Black and Blue and Bloodied

Chapters

Blue Box
Blacklisted
Feeling Blue
Bloody-Minded
Black Death
Black Earth
The Gallifrey Blues
The Ponies in Blue
Blood Money
Bloody Vengeance
Bloodstone
Blackest Night
Blood and Water
Black Clouds on the Horizon
Bloody Idiots
Black Shadows
Black Light
Last Blood
Black and White and Read All Over

Blue Box

Celestia looked around the royal ballroom in dismay. One of the statues had fallen over, animal leavings were splattered all across the floor, and there was cake everywhere. “What a waste,” she murmured.

Still, at least nopony had been seriously injured, she reflected. Only some minor scrapes and some bruised pride for more than a couple of guests. Really, there weren’t many she felt truly sorry for; most of the nobles could stand being taken down a peg or two. Especially-

“Auntie?” a voice whined. Celestia closed her eyes and willed herself to be patient. “Auntie, I must speak with you!”

Celestia took a deep breath and turned around. “Yes, Blueblood?” she asked.

“I should like to raise several objections about the guests you invited this year, particularly that dreadful unicorn. She was terribly rude, and-”

“Blueblood, I’m afraid I am rather busy at the moment,” Celestia interrupted. “If you would like to wait for me in your chambers, I will be in to speak with you shortly. Possibly very shortly.”

Perhaps he detected the subtle note of menace in her voice, for he went even paler than usual. “Yes, Auntie,” he whispered, and walked away.

Where did I go wrong? Celestia wondered to herself. He had been such a sweet foal, always so friendly, so full of life.

“Your majesty?”

“Hm?” she said, glancing down. “Oh, Captain Armor. What is the matter now?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing, ma’am,” he responded, looking concerned.

Celestia frowned slightly. Had she really been so transparent? She wished sometimes that she could be as good at hiding her emotions as the Doctor had been. “It’s nothing you need concern yourself with, Captain,” she assured him. “I was just… remembering. I think perhaps I should go out and get some fresh air. It’s been a little... stuffy in here.”

Shining Armor blinked. Had that been a pun? The princess winked at him. “I trust that you and my niece can handle cleanup?” she suggested. “Nice, empty place like this would be perfect for you two to… talk…”

The unicorn turned a vibrant shade of red. “Er,” he said, but Celestia was already halfway to the doors, snickering audibly.

***

Celestia sighed happily, thinking about the look on the poor guard’s face. Cadence and he had thought themselves rather sneaky, completely undetected by the castle staff. The soundproofing spell had been a nice touch. She had never been fooled for a moment, of course. She had just been waiting for the best time to let it slip. She chuckled quietly for a moment. She could hardly wait for the wedding…

But then her thoughts turned from her niece to her nephew, and the smile slipped from her face. What could be done about Blueblood? She had heard the whole tale from Rarity, and while she had concluded that the mare wasn’t exactly blameless herself, being a ruthless social climber was no excuse for her nephew’s behavior. This was far from an isolated incident. Blueblood had become a complete boor, so slowly and gradually that she had hardly even realized it was happening... She sat down heavily on a stone bench, staring up at the stars in her sister’s sky. Memories, long left undisturbed, were stirred up once more. “Star light, star bright,” she whispered. “First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish I wish tonight.”

Perhaps not entirely accurate, she admitted. She herself had never been sure which star she saw first. Furthermore, she knew that, far from being magic, wish-granting sparks of light, they were massive balls of flaming gas, much like her own Sun, each capable of supporting an infinite variety of life. It was hard to say which idea was more magical. Nevertheless, she rather liked wishing on stars. It reminded her of a crafty blue pegasus in a big blue box, and all the adventures they had been on.

She squinted suddenly, noticing something rather odd. That one star, there- was it growing? No, she realized, it was coming closer! A blazing ball of fire was falling from out of space, and it was coming straight for her! She crafted a protective bubble over herself and her immediate surroundings just as the object crashed into the ground. Celestia blinked a couple of times to clear her eyes of the afterimages burned into them, and then looked at the object. Her mouth dropped open. “Well, speak of Discord,” she murmured.

She reached out a hoof and knocked lightly at the door. “‘Oo’s there?” a gruff voice demanded.

“Ann,” she replied.

There was a pause. “Ann? Ann ‘oo?”

“‘Ann’ old friend of yours.” she replied with a smile.

There was another pause. The doors swung open. A dark green earth pony with a cropped mane and massive ears peered out. “...Celly?” he asked.

“Hello, Doctor,” she smiled.

There was a long pause. Then, hesitantly, the Doctor smiled back at her. “‘Ello there,” he said. “‘Ow’ve you been then?”

“Oh, I’ve been keeping,” Celestia said as casually as she could. “How about you?”

“Ah, well. Same old, same old, y’know. Just saved the world from livin’ plastic again.”

The princess squinted at him. “You don’t have the same poker face you had when Luna and I were travelling with you,” she said.

“Ah. True. On th’ other ‘oof, I still ‘ave the same ol’ stubborn streak,” he said, his grin slightly more real this time.

“So have I,” Celestia replied. “Shall we take a walk, Doctor?”

He paused. “Ah. Love to, o’ course, but-”

“Excellent,” she said, dragging him out of the TARDIS. “Will your companion be joining us?”

His face clouded. “I’ve not got one,” he replied flatly.

Celestia tsked. “You know what happens when you do that,” she admonished.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

She studied him again. He seemed so much older than he was before. “Which one are you then?” she asked. “Which number?”

“Nine,” he said after a moment. “I’m the ninth Doctor.”

“And how old are you, nowadays?”

“Very,” he deadpanned. “So, when are we?”

“Luna just got back,” Celestia replied. “About three months ago. A new set of ponies assembled to bear the elements.”

“Good t’ hear,” he nodded.

“There’s something on your mind, Doctor,” Celestia observed.

“Something on yours, too,” he retorted, “But I’ve not pestered you about that.”

They walked in silence. At length, Celestia spoke up again. “You know, the new bearer of Magic is my most faithful student,”

“Sunset Shimmer?”

Celestia stumbled slightly, her composure cracking. The Doctor noticed. “Sorry, did I miss something?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” the princess returned. “That’s my own burden to bear. No, her name is Twilight Sparkle.”

“Good sort?” the Doctor asked mildly.

“Yes. Perhaps a tad… neurotic, but she's really come out of her shell in the last few months. She moved to a little town called Ponyville, to be closer to the other elements.”

“Sounds like a nice place.”

“It is. Although, it does seem to have more than its fair share of odd occurrences. Twilight has been continuing her education by post, sending me letters about whatever she learns about friendship.”

“Always a good subject.”

“Mm. In one of the letters she wrote, she detailed the deleterious effect that keeping secrets can have on ponies, even those secrets one thinks would only hurt others.”

The Doctor snorted. “Subtle you aren’t.”

Celestia smiled serenely. “I can’t risk anything being insufficiently obvious, lest my meaning not pierce your thick skull,” she said sweetly.

“Ha!” he laughed, a real smile crossing his face for an instant before fading away again. “Alright, then. I’ll tell you my troubles if you tell me yours.”

“Deal,” Celestia agreed. “You first.”

“Fair,” he agreed, staring off into space. For several minutes, neither of them spoke a word.

“D’you remember, back when we travelled together, when I told you about my people?” he asked at last.

“The Time Lords? Yes. I seem to recall the choice words being ‘meddlesome’, ‘bureaucratic’, and ‘utterly corrupt’, except for a few.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Thing is, though, you always complain about things when they’re there. Impossible family members, rude friends, corrupt planets… But then, someday, you lose them. And when tha’ happens, you would do anything to get them back.”

Celestia considered this. “Yes…” she said slowly. “Yes, I see what you mean. It’s like with Luna and the Nightmare.”

“Exactly. Difference is, Luna was always going to come back in the end.”

The princess of the sun stretched a wing around her old friend and mentor. “Who did you lose? Romana? Susan? Alex?”

“All of them.”

Celestia blinked. “All…”

“Everyone. Every Time Lord, gone. Every Dalek, ditto. Gallifrey, Skaro, gone without a trace. Everyone died except me. Everyone died, and the coward survived.”

Celestia stopped, then, and turned to him. “You are no coward,” she said plainly.

“Oh, yes? Want to bet?”

“Doctor, I have known you for centuries, through several faces, and none of them have ever been anything but brave. You are a hero to so many.”

He snorted, and turned away. “No heroes,” he said shortly. “Not in that war.”

“Oh, Doctor, what happened?” Celestia whispered.

He shook his head. “Your go.”

Celestia studied him. “You shouldn’t travel alone,” she said.

“You offering?”

She shook her head, a sad smile on her face. “As much as I would love that, my subjects’ needs must come first. No,” she continued, smile slowly spreading, “I have somepony else in mind. I think I have a way to solve both of our problems…”

She started trotting back toward the castle, a sly gleam in her eyes. “‘Ang about!” the Doctor protested. “I’ve not agreed to anything yet!”

“You will if you know what’s good for you!” Celestia sang.

The Doctor growled some ancient curse in a language which was quite possibly not even of this universe, but followed after his friend.

Blacklisted

Blueblood sat in his study, sulking. How dare that violet-maned peasant insult him in such a way? Even after he had been so kind as to let her continue basking in his presence, despite all of her errors of courtesy. Who did she think she was?

He let that thought rattle around in his mind for a long moment. Who was she? He never had gotten her name. Why had Auntie invited her? He considered this carefully. He had never seen her at any social functions before tonight. Perhaps she was some uppity ‘modern’ noble, some nouveau riche? No. She didn’t strike him as the ‘wealthy industrialist tycoon’ sort of pony. So, who was she? Why was she important enough to be invited to the Grand Galloping Gala? The gentle clopping of hooves outside his doorway told him that he was very likely about to find out.

The door opened, and Aunt Celestia stuck her head in. “Knock, knock,” she said playfully.

“Ah. Good evening, Auntie. I see you are in better spirits?”

“Very much so, Blueblood. You see, I unexpectedly ran into a very old friend of mine.” She paused and looked him in the eyes. “Very old.”

Blueblood wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “I’m… glad to hear that?”

Celestia smiled. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Well, I—”

“Good. Doctor, would you come in, please?”

A grumpy-looking green earth pony stormed in. “Celestia, would you please explain to me what’s going on?”

Prince Blueblood glared at him. “Mind your manners,” he barked. “Address the Princess with the respect she deserves!”

The newcomer looked at him with a mixture of horror and disgust. “Please tell me this is your idea of a joke,” he groaned.

“No… but I’m laughing anyway,” she admitted with a twinkle in her eye.

“Auntie, who is this pony? What is he talking about?”

“‘Old on. Celly, can I talk with you a moment? In private?”

The alicorn sighed. “Wait out in the hallway, Doctor. I’ve already promised Blueblood a little chat, and I’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

Blueblood looked on smugly as that “doctor” fellow sputtered impotently for a moment before storming back out into the corridor.

The smug look quickly vanished when he saw how his aunt was staring at him. All of her usual warmth was gone from her eyes. “Blueblood,” she began, “I believe that I promised you a little chat about the behavior of some of the guests at the Gala. I’d like to begin by hearing your side of the story.”

Blueblood composed himself. He hadn’t expected this opening. “Well,” he began, “to start with, there was that farm mare. The orange one, selling peasant carnival fare. Can you believe that she had the nerve to sell that tripe to me? My refined palate deserves nothing less than the finest of cuisines.”

The princess nodded. “Go on,” she said.

“Well, then there was that nightmare in pink. Really, I’m not sure how much she had drunk, but it must have been a great deal. Honestly, convincing the orchestra to play— what was that composition?”

“The Pony Pokey, I believe,” Celestia replied.

“Well, quite. Then there was that terrifying yellow pegasus. I believe her actions more than speak for themselves.”

“Mm-hm,” Celestia said.

“But the worst of all of them was that horrid unicorn. She followed me around all evening like a lovesick puppy, and refused to even show me the courtesy I was due as her prince without serious prompting. She wouldn’t hold open the door for me, she didn’t want to pay for our repast at that awful farm hick’s booth, and she yelled at me, Auntie! As though I was the one at fault!”

Celestia nodded. “I see. Would you like me to give you their names, these ponies who ruined your evening so?”

Blueblood nodded. “Rather!”

“Well, the first one— the farm hick, you called her? That was Applejack, the bearer of the Element of Honesty.”

Blueblood blinked. “...Oh.”

“Then, the pink mare— who is normally like that, actually— is called Pinkie Pie, the bearer of Laughter. The terrifying pegasus was Fluttershy, the bearer of Kindness. And lastly, the unicorn who merely wanted a romantic evening, was Rarity, the bearer of Generosity. It was just her misfortune that she chanced to pick you,” Celestia said mildly. “I suppose it could have been worse. At least you wouldn't have taken advantage of her naivety as some others might.”

“Ah,” said Blueblood slowly. “I’m... in trouble, aren’t I?”

“Good to know that you’re still in possession of enough brain cells to know that, at least,” the princess said briskly. “You’ll need to recognize it often enough where you’re going.”

“Why? What are you going to do?” Blueblood asked, cringing.

“As it happens, the Doctor is in need of a travelling companion. You will be that companion. If he asks you for assistance, you will give it to him. If he asks you to jump, you should already be in the air. And if he says that you should run, then run.” She paused. “That last one is really very important, you may want to write it down.”

“But— but— why?” Blueblood asked. “I’ll apologize to all of those mares! I swear I will!”

Celestia shook her head sadly. “If this was the only offense, I might let it go at that,” she said. “But for the past several years, you’ve been nothing but a royal pain.” She paused for a moment and snickered at her own pun. “That was quite good, I think. I didn’t even do that on purpose.”

“Um,” said Blueblood.

“As I was saying,” Celestia said, composing herself once more, “you’ve insulted more or less everypony in Canterlot, and a good few outside it. Your drunken antics have made you into a laughingstock. I don’t believe I mentioned it at the time, but you’ve nearly caused several international incidents.”

He blinked in shock. “Such as?”

“Such as the time you tried to suggest a menage-a-trois with the Griffonian and Timbucktooan ambassadors?” Celestia suggested. “Both of whom were married, I might add.”

“...I don’t remember that…” Blueblood said, flushing.

“No, I didn’t think you would,” she agreed. “You were exceedingly drunk at the time. I had to convince them that you were the court jester.”

“You WHAT?”

“It wasn’t really that difficult,” she added. “You make enough of a fool of yourself as it is.”

Blueblood winced. “...Fine. What does this ‘Doctor’ want me to do?”

“Well, he doesn’t really want you at all,” Celestia replied. “It’s going to take everything I’ve got to convince him to take you with him. But your job as his companion is more or less as follows; one, get into trouble.”

Blueblood blinked. “What?”

“Speaking from experience, it’s going to happen anyway, so it may as well be in the job description. I should probably specify, don’t get into trouble with the Doctor. Basically anypony else you meet, fine, but try to do as he tells you. Two, tell him off when he does something stupid.”

“Won’t that get me into trouble with him?” Blueblood pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s much less trouble than you’ll be in if he does do something stupid, like blowing up a planet.”

He stared, aghast. “I beg your pardon?”

“Three, prepare to be amazed. You’re in for the trip of a lifetime.”

“Blowing up a planet?”

“Oh, yes,” Celestia replied, trotting out the door. “He never let Luna or I do it, so I don’t see why he should get special treatment.”

She glanced back one last time, lit her horn, and summoned a suitcase to fall at Blueblood's hooves. Her last sight before she shut the door was his face, ashen and deeply afraid.

Feeling Blue

“Well?” the Doctor demanded as Celestia stepped out to join him in the hallway. “What do you expect me to do for ‘im? Play babysitter? Wipe his runny nose? I’m a Time Lord, not a bleedin’ nursemaid.”

“Always so dramatic,” Celestia tutted. “Come with me. We may as well discuss this over a cup of tea.”

“You hate tea,” the Doctor said.

“Tea for you, coffee for me,” Celestia replied. “Or possibly apple cider. Would you like cider, Doctor?”

He shrugged. “May as well.”

The alicorn and the Time Lord sat in the kitchens, now evacuated after the commotion of the Gala. “So. What is it exactly that you want me to do?” the Doctor asked, taking a sip from a bottle of warm, golden cider.

“You need to take him with you,” Celestia replied.

The Doctor choked slightly. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“You will if you know what’s good for you.”

“You keep sayin’ that. What are you gonna do? Tie me up? Throw me in a dungeon? Banish me to the Moon?”

Celestia winced. “There’s no need to bring up the past…” she said.

“That's what you're asking me to do, though. Bring up the past, the future, the stars, all for his benefit.”

“Nothing new to you, is it?”

“Well, no. Obviously not. But I have standards, Celly! I can’t just take some random bloke aboard just ‘cause you asked.”

“Oh? What standards are those?”

“Well, for a start, they have to be clever, or at least curious. They need to be brave, and moral, and open to anything. I get the feelin’ little boy Blue isn’t any of the above.”

Celestia leaned forward. “But he could be,” she said. “He could grow. You could help him become a better pony.”

“Yeah? Maybe he could do that here. How much have you coddled him, Celestia? How much have you kept him away from the consequences?”

Celestia sighed, sinking back into her chair. “Too much.”

“See, there’s the truth. You just have to admit it to yourself—”

“Too much for me to undo,” she continued. “You, on the other hoof, might be just what he needs.”

The Doctor sighed. “Celly, let me tell you a story,” he said. “Once upon a time, quite recently on my timeline, I met a girl. Her name was Rose, and she was fantastic. Saved my life, saved the world from invasion by the Nestene Conscious, saved ev’ryone. I asked her to come with me in my spaceship. She turned me down flat. Said she was better off where she was.”

Celestia looked at him askance. “And the point of this is…”

“I think she could sense somethin’ about me. She could tell I was bad news. ‘Course, that might also be because I blew up the shop where she worked, but that just proves my point.”

Celestia sighed. “Doctor,” she said, staring right into his eyes, “you asked before what I meant when I said you would take him along if you knew what was good for you. That wasn’t a threat. It was a warning. You shouldn’t be alone, and right now, you’re more alone than you’ve ever been. You need a companion. That Rose you mentioned is a prime example. If you’ve gotten to the point where you’re asking ponies— people, sorry— along, you need company, stat. Furthermore, Blueblood needs a teacher. Much as you might hate to admit it to yourselves, you need each other.

He stared back at her. “Besides,” she added, “I remember a certain young, uptight alicorn that wouldn’t listen to a thing that you said. Another little pony in need of a Doctor…”

He let out a huff of frustration. “Alright, fine. But if he causes any trouble, I’m going to punish him. Properly.”

“Exactly what I’d hoped you’d say,” Celestia replied smoothly.

***

Blueblood looked up at the sound of a knock at the door. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

“Your new trav’lin companion,” came the reply.

The door opened and the Doctor walked inside. He glared at the prince, who cowered slightly. “Right. Let’s get a few things straight,” he began. “I don’t like this any more than you do. That said, I’m hoping we can both get over ourselves quick enough. So, let’s start with introductions.”

Blueblood looked at the strange stallion. “I am Prince Blueblood,” he replied, a touch of haughtiness returning to his voice. “Ward of Celestia and one of the most powerful ponies in Canterlot.”

The Doctor nodded, a cheerful grin on his face that made something deep and primal in Blueblood want to crawl into a hole and scream. “Right, nice to meet you, Blue. I’m the Doctor. Last Time Lord of the planet Gallifrey, nine-’undred-odd years old. I knew Celestia and Luna when they were barely out of short pants, took tea with Starswirl the Bearded, and I’ve saved this planet and several others more times than you’ve had hot breakfasts. Got any problems with that? No? Good. Meet me in th’ ‘edge maze when you’ve packed.”

Blueblood’s mouth flapped open and shut like a surprised fish as the Doctor left the room, humming cheerfully to himself.

Celestia poked her head in. “It’s all quite true,” she added, grinning so wide as to be almost maniacal. “Pleasant travels!”

***

Blueblood stood by his aunt’s side, staring dubiously at the box. “Really? This is a spaceship? It hardly looks big enough to fit both of us in there!”

“True,” Celestia agreed, thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should step inside, just to make sure you’ll be comfortable.”

Blueblood looked at her with open suspicion, but Celestia had long ago mastered the art of looking innocent when she most certainly was not. He trotted up to the doors of the blue box and pushed them open. He looked in. He looked back out at the exterior. “It’s— it’s—” he stammered. “It’s bigger on the inside!”

“Really?” Celestia gasped in mock surprise, “I never would have guessed. They must have redecorated.”

“I ‘ave, actually,” the Doctor commented from inside the TARDIS. “Go on, take a look. I’m not quite convinced, myself, but it’s growing on me.”

Celestia nudged the petrified Blueblood into the ship as she followed along. She gasped in earnest, this time.
“I’ll take that as a vote of approval,” the Doctor grinned.

“It looks like coral!” Celestia laughed, staring at the walls.

The Doctor grinned at her obvious delight. She caught him staring, and returned to her usual serene smile. “Goodbye, Doctor. Goodbye, Blueblood. Safe travels,” she said as she walked out of the TARDIS doors. “Don’t corrupt the time stream! Don’t cause a paradox!”

“Don’t do anything that you an’ your sister did?” the Doctor called back.

“Exactly!”

The Doctor watched after her for a long moment, a sad smile on his face. Then he turned to Blueblood, and though his smile shrunk, it didn’t completely disappear. “So,” he said. “Where to first?”

“...Gak,” the Prince said, staring blankly ahead.

“Hello? Anypony home?”

“Ook,”

“Right. I’ll take that as a no,” the Doctor muttered. “Now, if I were a whiny, upperclass twit, where would I want to go? Hm. Okay, think class. Think formality. Think like the velvet dandy. Where would they want to take Bessie?” He regarded the console for a long moment and sighed. “A party. Probably with wine and cheese tasting. Maybe croquet.” He shuddered. “Right. I can do a party. Forwards or back?”

He pulled out a bit and flipped it. It landed on the ground. Heads. “Forwards it is.” He glanced at the gibbering unicorn and sighed in annoyance. “Slightly forwards.” He doubted that the idiot prince would take well to the technological renaissance, particularly not television. He’d probably have to save him from being put on a game show or something, the Doctor thought grimly as he set the coordinates for any party on the planet, a little under a year from now.

“Erk,” Blueblood observed, staring at nothing in particular as the TARDIS rocketed off through time and space.

From outside, Celestia watched the big blue box fading away. “Be safe,” she whispered. “Both of you, come back safe.”

Bloody-Minded

The TARDIS materialized with a faint roaring wheeze in a corner of a lovely garden, filled with beautiful roses and violets and other sundry flora. As soon as it landed, a white unicorn burst out of the doors and retched into a bed of tulips. The Doctor followed behind, looking unimpressed. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he said. “These are nice flowers, and you’re just… fertilizing them.”

Blueblood spun around eyes twitching. “You are a terrible pilot,” he spat. “I demand you return me to the castle this instant!”

The Doctor gave him a long, searching look. “There’s a word I know that might just help you get what you want,” he replied.

Blueblood ground his teeth. “Pleeeeease?” he said.

The Doctor grinned. “Good try, but the word I was going for was ‘rhubarb.’ Better luck next time!” He trotted off down the garden path. Blueblood could almost smell the cheeky grin.

Fine. He would just stay in the TARDIS. The Doctor could fly off wherever the Tartarus he wanted, but he wouldn’t go dragging Blueblood along, oh no. The prince jiggled the door handle. It refused to open. Frowning, he tugged at the door. It remained stubbornly shut. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, he yanked back on the door, tipping over backwards and crashing to the ground with a thump. Opening his eyes once more, he found the Doctor staring down at him. “It’s locked,” he said flatly. “Come on, it’s a garden party. Even you can handle a garden party. I think.”

Blueblood sat up, scowling. “Oh, very well,” he grumbled.

“That’s the spirit!”

As the two stallions walked away from the TARDIS, neither noticed their hidden observer in the topiaries. Things had moved along much faster than anticipated. It would need to strike soon.

***

“Excuse me!” a voice shouted as the Doctor and Blueblood left the maze of flowers. A portly grey pegasus in a tuxedo stormed up to them. “Who are you?” he demanded, “And what are you doing here?”

Blueblood opened his mouth to retort, but the Doctor beat him to it. “D’you mean you really don’t know who we are?” He looked at Blueblood. “‘E doesn’t! This is Prince Blueblood, Celestia’s nephew, is who ‘e is.”

The pegasus paused for a moment, appraising the unicorn. “Ah. My apologies, sir. But who might you be?”

“‘I’m ‘is plus-one. We’re here for the party? Look, we’ve got invites and everything.” The Doctor hoofed over a piece of paper in a wallet of some sort. The pegasus glanced over it and his eyes glazed over for a moment. “I see,” he said. “You seem to have your dates mixed up, sirs. The party will not be until tomorrow.”

“Oh, I see. Sorry about the mix-up.”

“Of course, sir. If you wish to visit with Master Set today, I believe he and several friends of his are at the derby.”

It was an obvious brushoff, and the Doctor was worldly enough to take it. “Right. Let’s be off, then.”

Blueblood grinned triumphantly, turning back toward the trellis that led back down the garden path, but the servant cleared his throat. “Sir will find the exit this way,” he said, pointing with a wing to the garden gates.

“Of course,” the Doctor said. “Thanks much. Have a nice day.”

“And to you, sir,” the pegasus said, inclining his head.

***

“What did you do that for?” Blueblood hissed. “We could have just left.”

The Doctor shrugged. “P’rhaps I fancied a day at the races. I don’t see what you’re griping about, this is your ‘ome turf.”

“I thought it was,” the prince said icily. “Yet, somehow, a time-travelling earth pony gets more social invitations than I do.”

“What, that? Nah, that’s psychic paper. Shows whatever I want it to. ‘Ere, look.”

Blueblood took the proffered paper. “The reader of this message is a nitwit,” he read aloud, then cut himself off. “Very mature,” he sneered, hoofing the wallet back.

The Doctor glanced at it and raised an eyebrow. “Huh. That’s a bit much isn’t it?”

“Hm?”

“You seem to ‘ave given me a very lengthy, angry rant about my accent, manner, hygiene, and parentage.” He pocketed the paper and glanced at a very red Blueblood. “Tricky thing, psychic paper.”

The stallion grumbled something unflattering under his breath. “No need trying to hide it now, you’ve already made your views on me quite clear,” the Doctor said.

“Look,” Blueblood said plaintively, “You don’t like me. I don’t like you. The castle is right up there, so why don’t you just take me home so we never have to see each other again?”

“First off, your aunt would never forgive me. Second, she had a point. Disturbing as it may be, we both need somepony, and at the moment, it’s each other. Third, it would upset the timelines if you tried to go home now, and finally, I enjoy watching you squirm.”

“You’ve just added another paragraph to my diatribe,” Blueblood replied.

“Imagine my disappointment. Oh, look, there’s the racetrack!”

***

Blueblood was quietly fuming. He was stuck down here with the commoners, and worse still, with the Doctor. Worse still, he could see several of his closest acquaintances up in the stands— a much more cultured affair. He squinted for a moment. Was that— it was. He growled a little. She had replaced him! That purple-maned hussy was up among the nobles. He started to rise, and the Doctor turned to look at him sharply. “Er, I need to use the colt’s room,” he murmured hastily.

The Doctor held his gaze a moment longer. “Right. Hurry back,” he said, turning back to the race.

Blueblood breathed out. He couldn’t believe that had actually worked! He trotted off quickly, stumbling over and around the other patrons. Soon, he would be right back where he belonged, and that— what was her name? Charity? Austerity? No matter. She would be right back where she belonged, as well. He grinned vindictively. Let her travel with that unmannerly Doctor, if she so chose. He hurried to the stairwell. Now, which one was it? He hesitated for but a moment, then charged up the stairs to his left. That was why his cutie mark was a compass, after all— he had the remarkable ability to wind up just where he needed to go.

He arrived at a doorway and threw it open. “Well hello there,” he began, but stopped, cursing inwardly. He had chosen the wrong staircase for once in his life— this box seat was clearly empty, aside from one stallion leaning over the side, ostensibly to get a better view of the race below. The whole place was filled with shadows, giving it an air that sent cold shivers down the prince's spine. Blueblood coughed. “Beg pardon,” he said, turning to go.

He stopped. There was something wrong here. He looked back at the stallion. He hadn’t moved. Blueblood cleared his throat. “I say, are you alright?”

No response. Slowly, carefully, the prince reached out a hoof to tap the pony on the shoulder. He shrieked as the stallion fell to one side, revealing staring, unseeing eyes, a deep slash in the throat, and a mouth that dribbled blood from one corner. Blueblood stared at the dead body. The corpse seemed to stare back. The prince’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted clean away.

Black Death

He was awoken by a loud voice calling his name. “Blue! Oi, Blue, get up!”

“Five more minutes…”

“Blueblood, get up, or I swear I’ll take you to the moon and leave you there,” the Doctor said.

The prince’s eyes blinked open. He sat up. “What happened? Where- why are we still at the races?”

“Because you decided to be smart and wander off,” the Doctor growled, “In the process, you discovered a dead body and then fainted. Well, either that, or you killed him, but that doesn’t seem like something you’re capable of.”

Blueblood sat up. “What?” His eyes fell once more on the dead body. “I— you— oh my,” he gasped.

“Yeah, pretty much,” the Doctor agreed.

“We need to call the police!”

The Doctor frowned. “Why should we let them ‘ave all the fun? Come on, let’s find some clues.”

“Doctor. There is a pony lying there, dead. We must call the police at once.”

“Nah, nah, ‘s fine, I got it. This is pretty much a normal day for me. Well, it usually isn’t this quiet, but…”

“So, you’re going to tell his family? You’re going to watch them break down, comfort them, see their world rip apart? You are going to do that?”

The Doctor paused. He looked at Blueblood, who turned pink. “You know an awful lot about this.”

“Look, are you going to call, or am I?” the prince demanded.

“All right, you’ve got a point, I s'pose. The proper authorities are gonna find out sooner or later, may as well tell ‘em ourselves,” the Doctor sighed. “You go ahead, I’ll mind the corpse.”

“What, is it going to wander off?” Blueblood scoffed.

The Doctor shrugged. “You never know.”

***

The police quickly arrived in the form of Inspector Battle and Sergeant Haddock of the CPD. “Good afternoon,” the Inspector said in a dolorous tone that implied anything but. “You are the gentlecolts who discovered the body?”

“Tha’s right. I’m Doctor Darkest Hour, and this is my associate, Duke Leon Noel.”

The Sergeant looked at the duo suspiciously from under thick black eyebrows, but said not a word. The Inspector motioned toward the body. “Do either of you… know this pony? According to his identification, he was a Lord Golden Ring.”

“‘Fraid not, no,” the Doctor said.

“And you, sir?”

Blueblood blinked once or twice. “Sorry? Oh. No, I’m afraid not. Although—” he squinted. “He looks oddly familiar. I think I may have met him before, at some manner of formal event, but I don’t recall anything more than that.”

“Tha’ so?” rumbled Haddock.

“Yes it is, and may I say sir—” Blueblood responded angrily,but was cut off when the Doctor set a firm, placating hoof on his shoulder.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” he said. “He had a bit of a shock, and he’s got no redeeming social values.”

“How dare you!” Blueblood blustered.

The Doctor shook his head. “You see what I mean?”

“Yes, quite,” the Inspector agreed lugubriously. “Is there anything else you saw? Anything else that might be useful to us?”

“He— it— he was leaned against the side of the box when I arrived,” Blueblood said. “I knocked him down by accident.”

“Could you show us how the body was positioned?” the Inspector requested.

Blueblood looked at the corpse in alarm. Carefully, he wrapped his hooves around the barrel of the corpse and heaved the body back to where it had been. The Doctor facehoofed. It was becoming something of a habit. “‘E meant for you to lean up where he was, not disturb the corpse more,” he growled.

“That will be fine, thank you,” the Inspector said hurriedly, cutting across Blueblood's acid retort. “Anything else?”

“There was one thing,” the Doctor said. “I found a paper on one of the seats.” He pointed. “I think this bloke was ‘ere for a bit of a rendez-vous, judging by the look of it.”

The inspector raised an eyebrow and picked up the sheet. The eyebrow raised still further as he read the message. “Rather steamy,” he said.

Blueblood peered over Battle’s shoulder. His face grew quite red. “Good heavens,” he gasped, stepping back. “A sonnet, as well, good grief. I don’t believe I knew there were so many rhymes for—”

“Come on,” the Doctor said shortly. “I trust you don’t need us any further?” he asked the Inspector.

“Give your contact information to the Sergeant before you leave, but yes, you’re free to go.”

The Doctor jotted down a quick fabrication on Haddock’s notepad and hurried Blueblood along. “Right. Police involved? Check. Against my better judgement, mind, but check, nonetheless.”

“His family will be able to know,” Blueblood said.

“You really feel strongly about that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Feel like expandin’ on tha’?”

“No.”

They trotted along in silence. A few ponies looked over and nodded to Blueblood in recognition. He noticed his old friend Fancy Pants among them. Blueblood might have approached him, but the stallion was accompanied by his wife, Fleur de Lis, who Blueblood had always found frightening.

Eventually, Blueblood spoke up once more. “So. Now what?”

“Now what, what?”

“What do we do now?”

The Doctor looked at him oddly. “I thought you wanted to leave?”

Blueblood sighed. “I do. Believe me, I do. Mostly I just want to be out of your company, but yes, I want to go home. Unfortunately, we've gotten involved in some sort of beastly crime. Obviously, we can't leave now. Particularly since your box is stuck in Jet Set's hedge maze.”

He realized the Doctor had stopped some ways behind him. “What?” he asked.

The Doctor grinned at him, not mockingly, not insultingly, but an honest-to-goodness real smile. “You know something, Blue? I think there’s hope for you yet.”

***

Blueblood stared at the imposing estate. “Are you… certain about this?” he asked nervously.

“Not particularly, no, but we don’t have anywhere else to start.”

The prince gritted his teeth. “Right. Let’s go.”

The duo started up the path, only to run into a portly grey unicorn in a tuxedo. “Pardon me, sirs, but who are you?”

The Doctor stared. Blueblood nudged him, hard. “Ah, right,” the Doctor said, producing his psychic paper, “Detectives Cricket Bat and Robin Banks, here on official business. Sorry, this might be a bit of a rude question, but have you got a brother?”

The butler looked at the paper, nodded once, and turned to lead them into Ring Manor. “Inspectors Bat and Banks,” he announced. A mare wearing a flowing, fluffy, pink dressing robe glanced up from her book.

“Good afternoon, gentlecolts,” she said, rising to her hooves. She glanced back and forth between the two. “What brings you here?” she asked Blueblood.

The unicorn opened his mouth, but all that came out was a sort of faint wheezing as the Doctor shoved him aside. “Lady Ring?” the Doctor replied, “I’m sorry to tell you, but your husband is dead.”

She blinked. “Sorry?”

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” the Doctor said. “If it helps at all, we believe his death was relatively quick and painless.”

The mare looked pale, her pink coat washed out. “I need to sit down,” she whispered, collapsing gracelessly back onto her sofa. “How?”

“We don’t know.”

“Where?”

“At the racetracks. There was a letter, suggested he might be meeting a companion there.”

“Who?”

The Doctor paused. “Are you asking who he was meeting or who killed him?”

Blueblood interjected, “Actually, it doesn’t matter, we don’t know the answers to either.”

The mare turned her attention back to Blueblood. “I think I may know. Who he was meeting, I mean.”

That got the Doctor’s attention. “Oh?” He shared a puzzled glance with Blueblood. In his experience, people generally didn’t both know about their spouse’s indiscretions and approve of them.

“Yes,” she continued, still addressing only Blueblood. “A business partner of his, a griffon named Gertrude— Gertrude P. Henn. They’ve been working on a venture together.”

“Ah, well,” the Doctor said, “I’m afraid—”

“That we don’t have her contact information,” Blueblood interjected smoothly. “Do you know it at all? It could be very helpful.”

“I believe so,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll go and fetch it.”

After she had trotted out of the room, the Doctor glared at Blueblood. “Why didn’t you let me tell her?” he hissed. “The fact that he was cheating on her could be important!”

Blueblood didn’t meet the Doctor’s eyes. “Do you want to tell her that?” he asked. “Look her in the eyes, tell her the truth? That her husband was a lying pig?” He shook his head. “If you want to ruin her memories of him, if you really want to, go ahead.”

The Doctor looked at him a long moment. “The real police are going to tell her eventually,” he said.

“Yes.”

“She’ll know soon enough.”

“Yes. But not right now.” He looked at the Doctor. “Let her mourn.”

The Doctor looked back. Slowly, he nodded. “If you don’t mind my askin’—” he began.

“I do,” the unicorn replied shortly.

“I’ll find out eventually.”

“Yes,” Blueblood repeated. “But not right now.”

They stood in silence for a moment. “It wasn’t love,” the Doctor stated.

“Sorry?”

“Whatever motivated 'ooever sent that letter, it wasn’t love.”

“Well, obviously not. Whoever wrote it killed him.”

“Yeah, which doesn’t really make sense. If it was a mash note, and 'ooever wrote it really did love ‘im, they wouldn’t want to kill ‘im, and if they wanted to kill him, why leave behind a mash note?”

"A lovers quarrel, I suppose."

The Doctor shook his head. "I could buy that, if th' note had been taken away. While it's there, it's a huge lead, points everyone right to that conclusion-- scorned lover. Anyone with half an ounce of sense would've taken it an' destroyed it. But it was left right there, barely even hidden. Why?"

Blueblood considered this. “I— to distract us? Maybe to attract him?”

The Doctor nodded. “Might be, might be. But more than that, it was meant to be a trap. Th’ killer left the note at the crime scene. That leaves the police wi’ a lot of clues— hoofwriting, prints, maybe analysis of dialect if you want t’ get fancy. If they’d taken it away, we’d have nothing t’ go on. Plus, it was left right out in th’ open, where there’s no good explanation for it being, but they tried to make it look hidden.”

Blueblood’s mind clicked a couple of times before giving up. “So… it was left in the open by hiding it, when it should have been hidden for real?”

“More or less.”

“Why?”

The Doctor furrowed his brow. “Dunno,” he admitted. “Not yet, anyhow.”

The duo quickly shut up as Lady Golden Rings trotted back in through the doorway. The Doctor noticed that somewhere along her trek, she'd changed from a pink robe into a black one. “Here you are,” she said, levitating a slip of paper over to Blueblood. “Her address, contact information, and so forth— will there be anything else?”

The Doctor scratched behind his head. “Well, where were you in all this? Where’ve you been for the past hour or so?”

“Hm? Oh, right here,” she replied. “Mask can confirm that.”

“Mask?” Blueblood asked.

“The butler, Tuxedo Mask.”

The Doctor let out a faint snort. Blueblood looked at him oddly. “What—”

The Time Lord waved him off. “Nothing, just reminded me— never mind. Any rate, that’s all for now, Lady Rings, but there’ll be another couple of officers around later on with a few other questions as they arise.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “Mask? Would you show them to the door, please?”

“Yes, madam,” a voice intoned from directly behind the two. Blueblood jumped and even the Doctor turned in surprise.

“How long has he been there?” Blueblood whispered to the Doctor.

“Don’t know,” he muttered back. “That’s a bit worrying, I must be losing my touch.”

“If you will follow me, inspectors?” The butler trotted toward the door. As they stepped out into the sun, he glanced furtively over his shoulder. Then, leaning in next to Blueblood, he whispered, “She’s lying,” before hurriedly shutting the door with a resounding thud. He heard the lock click, and the butler's hooves echoed as they clicked away.

Black Earth

“She’s lying?” the Doctor repeated as they walked down a busy boulevard. “That’s it? That’s all he said?”

“I’m afraid so,” Blueblood replied. “I can only assume he was referring to her account of her whereabouts.”

“Well, yes, obviously,” the Doctor grumbled. “But that doesn’t tell us much of anything about where she really was, does it?”

Blueblood shrugged. “It tells us she was hiding something,” he replied.

“Yeah, but what? Could be that she’s got an illicit lover, too, could be she was out gambling with the family cash, could be she’s secretly an alien.”

“Well, really,” Blueblood scoffed. “What are the odds of that?”

“I’m secretly an alien,” the Doctor pointed out.

“Exactly. How likely is it that I’d meet two in one day?”

The Doctor stared into space for a moment. “Extremely. Really. Once you meet one, they start popping up everywhere you go, dunno why. Course, from my point of view, it’s you lot that’re aliens, so I can’t hardly judge.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Oh look, ‘ere we are,” the Doctor replied, indicating an office building. It was quite large, even in comparison to the surrounding towers and complexes.

Blueblood’s eyebrows rose. “RocRoll Incorporated? That’s a Griffish company!”

The Doctor looked at him strangely. “Yeah. We knew that already, remember? Lady Rings said we were meeting a griffon.”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between a griffon in commerce and a griffon company in Canterlot,”

“Well, no need to be like that,” the Doctor frowned. “Just because they aren’t ponies—”

“No, no,” Blueblood sighed, exasperated. “Tell me, Doctor, have you been to the Griffonlands recently? The recession there is beyond description. There is absolutely no plausible way that this company could exist at all, much less in Canterlot.”

The Doctor frowned. “A recession? Griffonstone?” He looked up at the building, then back at Blueblood. “Tha’s not meant to happen,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head.

The prince rolled his eyes. “You probably got your years mixed up or something. The point is, the last I heard of RocRoll, they were a local mining firm. I only heard of them because of some disaster in the shafts— cave-in, I believe.”

“Tragic,” the Doctor said.

“Yes,” Blueblood agreed quietly. “A great waste of life.”

“You keep saying things like that and then going quiet,” the Doctor said. “So, either we can talk about it on your terms, or we can wait for a crucial moment where absolutely ev’rything is going to fail because of one critical bit o’ information I don’t know ‘cause you wouldn’t tell me.”

Blueblood stared at him, eyes lidded. “The second one.”

“Right. Just so long’s we’ve got that sorted.”

***

Tuxedo Mask had glanced in on the lady of the house after the two detectives' departure. With nopony left to see her, she had let the facade collapse, and wept freely into her furs.

Good.

The butler made his way swiftly and silently up the stairs. Almost all of the rest of the household had been given the day off. For what he was about to do, there could be no witnesses.

Into the mistress's drawing room he went. The dress designs sat out on the desk, each one a perfectly realized idea. Mask gathered them all up. They would be necessary for what came next, but they were hardly the evidence he needed.

He pressed a carving on the side of the desk. Silently, a panel in the wall sprang open. Inside were nigh-identical copies of the designs he had gathered, save for a few small details and one very large one-- the signatures on all the designs belonged to very different ponies than the mistress of the house. He bundled all of them up and stuffed them all into his waistcoat.

He drew the curtains of the drawing room. He left, closing the door behind him, and methodically made his way down the hall, blowing out every candle he passed. A dark house for dark business. He circled the entire floor, blocking out all sunlight. Then he made his way down a floor, and did the same there, circling like a shark, drawing ever nearer to where the lady of the house sat in sorrow.

***

The receptionist was a grey earth pony. The Doctor looked as though he was going to comment on this, but decided against it. Is it the fashion now to have grey service workers? he wondered. Maybe it’s just coincidence. Nah. Probably some new trend, ‘let your man fade into the background’ or the like. Stupid.

“Afternoon,” he said. “We’re ‘ere t’ see a Miss Henn?”

“Have you an appointment?” the stallion asked dully.

“Don’t need one,” the Doctor said, flashing his papers.

The pony blinked. “Of course, Inspector. You and Detective Banks take all the time you need.”

“Thanks much,” the Doctor said, pocketing the wallet with a grin. “Which office is she in?”

“Top story, sir. You can’t miss it.”

“Right. Afternoon,” the Doctor nodded. “Come on, Banksy. Got work t’ be done.”

Blueblood trotted after the Doctor, only pausing for a moment to give the receptionist a searching look.

***

The duo stepped into the elevator. “That receptionist,” Blueblood said thoughtfully. “He looked an awful lot like that butler at Rings Manor, didn’t he? Jet Set's valet, as well”

“I thought so.”

“That can’t be a coincidence.”

“No.”

“Shouldn’t we be investigating that?”

The Doctor made a noncommittal noise. “I mean,” Blueblood said, “It’s the only connection we’ve got, isn’t it?”

“Let me give you a bit of advice, Blue. If there’s only one connection between different places, chances are, you’re missing something. You might have a symptom, sure, but not the cause.”

“Yes, but—”

“Oi. Who’s th’ one in charge here?”

Blueblood stared at him for a long moment, his face a scowl. “You,” he finally sighed.

“An’ don’t you forget it, either,” the Doctor warned. "Look, maybe it's worth lookin' into. But right now, we've got to focus on findin' out more about this Miss Henn."

Blueblood huffed in irritation as the doors of the elevator opened and they stepped out. “Come on,” the Doctor said, trotting to a pair of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Blueblood glanced around, vaguely impressed at the decor. It was much nicer than he would have supposed. Early Regency, with influences from Minoa, the sort of sparse design that implied that the owner could afford to look bare-bones. The only real decorations were the paintings that lined the walls. Suddenly, he squinted at one in particular. “That’s odd,” he murmured.

“Oi! You gonna stand there all day?”

Blueblood glanced back and forth between the Doctor and the other end of the hall before trotting toward the office doors.

***

The griffon at the desk was hunched over a table of figures, furiously scribbling down numbers. She barely spared them a glance as they entered. “Who are you, what do you want,” she said, managing to express the apparent minimum possible interest it was feasible to have in the duo.

“We’re here investigating a murder,” the Doctor said, watching her closely.

The griffon glanced up from her work, one eyebrow raised. “Continue.”

Blueblood stepped forward. “A stallion was found dead at the racetracks earlier today. A Lord Golden Rings? You remember, the pony you were sleeping with?”

Ms. Henn blinked laconically. “Sleeping with. You’re joking.”

The Doctor shot Blueblood a glare. “‘Fraid not. A rather incriminating letter was found at the scene of the crime. Ooever killed him wrote ‘im a bit of— well. Let’s just call it a love letter. Accordin' to 'is wife, you were th' only one meetin' 'im on th' regular.”

She snorted once. “That’s Rings for you. Had a new mare every month. His wife was clueless, of course, or that’s what she let on. Personally, I doubt anything living could be so obtuse, but you never know.”

Blueblood frowned. “Were you ever one of these… mares of the month?”

Ms. Henn shook her head exactly once— a tight, calculated motion. Blueblood got the feeling that everything she did was equally precise, right down to the number of cornflakes she had for breakfast. “I knew him too well. He tried, of course— bought me presents, chocolates, flowers. I won’t deny that. I won’t say I wasn’t flattered, either.” She smiled a slim smile. “But not flattered enough to be blind.”

She pushed back her chair and strode to the window. “I am sorry to hear that he’s dead,” she added. “He was one of my biggest financiers. Supported some of my biggest projects, even after a few of them… flopped.”

“The incident at the quarry,” the Doctor supplied.

“Mm. You’ve done your research,” Gertrude nodded. “Yes. After the fiasco at the Echo Mine, more than a few investors dropped out. I can’t say I entirely blame them. Shoddy business, the whole thing. I still don’t know how the surveyors didn’t pick up on those pockets of soft earth. A terrible tragedy.” Her face did not shift throughout the conversation.

There was a long silence. “Pardon me,” Blueblood interjected. “Could you tell me where I might find the lavatory?”

Ms. Henn glanced at him. “Down the hall. On your—”

The Doctor cut her off. “He doesn’t need to go,” he growled, glaring at the prince.

Blueblood glared back. “Yes I do.” he replied with equal firmness. “It could be urgent.”

“You can hold it.”

“No, I can’t.”

Gertrude glanced between the two with increasing bemusement. “Down the hall on the left. Second door.”

The Doctor glared after Blueblood’s retreating back. “I swear,” he muttered, “It’s his aunts all over again.”

“Pardon?”

“I was just saying that he reminds me of his aunt. She had a tendency to powder her nose at inopportune moments, too.” A small smile flickered over the Doctor’s features. “Might just be hope for him yet,” he grinned.

***

Glancing left and right, Blueblood trotted back down the hallway. He stopped in front of the one incongruous element— the sole landscape painting in a row of portraits. It depicted what seemed to be a valley at first glance. It was of such mediocre quality that few would examine it further. A closer look, however, revealed it to be a rock quarry. Not necessarily out-of-place in this building— it was, after all, a company with roots in mining. The painting was not unusual by itself, that was true. However, one that was surrounded by portraits seemed a tad more unusual. Blueblood studied it intently. The picture was of barely acceptable quality, to be sure, but the image itself… those likenesses seemed oddly familiar. His eyes fell on one in particular and he started. That was Lord Golden Rings! And there, next to him— that was certainly Miss Henn. He looked from face to face. Several of them he recognized from various formal affairs; not by name, per se, but certainly by reputation. He frowned. Why would they be—

Suddenly, it struck him. Not realization, but a solid smack on the back of his head. The prince fell like a ton of bricks. The figure behind him regarded the scene unemotionally.

The Gallifrey Blues

Oblivious to his companion’s plight, the Doctor sat in a chair across from Gertrude Henn, neither willing to blink first. “The Echo Quarry, you said?” the Doctor asked. “Tell me about it.”

She shrugged. “Not much to say. A miner accidentally set off too large an explosion near a weaker part of the cave. Several workers were trapped by the subsequent cave-in. In the end, we managed to save most of them, but thirteen were never accounted for.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed. “Never accounted for?” he repeated. “As in, their bodies…”

“Were never found, yes. It’s spawned more than a few ghost stories, let me tell you,” she sighed. “On the anniversary of their demise, they rise up to take revenge sort of thing, you know?”

The Doctor nodded. “Yes. Got to deal with all sorts of superstitions in this job, I'm sure. Come to that, it can do more good than you’d think to know the local legends about something. Ah, but I’m gettin’ off topic. You said Lord Rings was a patron even after all that?”

Gertrude nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Presumably because he thought it would somehow finally win my heart— the loyal friend, there unto the bitter end. As if that would fool me. I knew his history.”

He nodded. “Always there for you right up ‘til he got tired of it?”

“That’s about it, yes.”

The Doctor stretched out into the chair. “Got lots o’ other investors?” he asked. “I mean, you got to, haven’t you? Building this size, ‘specially in Canterlot...”

For the briefest of moments, Gertrude’s spine straightened, her face twisting in alarm before settling back into placidity. The Doctor, in true Canterlot fashion, pretended not to have noticed. On the inside, though, he was smiling like it was Christmas dinner. “I have a number of donors, some more generous than others,” she replied calmly. “Their identities are a matter of public record.”

“All of them?”

If the last question had thrown her, this one slung her down the field like a fastball. “Of— of course,” she stammered, desperately trying to keep her composure. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, Inspector, but I know I don’t like it. This interview is closed.”

“But a new one opens,” a new voice said from the door.

The Doctor turned around in surprise. When he saw who had spoken, he went a few shades paler. “Oh, no,” he groaned.

Sergeant Haddock smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “Tha’s what Oi thought ye’d say,” he nodded. "Doctor Hour, you're under arrest for impersonatin' an officer of th' law, as well as fer connections wi' th' muder of Lord'n'Lady Rings an' the attempted murder of Gertrude Henn."

"Attempted— what?" Gertrude was well and truly shaken now, and the Doctor was struggling to keep up as well.

"Caught yer friend out by th' elevators. C'mon."

The Doctor rose. "Lady Rings isn't dead, we spoke to her not half an hour ago."

"Bout th' time she was killed, y'mean? Her butler found her on th' couch. Knife cross th' throat, surrounded by designs fer knockoff 'andbags, ring any bells?"

The Doctor stared at him, mouth agape. "What..."

Haddock pulled out a pair of hoofcuffs. "C'mon, you. Shift yerself."

***

Blueblood’s eyes fluttered open. “Whazz…” he muttered. “Wha’ happened?”

“Please do not attempt to escape,” a voice said.

Blueblood looked up to see the earth pony receptionist standing over him, a threatening expression on his face. The prince attempted to rise, but found that his hooves had been bound, and his horn covered by… “Is this aluminum foil?”

“Please do not attempt to escape,” the receptionist repeated.

Blueblood raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

This threw Blueblood. “Alright then, so—”

“You,” the receptionist continued, “are the pony I found unconscious at the top of the elevator shaft, alongside some very intriguing little tools. A hacksaw. A wrench. A screwdriver. Several pieces of elevator and a length of cord.”

Blueblood had never been entirely quick on the uptake, and he suspected he might have managed to obtain a concussion somehow, but he wasn’t quite as thick as all that. “You’re not saying I was trying to sabotage the elevator,” he sputtered.

“No.”

“No?”

“I am implying it, sir. If I were saying it, I would say “You were trying to sabotage the elevator.” I only refrain from doing so due to a lack of any evidence other than the circumstantial. This, however, proved to be sufficient to have the police come to visit. I believe they are currently in the process of arresting your friend.”

Blueblood’s jaw flapped aimlessly. “But— but— you can’t—” he stuttered.

“I do not wish to reacquaint you with the realms of unconsciousness, sirrah, but if needs must…”

The prince, demonstrating unusual wisdom, shut up.

***

The Doctor, sullen of face, was already in the back of the paddywagon. When Blueblood entered, he glanced up for a moment, then returned to staring at the wall of the carriage as the doors slammed shut. “Stupid,” he grumbled.

Blueblood froze. “Beg pardon?”

“Stupid!” the Doctor shouted. “Stupid, stupid, and once more with feeling, stup—”

He was cut off as the prince slammed his hoof on the floor. “Stupid you say? stupid? It’s your fault we’re in this mess. We could have left the police to do their work, but no. We had to gad about town impersonating officers of the law, We had to go talk to the griffon rather than investigating the out-of-place painting. We couldn’t tell the police that we were investigating, oh no. We had to be secret, all cloak and dagger! We had, in short, to do everything you said, because I, of course, have no idea what’s happening!”

Blueblood paused to take some deep breaths. The Doctor gave him a long, solemn look. “Despite what you might think, little boy Blue, not everything is about you.”

Blueblood took in a deep breath. “And just what,” he snarled, “do you mean by that?”

The Doctor looked away. “I was talkin’ about myself,” he replied. “I'm the stupid one. It’s my fault. All tha’ stuff you were sayin’? Bang on.”

The prince blinked, nonplussed. “I— well, I—”

The Doctor laughed bitterly. “Shows what I know, yeah? All th’ good I am,” he sighed. “Your aunt, she thinks I’m top hole. Maybe I was, once. Not anymore. Can't even get us out of here, they took my screwdriver.”

Blueblood frowned. “Well, hold on,” he argued, “You’re not that bad a sort, old chap. I mean, you’ve got a time machine, that’s jolly good.”

“What’s the use? I can’t change anything, not anything important.”

Blueblood gave the Doctor a long, considering look. “So what’s different now?” he asked. “What changed?”

The green stallion chewed his bottom lip. “There was a war,” he said. “Massive thing. The Time Lords— my people— against the Daleks. Spanned all of time, all of space. Whole planets became casualties, galaxies turned to battlefields. Someone had to end it.” He took a steadying breath. “That someone was me.”

Blueblood nodded slowly. “What did you do?”

“There was a weapon. Last resort sort of thing, the Moment. Destroyed all the Time Lords, Daleks too. Everyone died, ‘cause I couldn’t take it no more.” He looked up at the prince, his eyes hollow. “Everyone died, ‘cause of my selfishness.”

“Selfishness?” Blueblood asked, eyebrows cinching.

“I took thousands of lives, millions,” the Doctor said. “All to end the war.”

“Well, from the sound of it, you saved trillions more,” Blueblood replied.

“Tha’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

“There were children on that planet. Old folk. Innocents.”

“And there were untold of innocent bystanders in the war, I'm sure” Blueblood said.

The Doctor didn’t reply, so Blueblood pressed on. “And you say you’re selfish? Saving all those ponies— and whatever else there is— that’s hardly what I’d call selfish. And you thought of what I’d want to do for my first trip, even though I’d hardly endeared myself to you. That was really quite good of you as well.”

The Doctor looked up warily. “Y’think?”

Blueblood snorted. “Doctor. I daresay I am the postercolt for selfish idiocy. I know of what I speak.”

“Well,” the Doctor said, rising to his hooves. “I must say, I dunno ‘bout that myself. After all, you’ve had some pretty nice ideas yourself through all this. So tell me, Blue, what’re we gonna do now?”

Blueblood stared. “Er. Go to jail, I suppose,” he said.

The Doctor shook his head. “Aw, come on, Blue. I know this is your ‘ome turf, an’ I doubt this is your first run-in with the law. You must have some ideas.”

Slowly, the prince began to smile. “Tell me, Doctor— how well can you sing?”

“Never tried it, not in this body. Probably not all that well.”

“Good.”

The Ponies in Blue

Sergeant Haddock gave the two prisoners a hard look. They didn't look quite the same as they had earlier. He was quite certain, for instance, that the unicorn hadn't been that disheveled, and the earth pony had somehow obtained a black eye. He scowled. “No rough’ousin’ in the paddywagon,” he said.

The green one hiccuped and rolled his eyes. “Right. Whatchu gonna do, arrest us for it?”

The white one poked him sharply. “Shh, shh,” he hissed. “‘s th’ p’lice. I can't go t’ jail, ‘m too pretty…”

Haddock stared. Babbling, slurring... Drunk as lords, the pair of them. “Come on, you sots, let's get you to a holding cell til you've dried out enough to interview.”

He pulled the green one to his hooves. There was a retching noise, and suddenly a banana and some cider made a reappearance all over the back of the paddywagon. Haddock stumbled backwards into the other one, who shoved him away in surprise. The police officer straightened up, scowling. “Right! On your hooves, and come with me.”

The two prisoners stumbled after the stallion. Within a few minutes, they were in a cell, and Haddock had left for the sanctuary of his desk.

"Excellent work," Blueblood said. "How did you get your breath to smell of alcohol when you haven't had a drop?"

"Combination of Gallifreyan biology and psychic suggestion," the Doctor replied. "It'll fade in a few minutes."

Blueblood wrinkled his nose. "Good."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Right. Now what?” he asked.

“You said they took your screwdriver?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you get us out if you still had it?”

“Easy as pie.”

“Don't say ‘pie’. Vile, commoner food. Any rate, here you are.” He produced a thin, silver wand.

The Doctor stared. “How?” he asked. “You've still got that inhibitor on your horn.”

Blueblood smirked. “That's the thing about unicorns. Ponies assume that without magic, we're useless. We've still got hooves, you know.”

Slowly, the Doctor grinned. “Awright,” he said. “Let's get this lock undone and—”

“Not yet,” Blueblood interrupted. “I have been thrown in this tank for intoxication more times than I can recall. They keep an eye in these cells. We need a distraction.”

“I'm guessing you already have one in mind?”

“Mm. A little music should lighten things up,” Blueblood said. He cleared his throat. “OOOOOHHHHHH, A custard is a lovely thing, so pale and warm and qui-ver-ing…”

The Doctor watched in bemused fascination as the prince continued to extol the virtues of custard at the top of his lungs. His eyes widened when he heard other voices begin to join in.

“Popular song?” he asked.

The prince smirked. “It has been known to come in handy every now and again. Come on, give us a few bars.”

The Doctor cleared his throat and hummed. “When’s the chorus come?”

Blueblood shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Everypony here’s as drunk, mutually, as a family of skunks that have taken up residence in a wine cellar. Harmony is as an unfamiliar concept to them as sobriety.”

“Right. A custard is a luv’ly thing…”

“No, stop. You’re too good.” Blueblood corrected. “This is drunk singing, remember.”

The Doctor gestured toward the lock. “How about I jus’ get the door?”

“A moment.” Blueblood glanced down the hallway. “Excellent. Noddy Winks is on duty.”

“Oo?”

“Semiretired night watchmare. Never quite got out of the sleep cycle. Look.”

The Doctor peered down the hall. An elderly purple pegasus was leaning back in a chair at the desk. Her eyes were drooping already. “Just give it a moment,” Blueblood continued. “Three… two… now.”

True to the count, the mare’s eyes fluttered closed, apparently lulled to sleep by the drunken singing. “Go,” Blueblood hissed.

The Doctor held his screwdriver up to the lock. There was a brief hum, and the door sprung open. Blueblood regarded the device, impressed. “What did you call that? A screwdriver?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor said, trotting out of the cell toward the door leading out of the holding area. “It’s brilliant. Unlocks doors, trips switches, blows fuses, scans tech. Once, I even used it to undo some screws.” He pushed at the door. It didn’t budge. His face fell. “Sod. They’ve barred it from the outside.”

Blueblood waved a hoof at the sonic. “Use your little wand, then.”

“It doesn’t do wood,” the Doctor muttered.

The prince blinked. “Sorry?”

“I said, it doesn’t do wood.” the Doctor repeated a little louder.

Blueblood snorted a laugh. “That’s absurd.”

“No it isn’t!” the Doctor protested, holding the sonic to his barrel. “This’s gotten me out of more scrapes than you’ve had diplomatic incidents!”

“Oh, certainly,” the unicorn said, rolling his eyes. “Unlocks, undoes, unscrews, but it doesn’t do wood. That is ridiculous!”

The guard snorted in her sleep and her eyelids flickered. Both stallions froze, staring at her in horror. Noddy yawned and relaxed once more. The Doctor let out a deep breath and Blueblood wiped his forehead. “Okay,” the Doctor whispered. “Fine. Yes, it is a bit rubbish in this particular situation, but it’s fantastically useful for most things. Now, how can we get out of here without the sonic?”

Blueblood thought for a moment. “Do you trust me?”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Right, stupid question,” Blueblood decided. “But do you have any good ideas?”

“Not just at present,” the Doctor admitted. “Let’s have it, then.”

“Okay,” said Blueblood, leaning in. “This is what we’re going to do…”

***

The patrolponies of Canterlot Police Department precinct 17 did not generally have much to do. They were understaffed, underworked, and extremely bored. In a city more often patrolled by royal guards, it is easy to lose one’s edge, particularly when the city is also closely monitored by the practically-omniscient diarchy that moves the sun and moon in their orbits. It was a quiet beat, usually just the occasional bit of white-collar crime regularly interspersed with mind-numbing terror which would ultimately be dealt with by the Elements of Harmony. The murder of Lord and Lady Ring was the most interesting thing to happen since the return of Discord. The job was routine. It was dull. It was practically a way of life. When faced with something absurd or unusual, it had become their practice to merely observe it from a distance while waiting for it to be taken care of by a group of six mares with flashy jewelry.

They should not be judged too harshly, therefore, for stopping to stare at the door to the drunk tank as it was bucked right off its hinges. Before the dust had even settled, a green-and-white blur leapt through the portal. It slowed enough for the assembled to see that it was, in fact, a white unicorn riding a very grouchy green earth pony. “Why did I agree to this?” the latter asked.

“Because you’re very obliging. Now hush.” The unicorn looked out at the crowd of police officers, all staring back in mild shock. “Friends! I know that this has been a time of great trial and tribulation for us all,” he began.

“Not really,”

“I’m doing alright.”

“Well, my auntie’s been sick…”

“Trial and tribulation,” Blueblood repeated. “The deaths of Lord and Lady Ring is a tragedy, and a pall settles over Canterlot.”

“‘E was a womanizer, an' she made knockoff 'andbags.” the Doctor said flatly.

“And they were great patrons of industry and of the arts,” Blueblood argued. “At any rate, fear not, peasantry! I, your prince, have returned to right this wrong!”

“Oi, Little Boy Blue. If you’re trying to get somepony on your side, don’t call them peasants.”

“Quiet, peasant. Now, away!” The prince held a hoof aloft dramatically. The Doctor sighed and ambled forward, grumbling. The officers of the law watched them go with mouths agape all the way up until the front doors slammed shut.

“We’re just pretending that didn’t happen,” one decided. With much nodding and muttering, the others returned to their work, confident that things would be dealt with. Whatever those things were.

Blood Money

Back at RocRoll, Gertrude Henn laid her last file folder into the out tray. She nodded briskly and rose from her chair. She was a very efficient individual. To be otherwise would be wasteful. She walked briskly out of her office door. Her work was done for the day. She could now return to her apartment, with only a brief stop on the way to eat dinner. She paused in front of the elevators. Still out of order? A faint furrow appeared between her eyes. That was very inefficient indeed. Very well. The stairs it would be.

She pushed through the double doors to the stairwell. She glanced over the edge and sighed heavily. It was a long way down. Very time-consuming and terribly ineffectual for getting the job done. She gazed at the drop thoughtfully, then spread her wings and leapt over the edge. Her plummet was perfectly curved, almost geometric. She described a quadratic formula in the air. The sight of it would be enough to make a professional high-diver break into tears and become a chartered accountant.

The unfortunate side effect of efficiency is complacency. When all of your obstacles are foreseen and accounted for, the addition of an extra variable can throw everything off. So it was with the flight of Ms. Henn as a figure suddenly leapt from the shadows of a stairwell and landed on her back. The griffon squawked, flailing, pushing her assailant away. The perfect geometry dissolved into a child’s scribble as Gertrude crashed into a wall and fell to the floor. She struggled to rise, but her attacker pushed her down. She looked up at them and her eyes went wide. “No,” she whispered. “No, I don’t— you’re dead! You can’t—” She cut off abruptly.

The last moment of Gertrude Henn’s life was terrifically efficient. A blade as swift as Occam’s slit her throat, and her killer left the scene as swiftly and silently as it had arrived.

***

“That worked surprisingly well,” the Doctor commented. “Do you usually escape like that?”

“Hm?” Blueblood glanced at the Doctor. “No. Generally, I just wait for a guard captain to come bail me out. However, since Auntie doesn’t even know we’re here, that was not an option.”

“Right. So, back to the office?”

Blueblood glanced up at the sky. “They’ll likely be closed. It must be about quarter to seven, now.”

“No problem,” the Doctor replied cheerfully, holding his screwdriver aloft. “Their doors aren’t made of wood.”

Blueblood smirked. “Well played.”

“One does try,” the Doctor acknowledged, nodding his head slightly. “Shall we?” He gestured down the boulevard.

“After you,” Blueblood returned. They set off down the street, unaware that from high above, they were being watched.

***

RocRoll Industries did indeed appear to be closed for the night— the windows were dark and when the Doctor tried to open the main doors, they refused to budge. “Right,” he muttered, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. “Let’s see, now…” He aimed at the doors, starting at a low pitch. When nothing happened, he frowned and increased the frequency. He scowled. “Don’t tell me they’ve made the lock out of wood,” he said, disgusted.

Blueblood peered at the door and frowned. “How peculiar. This isn’t glass at all.”

The Doctor paused. “What?”

“It’s some sort of solid crystal,” the prince said, tapping it lightly. "Look, you can see there's a hexagonal lattice..."

“You don’t say,” the Doctor said, brow furrowing. “Right. Let’s try…” He held the screwdriver aloft once more, and an earsplitting whine assaulted the doors.

The crystal began to crack and weaken in several spots, and with a bucking kick, the Doctor finished the job. He grinned. “That’s the way,” he said, carefully stepping through the shattered remains of the door. “Come on, Blue. Sooner we can solve this, the better.”

Cautiously, Blueblood stepped through the shards of crystal. “Ow,” he griped. “I think I cut my hoof.”

“You’ll be fine,” the Doctor said dismissively.

“I’m bleeding!”

“Oh, you want me to kiss it better?”

Blueblood fell silent, glaring at the back of the Time Lord’s head. “I suppose we’ll have to take the stairs, if the elevator hasn’t been repaired,” he added. “I’ll have to walk on my wound.”

“It’ll build character.”

“It will build a colony of bacteria,” Blueblood replied primly. “The cut will become infected, and my hoof will grow gangrenous. Perhaps they’ll have to amputate.”

He became aware that the Doctor was no longer listening. Instead, he was staring intently into the stairwell. “Let’s see if we can’t take th’ lift after all,” the Time Lord said shortly.

Blueblood attempted to peer past the Doctor. “Why, what’s in there?” he demanded. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing!” the Doctor said forcefully, rising to shepherd the prince away. “I’d just sooner not ‘ave to listen to you whine up forty flights o’ stairs!”

Blueblood stretched his neck out and inhaled sharply. Lying in the stairwell, covered in blood, was the griffon they had met earlier. “Oh my,” he whispered, putting a hoof to his mouth.

The Doctor sighed and seemed almost to deflate, dropping onto all fours once more. “You gonna ‘ave a freak out again?”

Blueblood glared. “How crude. A griffon is dead in the stairwell, and you treat it as though it were no more than a spilled glass of wine.”

“Nothing we can do for her now, ‘cept try to find her killer,” the Doctor returned shortly. “I figure keepin’ you outta La-La Land is a bit more relevant.”

“Yes, well, I’m not going to faint now, am I,” the prince said crossly. “Are we going to investigate further, or not?”

The Doctor regarded him. “You go on upstairs, I’ll work out what killed ‘er,” he said after a long moment. “If you need me, just shout. Or scream, as the case may be.”

“What?” Blueblood sputtered. “We can’t just split up! The last time we tried that, we got arrested!”

“Do you want to be around for my examination of the corpse?”

Blueblood blanched, which was quite a feat considering his paper-white coat. “I’ll tell you what, why don't I just go upstairs and have another look at that painting,” he said nonchalantly. “You can stay here with the body.”

“Yeah. Good plan.”

The prince skirted around the griffon’s body and trotted quickly up the stairs. The Doctor studied the corpse closely. Blood, yes, quite usual. Apparently killed mid-flight, judging by the spread of her wings. Cause of death? The Doctor snorted slightly. He might not have been a medical expert, but it didn’t take a genius to see the gaping wound slashed across the griffon’s neck. He peered closer. It was a smooth cut, just like the one on Lord Rings. Deep, too. That was worrisome. Whatever did this apparently had a very wide, very sharp blade and a very strong force with which to swing it. He rubbed at his own neck and shuddered slightly. It would’ve been quick, at least.

He then turned his attention to the papers that had scattered over the corpse. Lots and lots of little numbers in neat columns and rows. He picked one of the less bloody ones up and studied it. Slowly, his frown deepened. He picked up another sheet, and another, quickly sorting them into two piles. When he had finished, the two were almost even. He stared at them for a long moment. Then, he picked up a page and began to read.

***

Blueblood wheezed as he hauled himself to the top of yet another flight of stairs, stumbling over his own hooves. He glanced up at the wall beside him. Surely he must be almost at the top? ‘25’, said the sign. The prince groaned and hauled himself over to the next staircase, heaving himself up the steps.

***

The Doctor held two pieces of paper next to each other, squinting first at one, then the other. His brow began to darken, his jaw growing taut.

***

‘32’, said the sign. Blueblood glared at it with dull malice. “How sodding original,” he snarled. “Thirty-two. Exactly what always comes after thirty-one. Why don’t they ever skip any floors, hm? Now that would be something new!” He wiped his sweaty brow with a hoof, and then cringed. “Ugh,” he groaned, pulling himself up the next set of stairs. “You have seven floors left to impress me.”

***

The Doctor set down the last sheet of paper, rising to his hooves. His face was grim. He looked at Gertrude Henn for a long moment, and his eyes softened slightly. “You still didn’t deserve this,” he said quietly.

***

“Forty,” Blueblood whispered. “At last.”

He pulled himself up over the last step and stumbled to the door, heaving it open. The Doctor turned to look at him. “Oh, hello,” he said grinning. “Turns out they ‘ave fixed the elevators after all!”

The unicorn, his mane matted flat with sweat, eyes wild and bulging and mouth slightly frothing stared at him for a long moment, panting. “As soon as I can work up the energy to do so,” he said finally, “I am going to strangle you.”

Bloody Vengeance

Once Blueblood had finally regained his breath, he returned to the landscape from earlier. “See here,” he said, pointing to a larger figure near the front of the crowd. “That looks to me like Ms. Henn. And there, that’s Lord and Lady Rings. I find that rather suggestive, don’t you?”

The Doctor absorbed the picture carefully. “I dunno about ‘suggestive’,” he said slowly. “She told me he was a financier of the company. ‘Course, given what I jus’ found out, that might mean a bit more than it sounds.”

Blueblood glanced at the Time Lord. “What do you mean?”

“White-collar crime,” he replied. “Fraud, embezzlement, out-and-out number fudgin’. This place owes yer aunties more’n a few bits. Least, that’s what it seems.”

“What?” Blueblood gasped. “How do you know that?”

“Pages from both sets o’ books were all around her body,” the Doctor said quietly. “‘Ooever killed her wanted her crimes to be known.”

“Like with Rings and his adultery,” Blueblood said slowly. "Or the phony designs around his wife."

“Exactly. They want revenge.”

“But adultery, counterfeiting, and fraud? It’s fairly unlikely that the same pony would be the victim of all three of those crimes,” Blueblood said.

“All three of those crimes, yeah. But what if there was another crime? Something all of ‘em were in on?” the Doctor asked. “Something that couldn’t be proved, or something that would jus’ be too much trouble?”

Blueblood frowned. “Like what?”

The Doctor nodded at the painting on the wall. “Echo Quarry. Great big disaster. Several dead, dozens wounded. Some bodies were never recovered, but apparently nopony involved faced much in the way of consequences. Sound like a good enough reason for revenge?”

Blueblood regarded the painting with wide eyes. “Some sort of cover-up, you suppose?”

“Seems pretty likely, yeah,” the Doctor replied. “And any o’ them in that picture could be in on it.”

The prince stared at the crowd. Dozens upon dozens of faces were depicted. A few he knew by name. Several others he recognized vaguely as faces seen bobbing in a crowd at any number of social functions. Most, however, were complete mysteries. “If any of them could be in on it,” he said slowly, “then any one of them could be the next victim.”

The Doctor nodded. Blueblood stared at him. “We can’t protect all of them,” he said.

“No.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“Tartarus,” hissed a voice from behind them. “Along with all your snobby, rotten friends.”

The duo spun around to face the voice. Down the hall stood a large, pony-shaped creature, its flesh mottled and craggy like rock. With horrified fascination, Blueblood realized that whenever it moved, pebbles and dust crumbled off it. “Who are you?” the Doctor demanded. “What do you want?”

The creature’s eyes flashed green. “Revenge!” it snarled, leaping forward.

“Run!” the Doctor yelled, but Blueblood was already halfway to the stairs. They raced down, down, down, the gargoyle hot on their hooves.

“What is that thing?” Blueblood shouted.

“This thing has ears!” the beast roared, leaping to grab the prince’s tail. A swift kick from the Doctor sent it stumbling, but not for long. In moments it was after them once more.

Blueblood glanced back. “It’s gaining!” he warned.

The Doctor glanced up. “Teleport it away or something! Levitate it!”

“I can’t!” Blueblood replied desperately.

The Doctor glanced from side to side. “Right. ‘Ang on tight.” He grabbed the prince around the barrel and leapt onto the railing.

The gargoyle halted in surprise. Then, it grinned a craggy grin. “Jump, if you wish,” he invited. “It makes little difference to me.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think we’ll pass,” the Doctor said. “Blue, hold on tight to the railing.”

“Wait, what?” the prince asked, and then the Doctor let go and he found himself sliding down the banister at a preposterous clip. He screamed. It seemed the appropriate thing to do.

The gargoyle blinked in astonishment, then snarled, racing after its quarry, but it was no match for their speed. Glancing around, it too leapt atop the railing and propelled itself over the edge… straight toward Blueblood. The unicorn let out a startled yelp and fell back onto the stairs. There was a loud, whirring screech, and Blueblood felt several small projectiles strike his coat.

After a few seconds, the prince found that he had, somehow, not died. He peeked one eye open. No gargoyle. He sat up. Still no gargoyle, but an astonishing amount of gravel. He glanced up at the Doctor, who stood a few steps up, pocketing the sonic screwdriver once more. The Time Lord looked up and grinned. “Nothin’ like a good screwdriver, eh?”

“What— how— who—” Blueblood stammered.

“Sorry it took so long. Just had to find the right frequency to break it to gravel. Mind, it’s probably best that it was crumbling already, or that never would've worked in time.”

“Right,” said the prince shakily. “What was that thing?”

The Doctor’s face turned serious. “Look down there,” he said, gesturing over the railing.

Blueblood leaned over and gasped in shock. There were now two corpses at the foot of the stairs: Ms. Henn and her grey earth pony receptionist. “It killed him, too? How? When?”

The Doctor stared. “Blueblood. Th’ gargoyle didn’t kill him. It was him.”

Blueblood looked down at the corpse below, then back up at the Doctor. “That’s preposterous.”

“Yeah. Get used to it,” the Doctor grumbled. “When it isn’t ‘preposterous’, it’s usually plain ol’ impossible.”

He regarded Blueblood for a long moment. “Next question,” he said slowly. “What did you mean when you said you couldn’t magic that thing?”

The prince’s jaw tightened. “I’d prefer not to say,” he replied icily.

The Doctor chuckled without humor and shook his head. “No. This isn’t some bloody press conf’rence. This is important. Come to it, I don’t think I’ve seen you do any magic at all since we met. So go on, spill the beans.”

“This is extremely personal.”

“I won’t tell another soul. Promise.”

“If you laugh…”

“I won’t! Cross me heart.”

The prince let out a long breath. “When I said ‘I can’t’, I meant it,” he said quietly. “Ever since the day I was born, I couldn’t so much as illuminate my horn. I’ve never been able to do a single spell, couldn’t even try it. Doctors said it was genetic, completely incurable. Handed down to me by my illustrious ancestors, just like my worthless title.” He sneered. “Heir to the line of Platinum, the most famed unicorn family on the planet. Politically, magically, and in all other ways, impotent.” He paused. "Well, all ways but one, obviously, but let's not get into that..."

He trailed off. The Doctor said nothing. Blueblood stared into space for a long time. “So I stopped caring,” he said, practically to himself. “Why should I care? Look at me. Powerless, incompetent, idiotic… what more can I do with my life but waste it?”

“You’re not powerless,” the Doctor replied.

Blueblood scoffed. “You’re not!” the green stallion insisted. “And you’re not incompetent, and you’re no idiot either. Look what you did today. You got us out of jail. You helped figure out who the killer’s targets were. You stopped me from beatin’ myself up.”

“What good is any of that?” Blueblood demanded. “I can’t change the world like that! I can’t do anything of any importance at all!”

“Blueblood. Listen to me,” the Doctor said sternly. “A wise pony once said that every decision, every action, creates ripples. Bigger decisions make bigger ripples. What they didn’t say was that small ripples can change the way all the waves move. There’s no such thing as ‘unimportant’.”

Blueblood stared into space for another long moment. “Were you the wise pony?” he asked at last.

The Doctor smirked. “See? You can be clever when you put your mind to it!”

A faint smile crossed the unicorn’s face. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t think anypony’s said that to me in… well. A very long time.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” the Doctor replied with a grin. “Now, come on. Let’s get back to the TARDIS. Our work here’s done.”

Blueblood frowned. “Are you certain?” he asked. “That seemed a tad… simple.”

The Doctor gestured downwards. “The killer’s dead. What more do you want? Sometimes, you do get simple answers.”

Blueblood shook his head slowly. There was something still nagging at the back of his mind. “It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “How would he have killed Rings? That butler that lied to us about Lady Rings, where does he enter into all this?”

The Doctor frowned. “The butler,” he repeated slowly. His eyes widened. “Oh. Oh no. Blue. ‘E wasn’t working alone.”

“How astute,” said a low, gravelly voice from just down the stairs.

The Doctor and Blueblood turned. Another gargoyle leered up at them.

Blueblood turned to the Doctor. “Are we going to have to run up all these steps again?”

“Looks that way.”

Blueblood looked at the sign. They were back on floor thirty-three. “Can we not just die, instead?”

The gargoyle roared and leapt after them. Blueblood screamed and pounded up the steps, the Doctor a few steps behind.

Bloodstone

Blueblood sailed through the door to the fortieth floor. The Doctor slammed it shut as he passed over the threshold, whipping out the sonic and waving it at the door. “That’ll hold it for a little while,” he said gruffly.

“Can’t you just shatter it?” Blueblood asked through gasps of breath. “Like the other one?”

The Doctor shook his head. “There’s a chance that the host might still be alive in there. Killing is our last resort.”

The prince sighed and plopped down against the wall. With a single tug, he undid his bow tie, too tired and sweaty to care how he looked anymore. “We’re on the top floor of this building,” he said neutrally. “The beast is in the stairwell, and I’m certain that even as we speak it is going to use the elevator on a lower floor. We could dismantle that too, I suppose, but it wouldn’t change our situation. We’re stuck in an office building with two dead bodies and a killer, and I very much doubt that for all my charms and wiles that I can get us out of being arrested again.”

The Doctor nodded. “That about sums it up, yeah.”

Blueblood stared at him. “How can you be so calm about this? We are doomed. Either by that creature or by the justice system. There is no way to escape.”

“Eh. I’ve been in worse.”

The prince scoffed. “Like what?”

“Well, there was the time Luna and I were trapped in a labyrinth while Celestia was about to be forcibly married to a genocidal warlord.”

Blueblood fell silent. “...Really?” he asked after a few moments.

“Oh yeah.”

Blueblood chuckled slightly. “If I survive this, she’s never living that one down. How did you save her?”

“Story for another day. Got t’ focus on th’ problem at ‘oof.”

Blueblood glanced around. “Well, there must be some way out. A fire escape, perhaps?” He glanced around, but saw no conveniently marked doors.

“Or,” said the Doctor, inspecting a wall panel closely. “A secret passage?” He pushed on the paneling. Absolutely nothing happened. He frowned. “Maybe not.”

Blueblood’s brow furrowed as he began to think. “Perhaps we’re looking at this from the wrong angle,” he said slowly.

“What d’you mean?”

Blueblood gazed thoughtfully at the door to the late Henn’s office. “I believe,” he said slowly, “I have got the beginnings of a plan.”

***

The elevator opened slowly, heralded by a faint chime. The gargoyle leapt out, snarling and glancing up and down the hallway. No sign of life. The beast paced the corridor, glaring around. There was nowhere they could hide from it. But where would they be? Suddenly, the beast’s eyes caught on something amiss at the end of the hall. The door to Henn's office was ajar. The gargoyle bared its teeth in a hideous approximation of a smile and crept toward the door. Silently, it lay a stone talon against the wood and shoved it back open. The beast roared, leaping forward and striking and the first thing he saw. This turned out to be a lamp. It stared at its claw for a moment, befuddled. It was a moment too long, for as it glanced up, it was only just in time to see a file cabinet toppling down from where it had been carefully set atop the door. There was a percussive crash, and paper proved once and for all that it could definitely beat rock.

***

Blueblood let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding as the sound of pained roars mixed with crunching rock echoed down the hall. The Doctor opened the door to the stairwell slightly and peeked out. A pair of taloned, stony feet kicked uselessly, only serving to scratch the wooden door as it bounced off the monster, attempting to close. “Ha! Got ‘im,” he said with a grin.

Blueblood sighed in relief. “So we can go now?”

“Go?” the Doctor asked, turning to face his companion, a faint frown on his face. “Why would we go now? We’ve only jus’ caught th’ killer.”

“Exactly. So we can leave now. Preferably before he, I don’t know, escapes?” the prince asked, glancing at the gargoyle skittishly.

The Doctor considered that offer with the air of a wealthy patron of the arts examining a new work, turning it over and around in his mind. At length, he reached a decision, the thought and consideration evaporating from his brow. “Nah,” he said. “I’ve got a few questions for the bloke. ‘Course, if you want t’ head on down the stairs, into the dark and unknown dangers that might await, I won’t stop ya.”

Blueblood twitched slightly. “I’ll help you interrogate him.”

“Ta much. You can be good cop, I’ll be bad cop.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Jus’ try not t’ get in the way.”

***

The gargoyle roared and gnashed its terrible teeth as it struggled to free itself from beneath the filing cabinet. Blueblood cringed away from the thrashing claws, but the Doctor didn’t even flinch. With only a slight grunt, he leapt atop the metal box and jumped down to the other side. The prince merely stared, jaw hanging agape. “Come on then, if you’re coming,” the Doctor called.

Hesitantly, Blueblood sidled into the room, pressing himself as far away from the flailing claws as he could. The Doctor waited patiently by the beast’s snarling face, smiling peacefully, if not a little cheekily. “Now that we’re all here, I rather think introductions are in order, don’t you?” He nodded at Blueblood, who merely stared blankly. The Doctor’s eyes hardened slightly and he gestured impatiently.

The prince drew himself up to his full height as years of practice kicked in. He had been polite and diplomatic to far worse than this creature. Emperor Sven of the caribou sprang to mind. “How do you do?” he asked, his voice turning a few shades closer to plum. “I am Blueblood. Prince Polaris Blueblood.” His eyes narrowed and he stared down the bridge of his nose at the beast. When he spoke again his voice was lower and far darker in tone. “And you?”

Stony gaze met stone. “Your downfall,” the creature rasped. “Yours and all those like you, Polaris Blueblood. Free me, and your death will be swift.”

Blueblood shuddered, and the creature smirked maliciously. The Doctor met it, grin for grin. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Downfall. I’m the Doctor. But if you prefer, I also go by ‘Oncoming Storm’, ‘Predator’, or if you’re not feeling particularly creative, ‘Death’. So, tell me a little about yourself, why don’t you?”

The creature turned its eyes on the Doctor, and the Time Lord stared back, his blue eyes burning vivid and bright. The gargoyle looked away first. “I once was called Pick Axe.”

“Miner?” the Doctor guessed. “You were part of the Echo Quarry outfit, right?”

“The one that collapsed?” Blueblood asked.

“Yes,” the gargoyle ground out, tired irony etched deep in every syllable. “The one that collapsed.”

The Doctor nodded. “You want revenge, then. Revenge on the wealthy.”

Blueblood frowned. “What makes you think that?”

The others ignored him. The gargoyle had locked gazes with the Doctor once more. “Fourteen dead. Seventy-five others seriously injured. Do you think any of the survivors saw any insurance money? Any money at all?”

The green pony’s eyes softened. “I see where you’re coming from. Really, I do. But revenge isn’t the answer.”

“Why do you help them?” the gargoyle asked, levering himself up slightly. “You are not wealthy. Earth ponies are rarely well-considered in Canterlot.”

“You have unusually good diction for a miner,” Blueblood said thoughtfully.

The Doctor paused and shot a glare at his companion. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” the unicorn said flatly. “Were you two having a moment?”

The Time Lord sighed. “Something like tha’. S’not a bad point, though, you're speakin' pretty U-standard,” he added, regarding the gargoyle consideringly. “So, what ‘appened?”

“I died,” the creature replied shortly.

There was a long moment of silence. “You… died?” Blueblood squeaked.

“Is there an echo?” the creature growled. “Yes, I died. And then… they came. They came to us all, offering us our revenge.”

The Doctor leaned forward. “Who?” he asked urgently. “Who came?”

“The earth itself,” the gargoyle whispered, a hideous smile traced over its features. “The rock that destroyed us made us whole once more, Doctor. And if that rock must destroy me again, then so be it, so long as I take you with me!”

The gargoyle closed its eyes, and the stone stilled. The coating began to crumble away, slowly at first and then in what might be considered almost an avalanche, revealing the dead body of a unicorn buried beneath a pile of rocks and a filing cabinet.

There was a long, tense moment. “Is it— is it dead?” he asked, tentative.

The Doctor shook his head. “He’s been dead a long time,” he said quietly. “And there’s nothing that can fix that, no matter what he thought.”

“But what did it mean?” Blueblood pressed. “About rock destroying it again?”

The Doctor fell silent, staring at the wall. As he watched, a crack started to run up the side, sending a cascade of dust and pebbles down. “Blue,” he said slowly. “Th’ doors. They were made of crystal.”

The prince frowned. “Yes.”

“An’ the stairs weren’t concrete, were they? They were stone. Every part of this building was mined. Natural rock.”

“Are you going somewhere with this?” the unicorn asked impatiently.

The building rumbled ominously. The Doctor turned to the suddenly very pale unicorn. “Yeah. Down.”

Blackest Night

Blueblood peered down from the window to watch the cracks spread up the face of the building. “It’s quite extreme already,” he said, his voice shaky, “and it’s only getting worse. I don’t think the front entrance is a viable option.” He glanced back. “I don’t suppose your little screwdriver can do much?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Not really, no.”

Blueblood looked around the room wildly. “Well, what other options do we have? Is there somewhere safe to stand? Some kind of parachute?”

The Doctor started to shake his head, then stopped, a curious expression crossing his face. “‘Ang on,” he muttered. “I wonder— that might just work!” He turned tail and leapt over the filing cabinet out the door, Blueblood hot on his hooves. He hardly even realized where they were going until the Doctor threw open the doors to the stairwell.

Blueblood skidded to a stop. “What are you doing?” he asked, horrified. “We can’t go that way, we’ll plummet like— like—”

“Stones,” the Doctor finished. “Yeah, the pun wasn’t lost on me, either. But it should ‘old our weight for long enough. Come on!”

He galloped through the door and toward the stairs. Much to the unicorn’s astonishment, however, he didn’t go down them. Rather, he went up. “What in the world are you doing? There’s nothing up there but the roof!”

“Exactly! Shift yourself!” the Doctor bellowed.

Blueblood twisted up his face but then, with a sigh, untensed. As quickly as he could, he raced up the steps, leaping over four at a time, and he could almost swear he felt them crumbling away beneath him. The Doctor slammed through the door at the top of the stairwell, and Blueblood skidded through just after him. “Well?” the unicorn asked, panting. “Now what?”

The Doctor didn’t answer, scouring the dark, starry horizon intently. Finally, he trotted over to the edge of the building, peering over the wall that was all that stood between him and a forty-story drop. Blueblood clutched his chest. “Don’t stand there!” he yelped. “Do you have some kind of urgent fantasy about becoming a pancake? You’ll go over!”

The Doctor glanced up and smirked. “That's the idea, yeah,” he said.

Blueblood turned a few shades paler. “I— you— come again?” he asked, his voice a register higher.

“I figure, we can make it to one of th’ buildings if we jump right,” the Doctor said. “It can’t be too short, mind, else we’ll still splat, and it can’t be too tall, or we might miss it.”

Blueblood’s breaths came in short, shallow gasps, his pupils dilating. “You’re mad,” he said, stepping back. “Absolutely mad.”

“Better mad than dead,” the Doctor replied casually.

Blueblood blanched at that, but said nothing more. Underneath him, he could feel the building starting to tilt ever so slightly.

“Whenever you’re ready, Doctor,” the unicorn said, a faint hint of fear infused into his apparent testiness.

The earth pony regarded the building to the east once more, then nodded once. “This one ought to do. I’ll go first.”

Blueblood watched with trepidation as the Doctor climbed up onto the wall. “Are you certain—” he began.

“No.” Then, the green pony launched himself off the edge. Blueblood let out a gasp, instinctively falling back. Then, gathering himself, he hurried forward and peered over the edge, just in time to see the Doctor coming out of a roll on the other rooftop. The Time Lord pulled himself to his hooves and brushed the dust off his sides.

“Are you alright?” Blueblood called.

The Doctor glanced up. “Peachy. Now hurry up!”

Blueblood stared. It was a good few meters from one building to the other, and about a story down. At the very least, there was no ledge on the lower building that would get in the way, but still…

“Come on!” the Doctor shouted, and Blueblood noticed, rather detachedly, he sounded rather concerned. He stepped back from the edge. Vast fissures were beginning to form in the rooftop. “Blueblood!” the Doctor shouted. “Get down here!”

The unicorn took a long breath in through his nostrils and let it all out in a brief sigh. Then, he turned and faced the edge and galloped and leapt—

“Ow!” Blueblood cried, stumbling. “Ruddy Tartarus!”

The Doctor chuckled drily. “Never stick th’ landing, Blue. Wrecks your legs. You’ve got to roll.”

“And get dust on my suit?” the unicorn asked indignantly. “Never!”

In accordance with the known laws of the universe (which, around here, were unusually pink and giggly), RocRoll Industries chose this moment to finally give up the ghost, crumbling like a sand castle in a wind tunnel and spraying dust everywhere. For a long moment, the two stallions stood stock still, looking for all the world like a pair of statues. Then, dust swirling off of his coat, the Doctor broke down peals of laughter. Blueblood’s lips twitched briefly, trying to resist, but soon gave in. The two of them laughed like loons for several minutes, kicking up clouds of dust.

Cackles turned to chuckles turned to snickers turned to weak giggles as the two composed themselves once more, inasmuch as a pair of dust-covered stallions giggling and lying on their backs could. The stars twinkled, as though Luna was smiling down at them. Blueblood sobered first. “Gertrude,” he said slowly. “Her body was still in there. Do you suppose that anypony will…”

The Doctor’s face darkened. “She was dead,” he said simply. “I don’t know if she’d care. I don’t know if there’s anyone who will care.”

Blueblood hesitated. “There’s us,” he said cautiously.

The Doctor nodded. “Yeah.” he picked up a hoofful of rock dust and chucked it at the collapsed building. “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust,” he intoned.

“I thought you didn’t like her?”

“No. She was a crook, no mistake. No thought for life. No thought for anyone but herself.”

“Then why?”

The Doctor considered this for a moment. “Ev’ryone needs a bit o’ kindness,” he said simply.

Blueblood regarded his new travelling companion for a long moment. “You, Doctor, are a very peculiar individual,” he said after a long moment.

The grim, green face broke into a smile. “Ta much. Now, come on. There’s a good bit left t’ do before this little adventure’s at an end.” He trotted toward the stairwell and, shaking his head but smiling nonetheless, Blueblood trotted after him.

Blood and Water

The Doctor had managed to get them into a hotel room. Blueblood wasn’t sure how, although he was fairly sure the words 'psychic paper' had been murmured before they had arrived at reception. He honestly didn’t care at this point. The hotel was far from his normal fare, as well. No mint on any pillows here, and he rather doubted the possibility of breakfast in bed. At present, he didn’t really care about that, either, though he decided that he would certainly complain about it tomorrow morning. Right now, all that mattered to Blueblood was the fact that this place had running water. Before the Doctor could say or do anything, the unicorn had already locked himself into the bathroom and began running a bath. Were there bubbles? There were. He promptly upended the bottle and poured about half into the tub.

He was dusty and tired and sore in places he didn’t even think could be sore, excepting perhaps after certain vigorous activities in the bedroom. But no, not even being forced to make his own bed was quite as strenuous or as stressful as today had been. He had lost his bow tie. The rose on his lapel had wilted. He dared not look in the mirror for fear that the sight would drive him to— he clipped that thought off at the root. No dwelling on the past now. This was his time to relax.

Yes, he was tired and sweaty and aching. His golden coiffure was plastered against his head. And yet, he felt strangely exhilarated. Exhausted, certainly, but exhilarated, nonetheless. It was unusual, to say the least, but not unpleasant. Far from unpleasant.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt a warm glow begin to rise in his chest. If only Aunt Celestia could see me now, he thought. How peculiar she would have thought it! After all the time she spent trying to convince me to do things for myself, to make my own breakfast, to tidy my own room, how odd would she find my actions today? Not only getting myself out of scrapes, but doing so gladly.

Blueblood turned off the taps and dipped a hoof in the water. A tad hot, but no matter. It would help relieve the soreness. He slid into the bath with a sigh of utter contentment. He let his mind play over what his aunt would say once he told her about today. If he was able to tell her about today.

Relaxed muscles tensed. Spine straightened. Jaw clenched. No. Don’t think like that. This was a purely temporary situation, he knew. Soon enough, he would be back home, in his rightful time and place. Wouldn’t he?

With shaking hooves, he grabbed a washcloth and vigorously began to scrub at the dirt that seemed to stick in every pore. Today had been positively adrenal, yes. The old ticker had never run so fast, not since his childhood. But now, he had to face facts. He could have died today. He could have met the same fate as Rings or Henn, throat sliced open in a gruesome red grin. He could have been buried under a pile of rubble, his bones snapped like so many cocktail toothpicks. He could have missed the edge of the building and given its first floor a new coating of paint. He rubbed vigorously at his hooves until they shone.

How many had come before him? His aunts, he knew of. But they were immortal and he most emphatically was not. How long was his life expectancy, now that he had caught the attention of this mad Doctor? He grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squeezed. A dollop the size of a fried egg plopped into his hoof, and absently, he slapped it onto his head and began to rub it in.

Visions of his aunt were now replaced by memories of Father. A neatly curled maroon moustache, greying slightly. A coat as white as clean linens. Eyes as blue as china plates behind half-moon spectacles seemed to study him intently from all angles. “You young fool,” his voice thundered. “What have I always told you? What did I always tell you about business?”

Blueblood shrunk in on himself, a tiny colt in a sailor suit once more. “Always make sure you know the full story…”

“Before,” his father prompted.

“Before getting into any type of situation,” Blueblood whispered.

“And?”

“And always assume that the other party is lying.”

“Exactly. Well done. Trust nopony, my boy! Trust no one at all, and you will go far.”

***

Blueblood blinked. He was back in the hotel bathtub. The bubbles had mostly popped, leaving only a faint film on the surface of the water. The tub itself had cooled to an unpleasant lukewarm, and the water was grey with dust and dirt. The unicorn quickly pulled himself upright and clambered over the side. He grabbed a towel from the shelf, absently knocking several others to the floor in the process. He vigorously dried himself off, fluffing up his coat in the process. He glared at the mirror. His mane was a fright. Where was the comb? He lowered his eyes to search, but in the process, he froze, transfixed by his own gaze. His father’s eyes stared back for the briefest of seconds, exactly as they had been in life.

The unicorn tore his gaze away from the mirror. His mane. Where was the cursed comb? He grabbed a brush from the counter and dragged it through his golden locks, tugging painfully at the roots. He hardly even felt it.

***

The Doctor was lying on the bed, doing a sudoku puzzle, but he glanced up as his companion left the bathroom. “Bout time,” he said. “You’re not th’ only one what needs a shower.”

Blueblood merely grunted, refusing to meet the Doctor’s eyes. The Time Lord frowned. “Something th’ matter?”

The unicorn cleared his throat. “Nothing. Merely a trifle. Have your shower, I’m all done in there.”

The Doctor regarded the prince for a long moment, then nodded. “Right. Pleasant dreams,” he said, trotting into the bathroom and closing the door tight behind him.

Blueblood regarded the two beds for a long moment. One of them had a great big smear of dust and dirt over the covers. Very probably, this was a test of some sort. Blueblood trotted over to the clean bed, drew back the covers, hopped in and yanked them up around himself. There were tests, and then there was dignity.

***

The Doctor looked around the bathroom in disgust. The bathtub was stagnating. Towels lay strewn across the floor. Blobs of shampoo and bubble bath were spattered about the room. “I swear, I’ll never understand why people think the rich are tidy,” he complained. “It’s just that they can afford to buy labor.”

He fumbled about in the turgid grey water for a moment before finding and pulling out the plug. Carefully, he re-stacked the towels, wiped off the mirror and sink, and wiped away the excess goo from where it had spattered. Then, grabbing a washcloth, he stepped carefully into the tub and turned on the shower-head. He closed his eyes and let the warm water wash over him. He smiled slightly. He liked water, he decided. This body was very fond of it. Life-giving. Replenishing. Not like fire.

He turned away from that thought as quickly as it popped into his mind. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. He was trying to leave the Time War behind him. He was trying so hard to be a Doctor once again.

A department store, exploding into smithereens.

Orange polymer gel in the shape of a face, screaming in agony.

Faces, eyes unseeing, of those he couldn’t save.

Fire

Eyes, beseeching

Faces, familiar

Fire

Explosions, everlasting

Fire

The Doctor sat down heavily under the constant spray of the showerhead, unable to stand under the weight of his losses. He wept, and his tears flowed down the drain with the cool shower water.

Some ten minutes later, the green pony stepped out of the shower, his fur dripping. His eyes were tired and thousands of years away.

Black Clouds on the Horizon

The Doctor sighed happily as he sat among the flowers. The summer breeze was fresh and smelled of cut grass and daisies. He liked days like this. He liked daisies, too. He needed more of both of those things. He glanced at his current companion. “Don’t you agree?”

Being a statue, Discord did not reply. The Doctor smiled faintly. “Not a bad place to be stuck for a thousand years,” he observed, reclining and glancing at the flowering bushes. “Mind, there’s no real good place to be stuck for a thousand years, But this is better than some.”

There was silence. The Doctor’s smile faded. “I wish it could’ve been different,” he sighed, hunching forward once more. “Really. If I’d’ve been there… but they did the right thing. They did the best they could do.”

Then he broke into a smile once again. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll be out again soon enough, hey? For good, I believe…”

“Hello?” a voice called. Surprise. Nerves. They’d not been expecting anypony else out here.

“Hello,” the Doctor called back. “Who’s that, then?”

A horn poked warily out of the bushes, followed by the rest of the pony. “I could ask you the same question,” the purple mare said suspiciously. “What are you doing here? This is the princess’s personal garden!”

The Doctor nodded. “Yup.”

“It’s invitation only.”

“I believe so.”

“So…”

“I’ve got a standing invite from Celly to pop in whenever I like.”

The mare frowned. “I find that a little hard to believe…”

The Doctor raised his brows. “Well. S’pose I don’t need you to believe it for it t’ be true. An’ I s’pose you’ve got your invitation on you?”

The mare reddened. “Well— I— that is—”

The Doctor chuckled. “I’ll not tell if you don’t. ‘Ave a seat?”

The purple unicorn eyed him for a moment, then slowly settled into the bench. “I’m Twilight,” she said. “Twilight Sparkle.”

The Doctor glanced at her and his eyebrows rose. “Are you really? Heard good things about you from Celestia. Well done getting Luna back. And dealing with them.” He nodded at Discord's terrified, petrified face.

She flushed. “It was… a team effort,” she said, rubbing at her ear with a hoof.

“Course, right.” He paused. “You spent a lot of time in the castle, then?”

“I… guess? I mostly just stayed in the library all day. But now that I’m living in Ponyville, there just seems to be so much more to—”

“D’you know Blueblood?”

Twilight’s growing smile faded. “Um, a little. I don’t know that much about him, except rumors. I know he’s kind of rude. I know he’s a royal pain. I know he was sent to stay at the castle when he was fourteen, but I don’t know why. Something about his parents, I think? We never really spoke, except for once or twice at fancy dinners. I never really thought about him. Why?”

“Celly’s got me trying to teach ‘im some manners. Long story.”

“Going well?”

The Doctor grunted noncommittally. “I’d like t’ think we’re makin’ progress.”

Twilight opened her mouth to respond, but a sudden crashing sound interrupted them. The Doctor spun around. “What’s that?”

Twilight looked around, concerned. “I don’t know. Then again, I didn’t know you were here, either. It might be one of my friends…”

The crashing drew nearer, the sound of foliage being ripped aside filling the air like a cacophony of crunching leaves. “Get behind me,” the Doctor said, pulling out his screwdriver.

Twilight frowned. “What is that? Look, I’m sure it’s just Dash or somepony—”

“I’m not.”

“And if it is an intruder, I feel pretty confident about my ability to stop practically anything in its tracks,” the unicorn concluded.

The Doctor shrugged. “Right. You do it your way, I’ll do it mine.” He held the screwdriver aloft. Twilight’s horn shone a menacing magenta. The bush in front of them began to shake, and then…

Blueblood was promptly flung horn over hoof back through the hole he had just ripped in the foliage. “Ouch!” he yelped. “You ruffian! As though I hadn’t suffered enough this morning, now you go adding insult to injury? Or rather, injury to insult. This will not stand!”

The green stallion winced. “Well, it’s a work in progress,” he muttered to Twilight. “P’rhaps you’d better hurry off before he realizes more’n one pony had a hoof in that.”

Twilight chuckled nervously, hunching her neck. “You might be right. Good luck.” She quickly turned and galloped away.

“Hello,” Blueblood called. “Are you still there? I may need a hoof up! And a bandage or three! Wait a moment. Is that—” he interrupted himself with a horrified shriek. “Blood! Blood! I’m bleeding! There’s blood everywhere!”

The Doctor’s smirk dropped, and he crashed through the hedge. “What’s that? Where’s the blood?” Other than some slight dishabillement, the prince looked fine.

Blueblood, trembling with horror, raised a hoof to his face. One of the brambles had scratched just above his eyebrow, leaving the thinnest line of blood that the Doctor had ever seen. “Will it— will it heal?” he asked haltingly.

Face, meet hoof. Hoof, meet face. A pleasure. I’m certain we’ll meet again soon.

***

“I cannot believe that you spat on my wound,” Blueblood groused, reaching up to rub off whatever traces of saliva might have been left there.

"I didn't spit on it."

“No. You spat on your unwashed hoof and rubbed it on my face! Now it’s certain to be infected! How you manage to pose as any sort of medical official is beyond me.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “It’s been ten minutes. If you hadn’t insisted that I do something to stop the bleeding, it would’ve stopped on its own by now.”

“What if I had bled out?” Blueblood snapped.

“Please. That wouldn’t’ve satisfied a peckish mosquito.”

Blueblood opened his mouth to retort, but the Doctor interrupted. “Why are you here?”

The prince shrugged one eyebrow raised in a supercilious manner. “Well, philosophers disagree…”

The Doctor gave him a hard look. “I saw something in the paper,” Blueblood said quickly. “I think it might be where those monsters strike next.”

“Monsters?” The Doctor snorted. “Bit harsh, I’d say. If it weren’t for all those folk slackin’ on safety standards, they’d’ve been alright.”

“Gargoyles, whatever. Is now really the time to wax philosophical about social strata?”

The Doctor’s facial muscles twitched, unsure of whether to grin, scowl, or shout. In the end, he simply nodded the point. “Go on.”

Blueblood pulled out a copy of the paper. “No,” the Doctor groaned. “The society pages? They don’t even have knitting patterns in there anymore!”

“Knitting patterns?”

“If you must know, I started a knitting circle some centuries back. Madame Nostradamus, Mary Todd Lincoln, Alpha Centauri, and David Suchet. You should’ve seen the scarf I made…”

“Never mind that now,” Blueblood said, pointing a hoof at the page. “Read this.”

The Doctor looked. The Doctor read. His face darkened. “I see. ‘Everypony who’s anypony’ is gonna be there. Easy pickings for a bunch of gargoyles with a chip on their shoulders about the elite of Canterlot.”

“Exactly.”

“So. What shall we do about that?”

Blueblood sighed. “Unfortunately, ‘running away’ does not appear to be an option in this instance. Unless we arrive before the party starts, that is.”

“Yeah, no. Running away never works for long.”

“And I do have a friend or two who most certainly do not deserve such a grisly end,” Blueblood continued. “As such, I propose that we… stop it.”

The Doctor waited. “...and you know how to do that?”

“Of course not,” Blueblood returned, rolling his eyes. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have needed to come get you, would I? Though I am far superior to you in terms of savoir faire, sartorial expertise, and table manners, I am willing to concede that you are far better suited to “day-saving” than am I.”

Hoof, my old friend, we meet again!

Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, face!

“Right,” the Doctor sighed through the hoof that was currently mashed against his cranium. “We’re going to save a garden party from stone ponies. Dead stone ponies. Fine. I just saved London from the invasion of the shop dummies, so I dunno why this is any different. Actually, yes I do. It’s a garden party.”

Blueblood looked at the Doctor with mild concern. “A garden party,” the Time Lord repeated, setting down his hoof. “Not good for this face. Big Nose 'n' Frills, that was in their wheel’ouse. Crickety McCelery, he could’ve pulled it off right enough. Even Lord Byron could’ve done, amnesia or nah. But me? At a garden party?”

Blueblood coughed. “I only understood about half of that,” he said slowly. “But I believe I grasped the salient points. You feel that you may be somewhat… out of place in the surroundings, correct? I think I may have a solution.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? How?”

Blueblood scrutinized him closely. “We’ll need coveralls. And a straw hat. Possibly…” he shuddered. “Plaid.”

The Doctor frowned. “Wait. What?” Then he realized what the unicorn had in mind.

Hoof, I can contain my feelings no longer! I love you.

Oh, Face-senpai! Take me!

But what about ground?

Forget ground! Right now, it’s just you, me, and that idiot unicorn…

Bloody Idiots

It had taken the best part of two hours to find the outfit, and another half-hour to convince the Doctor to wear it. Things had not gotten any smoother from there. It had taken another half-hour to sneak past the set-up for the party, and one hour more for the Doctor to relearn the basic concepts of gardening. After that, it had been… well, not exactly smooth, but there were no more obstacles between them and the garden party. None, that is, save for the Doctor’s lousy attitude.

“I hate this,” the Time Lord said for what seemed to be the twelfth time.

“I am fully cognizant,” Blueblood replied.

“I look ridiculous.”

Blueblood stared at the green stallion through glazed eyes. He was wearing ripped blue overalls, a floppy straw hat, and Wellies, as well as the most miserable look that the prince had ever seen on a grown pony. “I quite concur.”

“I am going to get you back for this,” the Doctor warned.

That, at least, was a new sentence, and the novelty left Blueblood without a ready comeback. After a second, he managed, “What will you do, leave me stranded here?”

“Nah. Not here. Th’ moon, maybe.”

“That’s a tad extreme.”

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. “Point. Maybe Appaloosa, then.”

“That hick western town? I’ll take the moon, thanks.”

“Some urbanized alien planet. You get all the amenities, but you know nothing about the culture. Yeah,” the Doctor nodded thoughtfully. “An’ I only come back when you’ve learned how to not get into trouble with the law or society or whatever.”

Blueblood shuddered. The Doctor smirked for a moment, but then his hat fell over his face. When he’d pulled it upright again, he was scowling once more. “‘Ow long ‘til this party starts?”

Blueblood pulled out a pocket watch. “Half an hour.”

The Doctor groaned. “Right. I’ll just, I dunno, weed or something.”

He turned when Blueblood finally said what he had been thinking since last night. “You traveled with my aunts.”

The Doctor stopped. “Yeah,” he said, not turning around.

Blueblood bit his lower lip. “Travel with… anypony else?”

“A few, yeah.”

Blueblood took in a deep breath and let it out. “What happened to them?”

The Doctor’s ears flattened against his head. “Well,” he said. “Let me think. There’ve been… a lot of folks in the TARDIS. You lose count, eventually. Let’s say somewhere around fifty or so. All different, all special, all left eventually. Let’s see. There was my granddaughter, married a freedom fighter. Victoria, adopted by a nice couple of scientists. Liz went to Cambridge, Romana stayed to save the Tharils—”

“How many died?”

The Doctor stopped cold. “Eventually? All of them. Fact of life. How many died ‘cause of me?” He paused, tallying up in his head. “Little hard to say. Lot of them died in flux. Peri wound up living four lives ‘cause some warring factions couldn't leave well enough alone.”

“An answer, please.”

There was a long pause. “Between six and twelve.”

“How?”

“Variously? Trapped in a crashing spacecraft, overloaded circuitry, possessed by the Master… Was going to have died, but I saved her, only to wind up back at that fixed point…”

He sighed. “I’m not going to lie, this is a dangerous life to lead. I’ve died myself, nine times now. Never hurts as bad as when you’ve lost someone you care about.”

He turned around. “You know the feeling.”

Blueblood’s lips tightened. “We are discussing you, not me.”

“Right. So what you want to know is, are you going to die.”

“It’s not an unreasonable question.”

“Not unreasonable to ask. Unreasonable to expect a proper answer. I’m a Time Lord, but even I can’t tell the future.”

Blueblood stared silently at the back of the Doctor’s head. Eventually, the green stallion sighed. “I promise,” he said, “that I will do anything in my power to keep you alive and safe from harm when possible.”

“That’s quite vague.”

“Well, it’s the best I can do,” the Doctor snapped, turning around. “This isn’t nursery school, you know. Auntie’s not always going to be there, and like it or not, I can’t either. You’ve got to learn to do for yourself.”

He stormed off, head down, leaving a mildly stunned Blueblood behind him. Nursery school? Nursery school? The prince’s jaw clenched. He’d show him nursery school…

***

The straw hat fell off. The Doctor sat in the shadow of the TARDIS, glaring at nothing in particular. His trowel had been shoved deep into the ground. He had to ask, didn’t he? He had to bring back all those memories. It was more than six, the Doctor knew. More than twelve. Katrina, sucked out of the airlock. Sara Kingdom, died in the line of duty. UNIT soldiers who gave their lives in the course of duty. A few ponies, too. He hated remembering that. Any of that. There was too much death, too much destruction.

But…

He did have a right to know, didn’t he. Blueblood was scared. Who the hell wouldn’t be, under the circumstances? The rug had been pulled out right from under his hooves, and no mistake. The Doctor sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his muzzle. He’d have to apologize, wouldn’t he. Brilliant.

He rose to his hooves. “At least you still love me, eh, old girl?” he asked, lovingly patting the side of the TARDIS.

“...You talk to a box?”

The Doctor spun around. Staring at him was the butler who had originally foisted them from the gardens. “...Yeah,” the Doctor replied. “What, you never get lonely?”

The butler cocked his head. Slowly a smile spread over his face. “And here, I thought this was going to be difficult.”

The Doctor suddenly realized something very important. The butler was grey. The same grey that the receptionist had been. The same grey that Tuxedo Mask, who had tried to lead them down the garden path, had been. “Ah,” he said, slowly backing away. “Well, you know, difficulty can be a little relative.” With his back hoof, he flipped the trowel into the air and prepared to catch it. It never came.

The butler, who was looking quite craggy and considerably larger than he had a few moments ago, nodded to a spot right behind the Doctor. The Time Lord turned to find a very large stony pony standing directly over him, doing his best to keep to the shadows. “Ah. You know, you’re much quieter than one might expect.”

“You will come quietly.”

“Alright, alright…” the Doctor raised his hooves in the air. “It’s a fair cop, guv.” He grinned cheekily. “Always wanted to say tha’ at least once.”

“Put your hooves down.”

The Doctor’s smile faded as he did as he was told. In the process, one hoof bumped against his ear. Just before his hoof hit the dirt, he tossed the sonic slightly to the side. The gargoyle to his rear poked his flank with the trowel. “All right, all right, I’m goin’...”

The trio trouped away. The only trace that they had been there was the faint glimmer of silver in the grass. Oh, and the footprints. Quite a few of those.

***

Blueblood brooded. It was some ten minutes past the hour, and the Doctor was late. How on Gaea could a stallion billing himself as a “Lord of Time” be this bad at keeping it? The guests were, for the most part, already assembled, apart from a few stragglers who felt that being late could be counted as being fashionable. Punctuality, it is writ, is the politeness of princes, and Blueblood was not an exception. He was ripped from his reverie by an annoyingly shrill giggle, and he glanced about to see where it had come from. Oh. Surprise, surprise. She was here. The white-coated bane of his existence. At least he couldn’t fault her for that irritating laugh he kept hearing. That venomous sound could come from only one mare; Upper Crust. Blueblood’s lip curled. Perhaps he had been a little too hard on Verity. If she’d spent the last week in the company of that gaudy social climber, she had his sympathy. Somewhat. Sort of. Not really. Where was the Doctor?

He pulled back from the hedges and glanced around furtively. Nopony in sight. Good, “Ah, Blueblood, old chap! I didn’t expect you to be back here!”

The prince nearly jumped out of his newly-cleaned Armponi suit. “Oh,” he said, once his heart had resumed something close to its usual pace. “Hello, Fancy.”

The mustachioed stallion beamed at the prince. The noblestallion was irrepressible, Blueblood thought. It was virtually impossible not to like the bounder. He was about the closest thing the prince had ever had to a friend. His wife, on the other hand, was something of a more worrying proposition. Fleur always seemed like something of a self-absorbed ditz, but Blueblood had seen her looking at some ponies with a hard glimmer in her eye that spoke less of brainless attraction and more of calculating fury. He had never seen her cast that look at him; he was certain that he never would. The first he would know of it would be waking up one morning with untraceable poison in his bloodstream.

Fancy was talking again. “Been awhile since we’ve last spoke, what? What’ve you been up to. Hm?”

Blueblood smiled weakly. “Oh, this and that,” he said, waving a hoof vaguely. “There was a bit of a stir at the Gala, you know. Auntie, ah, sent me away for a time.”

Fancy frowned. “Well, steady on. It’s not been so long as all that, has it? Only a month or so, was it not? During that little, ah, affair at the palace?”

“Oh.” Blueblood’s mind raced. “Yes, ah, I suppose it was. Erm, I’m afraid you must pardon me, old sport. I was waiting for a friend, but he’s quite late.”

“Oh, our mutual friend in medicine! Yes, of course, of course. If things happen to get, ah, "rocky", mind, you need only whistle, and Fleur and I will be there to, ahem, “guide” you through.”

Blueblood stared. Did Fancy know about the gargoyles? Before he could ask, the white stallion had galloped off to rejoin his wife at the punch bowl, where they engaged in a series of heated whispers. Perhaps it would do to look for the Doctor after all. At least it would make him somewhat harder to find…

Blueblood hurried into the hedge maze as quickly as he could, unaware of the creatures observing him from all sides.

Black Shadows

The hedge maze was darkening quickly. The once friendly and verdant paths had taken on a more menacing cast, one that was growing ever grimmer as the sun continued down, glaring into Blueblood's darting eyes. Every stirring of the leaves was a grisly granite claw reaching out to slice his jugular. Every glimmer of sunlight reflected from garden ornaments or droplets of water was an eye, waiting and watching. Every twig crunching underhoof was the snapping of bone, blood and marrow leaking over the grass. So certain was he of his impending doom that he could swear that he could feel his limbs being ripped from his body, bones being yanked out of joint, blood being spilled over his recently dry-cleaned suit. His flesh crawled.

Find the Doctor, he told himself firmly. Find him, and then get the Tartarus out of this tawdry labyrinth. Yes, tawdry, he decided. Lavish though it may have been, with constant masses of various forms of flora, it was decidedly tacky. A simple selection of roses would have more than sufficed. He could scarcely believe that he had ever been scared of such a gaudy garden!

A sudden thump echoed through the hedges and the prince’s ears stood en pointe. Of course, it wasn’t really the garden he was scared of, was it? Rather, it was the large, living statues that might lurk around any given corner. How silly of him to forget. He went on. He moved as silently as the shadow of a mouse, sneaking around the hedges and topiaries, turning corners while holding his breath for fear of what might be able to hear him. He was silent. He was smooth. He was the night.

Then he turned a corner and slammed face-first into a flat surface. “AHHHHHHHHH!”

He stumbled back blindly, tripping flank over hooves, scrabbling to right himself. Then he registered that what he was looking at was not, in fact, a gargoyle at all. It was the TARDIS.

“Oh.” Blueblood paused. “Oopsie.”

***

The Doctor sat at the center of the maze, in a glen lit only by the rays of the setting sun. Well. “Sat” might not be quite the right word. He was bound, each hoof tied to the wreckage of a fountain in the center of the glen. On the outskirts, a dozen or so grey ponies milled about, mostly stallions, but a couple of mares. They stuck to the shadows as much as was physically possible. In the darkest shadow of them all was the largest gargoyle that the Doctor had seen yet. “Quite atmospheric,” he mused aloud, glancing from hoof to hoof. “Really. You want t’ knock down the booj-whah, so you knock down the stuff they made an’ keep your prisoners in it. Really, very poetic, I’m impressed.”

“Really?” one of the grey ponies asked, half turning to face the captive Time Lord. “I thought so, but I—”

“Shut up,” said the large gargoyle shortly. “What’s your game, mate?”

“Game? Oh, I used to be big on games. Chess was my favorite for awhile, and cards. Right up until I lost my Ace. Then I was big on that jump-the-peg thing. Tetris, of course, always been a dab hoof there. Oh, an’ Dance Dance Revolution! Once challenged Isadora Duncan to a round of DDR—”

“Shut UP!”

The Doctor cut off mid-gabble to glare at the defacto leader. “Look,” he said in a quieter tone. “You want to get revenge. I get it, honestly I do.” His voice grew more strained. “But killin’ isn’t th’ answer, I’m tellin’ you. An’ jus’ how many of those ponies out there are at fault for your deaths, huh? Probably not many. Definitely not all of ‘em. We can talk this out, I swear.”

There were some murmurs of discontent from the crowd. The lead gargoyle hesitated. “We can… talk it out?”

The Doctor’s eyes brightened. “Yes,” he said, his voice increasing in pitch with his excitement. “Yes, I know you can.”

“And we’ll just be accepted, will we?”

“Don’t see why not. There's a baby dragon living in Ponyville, I've heard. Next t' that, rock creatures are nothin'.”

The gargoyle rubbed a talon against his chin. “No. It’s too late. The wealthy have had their day in the sun. An eye for an eye!”

“An eye for an eye!” the crowd roared.

The Doctor’s own eyes darkened. “Oh yes, an eye for an eye,” he snarled. “And an eye for an eye, and another eye for that, and so on until the whole world’s gone blind! What do you think you’re going to get out of this, huh? Who are you?”

The largest gargoyle’s eyes gleamed. “We,” he said, “are the Goblins. Or, I am. The rest of them… halfway there, if that. I salvaged their corpses, made them better, stronger, goblin. But I can only do so much. While the light of day is still in the sky, they are as equine as you.”

“That’s not as much as you might think,” the Doctor muttered. “So, you live underground, keep out of the sunshine to stay stony. ‘Cause sunlight…” his mind flashed back to the gargoyle receptionist from earlier. When they had arrived on the roof, the sun had only just gone down perhaps half an hour before. “Sunlight makes you weak! Hiding underground like cockroaches, it protects you from… I’m guessing UV radiation? Something in your biology doesn’t really like that, eh? Go on, I’m listening.”

“The way to stay a goblin,” the stony beast growled, “is through blood. The blood of your own kind.” He leered at the Doctor unpleasantly.

The Time Lord gave a tight smile. “Point of fact? Not actually a pony. Not actually of this planet, either. Check the heartbeat.”

“Yes,” the head goblin said with a tight nod. “We know. You are different. You are unknown. You are alone.”

“You’ve got no idea.”

“And yet, you are not without your weaknesses. And your companion, he is indeed a pony.”

The Time Lord’s eyes were flint. “No. I promised his aunt I’d mind him.”

“Is that all you can say? Not that he is different? Not that he is important? Not that he is your friend?” This last word was said with deep, sneering mockery.

The Doctor considered this. “Nah. Well. Those are all true, mind. Mostly true. But bein’ a tad worried ‘bout his aunt is prob’ly the most important bit.”

“And why is that?”

The Doctor considered this. “Not sayin’,” he decided.

“Really.” The gargoyle reached out with one great taloned paw and grasped the Doctor’s head. “‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,’ I believe you said? Let’s see if that’s true…”

He began to squeeze the green stallion’s head, gentle and yielding as a vise. His claws grew closer and closer to the Time Lord’s eyes. At that moment, a high-pitched scream rang out from somewhere in the maze.

The goblin stopped, his claws hovering an inch from the Doctor’s big blue eyes. He smiled. It was not a nice smile. “Not yet,” he decided. “First, you will see how little we care for your companion. Or his aunt.”

“Let me guess. It’ll be the last thing I ever see?”

“Oh, no. That will come when we raise him up once again as one of our own. The last thing you see will not be a death, but a glorious birth. New life, a new era, created from the dying of the old one.” His smile widened. “We aren’t monsters, you know.”

***

Blueblood waited in stark silence for a moment after his scream broke the stillness of the night like a spoon through a freshly-opened pot of marmalade. After a few seconds of not being eviscerated, he relaxed slightly. Apparently, no gargoyles were in his immediate vicinity. He rose to his hooves and trotted around the big blue box, examining it minutely. “I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me in?” he asked plaintively. “I could do with a place to hide, right about now. I wouldn’t even try to fly you, I promise! Not even sure I’d know where to start. Just— let me in. Please?”

The TARDIS, to Blueblood’s vague disappointment, made no move to cooperate. “Tartarus. Look at me. The world is doomed. Canterlot is about to fall. I had jelly instead of jam this morning, and I’m talking to a bally box.”

The light atop the call box flashed once, twice. Blueblood scowled. “Oh, yes, you flash all you want, but you can’t even open yourself up to a traveler in need? ‘Free for use of Public’ my eye.”

The light flashed again, more brilliantly, and Blueblood was forced to avert his eyes. Wait. What was that in the grass? The light glimmered off a shiny cylinder. The unicorn picked it up in a hoof. The Doctor’s screwdriver. Oh dear. The light grew brighter and brighter still, until suddenly, it stopped. Blueblood blinked in surprise, clearing the spots from his eyes. He glanced up at the top of the TARDIS. Oh Tartarus. A face of pale grey stone leered down at him. A gargoyle sat atop the roof, clutching the light atop the box in a stony talon. Blueblood backed away slowly, maintaining eye contact. Then, he bumped flank-first into something hard and cold.

Oh bugger.

Black Light

It is said that in times of great stress, time slows down. Obviously, this is nonsensical. Time continues to tick onwards at a rate of one second per second, and there is nothing that can change it. However, the mind under stress tends to race in leaps and bounds far ahead of its usual capacity, jumping from synapse to synapse in desperate motion. When this works, we call it instinct. When it fails, we call it blind panic. Whatever it was, Blueblood connected the gargoyles surrounding him with the sonic screwdriver in his hoof, and with a scream that combined proud rebellion and revenge and blind primal terror, he spun and turned the screwdriver right in the gargoyle’s face.

The scene was a perfect, frozen tableau. The gargoyles were stunned. Blueblood panted in exertion. Nothing happened.

You forgot to push th’ button, idiot, a voice in Blueblood’s head growled. It sounded suspiciously northern. Oh. Blueblood pushed the button. The screwdriver hummed for a moment, then lit.

The gargoyle in front of Blueblood recovered itself and swung forward. As it grew closer, however, the stone began to chip and crack, talons turning to dust even as they swung toward him. The only thing that hit the prince was a shower of dust. He stared at the stone creature. It stared back, horrified. The disarmed monster began to crumble, slowly at first, and then all at once into a cascade of sand and pebbles, with a mare’s corpse in the center of the pile.

There was a long moment of silence. Even the breeze seemed to still. Then, slowly, a smile spread over Blueblood’s face. “Right then,” he said, turning in a slow circle. “Who else wants some?”

The statues surrounded him. The unicorn counted three, plus the one on the roof. “You cannot destroy us all.”

“No,” Blueblood admitted. “No, probably not. But I do not intend to go down without a fight. This is an imported suit, you know, Armponi. Blood would be quite expensive to remove. So, in short, who’s coming first?”

They hesitated. And so, they were lost. Blueblood pointed the screwdriver at the top of the TARDIS and pressed the button. The gargoyle atop shrieked and began to dissolve, beginning with the talon covering the TARDIS light. Brilliant rays illuminated the scene. The gargoyles froze in their tracks, shielding their eyes, waiting to dissolve. They did not. Blueblood quickly took stock of the situation and galloped through their ranks, keeping the screwdriver carefully clenched in his mouth as he ran.

***

The Doctor hung limp now. His forehooves were tired, and he could feel his circulation being cut off. That was one of the few problems a bicardial system couldn’t solve. Cut off enough blood flow, and there’s not much either heart can do about it. He doubted that it was going to be fatal, or even get worse than his limbs falling asleep, but it was going to make running a bit difficult. Always assuming, that is, that he could get himself free of these ropes to begin with. He observed the Goblin with a wary eye as the hulking stone beast watched the entrance to the maze. Suddenly, the statue flinched, closing its bright green eyes tightly. The Doctor smirked. Blue was a clever lad after all, then. “Something the matter?”

“A… minor inconvenience,” the earthen foe ground out. “One which will be rectified shortly.”

“He knocked out a couple of your soldiers, hasn’t he.”

The Goblin became even stonier, if such a thing were possible. The Doctor grinned. “Oh, fantastic,” he laughed.

“Fantastic,” the Goblin echoed. “Fantastic? Doctor, do you know why I had to do this? Do you know why I did what I did? My species is dying. We are not long for existence.” He glared at the Doctor. “As if you could understand.”

The cheeky grin was gone now. “Oh, I understand, alright. I understand more than you could ever know. ‘Cause you, you’ve still got some folks left, right? Not me. I’m the last of my kind. My planet burned in the flames of war, and I’m th’ one that lit the match. My family, my friends, my world, gone in an instant, and it’s my fault! And d’ya know why? Well?” He glared at the stone creature, who faltered under the steady gaze. “I did it to save the rest of the sodding universe. It was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever made, an’ I did it anyway.

“Oh, an’ something else I understand? I know more than why you did what you did. I know what it is that you did. Loose patches of rock might be possible, even in a really top-notch mine, but the surveyors couldn’t find any. An’ given that your species can do geomancy, I might be inclined t’ wonder just who caused that cave-in to start with!”

There was silence in the center of the maze. Green eyes flickered from side to side in confusion and realization. The Goblin-in-Chief whirled around. Accusing eyes glared at him from all sides. “I— that is, I—”

“You killed them,” the Doctor said quietly. “Not the aristocrats. Not the rich. They were just a scapegoat. I mean, they’re not blameless by any measure, but they weren’t the ones what killed you lot.”

He gestured to the large goblin as best he could. “He did.” He paused. “Or she. They? You’ve a hive mind, haven’t you?”

While the Doctor was talking, the smaller goblins had fallen silent. One let out a piercing shriek and charged the former leader of the group. He was backhanded by a stone arm and sent flying into the hedges, but others quickly joined in the fight, piling onto the bigger creature. For a moment, it looked as though the great goblin might fall. But then, the great stone creature shuddered and rose up, smaller goblins falling off it. Its green eyes flashed like fireworks. “You,” it snarled, gesturing at the Doctor. “Die.”

Suddenly, the ropes felt much tighter. The Doctor glanced around in surprise. The broken shards of the stone fountain were moving away from each other. He grunted in pain as he felt his limbs stretching far beyond what was comfortable. The gargoyle grinned menacingly as the smaller stone beasts swarmed over it once more. At least, those that hadn’t already shattered on the ground. The stones jerked out a little further and the Doctor bellowed.

At that moment, a white figure dashed through the hedges, buzzing and glowing slightly blue. “‘Et goo ‘f ‘m!”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Blueblood paused and removed the sonic from his mouth. “Sorry. Let go of him!”

The Doctor stared. “Blueblood?”

The gargoyle regarded the unicorn thoughtfully. “No.”

There was a final yank and a horrible ripping noise from the broken fountain. Blueblood gasped. “Doctor!”

“Yes?” The green stallion stood up, brushing himself off. “Dunno what you thought tha’ was gonna do. Really, which d’you reckon is goin’ to rip first, me or th’ rope?”

There was a long moment of silence. Then, quickly, Blueblood held up the sonic screwdriver with a triumphant smile. “Ha! I’ve found your weakness! Take this!”

The tip of the screwdriver lit with blacklight. A staticky hum broke the night. Nothing happened.

Nothing continued to happen.

Blueblood’s smile grew forced and plastic. “Uh, Blue?” the Doctor asked.

“Yes?”

“Sorry ‘bout earlier. You’ve a right to know what you’re gettin’ into. For what it’s worth, I will do my honest best to keep you safe.”

“Thank you Doctor. Much appreciated.”

“On that note, you probably ought t’ know that that tiny amount of UV radiation would only have any noticeable effect on these goblins for a few minutes after sundown, when they’re weak.”

“Oh.” Blueblood’s smile dropped. “Ideas?”

“One or two, yeah. It’s an oldie but it’s a goodie. Essentially, you just RUN!” The Doctor bucked a large chunk of the busted fountain toward the cluster of goblins, who scattered. Then the Time Lord broke into a stumbling gallop, racing back toward the prince. “Go, go, go!”

“That’s it? That’s your plan?”

“Nah, nah, this is jus’ step one.”

“What’s step two?”

“...Workin’ on it.”

Blueblood gaped at the green stallion. “You what?”

“Right.”

The prince lit up. “You have an idea?”

“No, turn right!” Blueblood glanced up to see a talon swooping down to slice his scalp off. The Doctor barreled into the unicorn’s side, sending both of them sprawling through the shrubbery.

Quickly, the Time Lord scrambled to his hooves and yanked Blueblood bodily upright. “Come on, moving right along. Talk as you go.”

“What is it that hurts them?” the prince gasped, struggling to keep up.

“Well, working off what I’ve seen, ultraviolet radiation,” the Doctor replied. “They hide from th’ sun, and the sonic shattered ‘em ‘cause of the light, not the frequency. But that only got em’ when their rocky bits were still forming. Lot tougher now.”

“Hide from— Sunlight?” Blueblood panted.

“Yeah. Told ‘em they oughta be scared o’ your aunt.”

“Party!”

“What?”

“At the party— down!” The Doctor narrowly dodged a claw that would have lopped off his cranium. “At the party, lanterns. Powered by Auntie’s magic. Sun magic! Sunlight!”

“Fantastic!” the Doctor cheered. “Jump!” Blueblood hurled himself over a talon that had scythed out of the hedges. In a much quieter voice, the Time Lord continued, “You get those lamps. I’ll lead ‘em a merry chase.”

“As you say. Good luck, Doctor.”

“And you.”

They reached a T-juncture. The Doctor went left. Blueblood ran right. It was all up to him.

Last Blood

The rest of the scurry through the maze was a blur to the prince, all one long green corridor of twists, turns, and occasional attempted murder. By the time he stumbled out of the labyrinthine hedges, his coat was soaked with sweat, his mane plastered against his forehead. Nevertheless, he was out. Flickering on poles around the park were lanterns, glowing like miniature suns. Which, in a sense, they were.

He just had to grab them down…

Unfortunately, they were all suspended on rather tall poles. Even if he had the energy to try, Blueblood very much doubted he could jump high enough to knock them down. He might try simply shaking the poles, but that would dash the lanterns to the ground, breaking them and releasing the energy into the night. The only way to get them down would be some kind of ladder.

Or magic.

Magic.

Blueblood glanced around. No Fancy Pants in sight, but Fleur was by the punch table. Any port in a storm, the prince supposed, even if you think that port might secretly be a murderer.

Quietly, he sidled over to the leggy mare. “Fleur,” he murmured. “I require some assistance.”

She raised a discreet eyebrow. “Ze Doctor?” she whispered back.

“I’m not even going to ask how you knew that. Yes. There are goblins in the hedge maze. They crumble in the face of direct ultraviolet radiation. Could you levitate me down some lanterns?”

Fleur considered. “Monsieur Blueblood, how is your skill as an actor?”

“Not terrible.”

“Good. It must be, euh, ca se fait. Play along.” She cleared her throat. Then, without warning, she slapped him across the face. Hard. “‘Ow dare you!” she shouted. “I am a married mare!”

Blueblood blinked. What on Gaea— She hurled a lantern at him, and it crashed to the ground. He leapt back in shock. “I say, steady on,” he sputtered, but Fleur was not listening. Another lantern smashed at his forehooves.

“Run,” the model hissed through gritted teeth. “Fancy and I will follow, with lanterns.”

Blueblood hesitated but a moment, then turned tail and made for the maze. He halted just beyond the first juncture, waiting with bated breath for the mare and her husband to catch up.

Three minutes later, true to their word, the duo raced into the hedges, toting lanterns in their auras. Fancy Pants smiled at the prince. “Never a dull moment, eh, old colt?”

“Fancee. Not the time, not the place.”

“Oh, quite, quite,” the monocled knight agreed with a nod. “Fear not, my good prince. GUIDE is here to help.”

“A guide?” Blueblood asked, confused. “Well… good, I suppose. We’ll likely need one if we’re to find the Doctor.”

“No, GUIDE. Ze Gaean Unified Agency of Investigation, Defense, and Espionage. You recall not?”

Blueblood stared. “You really wanted to make that spell ‘GUIDE,’ didn’t you.”

“You mean you don’t—” Fancy broke off. “Time travel, of course. We haven't told you yet!”

“Er, what?”

“Nonlinearity,” Fleur said shortly. “Ask ze Doctor. Come, we must hurry.”

And thus, a very confused but largely relieved Blueblood followed the strange couple deeper and deeper into the hedge maze, once more daring to venture into the territory of the goblins.

***

The Doctor had been running for most of his life, both metaphorically and literally. Usually literally. Nevertheless, even he couldn’t run forever. Especially not literally. Running through a maze, constantly on the lookout against violent bloody death… well, it wore a bit on the nerves. And sooner or later, he was going to run out of shrubbery. “C’mon, Blueblood,” he growled. “I don’t want t’ regenerate. I jus’ got this body!”

A claw scythed toward his head. If his mane had been any longer, he would’ve gotten a new buzz cut. “Glad I’m not a unicorn this time ‘round.”

He narrowly avoided a pointed stone wing that tried to gash his side. “Pegasus would’ve been good, though!” he gasped, struggling to keep his balance.

“Doctor!” he heard a faint voice cry. “Doctor, lead them this way!”

Where had that come from? His right? “Doctor!” Right. He did a hairpin turn around the next corner and galloped toward the source of the voice. “Doctor, I’m over here!”

The Time Lord’s legs worked like pistons, sweat trickling down his face, his breath coming in short pants. Over a talon, under a claw, smack that stone head in, dodge, jump, run, run, run.

“Doctor!”

Turn left.

“Over here!”

Go straight.

“Come on!”

Right.

“I’m right here!”

Through the hedges… Oh. Geld.

The large goblin grinned malevolently at the Doctor. The scattered remains of the pony-goblins that had turned against their creator were strewn around the beast. The Doctor glanced back. Two pony-goblins blocked his path back. “I see they didn’t all turn on you.”

“No. Some were far enough away to keep from hearing your trickery. The ‘hive mind’ as you so crudely put it, is strictly one-way.”

The Doctor scowled. “So what. You going to kill me now, or play with me some more?”

The gargoyle’s eyes glinted with green fire. He raised a claw, and…

BOOM

A fireball erupted on the outstretched talon. Behind the Doctor, the two former miners shrieked and clutched at their eyes, visibly paler and more cracked. The large goblin whirled around. “Who goes there?”

Blueblood stepped out of the shadows, followed by Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis. “You know, shouting is a very ineffective way of communicating something you wish to remain secret,” he said pleasantly. “It made it very easy to find you.”

The goblin charged them, but another fireball to the face sent it sprawling. The smaller goblins shrieked once more and dissolved into gravel.

The large goblin staggered to its feet. “Destroy you,” it promised.

“Hm,” Blueblood said, holding a hoof to his chin in mock consideration. “Much as I appreciate the offer, old sport, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline. Fancy? Fleur? Give him all you’ve got.”

The two unicorns lobbed their remaining lanterns at the beast. Four fireballs exploded across its stony flesh in quick succession. It did not crumble as the others did. Instead, it just… stopped. The green in its eyes flickered out. Mistaking it for a statue would have been a reasonably easy error to make. The Doctor reached out a hoof and pushed at the stone. “Stuck,” he said. “Doubt he’ll be makin’ any more trouble.” His tone was flat, uncertain whether he should feel sorrow or satisfaction. “Like trolls. They turn to stone in direct sunlight, so th’ stories say,” he said quietly. He stood there for a long moment, gazing up at the fantastic creature.

Fleur cleared her throat. “Doctor?” she asked. “You are well?”

The Time Lord glanced up. “Sorry? 'Ang about-- Fleur-de-Lis! And Fancy Pants!" He broke into a grin. "Been awhile, innit?"

"Longer from your perspective, it seems," Fancy said with a wry smile.

Fleur elbowed him rather sharply. "No spoilers," she hissed.

"Well well," the Doctor said. "Fancy and Fleur. Good to see the old guard's still around. How's ol' Rapid Rounds, then?"

“Took an arrow to the knee,” Fancy said, shaking his head sadly.

“Never invited me to the wedding,” the green stallion said, frowning.

“No, no. He literally took an arrow to the knee. He’s got a severe limp now, and with his age… Well, he thought it best to retire. Fleur and I are in charge of GUIDE these days."

“Ah,” the Doctor said, nodding. “Couldn't have happened to a better pair. Well, I trust your lot can clean all this up again?”

Fancy glanced around. “If this is the worst of the damages, I’m certain of it.”

“There was a fountain broken as well,” the Doctor replied.

“And there’s a corpse on the TARDIS roof,” Blueblood added.

The Doctor turned to the prince in horror. “You what?”

“It’s hardly my fault one of them hid up there,” the unicorn protested.

Fancy looked at Fleur. Fleur looked at Fancy. The mustachioed unicorn sighed. “As though helping Rarity navigate the upper classes wasn’t hard enough,” he grumbled. “All right, I’ll deal with it…”

Blueblood stopped. “Wait. You’re the reason that mare has been everywhere in Canterlot society? It was your doing?”

Fancy nodded, smiling brilliantly. “Oh, yes. Bright as a new bit, she is, and not half charming. Element of Generosity, you know.”

Blueblood took in a deep breath and launched once more into his tirade about the bloody, dreadful, awful time he’d had at the Gala. The Doctor rolled his eyes. Fleur sidled up to him. “So,” she murmured. “What do you think?”

The Doctor cocked his head, examining the prince. “Not irredeemable,” he said at length. “It’ll take some work, mind, but we’ll get there in the end.” He nodded. “We’ll get there in the end.”

From the shadows in the shrubbery, unseen by the assembled, a pair of eyes watched. The game was begun.

Author's Note

Next Time, on Doctor Whooves

Fall of the Doctor

“Ready for takeoff?” the Doctor asked, grinning broadly at his passengers.
“This is going to be SO COOL,” Scootaloo enthused.
“Ah can’t wait t’ see what it’s like t’ fly,” Apple Bloom agreed.

Ditzy frowned. “What do you mean, ‘acting up’?”
Dash shrugged. “Dunno. The clouds’ve just been harder to corral than usual. Nothing weird.”

“What in the world?” the Doctor muttered, staring at the screen. “That’s not right.”

The storm raged over Timbucktoo, the pounding winds causing the towering skyscrapers to sway dangerously.

The Doctor tried to scream as he plummeted toward the ground, but all that came out was a terrified croak, his vocal cords as frozen as the rest of him.

“H’yah!” Button cried, racing toward the center of the roaring storm, which reached out with tendrils of cloud to envelop him and everypony else.

Next Time on Doctor Whooves: Ninth Doctor Adventures

Scales and Arpeggios

"Well, since I didn't really get a say in our last destination, I'd rather like to choose this one."

"A concert you wanted, a concert you'll get. Welcome to Vienneigh, opening night of Beethoofen's Ninth."

A scream went up from the alleyway, followed by a burst of light and smoke.

The Doctor grimaced at the charred pile of bones. "Pony, right enough."

"But what could have done this, Herr Doctor?"

"Down here, even the slightest spark." He made an expressive gesture, grinning gleefully. "Boom!"

The Doctor looked on in horror and disgust as the stallion strode out into the middle of the street. "I am Bear Wolf!" he declared grandly. "Dragonslayer extraordinaire! I shall rid this city of the beast that plagues it!" He turned and winked. "And yes, gentlemen, I'm single."

Blueblood made a noise that sounded like a car alarm being eaten by a piglet. "Take me now," he whispered. "Take me now, you filthy proletariat..."

Black and White and Read All Over

Blueblood was awoken the next morning by an intrusive ray of sunlight shining against his eyelids. He flinched away, and tried to bury himself under the covers, but to no avail. He was thoroughly awake. He stared up at the ceiling, unwilling either to rise or to shine. That was his aunt’s job.

This proved to be a regrettable option, as it soon trickled into his mind that this ceiling was not that of his room. Not long after that, it sunk in that this might be something of a problem. He glanced at the walls. Tacky wallpaper? Check. Shag carpet (seen better days)? Check. Lousy view? Also check. The prince groaned and slumped back. So it hadn’t all been a dream. He supposed that should have been obvious, but then, yesterday he’d thought that the nonexistence of time travelers and aliens was just as blatantly clear.

Thinking of which, where was the Doctor? With no small amount of regret, he pulled himself out of the cocoon of blankets and pillows which really had been rather comfy, even though he would never admit as much, not even to himself. What sodding time was it, anyway? He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and his eyes bulged. Eight in the morning? That was some sort of— some sort of made up time, surely? At the very least, it should still be dark out. No civilized pony would willingly start the day any earlier than noon! On the other hoof, he didn’t think the Doctor was entirely civilized. He stormed into the bathroom. It was ridiculous how untidy it was. The maids and housekeeping must have been slacking dreadfully. He would have to report it to the management. Then, his eyes fell on a slip of paper leaning against the mirror, written in some almost-illegible scrawl. The Doctor’s writing, the prince presumed. He picked it up and squinted at it minutely.

Blueblood,

Gone to breakfast. If you're reading this before 10, you can go down & have some, too. If I'm not back, I'm out on a walk. I’ll be back round 11. Try not to get yourself killed.

~Doctor

Blueblood scowled, unsure how to feel about all this. On the one hoof, he was glad the Doctor hadn't woken him. On the other hoof, he felt vaguely hurt at being excluded from the day’s plans. In the end, he decided to be annoyed, simply out of principle. Quickly grabbing a change of clothes laid out on the other bed, he dressed and descended to break his fast.

***

The dining room was fairly quiet that morning. Only a few ponies, late risers like Blueblood, sat at the tables scattered around the room, vague and groggy eyes staring at nothing in particular. It was rather unpleasant, to say the least. The unicorn fastidiously avoided making eye contact with any of the assembled, particularly not that unpleasant-looking yellow earth pony that didn’t so much seem to be masticating his omelet as he was molesting it, never removing his eyes from an increasingly uncomfortable zebra mare on the opposite side of the room. Blueblood subtly glanced at the stallion’s flank to check that he didn’t have a cutie mark for, for instance, gawking. No, only a rather scraggy-looking flower. The unicorn shrugged. None of his business.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a sub-par danish and a copy of the Canterlot Herald to peruse. He glanced at the headline and nearly choked on his pastry. There, on the front page, was the ruined RocRoll building, under the headline “Collapse of Industry”.

The unicorn quickly scanned the article and let out a faint sigh of relief when he found no mention of current suspects or any suspicion of outside activity at all. Nevertheless, it was altogether rather unnerving to see last night’s little misadventure laid out in bold print and paper. He read through the piece with greater care once his heart had stopped pounding out a drum tattoo against his chest. There was nothing in it that he didn’t already know, though he was slightly nonplussed that the whole matter had apparently been put down to seismic shifts. “Why didn’t affect any other buildings, then?” he muttered in an undertone. “Why didn’t they fall down, eh? Bloody patronizing journalist.”

Having assured himself that there was no risk of being connected with the building’s collapse, Blueblood flipped to the only part of the newspaper that had really interested him: the society pages. Affair, boring. Probably made up anyway, both of the stallions in question were, as he had personally discovered, regrettably straight. Blueblood gave it a week at the outside. Wedding, also boring. He gave that a month. Funeral? Promising. Death seemed to be the only thing in this section that really stuck. A cursory examination of the article, however, revealed that it was due to natural causes and therefore not likely to be related to the investigation at hoof. Death came for everypony after all. Even the wealthy.

Blueblood pursed his lips tightly and shook the paper violently. He would not think about that now. Instead, he flipped over to the next page. Oh look, there was that purple-maned harlot again. Joy of joys. Oh look, she’s sitting next to Jet Set. And Upper Crust. And Sir Fancy Pants. The faint growl that escaped the back of his throat was inequine. He turned the page with force. Different photograph, same ponies. The same held true for the page after that. By this point, the prince was practically frothing. He glared at the purple mane and white coat as though they were an offense to all equinity. The caption; Sir Fancy Pants and entourage have a day at the National Gallery.

Another turn of the page featured no pictures whatsoever, and Blueblood sighed in relief. Apparently, a garden party was planned for this afternoon. Why, that must be the garden party that the Doctor had intended for them to visit. Intrigued, Blueblood read on…

Elite Canterlot Garden Party Held by Jet Set at Baker Hall

Byline: Sea-salt Palmtree

The wealthy philanthropist and patron of of industry, Mr. Jet Set will be attending the annual Canterlot Garden Party in honor of the first day of summer. Mr. Set is quoted as stating that many others of the favored and wealthy ponies of Canterlot will be in attendance, including recent arrival Ms. Rarity Belle. “She’s the goods!” Mr. Set did not say. “She knows the Wonderbolts’ trainer personally,” he failed to mention. “She sure knows her way around a pretentiously small cucumber sandwich, that’s for sure,” he may have thought, but did not say.

Everypony who is anypony is expected to be in attendance. Some ponies who are not anypony may also seek to attend. However, due to their lack of social standing (and/or physical forms), it is unlikely that they will be acknowledged or even noticed. Remember, poor ponies do not exist in Canterlot, by order of the Neighborhood Watch. The Neighborhood Watch sees everything. They do not sleep. They do not rest. They do not blink. They are watching you right now.

The party will be held at 427 East Egg Street, and will run from 6:00 to 9:30 this evening. Here’s hoping for a great turnout!

“...Hey,” a voice whispered. Blueblood glanced up. The yellow pony from before was leering down at him. “Wanna see something fun?”

Some sort of predator, Blueblood concluded. It had been his initial assumption all along. “I’d sooner not, thank you,” he replied, warily leaning back in his seat.

“Aw, come on,” the stallion wheedled. “It’s funny, I promise.”

Blueblood breathed out slowly. Something about this pony made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. Yet, even now, he had to maintain his respectability. “No,” he said flatly. “I’m afraid I’m busy. Perhaps later.”

The stallion’s smile grew even larger, larger than Blueblood felt that any smile should be. “Later,” he agreed, bowing out.

With a slight shudder, Blueblood turned back to the article, but for some unknown reason, the rest of the piece was apparently concerned with another recent arrival in Canterlot, a scientist of some renown who claimed to be from a town called Obsidian Creek. Apparently, his teeth were as straight and square as tombstones, and his mane was perfect. However, there was no photograph. The space where a photograph should have been was covered in thick black fluid that seemed to swirl and twist when the unicorn wasn’t looking.

With a sigh, the prince set the paper aside. Something was nagging at him, some small fiddly detail. Everypony who is anypony is expected to be in attendance… Blueblood’s eyes widened. “Oh dear,” he muttered, rising from his chair, breakfast half-eaten. He needed to find the Doctor. Now.

Author's Note

And Now, The Weather