One Horn Too Many

The night passed by slowly for once. No rush of studies, no big planned events with his classmates, just him, himself, and his computer. It was all a love story for the ages. And currently, they were entering the routine phase of their relationship. The boring one. So he waited dispassionately for his machine to start being entertaining, slumped in his armchair with a bottle of cola next to him.

Pierre’s eyes darted toward his watch, a long sigh escaping his lips. His screen currently displayed an empty chat box, and beneath that, the link to his favorite pony song. However, as he moved his cursor toward that very same link, a completely different noise surprised him.

A newcomer to the chat.

“Oh, hey, another living being!” he quickly typed. “Nice to meet you, brony.”

Seconds later, a line appeared in reply.

“Salutations to you as well, dear boy. How might you be this fair day?” the new arrival responded.

Fingers hovering over his keyboard, Pierre grinned. He certainly could use a friendly conversation. Who knew? Maybe it was the start of something. “I’m doing well. It’s always fun to meet new bronies, you know? What about you?”

“As good as any other, just another englishman surviving as any other.”

For a second, he hesitated. A wicked idea had crossed his mind, but this would literally be the third thing he’d ever told that person. Then again, he was rather bored.

He let loose.

“What?! You’re one of the enemy?! How can this be?! You should be all proper and ‘rubbish’ and ‘I like to drink tea’! Not like something cool like MLP.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was talking to a petty, self absorbed, American.”

“Oh no, you didn’t! I’ll have you know that I’m not one of your country’s hellish spawn!”

“Spawn, you say? If not a pawn, then what might you be, child?”

“Ah, et je me dévoile dans toute ma grandeur! Moi, le Français!”

The reaction Pierre received was less amusing than he had imagined.

“Oh, hahaahahha, you’re right. You're not a spawn, you’re less than that; you’re French. Hahahaha!”

Oh. It was ON!

“Fuck you, limey.”

“I’m sure you’d like that, Frog Licker.”

Ten uneven digits started raining hits on his beloved laptop’s keyboard, every letter serving to pump his blood harder, hardening his traits into an expression of tranquil fury.

“At least, frogs are edible. You boil leaves and hope not to poison yourself!”

“You had to weaponize your taxis, just to lose the war anyway.”

He muffled a scream by biting into his hands. Oh, they were going to play that game? He could play that game too.

“You had to cry for your kids to bail you out!”

But his opponent was either a sly stuffy human british guy or a demon in disguise, for he completely ignored the attack and countered on another field.

“Says the guy who relies on Great Britain to save you from every force to ever approach your borders.”

“Says the guy whose monarchy was invaded by the French for the better part of the Middle Ages.”

“Well, look at your revolution: you kicked out the king, just to return to a monarchy only a few years later.”

Okay! Okay, okay... he had to swallow down on his venom before it killed him. The vitriol in his veins was probably doing a number on his stomach.

Downing the rest of his cola, he felt the liquid clench his thirst and his anger simultaneously. Alright, he was ready to go back at it.

“Yeah, and after we kicked the king AGAIN, we conquered the rest of Europe under Napoleon.”

“Then you forgot to pack winter clothes and lost to Russia, and they never had to fire a weapon.”

“Dude, Russia. Their winters kill snow. It doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, maybe that is an unfair debate. No one has ever conquered them...period.”

Pausing, his eyes read the line again and he suddenly felt very silly for going on an argument for something as stupid as a joke. Slowly, he started typing again.

“...Okay, so… what were we talking about before all that?”

“Ponies…?”

He felt lucky his blush couldn’t be seen.

“Probably, yes. Then again, do I know if you’re good enough to be a brony?”

“Let me guess, Fleur De Lis is your favorite?”

Pierre fought not to roll his eyes.

“Ah, no way. But best background pony. No, I bet you don’t even know who is best pony!”

“Best? That’s as obvious as the unbreakable bread you have on your kitchen table. It’s none other than the royal sisters, my dear frenchie.”

A chuckle escaped his lips.

“You would root for monarchs, wouldn’t you?” He typed, hoping the deadpan showed as strongly on his screen than it did on his face.

“The sisters are the most well developed characters in the show, and it’s not even about them.”

“No, the answer is as obvious as the recipe you will never be able to complete for the life of you. Twilight, obviously!”

“Twilight, please, she would be nothing without Celestia.”

“Who is bailing who out of trouble?”

“Spike, obviously.”

“Oh screw you...”

“Get in line, lad.”

And, just like that, the hours passed to the sound of their silent bickering.

--

In all honesty, they hadn’t been certain as to what they should have expected. Curiosity? Polite greetings? Mild scientific interest toward their horns?

Indeed, it might have been any of those paths, but the one that unfolded before them was not the one they anticipated.

“Oh my gosh!” Twilight exclaimed. “You two are bicorns! That is so great! I’ve never even had the chance to meet one before, and I lived in Canterlot!”

Uneasy with such enthusiasm, Pierre poked Edward’s ribs, motioning for him to take the lead.

Rolling his eyes, Edward stepped forward. “I’m afraid you may be mistaking us for someone else, Princess Twilight.” He coughed into his hoof, in a fit of nervousness.

Nonplussed, the mare’s eyes very obviously went to the pair of goat horns they both had on their heads. For a second, a light of uncertainty appeared in her features, one hoof lifted in an almost interrogating motion, but she shook her head. “I’m not mistaken. You two are bicorns, right?”

“Hum… probably?” Pierre smiled shily, ears flat on the side of his head.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Ed huffed, still seeming rather tense.

Now, both princess and guard exchanged puzzled looks. A fact that should have been a non-question was somehow being turned into a pointless bout of questioning. Was that their idea of a joke?

“You know, if you wanted to hide it, a hat would have been a good idea.” Twilight flicked a small bolt of magic at their manes. “Those are clearly bicorn horns on your heads.”

“You mean goat horns, right?” Ed pointed out, tapping one of his horns as he did so.

Patiently, she shook her head and spoke again, this time with the tone of a teacher or a parent, “When they’re on a pony’s head, the classification changes. Sure, the attributes are incredibly similar, but they channel magic too.”

“So, what you are saying, lass, is we’re magical goat ponies?”

“You sound like you were unaware of it before.” The princess tilted her head, keeping her tone light.

And all of a sudden, Pierre’s eyes widened with the realization, before Edward had even opened his mouth to speak. His guts turned to ice, as if he was witnessing himself trot right into a trap. Unfortunately for him, he was too slow to stop the next words to ring in the library.

“Mostly because we were.”

“You call that subtle?!” The maroon bicorn reared, face contorted by disbelief.

“More subtle than your idea,” the other one stated flatly.

“I was sarcastic back then!”

“No, that’s my job,” the brit scoffed, staring at his companion, and silently daring him to say he was wrong.

Twilight stepped in between the two bickering stallions, gaining their attention. “I hate to interrupt your argument, but could you both please show me your papers?”

“Papers, what papers?” Edward mused, not really too interested in conjecture.

“We lost them!” Pierre blurted out, obviously the first thing to come to his mind.

So obviously, in fact, that a strong pair of hooves grabbed both of their midsections and slammed them against an orange armored pony.

“Whoa!”

“What the hell?”

Stars danced in front of their eyes.

Without waiting for them to recover their senses, Twilight walked in front of the prone duo. A frown now radiant on her face, but not nearly as radiant as her horn which glowed in a bright purple hue, she stood over her two suspects. Leaning closer, her authority only became a true force of obedience when her stern gaze met those of the now trembling stallions.

“Are you two really bicorns?” she asked after a short pause.

“That’s a grand question, if I've ever heard one, though I’m not really sure how to go about answering it.”

Next to Edward, Pierre was starting to get agitated. “Can you tea sucker be serious for even one moment?!”

Though understandable, his reaction was in itself a mistake, as it only made their captor’s frown deepen.

Twilight turned to him, a small muscle twitching on the right corner of her face. “Do you have anything against tea, mister?”

“I want to know that, as well actually,” Edward added.

“They’re acting mighty suspicious, princess.” The officer’s deep voice cut through the air and the out-of-topic interruption. “You think they’re fakes?”

“Only one way to find out,” Twilight said, ignoring the insult superbly and forcing her subordinate to do the same. “Officer…?”

“Bronze Chainmail, your Highness.”

“Right, officer Chainmail.” She nodded, looking back to the entrance she had used previously, her mind on her private apartments. “Please, bring them to the station while I prepare my spells.”

“Well, this sounds like a blast, wouldn’t you agree, Pierre?”

“The first chance I get,” he whispered darkly, squirming in the hold of the guard. “I’m ramming my horns up your stuffy british ass.”

“Oh, someone’s getting excited.” The cynical bicorn bit back, a smirk prominent on his lip.

Nopony bothered to dignify that quip with an answer.

--

It was exactly as they’d imagined. Dark, dampy, uncomfortable, with a magical light bulb aimed at their faces. Well, not quite. To the ponies’ credit, the room they were holding this standard interrogation appeared very clean. Not a speck of dust, simply polished stone as far as the eye could see. Considering they were half-blinded by the light, that was not saying much.

Just a meter away from them, his face now framed in shadows, Officer Chainmail spoke to them with a rougher voice.

“What are your full names?” the guard asked, his eyes wandering between his two charges.

“Edward Finch.”

“Pierre Delarue.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Strange, huh?” They could make out a fake grin on his face. “And where are you two from?”

“Well, I’m from Winchester,” Edward mumbled tiredly.

“Marseille,” Pierre whispered, not bothering with anything else. Instead, he slowly let himself slide into his seat, resting his chin on his hooves. Rapid blinks seemed to try to stop any tear from spilling out.

“Likely story,” their interrogator went on, deciding to pay more attention to the tougher prisoner. “That’s not even on the world map, you know.”

“Yeah well, maybe not your world,” Ed countered nonchalantly.

“Then what world would it be, if not this one?” Chainmail leaned forward, his hoof conspicuously pointing to a deserted wasteland. “Are we talking Badlands, for example?”

“Wouldn’t the Badlands be counted amongst a map of the whole world? So obviously not,” his snarkier target chided, poking the map methodically to make the point limpid.

“You tell me, pal.”

“I just did.” Edward groaned, massaging a temple with his hoof.

“You really need to learn to shut your mouth, you know that?” the guard warned as he leaned forward, until their faces were mere inches from each other.

The stance was doubtlessly meant to be intimidating, but Chainmail quickly felt a hoof push him backward.

Edward rolled his eyes, even faking a gag as he settled back into his seat. His tone turned snide. “You really need to learn how to properly interrogate someone, and perhaps find yourself a breath mint or two.”

On the next seat, a long suffering groan rose from Pierre’s form, his head firmly against the hard table and his horns sticking up in the air. Straining their ears, the two could make out a whisper, unclear and not from a language either of the two spoke.

“W-will he be alright?” Chainmail suddenly broke character, his voice tainted with concern.

“Don’t worry, he just suffers from a wicked case of frenchitis.”

“Va te faire foutre.”

“See, he’s fine.” Edward waved dismissively at his depressed friend.

“Hum… alright.” The guard fought to get back into his character. “So, let’s return to this thing about you two coming from the Badlands.”

“I never said that, or for that matter implied it.”

“That’s not what your earlier confession implied.”

“I said your map would also include the Badlands, I clearly stated we aren’t from your map, ergo, not from the Badlands either,” the stallion said, confidently crossing his forelegs in victory and leaving his opponent in this battle of wits fuming for a retort.

Groaning again, Pierre rose from his position on the table, leaning into the back of his chair. “This is stupid...”

“Yeah, I agree. So, how are you holding up then, mate?” The englishmen huffed.

“Well, I finally got to live my secret dream of being a pony in an Equestrian prison.”

“That’s not a dream I hear often,” quipped a certain purple pony princess.

All three stallions turned, startled by the door opening quickly within a strong magical aura. As regal as she ever had been, Twilight Sparkle entered in full regalia, carrying a few scrolls under her wing. Albeit serious, not a hint of nervousness could be seen on her face. Clearly, even if those two stallions proved themselves to be changelings, she had prepared herself adequately.

A loud gulp came from Pierre’s direction.

“Now then, everything is ready. We can test your claims of being real bicorns.” She dropped a large scroll on the table, looking toward the guard. “Anything came up, Officer?”

“If you ask me princess, that guard there has a higher chance of being a changeling, with how obsessed he seems with the Badlands,” Edward said and snickered, his eyes dancing with dark mischief.

Red in the face, Bronze Chainmail slammed a hoof into the table, shaking with anger.

“Officer!” Twilight’s voice snapped like a whip.

Instantly, he recoiled, catching himself and lowering his gaze in sudden shame. “M-my apologies, Princess.”

“Now, let’s get to the real knot of this problem. Don’t worry, this spell only affects changelings.”

Scared, Edward and Pierre shielded their eyes from the strong influx of light flooding the room.

When the light faded, both stallions felt as if they were bathed in liquid fire. The heat however only lasted for a few seconds before fizzling out, leaving them completely unscathed.

The stallion duo taking a look first at themselves then each other merely turned back to their host, waiting for further instructions.

Their own lack of surprise came as a great contrast to the widened eyes of both Bronze Chainmail and Twilight Sparkle. Jaws dropped, the two had an uncanny similarity to gobsmacked fish at the moment it dawned on them that they truly had been holding two bicorns captive.

“Well lookie here, we weren’t changelings after all, and after I put fifty bits down on us being fakes too,” the grey stallion gasped between bouts of laughter.

“I’ll hold you to that bet, Ed.”

Finally calming, Edward turned back to the princess and her guard. “What now? We passed the test, did we not?”

“Y-yes, you did. And it was wrong of us not to believe you, my apologies.” Twilight lowered her head, horribly embarrassed for making all this fuss over nothing. “But why did you make yourself sound so suspicious in the first place?”

“Sorry, Princess, he likes to push his luck.” Pierre glared at the still chuckling grey bicorn on his chair.

“Ah, well, if there’s anypony that can...”

“N-now that we’ve established that we are not changelings, can we please talk about how we’re really not from this world? We need your help getting back!”

“Oh” Twilight blinked, glancing curiously between the two bicorns. “Well, it would help if you told me the whole story. Another world? And why do you think I can help you get back?”

“Or at the very least, finding a good place for a spot of tea, I’m famished.” Edward nodded happily.

“There is a great café on third street, princess,” Chainmail added helpfully.

“Perfect. Officer Chainmail, please escort our two friends around Ponyville while I look into their problem.”

“W-what? N-no, we don’t care about tea...” Pierre stuttered, looking around desperately for some support.

“Excellent, I really need a good meal after today’s fiascos.” Completely ignoring his peer, Ed stood and followed after the guard.

A magical aura grabbing his front legs, Pierre was unceremoniously dragged after them.

“Have fun!” Twilight said.

“W-wait! No, we’re not ki-” The door slammed, cutting off the rest of his panicked plea.

The studious princess waved, waiting for the sound the the front door closing, before turning and letting forth a deep sigh.

--

“From another world?” A juvenile boyish voice echoed her previous explanation.

“Well, that is what they say, but I’m inclined to believe they simply didn’t want to revisit their past,” Twilight continued, elaborating into her full theory, about her latest misadventure.

For a moment, Spike remained silent, watching her go around the library. She seemed to be trying to find a few books she knew by heart anyway. Still, while she was searching, dragon claws fiddled with each others and an emerald gaze went from them to the purple alicorn.

“W-what if they’re serious?” Spike countered, his childlike view on the unbelievable in full display. “I mean, we’ve seen some pretty crazy stuff on all our adventures, Twi.”

Her retort came quickly, with no hint of hesitation.

“Interdimensional travel is one of the branches of magic Starswirl himself theorized as impossible. It would required magical power on par with the princesses. And those two don’t have nearly as much magic as I do, Spike,” she said without pausing her quest for books.

Where was her copy of the bicorn treaty?

“But why would they hide their past?” he insisted. “What could they wish to hide with such a weird story?”

“Perhaps a traumatic event, Spike. Some bicorns have the bad luck of being sought after by truly disgusting beings… I simply hope this wasn’t the case with those two.”

“Twi, why would they use an alternate world to hide that? They could have said anything else. That doesn’t really add up,” her ever faithful assistant argued, folding his arms stubbornly.

For once, she paused, pursing her lips together. Her eyebrows lowered in synch, and her tone grew quieter, gentler.

“I think they were trying to cut ties with somepony. To separate themselves from a part of their past.”

Now, apprehension appeared in the little dragon’s gaze. “Like who?”

“I don’t know, but it must have been pretty bad…” Her breath hitched up suddenly, as she was struck by a terrible notion. “Oh, if I added to their trauma by having them interrogated...”

“Twi, calm down,” Spike moved in to comfort her. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you’re right. We have two male bicorns in town.” She closed her eyes, remembering Cadence’s relaxant technique. “This is not the time to sit idly by, we need to do something to help them.”

“How?”

“I’m hoping Princess Celestia will allow me to take care of their affairs for them for the time being.”

Without a word, Spike quickly rushed to obtain his all too familiar quill and parchment. “Ready and waiting Twilight.”

“Excellent, my dear number one assistant. Now, firstly…” She cleared her throat, taking on a more appropriate tone for her dictation.

Dear Princess Celestia,
Today, I met two peculiar stallions...

--

“Your drinks, sirs,” came the voice of the waitress as she placed two cups on the marble table between them.

Whispering a few grateful words to her, they then gave hesitant looks to the two items sitting right in front of them. Here, out there in the midday sun, with rays piercing through the clouds to hit and reflect on each white surface, with a breeze that brushed against their fur, the surreal of their situation hit them again. Something they had never wished for, that they might have imagined and refused, was now their lot to bear.

And they were sitting in a café to drink tea in Ponyville.

Pierre wanted to scream.

Edward simply listened to his taste buds and his stomach, quickly diving into his fresh cup of tea.

Both turned to Bronze Chainmail, standing next to their table with the emotional display of a rock.

“Seriously,” Pierre sighed, annoyance crawling in his tone. “Can’t you let us speak in private at all?”

Shifting in his armor, clinks of metal ringing in response, he seemed to ponder the request. Under the insistent gaze of both bicorn stallions however, the guard finally relented.

“Enfin! Okay, what was that all about?” the French pony whispered as soon as Chainmail had stepped away. “Maybe we were a little suspicious, what’s with you acting crazy and all, but why the escort around town? Why did they look like they slapped Celestia in the face when they realized we apparently aren’t changelings?”

“Not sure.” Ed shrugged, reaching for his fresh cup of green tea again. “Maybe we’re some near alicorn level species or something?”

“I want to say ‘no fucking way’, but...” He glanced back at the guard, who kept dutifully watching them. “Ever heard of a bicorn before?”

“Nope, not even once.” Ed sighed, following Pierre’s gaze.

The maroon bicorn squirmed in his seat, tapping the edge of their table with a hoof. His traits betrayed a certain confusion. “We were the first Twilight ever met. Twilight Sparkle, student of Celestia, never met this kind of pony before?”

“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? We might be a race of super ancient ponies, maybe even a hybrid of a pony and a goat.” Edward chuckled warily.

“I dunno, but, honestly, I’m… more worried about how little she reacted to us saying we weren’t from this world.” A twitch went through one of his front leg, as if he had felt the impulse to hug himself but refrained. “I mean, we wouldn’t have to worry about that if she sends us back quickly, right?”

“They've dealt with stranger things than the likes of us, I’m sure she’s merely desensitized to it by now,” the englishcolt reminded him calmly, taking several short sips from his cup of tea, never once opening his eyes while doing so.

“Okay… you might have a point.”

“Might nothing, my friend, we may be strangers in a strange land, but we are also cult followers of these crazy pastel ponies, and since when do they let down those in need?

“...They don’t.” Pierre breathed a sigh of relief, the words finally sinking in. “You’re right. I’m just a little worried, is all.”

“Worrying is fine, it’s even a sign you’re still sane, but don’t let it cloud your judgment. We might as well enjoy the time we are here.”

“She ordered him to show us Ponyville, didn’t she?” he asked, a genuine smile appearing on his face for the first time since leaving the library.

“To my knowledge, yes, yes she did.” Edward finished his tea, gently replacing his cup upon it’s saucer.

“Say…” Pierre suddenly spoke, staring intensely at the porcelain cup. “How did you manage to hold it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The cup…” He pointed slowly. “You were holding it, with your hooves.”

“I’m not sure. I suppose it is just a british instinct. After all, what is a brit, if not a lover of high quality beverages, made from the leaves of the finest plants?”

Pierre’s upper body was shaken by a fake gagging motion. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more limey than you already were.”

“I take pride in my heritage. Now come, let’s explore this delightful little town.” Edward nodded, standing from his seat and walking away with purpose.

Showing more enthusiasm than he did before, his friend followed him, taking note of their chaperone quickly reacting as well. Still unsteady in their steps, they somehow managed to trot between the tables without any incident bigger than a few bumps. As was expected, any pony inconvenienced this way seemed quick to wave it off, some of them even asking about the two bicorns’ well-being in return.

LIkewise, Bronze Chainmail caught up to them with no problem whatsoever and started guiding them toward the Town’s Plaza. On the way there, Pierre and Edward noticed a similar level of attention paid to them, but somehow, none of the looks they received betrayed more than polite curiosity.

The difference, the only one they could think of, being the presence of a guard accompanying them; that realization made them distinctly uncomfortable. And, as their progression showed, the part of town didn’t influence the townsfolks’ attitude.

By the time they had reached the Plaza, Pierre’s enthusiasm had dimmed considerably.

“Excuse me?”

“Huh?” He turned around, looking for the owner of the voice.

A poke in his sides, then a hoof pointed to the ground from Edward answered his inquiry. A young colt, his fur white with brown patches, had stopped a few steps away from them.

“Greetings, child,” the brit spoke softly. “Can we help you?”

“My friends and I saw you from over there and we wanted to know why you have two horns? Are you super unicorns?”

“Well, umm...that’s a bit of a hard question, little one. I’m afraid I can’t answer that, though I can assure you we aren't super unicorns.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“Well, we woke up that way this morning.”

“That can happen?”

Scowling, Pierre kicked a pebble bitterly. “Apparently.”

Edward ignored him, preferring to focus on the colt than his irritable French friend.

“Aliens tend to do weird things like that.”

“Traveling through space and time. Inventing new methods to be disappointed. Drinking tea,” Pierre listed teasingly, a spark lighting up in his eyes. “The really out there stuff.”

“You know, cause us aliens created Doctor Who, so obviously we disappoint the millions of others that love our shows?”

“Like a single awesome show that contradictorily was born in the wrong country is enough of an accomplishment. ”

“Sherlock!”

“They’re not that good of mysteries.”

“The TV show!”

A maroon hoof was waved dismissively. “My point, really.”

At that, Edward's gaze turned into a glare, and his determination to show up his friend was renewed. “William Shakespeare!”

Pierre rolled his eyes, almost amused now. “Oh please, Molière, Racine, Corneille, Baudelaire.”

“Warehouse 13! The Beatles! Top Gear! ”

“Hey kid, you ever heard of the Beatles before?”

Having followed the volleying exchange with wide eyes, the colt blinked at being so suddenly talked to, and his reply came out rather timidly. “The bug?”

“It’s all alien talk, sorry,” Pierre said sheepishly, realizing he’d let his rivalry get the better of him.

“Sorry kid, but these two aliens have work to do, so shoo, go play.” Edward ushered the kid away, as their guard approached a happy smile on his face.

“Looks like you’re good with foals. That’s always a good trait to have, if you know what I mean.” Chainmail chuckled, watching as the young colt ran to join his awaiting friends and regale them of the tales he’d heard.

“Yeah, I suppose that’ll be useful eventually.“ Pierre nodded, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

“Hey wanka, have you ever had a ct scan? You need one, mate.”

“Hum… no. I don’t have a cat.”

To Chainmail’s puzzlement, his second charge snorted loudly just as he finished answering. Was there something funny about him not owning a cat?

“That explains a lot,” Ed deadpanned, shaking his head in disappointment. Giving up on the clueless guard, the cynical stallion took a quick gander amongst the shops and businesses that they currently stood amongst. In this endeavor, he couldn’t help but take an interest in one that might yet quench his thirst for knowledge. “Do I spy a bookshop across the street?”

“Looks like one to me,” Pierre said, stretching his neck higher. “The name hanging over the shop is ‘Thousand Pages’ Bookshop’.”

“Do you two want to take a look?” Chainmail motioned toward the small shop.

“It couldn’t hurt.” Edward sighed, starting toward it at a casual pace.

With that simple agreement, the decision was made and they started heading in the direction of the store. The foals near the fountain followed their progression avidly, but dared not talk more. A question was present behind their eyes however, about the extraterrestrial nature of the two-horned stallions. Their hesitation cost them their chance, as the three ponies quickly reached the store.

Edward stepped inside first, taking the lead to the one activity he was clearly the most interested in. With a deep breath, he took in the ambiance scent of ink and scrolls, all too familiar to him. For a second, he felt himself assaulted by a painful nostalgia, but forced it down, buried it deep underneath the surface. One of them needed to stay in control.

The store was tiny, ‘cozy’ if one decided to be charitable. All four shelves filled the little space there was uncomfortably. Still, there was a decent enough selection here, or so they felt. With expert eyes, the grey stallion spotted an interesting section in the store and made his way over there. After very little time browsing, he had chosen a red covered manual strangely reminiscent of an encyclopedia.

When Pierre’s eyes fell on the book his companion was holding, he almost froze. Behind them, he could feel the breath of the guard STILL trailing them. Thinking fast, he sent his hooves into the closest shelf, miraculously picking up a book to browse himself. In the corner of his eye, he noticed their chaperone diverting their attention to him rather than Edward.

Slipping into a role, Pierre looked down at the book he had taken, and grinned when he read the title: ‘100 facts about Equestria’.

“Ah, I’ve always wanted to find something like that,” he said loudly, earning an indulgent smile from Bronze Chainmail.

Perusing, Pierre grabbed the leg of the guard and asked him for confirmation about one extravagant fact he couldn’t believe about the princesses. Edward’s reading was thus rapidly forgotten from Bronze Chainmail’s mind. As fast as he dared, he turned the pages, hoping that his skimming would provide at least some measure of knowledge about their current situation.

Unfortunately, the ruse could not hold much longer, for the store’s clerk came around to check up on them, and asked that they buy the books if they intended to read them in their entirety. The guard confessed that he would have done so, if he had thought about bringing his bits with him, but currently couldn’t. By pure luck, neither ponies noticed how Pierre’s eyebrows had disappeared under his mane with undiluted shock. He was still reeling when they gently shook Edward out of his reading.

“Can I help you, I am quite busy at the moment?” the indulging stallion huffed impatiently, barely looking up from the text he read with such veracity.

“I noticed, sir.” The salespony grimaced, although his expression wasn’t showing strong disapproval. “I do apologize, but the store policies are precise. If you are not buying this book, I must ask you to stop reading.”

“Fucking twat,” Edward growled, stepping away from the book.

Haughtily, he walked toward the exit without another word to the now confused and annoyed clerk. Picking up the volume Edward hadn’t had the courtesy to put back in its place, said salespony started muttering curses under his breath. Out of a sense of duty, Chainmail started giving a short explanation of the situation.

With their guardian ‘angel’ occupied, Pierre used that opportunity to run after his friend. Albeit unsteady in his progression, he managed to catch up to him before he had left the street. “So, what did you find?”

“In the short time I had, I managed only a small sum of information. Though the tome: The Fourth Breed was quite helpful all the same.” Collecting his mental notes, Edward began reciting a brief overview of what he’d gathered in his readings, “Of the four non alicorn pony species, bicorns are the least numerous. They have an innate magic that subtly causes an unnatural amount of good fortune to befall them. This same ability also translates into an innate sense to avoid misfortune at the same time, making them very well received by those who enjoy chance. The bicorn race was not initially part of the pony tribes, only joining shortly after the age of unification began.”

"That's all you could get?"

"I only had a few minutes, mate," Edward replied with a snort of annoyance.

"Right..." Pierre muttered, looking down.

Trusting Edward to distract Bronze Chainmail when he’d return - with insults he suspected -, he allowed his thoughts to wander. The information he’d just heard had him uneasy. A cold pit formed in his stomach, worry twisted his guts. He had a bad feeling about this.

They were somehow part of the fourth pony tribe, that was both super rare and lucky.

What did that mean? How did that translate with that chaperone they seemed to have gotten? And why were they being treated around by the same stallion that seemed ready to call them changelings not an hour ago?!