Naddane: переводы

→I looked over at Boo, the blank blinking confusedly now that ponies were leaving. Or maybe she was just struggling to chew on one of the stale white disks they called ‘cookies’. “Go with them, Boo. They might have Fancy Buck cakes.” I don’t know if she understood me, but she perked up a little, tossed the half-eaten cookie back on the plate, and trotted out after them, seeming quite pleased. Such a bizarre mare…

→The sky blue mare nodded and trotted to the door, smiling as she opened it for the pair. “This way, please.”

→“Skybright?” Glory said to one of the maids. “Why don’t you show them to the kitchens and make them something to eat?”

→P-21 turned to Twister and frowned a moment. “Maybe you and I can talk till they’re done. I’d like to know more about Neighvarro. It might help me understand what all the fighting is over.”

→“Aw, yeah,” Boomer nodded. “I love the scene where Captain Silverwing gets shot and has to lie on the mountaintop while his squad pulls back!” He adopted a gruff tone and said, “‘Fight another day, boys. Fight for me. Fight for us. But do it tomorrow. Me, I got a dance to keep.’ And they go and then the griffins start to swoop in on him and…” he trailed off as he realized that we were all staring at him. “What?! It’s a heartbreaker of a scene. Specially when it cuts back to his special pony back home…”

→“What? What are we supposed to do?” Rampage asked as she panned from Moonshadow to Glory. “Come on! If you’re going to fight, I want to see the action. Don’t just leave me with the play by play!”

→I don’t know what I expected Morning Glory’s home to be like, but I certainly hadn’t imagined a palace in the skies. The soaring great room rose up for three stories with balconies reaching out like clamshells from between Corinthian columns. Rainbow-paned windows cast a polychromatic light across the floor, which was engraved with a relief of trees, clouds, and birds. As Thunderhead rotated, the light played slowly across the surface, the shards of color illuminating one spot and then another so that what was a blue bird one minute would be a blue lake ten minutes later.

→The Fleur floated whisper-quiet through the air as we cut our way through the clouds, the wet vapor coating everything in a layer of shininess. Occasionally, we passed into a dip in the upper surface of the clouds and broke into open sky. Scotch Tape and P-21 ignored Glory’s warnings against staring at the sun, marveling at the amazing azure that arched overhead. For me, on the other hoof, looking up produced a feeling much like looking down. I envied both of them; they’d shaken 99’s agoraphobia far more quickly than I, if they’d ever had it to begin with. Boo also seemed quite impressed by the sun and stretched out her hoof as if she could nudge the glowing orb aside. Of course, then we would plunge into the clouds once more. It was definitely for the best, though, as we’d spotted at least one Raptor off to the northwest.

→LittlePip had started the melody with four names and a few memories. With these four, an orchestra began to play. It carried whimsical piccolos of Twilight’s memories of Spike. Guitars played for Applejack. Accordions for Pinkie Pie. Violins accompanied Trixie standing alone in the rain. The delicate ringing notes of a hammered dulcimer for Gestalt and Mosaic finishing each other’s sentences in magic kindergarten. The beat of Twilight’s rage at Littlehorn. The violas and cellos of her last terrible fight with Pinkie Pie. The slow contrabass of Big Macintosh and the pain of his death. Trumpets of pride for Trixie’s second chance. Woodwinds sharing Gestalt and Mosaic actually working under Twilight Sparkle when so many others didn’t understand or value their gift. For the first time ever, the Goddess was torn.

→“I… Mystere… I’d… I’d forgotten…” The Goddess murmured. Then it was like a breaching flood as memories began to flow back into the Goddess. The balefire bomb was almost forgotten as memory after memory was returned to the Goddess. Sterile, clinical facts were thrown into beautiful context, and emotions long suppressed were renewed.

→For a moment she crumpled, and then she glanced back at the old stallion. The filly frowned away, then raised her nose as she declared in a quavering voice, “T… the great and powerful Trixie doesn’t need to do homework.”

→The tiny ghostly Trixie brightened a little. Then a mare’s voice snapped, “Trixie Lulamoon! What have I told you about talking to that old coot? You should be doing your homework!”

→“Trixie!” the stallion gasped. “Useful! What is useful? Useful c’est commun. Boring. There are a million practical unicorns. Equestria does not need another.”

→“Bah. I left that name with the stage, ma chère. But trust me. Your raw talent is beyond compare. You really should apply to Celestia’s school. Those fireworks were très magnifique!” The stallion said grandly with a wave of his hoof.

→The Goddess scoffed as the images faded away. “What… what was that!? I said to find some useful memory! Not sentimental nostal…gia…” The greens were replaced by an elderly gray unicorn in a pointed hat. The little blue filly shot fireworks into the air from her horn; impressive. At her age, I couldn’t even do magic.

→“Did you really think so?” a filly replied. “I never be as good as The Mighty and Majestic Mystere.”

→“Nopony for you to concern yourself with,” a pair of greens replied to the camera teams in unison. “She serves the Goddess.”

→“Blackjack,” Lacunae said, before gravity crushed down upon her to be silent. “She’s the Security Mare of Hoofington,” she gasped through the pain.

→A moment later, LittlePip thought them again. This wasn’t a part of the plan. This was… different. Unexpected. I was all set to turn the small unicorn’s brains into red paint, but those four simple words. Trixie. Twilight. Mosaic. Gestalt. Of course the Goddess knew who they were, but to the Goddess they were four flat entries akin to what one might feel reading a dictionary. The names from LittlePip rang with memory and thought and emotion. Music playing in a simple mental harmony.

→LittlePip thought something… I didn’t hear it specifically so much and feel it. Names. But not just names. There was something more attached to it. Something… personal. Like a familiar, nagging tune long forgotten. “Yes! Your silly little plan against the Goddess is hopeless! The Goddess is not impressed! You… wait… who?”