “It is easier to maintain when short,” protested Quiz.  She looked at Sweetie Belle and mouthed the words, What do I do?

                “Just do what she says, Quiz,” said Sweetie Belle.  “It’s the ‘path of least resistance.’”

                “Very good, Sweetie Belle,” said Quiz.  “Have you  learned the other principles in Pon Tzy ‘s The Art of..?”

                “Hush, Quizzical, and pay attention,” said Rarity.

                “I am meant to be aiding Sweetie Belle with her history report,” protested Quiz.

                “Plenty of time for that later,” said Rarity.  “We are concentrating on your make over now.”

                “Baby steps with this one, Rarity,” begged Sweetie Belle.  “Please!”

                “Yes, yes, I promise I won’t be sending your friend into shock,” said Rarity.  “We won’t need to do anything drastic such as dying her fuchsia, after all.”

                Quiz shuddered.

                “Really, Quizzical, there isn’t anything wrong with your coat color,” said Rarity.  “It just lacks shine.  Whatever did you do to ruin it?  No, don’t tell me, I do not wish to know.”

                With a free hoof Quiz magically turned the pages of Sweetie Belle’s history book.  “I can barely see this, without my glasses.”

                “You are not supposed to, you are to concentrate on me,” said Rarity.  “You are in luck, Quizzical.  Zecora brews a conditioner for me superior to the best you can get in Canterlot.  And may I add, I think you have a lovely name.  Quizzical.  So very lyrical.”

                “Thank you, Miss Rarity,” said Quiz.  She squinted at the history book.  “Have you highlighted the section on the pegasi Rangers of Cloudsdale?  They are dashing.  But you should also consider the contributions of the earth pony  infantry, particularly from Trottingham and Stalliongrad…”

                “I do not want to have to hush you again,” scolded Rarity.  “Now we must do something to add some color…you do like color, don’t you, Quizzical?”

                “Yes, Miss Rarity,” said Quiz.  “I particularly like the color beige.”

                “I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Rarity.

                “Highlights?” suggested Sweetie Belle.

                “Highlights!” agree Rarity.  “Splendid idea.

                “Will this require much time?” asked Quiz.

                “Oh, yes,” said Rarity.  “Yes, it will.”

-

                What Quiz estimated to be an eternity later (about 90 minutes as measured by an actual clock) it was over.  “There, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” said Rarity, carefully putting Quiz’s glasses back on her face.  “Oh, and I’m ordering you new frames.  Do not argue with me.”

                “Thank you, Miss Rarity,” muttered Quiz.

                “Now let’s have a look at what you were so afraid of,” said Rarity, wheeling Quiz around to face the mirror.  “What do you think?”

                Quiz regarded her image gravely.  She cocked her head left and then right.  Finally, she spoke.

                “I…am very pleased.”

                “Yay!” cried Sweetie Belle, clapping her hooves.

                “Of course you are, my Dear,” said Rarity.  “It saddens me that you are so surprised.  It is a subtle change, your friends will ask what it is you did.  But this look is more suited to a pretty little filly such as yourself, rather than a wizened old spinster mare.”

                “But…” began Quiz, “Will I have to do this every day?”

                “Certainly not,” said Rarity.  She frowned.  “I will be frank with you, Quizzical.  A dedication to one’s appearance is a personal choice.  My views on this are a matter of record, but you are young and still making your choices.  However, it is a truism that ‘if you look good, you feel good.’  What it takes to make yourself feel good should be the minimum effort you put into your appearance.  And if you have a healthy view of yourself that shouldn’t take very much at all.”

                “That is very interesting,” said Quiz.  “Thank you.”  A scratching sound from where Quiz had left her notebook indicated that Quiz was making a note of this.

                “One last thing,” said Rarity, “An accessory, for just another splash of color…” She levitated several colorful bows, and regarded them carefully.

                “This one, Sis!” cried Sweetie Belle, holding a small white bow next to Quiz’s right ear.

                “That one,” agreed Rarity.  “Good eye, Little Sister.”

-

                Rarity soon had to leave, but she first packed Quiz a bag of beauty supplies.  Then she added one last thing.

                “A hand mirror?” asked Quiz.  “How did you know I did not have a mirror, Miss Rarity?”

                “It was an inspired guess, my Dear,” said Rarity.  She regarded Quiz, “Please continue to comb your mane the way I have shown you, and see me in a month when it’s grown out, or I shall hunt you down.  Oh, and I think you should also mention the Unicorn Grenadiers of Canterlot in your report.”

                “Thank you, Miss Rarity.”

“There is one other thing I wish I could help you with…but I don’t know what to do about that.”

                “I know!” said Sweetie Belle.   “Quiz, have you ever considered voice lessons?”

-

                “Ah, ah, ah, AH!” sang Sweetie Belle.  “Now you try, Quiz.”

                “I shall try,” said Quiz.  “Da, da, da, da.”

                “Well, um, yeah,” muttered Sweetie Belle.  “The whole point, Quiz, is to vary your tones.”

                This went on for another half an hour.  Quiz might have improved, slightly, thought Sweetie Belle.  Then again, maybe not.

                Quiz sighed.  “You were not expecting this to be easy, were you Sweetie Belle?” Quiz changed the subject.  “Sweetie Belle, did you know that when you sing you horn glows faintly?”

                “What?  It does?” asked Sweetie Belle.  “I never knew that.”

                “It is very faint,” said Quiz.  “Try summoning your magic while you sing.”

                “Like this?” Sweetie Belle’s horn barely glowed.  “Ah, ah, ah, AH!”  By the last note the magic was brighter than the room’s lights.

                “Wow! That was cool!” exclaimed Sweetie Belle.  “But what does it mean?”

                “I do not know,” said Quiz.

                “It’s really hard to concentrate on the magic and sing at the same time,” said Sweetie Belle.  “This is awesome, but I don’t think it’s very useful.”

                “Try singing a word,” said Quiz.  She picked the first thing that came to her.  “Sing the word ‘friends.’”

                “Friends!” The light was blinding.

                “Holy Celestia!”  Sweetie Belle was so startled she tried to jump away from her own horn.  “That is freaky!  But I’ll never be able to cast spells like that.  I can’t think and sing at the same time.”

                Quiz considered this.  “You remember song lyrics when you sing.  Try making the incantation for a spell your lyrics.”

                “You mean like this?” she sang the scales, “I Want To Walk Though This WALL!”

                “ I had in mind something more cautious,” said Quiz.  “Perhaps a small levitation…”

                “Oh, come on, Quiz, nothing is going to happen,” laughed Sweetie Belle.  She pressed her head against the wall.  “I Want To Walk Through This WALL!  I Want To Walk Through THIS WALL!  I WANT TO….”

                “Sweetie Belle?!”  She had disappeared.  “Sweetie Belle?  Where are you?”

                There was a knock at the front door.

                When Quiz went to the door she saw Sweetie Belle peering at her through the window, from the outside.

                “Quiz, let me in! Rarity locked the door behind her!”

                Quiz ran to the door and opened it.  Sweetie Belle was trembling as she stumbled inside.  “Ok, that was really scary!” gasped Sweetie Belle.  “I don’t want to do that anymore!”

                The fillies spent the rest of the evening concentrating on their history report.  Quiz even suggested some graphs Sweetie Belle could use.

-

                Twilight got out of bed late that night to get a drink of water, and found Quiz still up, putting away books.

                “Quiz, what are you doing?  Go to bed!”

                “I am sorry, Miss Twilight.  Did I wake you?” asked Quiz, sheepishly.

                “No, but that’s not the point,” said Twilight.  “You need your sleep.  Go to bed!”

                “I am sorry, Miss Twilight, but I could not rest easy with the library in disarray.  I had not realized how many volumes I had taken down,” said Quiz.  “It is my own fault.  It would not be such a problem if I had only reshelved as I worked.  A wise pony would.”

                “Yes…well…no one’s perfect,” mumbled Twilight.  “But no one will blame you if you leave this until the morning.  Go to bed.”

                “Oh, I could not do that, Miss Twilight,” said Quiz, clearly shocked by the idea.  “If I left the work it would not be done before I left for school, then it would fall to Spike to finish for me.  That is hardly fair.”

                “Spike does do most of the shelving, Quiz.  It’s his job,” said Twilight.  “Go to bed.”

                “Spike reshelves for you, Miss Twilight,” corrected Quiz.  “He is not my assistant.  Delivering my letters to Princess Luna has already been added to Spike’s work load.  I wish to trouble him no more.”

                “That’s very responsible, Quiz.  I hope Spike appreciates that,” said Twilight.  “But I can’t have you staying up all night.  Go to bed.”

                “Yes, Miss Twilight, but as the subject now comes up, should I rise early and prepare my own breakfast?  Spike is now cooking for three.”

                “I think Spike would be upset,” said Twilight.  “He’s very proud of his pancakes.  Now got to bed.”

                “Breakfast has been delicious,” admitted Quiz.  “As for my mail, I have been thinking that Princess Luna does not require my dispatches immediately.  I could use the regular post.  Miss Derpy is very prompt with the daily pick up…”

                “I think if you wish to adjust any of Spike’s duties you should talk to him about it.  I’m sure he would appreciate being included in the discussion.  Now…” Twilight noticed the titles in Quiz’s stack of books.  “’Advanced Focusing Techniques For Magicians’?  ‘Harmonic Theory and Magical Resonance’?  ‘The Physics of Vibration In Gemology’?  Quiz, this is not for a history paper on Equestria’s military.”

                “No, Miss Twilight,” admitted Quiz.  “I have been doing…a favor for Sweetie Belle.”  She did not elaborate.

                Twilight took another look at the books stacked on the floor.  “Quiz, at least half of these are mine.”

                “Well, yes, Miss Twilight,” said Quiz.  “I thought that, as I was doing the task anyway, it wouldn’t be that much more trouble…”

                “Quiz, as the senior researcher, I am responsible for your welfare.  I have to answer to the Princesses if anything threatens your wellbeing.”

                “I appreciate that, Miss Twilight,” said Quiz.  “And I feel very safe in your hands.”

                “Yes, well, thank you Quiz,” said Twilight.  “But ‘threats to your welfare’ include your being over worked, and your not getting enough rest.  So, Go To BED!”

                “Yes, Miss Twilight.  Good night.”

                “Good  night, Quiz.”  And as Twilight went back to bed, she wondered, is Quiz getting a little more expressive?

-

                In the next room, Spike lay in his bed, listening.  He wasn’t eavesdropping, he just couldn’t help over hearing.  That was Spike’s story, anyway, and he would stick with it.

                “She doesn’t want to trouble me,” he muttered.  “And she likes my pancakes.  The kid might not be so bad, after all.”   Then Spike drifted off to sleep.