Upon waking up to the sound of thunder, Rainbow Dash noticed two things.

The first was that, for the first time in many days, she had not awoken to find herself wrapped up in Rarity’s hooves. This was, both because of the sheer oddness of that sentence as well as the fact that she felt no small pang of absence because of it, immensely disquieting, and she quickly resolved to stop thinking about it.

That was easy, because the second thing she noticed was that everything really fucking hurt.

Now, Rainbow Dash was not stranger to things hurting. In fact, dealing with hurting things was no small part of her training for her flying; when faced with burning in one’s wings, the ability to discern between “my muscles are becoming sore” and “I have torn a tendon in half” is critical in avoiding an unplanned rapid application of face to ground. So Rainbow Dash did her best to do some discerning.

The first was the waves of throbbing-yet-constant pain from her wounds in her ass and right wing. Those were expected, although by no means less unpleasant from her expecting them, and they, appropriately, hurt, in medical terms, really fucking badly. She would be remiss to also not mention the ache from her left wing joint which had been so briskly removed from its socket yesterday – not as bad as the wounds, a mere cherry atop the Sugarcube Corner sized shit-sundae that was her present state, but it was there nonetheless. A cautious move brought a sharp stab bad enough to draw a gasp, so Rainbow Dash decided to leave it at that.

More subtly, she also noticed that every other part of her ached in soreness too. That, she surmised, was from the limp she had been performing yesterday – the unusual usage of three-quarters of a pony’s limbs to ambulate in an awkward three-legged waltz would always pay unfortunate dividends. Rainbow Dash noted that she didn’t feel that sore, but that was probably because it was hiding behind the iceberg of misery that was the rest of her everything.

And, finally, she noticed the headache. That was probably from the drugs wearing off, or from dehydration (as a whole lot of water had left her yesterday and she didn’t remember drinking any since the meeting), or, likely, from both. She resolved to, as this was fixable, drink some water as soon as possible, especially because her tongue currently felt like she had spent the night licking carpet samples.

She looked around. The (fur, disturbingly) blanket was missing from her body, presumably because bleeding on it would have ruined it. Instead, she was covered gently in a light sheet of bleached-white linen. Tossing it aside, she could see the bandages covering her haunch and wing-root; they were not the same as had been applied yesterday, and, more importantly, she noted that, judging by the lack of dried blood matting her coat and sweat-stench emanating her self, she had been cleaned up while she was unconscious. She hoped Rarity had done it, based on the alternative.

Beside the bed was – thank Celestia – a pail of water with a note on the rim. The frankly godsawful writing instantly marked it as Rarity’s penmareship.

Rainbow,

Drink this first.

I am atop the tower on the opposite side of the castle. Please do not mind the noise.

Come see me when you are ready. We have lots to discuss. Please let the lackey help you up the stairs, as you will rip a stitch trying yourself.

-Rarity.

“That explains the noise,” mused Rainbow Dash. It did, she supposed, although only sort-of. Her wings clearly told her that it wasn’t the right pressure in the air for thunder, although she wasn’t sure what it could be, then. Were Rarity a more adept unicorn, the repetitive bangs would suggest powerful spells, but that, even if Rarity’s present state wasn’t to be taken into account, would be unlikely. She did note, however, that she was a presently-grounded pegasus, meaning she wasn’t really in any position to throw stones.

But first, the water. Rainbow Dash cautiously rolled out of bed, balancing on three good hooves before placing down a cautious forth which accepted a portion of the weight without too much complaint. She then, finding herself above her quarry, unceremoniously threw her face into it, taking in deep gulps of lukewarm water.

And gulps.

And gulps.

And gulps.

Until, suddenly, Rainbow Dash found herself making out with the wooden bottom of the pail. Withdrawing slightly (as to avoid nose-splinters, natch), she gave the pail a final tip to fill an edge, then let it clatter to a stop.

Successfully rehydrated like a ration’s stew, she, after a pause, decided to attempt walking, which she assumed would be fairly important in her future endeavors.

Back left.

Front left.

Front right – strictly speaking a little odd, but those who spent a lot of time around Rainbow Dash would note that she had something of an unusual gait, most notably a tendency to occasionally pace before settling into a trot. That probably had something to do with that whole “relearning to walk” thing and the preponderance of old injuries inflicted upon her, but it wasn’t like she ever told anypony about most of them, so they probably just thought she was kinda weird.

And then, not able to be delayed any longer, back right, swung forward and to the side as a straight, unbent leg as to minimize stretching the stitches. It was supremely ungainly, not very fast, and particularly tiring, but she did indeed move forward one body length.

It was walking, and Rainbow Dash wasn’t going to take that for granted.

“You’ve done it before, Dash. What’s one more time putting yourself back together?”

She set off to find Rarity.

“… fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Rarity, having caught something out of the corner of her eye and the undertones of a feminine voice, swiftly doffed her earmuffs. Sure enough, none other than Rainbow Dash, utterly miserable in appearance and demeanor, crested the top of the spiral staircase to the rooftop. Rarity, after stashing her rifle against the parapets, made her way over to the pitiful pegasus, watching as she struggled up the final two stairs before coming to a panting rest.

“… fuck me.”

Rarity raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that a command, or…”

A shock of surprise flew across Rainbow’s face, but only momentarily before being hidden behind as convincing of a mask of coolness as she could muster. “Oh, uh, there you are.” She gave a noncommittal chuff of amusement. “And no. It’s not.”

“Oh good. I don’t think either of us would enjoy … well, any part of that, really.” Rarity looked around Rainbow Dash. “I notice you, in contrast to my request, did not seek help in climbing these stairs.”

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “I have to figure out my strategy at some point. Besides, I couldn’t find him.”

“Did you look?”

“Not really, no.” Rainbow Dash gave her friend a quick up-down. The unicorn had seen much better days. She was sans wig and adorned in that ridiculous manticore headdress, already a bad start, but she was also, besides a generally disheveled state, peculiarly frosted in a coating of light gray powder and smoke stains, all topped of with a very strange and particularly gross brown stain around one side of her mouth. It was all very un-Rarity, and it set Rainbow Dash ill at ease. “You look like shit, Rarity. Like, worse than I look. What have you been doing?”

“Thanks,” Rarity grumbled.

“Just the truth.”

Rarity ignored that. “I’ve been up. Keeping watch. Thinking.”

“In that order?”

Once again, Rarity started away rather than respond. “Are you hungry?”

Rainbow Dash had failed to consider that in her morning checklist. After a moment of consternation, she discerned that, yeah, she was pretty hungry. “You made breakfast?”

“I did.” Rarity went over to a small fire which was, notably, located on the opposite side of the tower from where she had been seated. She took a pan off of a rack mounted high above the weak flames, giving it a swirl. “You can have the rest.”

Rainbow Dash joined her, peering into the pan. A few flat, browned-yellow discs sat above a visible oily sheen. “What is it?”

“The local told me it was something called polenta.” Rarity shrugged. “I don’t know what the hell a “polenta” is, but I know cornmeal when I see it.”

Rainbow Dash eyed the “polentas” suspiciously.

Rarity rolled her eyes. “They’re hoecakes, Rainbow. The folksy might say ‘corn pone’ – a word which Applejack did not know, for your reference. It’s corn, water, butter, and heat. They won’t hurt you.”

That was good enough for Rainbow Dash. She took one out of the pan and swiftly took a bite. It was … edible. “If–” she mumbled from around a mouthful of corn “–if a lil’ dfry.”

“I didn’t say it was good, I said it was breakfast.”

Well, Rainbow Dash couldn’t argue with that, at least in an ontological sense; it was, indeed, a breakfast. She swallowed with some difficulty. “No, but, like, seriously, what have you been doing?”

“Well, I’ve–” started Rarity, who paused. One of the great disadvantages of a white coat was that the bags under one’s eyes were immediately apparent, and Rarity was packing an impressive set. “I’ve been up.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Rainbow Dash took a measured step towards Rarity, concern heavy on her voice. “How long have you been up, Rares?”

“Since…” Rarity thought for a moment, the act of which was clearly laborious. “Since a while. We got back after dark. I took you out of the cart, stripped you of your bandages, cleaned you up in a bathing tub, bandaged you back up, then put you to bed.” She waved a forehoof in a circle. “There are no clocks in this place, so I can only guess, but that should have been about midnight.”

“You did all that alone?”

“The lad arrived back late with all the things I requested. He helped move you into bed and in sealing my bandage work, but I took care of all of the bathing without him present. I assumed you would rather not have a stallion deal with such … delicate tasks.”

“You would be right. And after that?”

“I stayed up to watch you, at least at first. Then I became concerned about us having been followed, so I posted myself up here to keep an eye out just in case.”

Rainbow Dash furrowed her brow. “I noticed that you never described any sleeping in there.”

“That’s because I didn’t, except–” and then Rarity, unbelievably, turned her head and spit a string of brown spittle into a bucket placed conveniently near where she had been sitting before continuing “–for a little nap, I think. It’s all blending together.”

Rainbow Dash gave a few slow blinks. “Di-did you just spit something?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Rarity sighed. “I had him, among other things, go out to get me some more cigarettes, or whatever passes for them here, because I was almost out.” She gestured to a porcelain saucer full of bent cigarette butts and other such remnants. “There were a few, and some loose leaf for some very crummy roll-ups, but apparently the locals prefer something they call ‘snuff.’ I had told him that would be acceptable, because I do quite like a bit of dry, but apparently that is merely the name they use for a sort of chewing or dipping tobacco.” She gestured to her face. “Hence the staining and the drooling and so forth.”

“Wow.” Rainbow Dash grimaced. “That’s … really gross.”

“Oh, utterly so. It’s completely reprehensible. Absolutely disgusting, really. But it sure is strong.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“When I’m operating on, at maximum, an hour of sleep? Very much so. I think it’s the only thing keeping me from expiration” chuckled Rarity.

‘Rarity, you could have slept.”

“Not if it meant leaving you defenseless, Rainbow Dash.” Rarity shook her head. “It’s not even speculation to think ponies are out to kill us. That is a demonstrable fact.”

“Well, yeah, Rarity, no disagreement there. But even assuming we were followed, there is another pony who could have helped you. Whose, like, job is to do that, Rarity.”

“I’m not going to–”

Rainbow Dash cut her off. “– to ‘impose yourself,’ Rarity?”

“Lucky guess.”

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Look, Rares, I get it. You don’t want to be ‘ungenerous’ by asking ponies to help you out.” Her tone softened. “But I need you to watch out for yourself, okay? Exhausting yourself like this isn’t going to help anypony, because all it does is just make both of us useless.”

“But–”

“Nah, don’t want to hear it” said Rainbow Dash firmly but lightheartedly. “Once I find the kid, you’re getting a bath and going to sleep.”

“… I’ll take the bath, no disagreement there.” Rarity shook her head. “But it’s too early for sleep.”

Rainbow Dash, noted daytime sleeper, had never heard a more offensive statement in her life. “What time is it anyway?” Rainbow Dash looked up at the sun. Basic timekeeping was taught in her survival courses, but her geometry was all messed up from the latitude.

“It’s sometime after noon. I’d guess about three. You were asleep for about twenty hours.”

“Huh.” Even by Rainbow Dash’s generous standards, that was impressive. “Guess I needed my beauty sleep.”

“You always were the pretty one, I suppose.”

“I think I remember not being the pretty one. I think we, like, both agreed on who the pretty one was, actually.”

“Compared to me, especially now, you are.”

“I won’t argue with that.” Rainbow Dash looked around. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Went to go receive a guest, I think. The tailor from the port, whom I had procure and create some more clothes for us.”

“Good timing.” Rainbow Dash wasn’t exactly thrilled to have more dresses coming her way, but she supposed she did have exactly zero as of present, so it was something of a necessity. Moving back to her original point, she pointed a hoof at Rarity’s rifleresting up against the stonework. “What were you doing with that?”

Rarity followed Rainbow Dash’s hoof. “Target practice.”

“Was that what the noise was?”

“It was.” Rarity shrugged. “I had to wake you up somehow because we have things to discuss, and I figured distant booms was probably gentler than shaking you awake.”

“I guess it worked.” It seemed gentle enough in hindsight, certainly more so than, say, throwing a pillow at her. “What is there to discuss?” asked Rainbow Dash, before hastily adding a conditional. “I mean, like, specifically, There’s plenty to talk about, but I don’t think you would have woken me up just to chat.”

“I wouldn’t have, no matter how much I love a bit of idle chit-chat,” chuckled Rarity,

“Glad to hear it.” Rainbow Dash lowered an eyebrow. “Because, y’know, lots of pain right now. Would definitely rather be … horizontal right now. So, uh…”

“Get on with it?”

Rainbow Dash nodded.

“Understandable.” Rarity took a seat back over by her rifle, her makeshift chair of gathered stone blocks just high enough to comfortably see over the parapets. “I think it’s clear that we need a change of strategy.”

“No disagreement.” Rainbow Dash likewise lay down nearby, straight on like a cat so as to not put weight on her wounds. “I think we can both agree that our first outing was, uh, not successful. It sucked ass, actually.”

“Which is why we aren’t going to do that again.”

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow? “What, we’re quitting? I think it’s a little late for that.”

“The opposite.” Rarity shook her head. “I’m well aware of the lack of that option. We’re wanted criminals on one side of the ocean, competition on the other. Either way, there’s no quiet slinking back with our tails between our legs for us – it’s win or die. Or prison. One of the two, at least.” She shook her head. “Which leads me neatly into my next point.”

“Which is?”

“Let me start with a hypothetical. You know your hoofball, right?”

“Sorta?” Rainbow Dash cocked her head in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do hang with me for a moment, dear? It’s an establishing logical conceit.”

Rainbow Dash was too tired to snark at that, which was a little scary considering how much she would have normally mocked, say, Twilight for using the word conceit in casual conversation. Then again, she supposed it wasn’t a casual conversation anyway, but by that point she’d gotten two levels deep into thinking and swiftly resolved to stop. “… Sure.”

“Right.” Rarity swept her fore-hooves wide, eyes glimmering with obvious passion. “Let’s say, hypothetically, you are coaching a hoofball team. It is third and seventeen with your squad on defense. You know that a deep ball is inevitable. What play do you call?”

Rainbow Dash thought for a moment, shaking off some mental cobwebs. “It’s third and seventeen. Does it really matter?”

“Remind me not to hire you for my defensive coordinator spot,” Rarity deadpanned.

“Are you planning on becoming a coach any time soon?”

“It was a joke, Rainbow.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “Although once Sweetie Belle gets to the right age for it, I’ve been thinking about taking over the youth team, mostly because–” she shook her head. “Never mind, not important. Back to the original question – what’s the call?”

“Uh … cover deep? Just leave everypony back, cover the throw?”

“Wrong!” Rarity joyfully corrected. “The correct answer is ‘double zone blitz the outside linebackers,’ Leave the ends to cover a close pass and send in the outside linebackers on a double rush to the quarterback. Send in the middle linebacker too for a delightfully brutal good measure.”

“Great?” Rainbow Dash’s confusion deepened. “Although I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

“Because, Rainbow, it shows two things extremely pertinent to our situation. One is that of the conundrum of the linebackers – one could leave them back to cover receivers, but they’re too slow for that, they’ll just end up being useless. It’s a false economy of strategy, insofar as the safe option isn’t safer at all. The second is the play call itself; while hanging back may seem less risky, it’s a strategy that lets the offense dictate the form and tempo of the play. Instead, with a six rush up front, the defense introduces a mismatch, a quick, violent rush to crack the pass block open. Instead of having to worry about successful coverage in the secondary, one simply ends the play before it begins.”

“Thanks for the lesson. And this is relevant how?”

“Because we are the defense.” Rarity decided to just go ahead and explain that one. “We’ve seen how the city operates, what we should expect from our ‘peers,’ and the stakes involved. Were we to play by their standards, we would both die very swiftly by a mercenaries’ hoof – because I don’t know if you happened to notice, but none of the ponies I incinerated in that manor appeared to me to be a contessa.”

“Go on.”

“Which means that we’re operating inside their system. Their rules, their teams, their customs. Did you notice, for example, that, from our arrival to the manor, it took an hour or so to both decide to kill us both and to assemble a team of hired blades? For two mares?” Rarity rapped a forehoof off a stone. “That’s the pass block. We let them play for time, dictate our situation.”

“We let ourselves get trapped, Rarity.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “We were literally locked into a room. Of course they got to ‘dictate the situation.’”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Really?”

“It is.” Rarity restated. “Because what if when we approached the gate, we were let into the courtyard, then immediately attacked? Either way, it’s their game – and, as neither of us are trained fighters, we would be naught but the slow linebackers watching the receivers fading out of view. Metaphorically. Literally we would be dead.”

“Hey now, I’ve got some training,” interjected Rainbow Dash, looking a little offended.

“From where?”

“Flight schools. And normal school too, actually.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I mean, it wasn’t a whole lot, but we all get instructions in cloud-pegging, which is basically just lance work. That’s not, uh, super useful right now, but I also got some sword work in the higher flight schools. It’s part of the Wonderbolt selection process too, y’know, they’re still Guards. They’ve got big, heavy straight swords they wear for deployments, not at all like what I’ve seen here, but I’ve still got the basics down.”

“They teach you how to use lances in school?”

“Hey now, cloud-pegging is a great sport! Besides, it’s Cloudsdale. Everypony gets trained at something in Cloudsdale. It’s pretty much a faucet that just empties pegasi into the Guard.”

“I see. Well, make that, say, two thirds of a trained fighter between the two of us. Regardless, that’s not a winning proposition, which is why we’re not going to do it.”

“I think I’m following.” Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “So what do we do?”

“Blitz. Cut straight to the point and deny them the chance to get the play off. Quick, violent, dangerous.” Rarity drew a line across her neck. “Forget the pleasantries, forget the image. Go straight for the prize and start cutting throats.”

Rainbow Dash grimaced. “That seems a little … excessive, Rares.”

“Is it?” Rarity raised an eyebrow, a lack of enthusiasm being the last thing she expected from her twice-wounded and quick to anger partner.

“Kinda, yeah.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Look, I’m as motivated as anypony to take this seriously and to, uh, return some favors, but going straight for the kill seems a little short-sighted. We haven’t even met most of the Electorate. We don’t even know how many of them there are.”

“I think I can extrapolate, Rainbow, considering that we…”

Rainbow Dash cut her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know, a hundred percent. I remember. But that’s still a pretty damn small sample, right?”

Rarity scoffed. “Big enough.”

“Is it?” Rainbow Dash had risen to her hooves unsteadily, rising to Rarity’s challenge quite literally. “Are you sure? Is it enough to kill over?”

“I’ve done it before.”

“You shot a griffon who tried to kill you an hour ago in the middle of nowhere. That’s not the same thing even a little bit, Rarity. What you’re talking about is, at least by my ears, cold blood. Are you telling me you’re gonna be fine with just jumping some dude in an alleyway?”

“I don’t appreciate having my dedication questioned, Rainbow.” Rarity narrowed her eyes. “I’m decided on this.”

“I’m not questioning how dedicated you are, Rarity. I’m questioning whether you’ve thought through exactly what you’re saying. What if he’s not alone? You’re good with just stabbing somepony in front of his wife? His foals? Just you, standing over a dead body, some random mare they’ve never seen before? You’re prepared for that?”

Rarity, some of her bravado gone, blanched at the thought of that. “Well…”

“Now, look, Rares, I’m not saying I disagree, right?” Rainbow Dash took a step closer. “I’m with you on a lot of that; being active, taking the first steps, and, when the fighting starts, taking no prisoners. I’m all about that. But … I’ve been doing some thinking too, y’know?”

“About?”

“About what the bishop was talking about. About the whole ‘big-H Harmony’ thing. I’m not totally on board with all of it, but, uh, I think there might be something to it. And I think that involves probably not just stacking bodies across the city.”

“I–” and Rarity paused, setting her jaw hard as she thought about how much Rainbow Dash’s statement reminded her of the Bishop’s words about ‘not being sent her just to kill’ and just how much she hated magical prophecy nonsense, some of this which she was suspecting rapidly as being part of. “I understand.”

“Thanks.” Rainbow Dash smiled softly, then turned away, tone brightening. “I’m all in on the other part of that, though. About the violence and whatever.”

“But you–”

“No, I said I don’t want to murder ponies in cold blood. I don’t want to shoot through, like, open windows at dinner tables – not until we have to, at least. But being scary? Yeah, I’m all about that. If we’re going to be doing any negotiation, I didn’t say we shouldn’t do it at knifepoint – and once it goes down, if we’ve got to straight up slaughter some fools? Let’s blow some fucking heads off. I don’t plan on losing.”

Rarity smiled. “Now that’s the Rainbow Dash I know.”

“You know it. I can’t be doom and gloom all the time – that’s your job.” Rainbow Dash looked past Rarity at the rifle against the wall. “Speaking of blowing heads off…”

Rarity followed her eyes. “Well, you aren’t going to be blowing any heads off with that.”

“I’m not?” Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure I remember that you told me that you did exactly that. I’m pretty sure there’s actually a picture of it on the side.”

“I shot him in the head, but his head, minus two thirty-six caliber holes, remained resolutely intact.” Rarity thought for a moment. “Well, not the contents, I suppose. Those were decidedly not intact. But the head itself? Intact.” Rarity stood up, walking towards her rifle. “I’m afraid, the rifle’s history be damned, this is just not quite that kind of firearm.”

“Then what kind is it?” Rainbow Dash took a few unsteady steps closer. “I mean, I’m not exactly knowledgeable about these, so, y’know, kinda working in the dark here.”

“I’d be surprised if you were. As I recall, I was my gunsmith’s first patron in the realm – there are more gunsmiths than he, of course, but not many more good ones – and there are likely no more than a few hundred or so in private hooves. A niche market.”

“Always in the avant garde, aren’t ya?” Rainbow Dash had put on her best affected, mocking accent for that turn of phrase.

“I try my best, despite my pastoral surroundings. The tastes in Ponyville are not exactly conducive to the forefront of fashion, especially if I’d like to remain financially solvent. Joking aside, I suppose it was a natural progression. I had been interested in archery when I was younger, but I didn’t grow up to have the, ah, correct body plan for such activities, much less the coordination, which quite swiftly ended that line of thinking. Some years later while attending a show in Canterlot, I happened upon a demonstration at one of the various griffon embassies whilst wandering about during the down time. I asked for more information, I received such information, one thing led to another, contacts were arranged, and, after I spent several thousand bits, voila.” She gestured to the rifle. “Behold him, Ponyville’s finest squirrel-dispatching implement.”

“Squirrels?”

“At least theoretically. I haven’t actually shot any squirrels with it, although I did threaten to shoot Fluttershy’s insufferable rabbit at one point.”

Rainbow Dash thought for a moment. “I take it you’re not a fan, huh?.”

“Oh, gods yes. I can’t stand the vermin. I was hoping Luna would have disintegrated it when we returned to the cottage, but I suppose we can’t get everything we want.” Rarity chuckled. “But yes, squirrels. And other such small to medium sized game – hares, alighted fowl, squonks, up to a capy-boar. I don’t – well, didn’t – use it for anything but target shooting, but that’s besides the point.”

“Uh-huh.” Rainbow Dash took another step closer, leaning against the parapets, all this standing getting old. “And what makes it, uh, un-head blowoff-able?”

“Lovely turn of phrase there, Rainbow. Very inventive.” Rarity deadpanned. “Caliber, mostly. Military muskets – griffon militaries, that is, as our own brave soldiers are dreadfully unequipped on that front – will typically be about seventy caliber, so twice the bore and–” Rarity thought hard for a moment, trying her best to remember her school-taught geometric formulas before deciding that she was much too tired for any of that “–something-something trigonometry something-something five times the mass. A rifle for larger game would be at about a fifty to fifty-eight.”

“Well, it sure seemed to do the job before, and I would put a griffon into the … larger game camp, I guess?” Rainbow Dash took a moment to ponder the uncomfortable notion that, by that measure, most ponies would be distinctly in the “medium size” camp.

“Oh, no, by no means would this be anything but lethal to a griffon. I mean, it probably wouldn’t kill on a shot to the meat of the flank, though the infection might, but anything to the barrel would likely be lethal without very skilled attention. But it likely wouldn’t be lethal immediately, which rather diminishes its utility as a battlefield implement, or for somepony intending to shoot, say, manticores.” A grumble. “Ask me how I know.”

“I can guess.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “So why bring it, then?”

“A few reasons. I was not exactly sure what this trip was going to entail, but I wasn’t exactly going to go anywhere I had not been before without it, either. More importantly, after hearing there would be a ‘castle–’” a word she drew out in sarcastic derision “–I decided that it would be the perfect place for a bit of shooting without my usual concerns of being interrupted by a curious passerby in my preferred hollow outside of Ponyville.”

“Not a fan of interruptions, I take it.”

“Rainbow, I have spent the last few years filling a tree full of lead. I do not, nor do I pretend to, understand the exact relationships between Earth ponies and foliage, but I do not plan on pushing it either way.”

“Fair.” Rainbow Dash looked out into the fields beyond the wall segment they were presently perched atop. Rarity had set what looked to be plates standing vertically out atop pieces of stone. Most were broken. “I guess you got your target practice in at least.”

“Quite a bit!” Rarity beamed. “I was right, this is an excellent location. And look!” She gestured to a stack of chinaware plates and bowls farther down the wall. “Such wonderful targets!”

Rainbow Dash looked at the plates. All featured a painted smug depiction of the previous contessa, which quite succinctly answered Rainbow Dash’s question. “No great loss there.”

“I’m assuredly doing the property a favor.” Rarity whipped around, pointing to a hitherto unseen plain wooden box on the other side of the tower. “But as as for your desire for the removal of craniums, I think you are not quite out of luck yet.”

Rainbow Dash watched Rarity make her way over to the box, flipping a set of brass latches. “What’s in there?”

“Something fantastic. Remember those letters I had sent off to Varend? I was redirecting shipment of this to the port.”

“Not an answer to my question, but–”

“It’s this.”

Cradled in Rarity’s powder-stained hooves was something, to Rainbow Dash’s untrained eyes, enormous. It had two barrels, the pair significantly longer than the one on the rifle, a piece of polished wood, two spindly looking things sticking out of the bottom, and two things that looked like bird heads. “Uh-huh. The spiel, please?”

Rarity looked positively delighted to explain. “This is what they call a “fowling piece,” made for taking birds on the wing. Double barrels, double flintlocks, about a sixty-three caliber.”

Rainbow Dash, through the brain fog, recognized about half of those words. It certainly looked impressive, if significantly more plain than Rarity’s rifle.

“That’s as big as the military ones, right?”

“Just about. This is really meant for shot – little pellets, but it would shoot a ball just as well. Or two, actually.”

Rainbow Dash pondered the nature of the piece for a moment. “… Wait a minute. You got a whole new gun just for shooting birds?”

“And other flying creatures. I suppose one could use it to quite effectively knock a pegasi or griffon out of the air by filling their wings full of shot, but, uh,” Rarity gave a glance at her rapidly-blanching compatriot “I don’t think you’d like to linger on that.”

Rainbow Dash shook her head vigorously. “I wouldn’t, no, not even a little bit.”

“Right. Well, in any case, it was the recommendation of the gunmaker. After I sent a letter off informing him of my satisfaction with my rifle, he insisted I take delivery of a fowling piece ‘as to complete the basic set of a noble-hen’s hunting arms.’ I attempted to inform him that I was most certainly not a noble–”

“Well, I mean, you are now, so maybe he was just being forward thinking.”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Yes, okay, I am now, very perceptive, thank you. As I was saying, I attempted to inform him of my own non-noble, non-hunting self, but he would not accept no for an answer, eventually offering a basic pattern at a heavily discounted price in order to ‘introduce the style to Equestria at large.’ I have serious doubts most Equestrians would engage in the practice, especially a particularly winged segment of the population–”

“What, you mean pegasi?”

“No, Rainbow, the other winged ponies. Yes I mean pegasi.”

“Oh. Why?”

“The wings, and birds, and … such?” Rarity offered. “I don’t know, I just always assumed that you had something of a kindred spirit.”

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “You’re, uh, treading close to dangerous territory there Rares. Some pegasi can be kinda touchy about the comparison.” She shook her head. “But, uh, no. Not really. I mean, I’d shoot a bird. Like if I had to. But I wouldn’t feel anything special about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. What, do you feel a kindred spirit for rhinoceroses?”

Rarity thought for a moment. “Maybe? I haven’t really thought about it. What are they like? I might, I suppose, if I were to meet one.”

“I–” Rainbow Dash sighed “I have no idea what they are like.”

“Well you posed the question. I wonder if they can do magic too, or–”

“Rarity, it was a hypothetical.”

“Oh, really?” Rarity raised an eyebrow. “You surprise me, Rainbow. I wasn’t aware you were capable of such levels of abstract thought as to present a hypothetical.”

“I wasn’t aware you were capable of being such a freaking dork as to derail an entire conversation by thinking too hard about rhinos.”

“Forgive me for being scatterbrained, Rainbow,” Rarity deadpanned, dripping with obvious sarcasm. “I’m a little tired. I suppose I’ll have to sate my idle curiosity some other time.”

“You do that.” Rainbow Dash thought for a moment. “It is kinda weird that griffons would have a whole thing about shooting birds, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause they’re, like, fifty percent bird. And they really show it, too. Gilda used to hear birdsong, get pissed, and go fight a nest of blue jays.”

“I suppose that would be your answer for the motive.”

“Well, yeah, but she wasn’t going there to kill them. They don’t even really eat birds all that often, and only, like, chickens. I think a lot of birds would feel a little like cannibalism.”

“Huh.” Rarity raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought griffons ate everything.”

“Not everything. They don’t eat other griffons.”

“And ponies?”

“Not that I know of.” Rainbow Dash thought a little harder “Well, I mean, I think it has happened.”

“Close enough to everything for me.” Rarity shuddered. “But that’s dark business, and I’ve had enough of that.” Rarity placed the butt of her new gun on the ground. “Now, would you like to help me break this in?”

“fiz-BANG! fiz-BANG!”

Immensely satisfied, Rainbow Dash pulled off her earmuffs as she watched from over the barrels, the pieces of the plates (thankfully wonderfully aerodynamic!) cascading to the ground.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“Face it, Rares,” Rainbow Dash took the butt off her right shoulder. Rarity’s gun had, as was expected for a left-hooved shooter, some cast-on to the stock, but Rainbow Dash was flexible enough to (literally) get over it. “I’m a natural.”

“Athleticism is in your blood, Rainbow. It’s hardly surprising.” They were about tied in ability, really. Rarity had quickly found that her skill in rifles did not exactly transfer over, but she still had the edge in general handling skills. That that stock was cut correctly for her was simply a kicker. “Do you want to go for one more?”

“You mean, do I want to continue to absolutely dominate you at your own game? Duh.”

“So full of sympathy.” Rarity reached for the next plate, preparing to knock the straw and other detritus from its surface, then, after a pause, retracted her hoof.

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow.

It had come to Rarity’s attention that she hadn’t actually tried to use her magic after the events of yesterday, except for lighting a few scraggly cigarillos off her horn. While she didn’t have high hopes for success, she figured it was worth a try, at least. As she had done for her entire post-foalhood life, she semi-consciously manifest intent into her horn, willing (with astonishing clarity for her current state) for the top plate to levitate off the stack.

Despite her considerable effort, the plate did not move. Never one to be deterred, Rarity did what her foalhood teachers insisted she do not do, which was to force her magic into obedience. Rarity faintly remembered that she, as a foal, had been told that forcing magic was a fast track to magical burnout, but she didn’t think that could get any worse.

Evidently, her effort had carried over onto her face. “Rarity, you look like you’re shitting yourself. What are you trying to do?”

“Trying my horn.” She had to admit that Rainbow’s guess was fair enough, as she did, indeed, resemble that remark. “I think we’re getting close – nng!”

And, hearteningly, a faint blue corona had appeared around her horn, and around the top plate in the stack, and the plate had begun, perhaps, to faintly jiggle, just a little bit.

“Ho- Hah!” Rarity, wobbly, poured as much magic as she could into the foalish levitation spell. “Rainbow!”

“Hot damn!” exclaimed Rainbow Dash, with a little pang of jealousy. “I think you’re–”

And then it caught fire.

“Damnit,” swore Rarity, who slumped back onto her haunches. The plate fell to the ground, shattering into hot shards of ceramic. The accumulated crud from atop the plate continued burning, flames turning from Rarity’s shocking blue to a mundane orange. “And here I thought things were on the up-and-up.”

“What are you talking about?” Rainbow Dash, puzzled, pointed at the pitiful little fire. “That’s fantastic progress!”

“It’s a trash fire.” Rarity snorted. “Literally!”

“It’s a literal gazillion times more magic than you had been doing! That means you’re getting better!”

“What, so I can be more of a menace?” Rarity snapped. “It’s different, but progress? In case you don’t remember, my job is the delicate construction of fine fashion, not the long-distance incineration of things.”

“That’s–” Rainbow Dash paused, then, seeing as Rarity had opened her mouth again, gave her a light back-hoofed smack, intended solely gesture of social courtesy rather than as an attack. While it was something of an extreme approach, this was decidedly not the time for a Rarity meltdown.

“Uff – hey!”

Rainbow Dash cut her off. “Are you fucking stupid?”

“…What?”

“Okay, so, yes.”

“Explain?”

“What do you mean, explain, Rares? You’re being dumb about this.” Rainbow Dash shook her head vigorously. She found that doing so pulled on a cut or a stitch somewhere, so she ceased doing so. “What, did you think that you were going to get better in a week or something? That you were just going to get up and, like, rub some dirt in it? Go back to business as usual? Because I have done this, Rarity. I’ve been where you’re at.”

“Without magic?”

“No, I – actually, yeah, right the hell now.” Rainbow Dash fixed her with a stare. “So add that on too, thanks for the reminder. But no, I’ve been where you’re at when I couldn’t freaking walk for months. And you know what? I didn’t just get all better all at once. So stop thinking that way!”

Sufficiently cowed, Rarity looked askew. “I, er–”

“No, uh,” Suddenly aware of her tone, Rainbow Dash rubbed a forehoof against the other awkwardly. “Okay, look, that was a little harsh, but – look, okay? It took me a month and a half to take two steps after another. And it was literally two steps. My dad was coming to see me, and wanted to surprise him, so I did all this preparation to stand up and walk to go meet him. And you know what? I stood up, took a step, took another step, and then face-planted, just totally ate shit. But you know what? That was still a gazillion times more steps than I had taken the day before.” Rainbow Dash very carefully picked up her left front hoof, then put it on Rarity’s shoulder. “It’s a perspective thing. You cant get mad about your first steps, okay?”

Rarity took a moment to respond. “… Okay.”

“Great.” Rainbow Dash put her hoof back down. “Also, what do you mean trash fire?”

“It is literally–”

“Okay, I know what it literally is, but, like, are you seriously trying to say that you being able to light shit on fire at a distance isn’t the tightest shit you’ve ever heard?”

Rarity thought for a moment. “Well, there is something of an appeal to it.”

“Something? Rarity, we’re about to go rampaging our way through a city, and you can, potentially, light some motherfucker on fire from across a room without him even knowing until his ass is on fire. That’s straight up nuts.”

“Easy on the verb choice, Rainbow. I don’t know if ‘rampage’ is quite the right term,” Rarity lightly warned. “And I’m not exactly sure I could do what I just did again. But…”

“Buuuuut?”

A playful eye-roll. “I will concur; it is indeed the ‘tightest shit,’ as you put it.” Rarity sat up with a start, walking back over to the stack of plates. “Now! Place yourself once again behind my fowling piece, Rainbow – I believe it is still your turn, no?”

“Fiz-BANG!”

What remained of the annihilated plate was small enough to be almost imperceptible

“Smoked that one!” Rainbow Dash cheered, before a pause. “Uh, figuratively. Gotta specify with you.”

Rarity didn’t respond, but looked immensely pleased. She had come to find out that all her practice in aiming a rifle was not just unhelpful, but actually deleterious to her talent behind a shotgun. The aiming of a rifle was a progressive, stepwise thing – aligning first the front blade, then bringing up the rear to meet it, all the while locking out one’s body into a rock-solid shooting platform. A shotgun, in contrast, was a fluid, instinctual thing – fling the bead up, intuit a lead, swing, and squeeze. She supposed Rainbow had a certain instinctual advantage (though a few experimental shots behind the rifle showed that it did not carry over), hence her seemingly effortless proficiency, but she was too tired to do much pouting about it – and regardless, she had about figured it out by now.

In all the excitement, neither one had noticed the hoofsteps clattering up the stairs behind them.

A male voice. “Ah, contessa?”

More than a little panicked, both mares swiveled around to face the upcoming threat – Rainbow with a rather nonthreatening plate in hoof, Rarity with a considerably more threatening side-by-side held at a low ready position.

Luckily for the two of them (or, more likely, for the interloper, who would have faced the imminent delivery of a face full of birdshot), the intruder was instead the resident young stallion of the castle, with his guest, the tailor, in tow.

“Ah! There you are.” Rarity carefully lowered the cock on the shotgun, making it safe, then placed it against the stonework. “I was beginning to think you had gotten lost.” She peered around him. “And you! How pleasant to meet you once again.”

“Ah, likewise, your grace.” The tailor forced out a smile. “You are, ah … you appear to…”

“I look terrible, yes, I know.”

“Si, it is–” the tailor flushed red, locked both in embarrassment as well as in unconscious fear from insulting a countess. “No, I did not mean–”

Rarity cut her off. “Yes you did, and I agree. No reason for you to be embarrassed.”

“O-okay.” She shot a look at the other foreign mare, eyes widening in shock as she looked over the quantity of bandages – as well as the visible wings, which still posed something of a challenge. That they hadn’t moved on this mare who, had just two days gesticulated with them wildly, meant something terrible had happened. “W-what has occurred to put you both in this state?”

“We met a contessa.” Rainbow Dash gestured towards Rarity. “Besides that one.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t remember, to perfectly honest.” In the break of conversation, Rarity had managed to sneak in another round of chaw. It was either that or falling asleep on her hooves. “In all the action, I forgot her name.”

“Cremania,” the stallion helpfully added.

“I see.” The little tailor nodded. “That does explain your state, yes.”

“The injuries?”

“The living. I think that had you gone to see a more significant contessa or comte with such lack of care that which is most evident, you would be dead.”

“I concur.” The stallion cocked his head. “You did – you did not announce your status, did you?”

“I … did?” Rarity blanched. “Is that ba–” and she paused, because, by the faces around her, it was clearly bad “–it was a … tactical error, I see.”

“One most severe,” The stallion warned. “Astute electors will surely be watching out for you. Galloparte–”

The little tailor winced, rubbing a hoof against her horn as she cringed away.

“–likely already has agents searching for you.”

Graven-faced, Rarity nodded. “Duly noted. I should hope they do not come looking here quite yet, at least.”

“Please,” added Rainbow Dash. “I want at least a few more nights of rest in me before I have to do anything else.”

“Moi aussi, but sometimes choices get made for us. Horrible business we’ve found ourselves in – once again, please remind me to shoot Luna next time I see her.”

“Luna?” asked the tailor. “Who is–”

“Celestia’s sister. I believe her existence has not quite made it over yet.”

“High Celestia has a living sister?”

“For now, at least!” Rarity snarked. “But enough of that. What have you brought me?”

“Ah!” The tailor’s face lit up, followed by her horn literally lighting up, lines streaming into her corona from the lines cut into her horn. Rarity tried her best not to look at them. “I have three for her, and two for you, contessa.”

Lifted from an unseen trunk in the stairwell, the dresses ascended into view. Rarity’s were both resolutely plain. The first was a dead-simple working mare’s dress, sewn from floral-patterned cotton – quite an industrial product for the area. The second was a matronly, high-necked thing in cheap natural brown. Both resembled the sorts of things Rarity saw on the cover of pulpy paperbacks about frontier dwelling ponies fighting off bison raids, but they were certainly not eye-catching, which was a big plus.

Rainbow Dash’s were somewhat more striking. The first was a near carbon-copy of her first, ruined, dress, albeit in a different set of pastel shades. The second was a high-waisted empire-silhouette piece with a pale blue top and white bottom, adorned with simple organic motifs around the low hemline, supplied with a contrasting jacket for wing-modesty. But the final, Rarity noted, was something altogether different – a fantastic neoclassical thing with draped, loose fabric and naught but a simple rope-belt for adornment, it exuded a certain sense of ancient martial spirit that Rainbow Dash couldn’t help but match. It also would do a great job of showing off the form of the athletic pegasus underneath – great in most circumstances, although not necessarily desired right now. Still, it struck Rarity with how good of a dress it was – and how much it resembled a dress she had made for Rainbow.

“Splended!” Rarity pointed the dress of note. “That one especially! Rainbow here looks fantastic in something, ah, peplos-esque. I should know – I’ve made several for her. Did you have this available already, or have to modify something else?”

“Ah, neither of those things, your grace.” The tailor beamed. “I made it from scraps late last evening.”

“Truly? Ha!” Rarity guffawed. “Truly, you are a mare after my own heart! I don’t know how many nights I have spent throughout my life atop a sewing machine.”

“Maybe all dressmakers are like that, Rares.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “It might just come with the profession.”

“Only the good ones.” Rarity turned back to address the tailor. “It’s wonderful. You’re a great talent. Please tell me how much this all will cost.”

“Oh, well–”

“I told you once, I will not accept favors.” Rarity cut her off. “State a price.”

“...three hundred?”

“Three hundred. I will fetch the bits shortly.”

“Please, signora,” the stallion cut in as he started away, “let me.”

“No, don’t bother. While I would be happy to let you assist me, the coinpurse can only be opened by my companion, lest you face a nearly-lethal bout of lightning.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” added Rainbow Dash, well acquainted with the crown’s security protocols.

“It’s a reliable account, let me assure you – one shouldn’t trifle with Revenue’s foul spell-gramming. She’s not in much shape to go anywhere right now, so we’ll have to pay you upon the cessation of your visit.”

“Oh, it is not important that I be paid immediately,” the demure little tailor clarified. “There is no rush.”

“Surely you have a shop to return to, no?

“The trip to Mareanello is lengthy, signora; I did not open the shop this day.”

“You missed a day of business because of me? Horrible.” Rarity shook her head. “I will ensure we pay you a per diem fee as well.”

“Mistress, I insist that–”

The tailor stopped her sentence in the middle of the word, eyes wide and with pupils like tea saucers. Momentarily taken aback. Rarity looked to the stallion for an explanation, only to see he had assumed the same pose. Rarity followed their eyes forward.

There, in the air, was an approaching, blurry form – one with four legs and two wings.

A pegasus.

Author's Note

There were double-barreled flintlocks. There wasn't really any significant difference between the barrel geometry of a musket and a fowling piece, as both would have been smoothbores of about seventy caliber. A double-barrel would have been pretty much exclusively a sporting piece, however, as the lack of a full stock would make a bayonet impossible. Novelty multi-barrel guns did exist, but they usually had, like, four barrels or more, and on one trigger.

I have actually frisbee'd china plates as sporting clays before. It's hard - evidently, Rainbow is a natural (why wouldn't she be?) I'm not much of a clays shooter, but I did greatly the time I put in on the clays circuit doing research for this chapter.