Rarity, Contessa di Mareanello (?)

by JimmySlimmy

Rating: teen
Tags: Rarity, Fluttershy, Adventure, Profanity, Violence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Death, Princess Luna, Rainbow Dash, Comedy
Length: 133600

"All we must do to secure our stipend is grant fair Rarity a title? By all means, do so posthaste! We cannot foresee any harm she could encounter from that!" – Princess Luna, a notoriously poor prognosticator.

Ever since Rarity was a wee filly, she has always fantasized about the life of the nobility. The inestimable glamour! The fabulous balls and galas! The magnificent castles! Even after running roughshod into the very worst of highborn snobbery at the Gala, that little foalish tingle keeps dragging her mind back to that particular whimsy in the quiet times.

Incidentally, Luna needs some poor gullible idiot she can ennoble before throwing them into the very foulest political cesspit in Bitaly on a wild-goose chase for nine million bits. How convenient!

Reading the previous story is highly recommended, not only because this one won't make much sense without it, but also because it's a 100% certified banger. Obviously.

Published 2021-05-25 06:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-07-28 11:33:31 UTC

"Comital" is a Phenomenal Adjective.

The princess and minister disembarked the train, stepping onto the rough-hewn planks of the Ponyville train station.

“Ah, Ponyville!” Luna sighed in contentment. “‘Tis a lovely little village, no?”

“It’s, er, very rustic?” The minister watched a dun-colored earth pony expectorate into a spittoon at an impressive distance. “And with quite the wildlife, it would seem.”

“Quite!” Luna agreed, clueless as to the minister’s meaning. “The proximity to the wild lands of the Everfree grant it spectacular views of unusual wildlife.” Luna paused for a moment. “Occasionally too spectacular, truthfully. We believe Ponyville possesses the highest number of animal attacks of any Equestrian municipality, in actuality.”

“Must do wonders for the property value,” deadpanned the minister.

“All things have trade-offs, minister,” lectured Luna, who gestured with a wing for the minister to follow her off the platform and into the streets. “We would gladly trade a cockatrice attack or six for vistas this pleasant and ponies this friendly.”

The minister wasn’t quite so convinced, but he figured it wasn’t worth pressing the issue. Dutifully, he continued down the street after the princess. “Where are we headed anyway, your majesty?” He eyed the sky. “I fear we may be late enough most businesses would have already shut their doors.”

“No need to worry, minister, it is a domicile we are headed towards, not a business.” She lowered a brow thoughtfully. “Well, truly, it is both, but ‘tis irrelevant, presently.”

“Both?” the minister asked. “Princess, just who are we visiting?”

“Tsk!” Luna shot back playfully. “Do cease your fussing, viscount. It is merely an old friend, nothing to – oh!” Luna stopped, pointing at a stand selling flowers. “Look, minister, peonies! Our favorite!” She nearly clopped her hooves in glee. “Oh, our sister never stocks them at the palace!”

The mare selling flowers smiled broadly and waved a hoof, simultaneously performing a comically exaggerated bow. “Evening princess! Peonies, I’m guessing?”

“Of course!” Luna shouted back. “We will be right over! Are they fresh?”

The mare smirked and pointed to a line painted on her stall. All Flowers Cut Today.

“Delightful!” Luna turned back to the minister. “Minister, may we borrow a few bits for flowers?”

The minister patted at his vest before extracting a few coins. “That’s all we have left, princess,” he grumbled. “And I refuse to spend our last few bits on flowers.”

“Truthfully?” Luna faced the minister with an adorable pout. “Even for your beloved princess?”

The minister was a hard stallion, and had seen many such emotional pleas in his time. There was no way he was falling for something this blatant.

No way.

“THUNK-THUNK-THUNK.”

Rarity froze mid draw, gilt cigarette holder hanging askew off her lips and bathrobe draped loosely around her frame. She suddenly had a terrible feeling that her previous prediction about an unplanned visit to Canterlot may have been slightly off: it would seem Canterlot had made an unplanned visit to her.

“Who’s that at the door?” asked Fluttershy from Rarity’s couch, brows creased in concern. “I didn’t know we were expecting any, um, company.”

“We weren’t,” stated Rarity simply.

“Oh.” Fluttershy stood up from the couch. “Do you think it’s the, uh, y’know–”

“Constables? Some sort of secret police? A band of enraged griffons, perhaps?” Rarity shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Toss me my hat, will you dear?”

Fluttershy chucked Rarity her now thoroughly pungent headdress, which had absorbed more than its fair share of both dozens of packs of Bucky Strikes and what could most mercifully be described as horn discharge. It’s not as if Rarity intentionally left it in such a disagreeable state, of course; more that she had no earthly idea on how one launders approximately one third of a manticore’s face. “Thank you, Fluttershy. I would hate to be dragged away or beaten into a thin smear of viscera without what is rapidly becoming my most prized possession.”

“Anything else?” asked Fluttershy, whose hoof hovered over a sword. She wasn’t intending to fight the constables; Celestia knows what sort of idiocy Luna had implicated them in, but it wasn’t the kind of trouble made better with a sword fight with the local sheriff. Griffons, however, were obviously fair game.

“I suppose that shall have to do, as it were.” Rarity sniffed, straitening up her posture as to present something more respectable of a figure to whomever waited behind her door and suddenly wishing she had put on her requisite eye-liner. With a flourish, she flung it open. “Yoo-hoo! Officers! Please do mind the – oh, it’s you.” There were not, as it turned out, any constables behind the door, nor trench-coat adorned spooks, nor knife-wielding griffons, but instead the lunar princess and a slightly peevish unicorn stallion in a lovely corduroy waistcoat.

Not nearly as exciting, really. Rarity frowned. “Good evening, I suppose, princess. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Luna nodded courteously, munching contentedly on the final flower out of a bouquet of peonies. Rarity’s voice, she noted, had dropped a solid half-octave, and had picked up the particular timbre of someone who habitually gargled pea gravel. “A good evening to you as well, Rarity. Is mistress Fluttershy around?”

“She is around, yes, albeit presently occupied.” Rarity gestured behind the doorframe to Fluttershy with a hoof, waving it in a hopefully clear signal that she likely wouldn’t be needing the sword. Probably. “I noticed you avoided my question, princess. While you are always welcome to visit, is is somewhat rude to leave a hostess wondering as to why you showed.”

“Ah, firstly, we have come to inquire as to the state of your convalescence, since we–”

“Terribly.” Rarity took another pull from her holder, blowing it politely back into her boutique and away from her door. “It’s going terribly, as you can see.”

The stallion pulled his head back from Rarity, nostrils wrinkling in protest of the acrid clouds of assorted stink which were pouring forth from the open doorway. “Convalescence? Convalescence from what, your –”

Luna waved a forehoof in dismissal. “Nothing to worry about minister, we will be happy to inform you of the previous events later once the present business is finished.”

“Minister?” Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Minster of what, exactly?”

“Oh!” Luna playfully knocked herself on the forehead with a hoof. “Of course, we forgot to introduce our companion. Rarity, we are joined by Mulberry Bags, 3rd Viscount of Oxhoof, Minister of the Exchequer, et cetera, et cetera.”

The minister raised a hoof for a polite shake.

Rarity eyed it warily, both forehooves staying firmly on the ground. “Charmed.” She coughed, although it was tough to determine whether she was doing it out of politeness or out of acute lung trauma. “Ah, Luna, why have you brought the Minister of the Exchequer to my door?”

Luna pretended not to hear her. “Well, for what our opinion is worth, we think you look, ah, hale and hearty.” She smiled a little too wide.

“Please don’t lie, Luna, it’s unbecoming of royalty.” Rarity grumbled. “And you’re terrible at it. Take it from an expert.”

Luna shrugged. “We tried. Would you prefer our honest opinion?”

Rarity adjusted her hat, surreptitiously scratching at her horn. Gods, it was itchy. “Please.”

“Truthfully? You resemble like something ejected from the backside of a diuretic elephant,” Luna stated. “You look like you did charge headlong into a phalanx consisting of fiery warlocks and straight razors. You resemble–”

“That will do, princess. I believe I get the,ah, gist.” Rarity sighed. “And you haven’t even seen the worst of it.”

“The worst, you say?” Luna chuckled. “We presume you are referring to something besides from the facial laceration, which should make for a dashing scar, methinks; multitude of very apparent contusions, a disadvantage of a white coat, of course; and general stench of soured tobacco and rot?”

Rarity sniffed. “Yes, besides those.”

“Verily?” Luna asked incredulously.

“Yes, verily.”Rarity sighed. “Minister? You may wish to avert your eyes if you are weak-stomached.”

The minister scoffed. “Well, it can’t be that bad–”

With a roll of her eyes, Rarity removed the headdress with a forehoof. Where her legendarily coiffed mane once rose gloriously forth from her head sat only the very shortest of purple stubble, which verged into naught but pinpricks of charred folicles a hoof-width or so around what could generously be described as a horn. Some of the underlying white coat had burned away as well, which left a patchy bald spot around the disaster area. The horn itself had a few crusty linen bandages stuck to the exterior but was, unfortunately for any observer, mostly exposed, thin flakes of blackened solids peeling away from a weepy core which ran with a full gamut of pussy yellows and greens.

It was, much to his dismay, that bad.

“–oh dear Luna, it’s.” The minister solidly retched, his cheeks (whose coat was, to Rarity’s immense displeasure, distinctly not mulberry in color but verged towards a Mountbatten pink) running a sickly green. “I didn’t even know horns could do that.”

Rarity replaced the cap atop her head. “Neither did I, nor, for that matter, did the doctors, who mostly responded in a similar fashion before shouting in confusion.” She pulled her eyes away from the minster, glaring back at the princess. “I daresay you’ve been around the block a fair few more times than I have, Luna; have you ever lain eyes on something so, ah, distasteful?”

Luna shook her head. “Anything? Yes,” assured Luna, who was suddenly reminded of tossing plague-bloated bodies into a bonfire outside the walls of one of her castles. “Have we ever had the particular misfortune of witnessing a horn in quite that state? Nay.”

“Wonderful,” Rarity growled. “It’s always simply swell to learn one is a trendsetter in a particular variety of misery.”

“We presume the apothecaries had no suitable treatments, then?” Luna inquired.

“More or less.” Rarity removed the holder from the corner of her mouth, shaking it a few times to knock off a bit of ash. “The pegasus and earth pony doctors had no idea what to do, and the only unicorn on staff recommended, once he pulled his face out of a bucket, of course, a steady intake of–” she shook the holder for emphasis “–these. The nicotine does something with blood and brains that staves off most of the pain, as I understand it.”

“That is, er, good news?” Luna offered. “At least, in comparison to acquiring a disgusting habit out of deep emotional trauma, we suppose?”

“If you say so.” Rarity shrugged. “We daresay the end result is the same.”

“Meaning?”

Rarity fished a pack out of a robe pocket, giving it a rattle to emphasize the nearly-empty container. “Meaning this is my fourth pack today and I can feel my throat screaming in agony.”

“Oh.” Luna furrowed her brow in thought, ducking her head to the minister’s right ear and whispering. “Is that a lot?”

The minister rolled his eyes and nodded slightly.

“Ah.” Luna shivered. “Our condolences.”

“Appreciated.” Rarity put the pack back. “I would have complained about having to sequester all of my fabrics and finished works upstairs to keep them from reeking, or how the majority of my customer base would presently run out of my front door in disgust, but I cannot work anyway. Sewing machines are nice, but simply too much of the job requires precise horn-work for me to proceed as normal.”

Luna smirked, jabbing the minster lightly with an elbow. “Unemployed, you say?”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Ugh! Yes, for a month or so at least. The doctors weren’t terribly sure on when I should expect my magic back, but even the most positive prognoses given by the hospital didn’t veer below four weeks or so.” She rubbed her temples in frustration. “Four weeks! The season will be over in four weeks!”

“Once again, our condolences.” Luna coughed politely. “Of course, in light of your indisposition, would you perhaps consider aiding us with, ah, a–”

“Oh.” Rarity’s eyes were suddenly half-lidded and hard, her posture, formerly relaxed, now stock-still. “No.”

“But you failed to hear our proposal!” Luna replied.

“I don’t need to hear your proposal, Luna.” Rarity began to shut the door. “I’m thankful for your visit, darling, but if you think I’m going to go traipsing off again on some wild quest you can get fucked, frankly.”

“We’re sending you to Bitaly!” Luna stuck a hoof against the door jamb.

“Tempting, but I’d be insane to visit the world of high fashion looking like this. No thanks.” Rarity attempted to shut the door, only to find it blocked by a silver-shod hoof.

“You’re getting paid!”

“I am more than wealthy enough presently.” Rarity slammed the door into the hoof. Luna whimpered slightly.

“We’re sending you on an ocean liner!”

“I hate boats.” Rarity slammed the door again. Luna’s hoof retreated almost all the way out. Rarity thanked her past self for splurging on such a sturdy door.

Luna played her trump card. “We’re making you a countess!”

The squeezing of the door stopped. After a few seconds, it opened back up, revealing an incredulous Rarity. “You’re what?”

Luna rubbed at her hoof, which had started to swell from blunt force. “We’re – wince – granting you a title. You’re becoming Countess of Mareanello, as we need a member–”

“I’m in.” Rarity stated. “Whatever you require, whatever idiotic quest you’re sending me on, I’m in, unquestionably.”

“Oh. Really?” Luna raised an eyebrow. “But we had not even began to explain what the task was!”

“I emphasize, princess. Idon’t care. Not even a little.” Oh sure, the rational side of Rarity’s brain was screaming out in horror at the prospect of going on, as she had said, another idiotic quest, but that side of the brain was currently being pulverized by a thousand memories of a little filly playing with elegantly clothed dolls in miniature manors and dreaming of dukes and princes. In the face of a lifetime of foalish fantasies? Rationality didn’t stand a chance.

“Huh.” Luna shrugged. “‘Twas easier than expected. Pray tell, you would not perchance have a sword about, would you?” she joked.

“Yes,” replied a straight-faced Rarity. She pulled away from the door. “Fluttershy? Would you mind bringing that blade of yours over?”

Fluttershy poked her head out from around one of Rarity’s couches. “Sure.” She reached her muzzle down to the seat, pausing halfway. “You aren’t planning on, um, stabbing the princess, are you?”

Rarity chuckled. “No, Fluttershy, I’m not planning on poking the princess.”

Satisfied, Fluttershy daintily lifted the basket-hilted broadsword in her teeth, trotting over to the door and depositing it onto the threshold. She bowed slightly, adding a cursory “Princess.”

“Warden,” Luna replied with a smirk. She eyed the pegasus, who, while obviously far better off than her partner in literal crime, still had both patchy wings strapped to her sides. “How goes your, ah, recovery?”

“It’s, uh, okay, I guess.” Fluttershy rubbed a forehoof across her other foreleg. “I kinda missed the doctor while we were bur–” she clammed up suddenly, remembering the presence of the minister. “–uh, disposing of trash, so I had to set the bones in my wings with my teeth, which wasn’t, um, fun.”

Luna sucked in a breath through her teeth, wincing in sympathy. She had done the same fourteen centuries or so back, and wasn’t fun was a tremendous understatement. “Our sympathies. We have done the same.”

“It’s not the first time. I tend to pick up a few of those while, uh, wrestling bears.” Fluttershy sat back onto her haunches. “What do you need the sword for, anyway?”

Luna levitated the blade off the ground, extracting it from a lovely embellished scabbard and giving it a twirl. “We’re granting Rarity a title of countess. The sword is an integral component of the ceremony, of course.”

“Oh. That’s, uh, nice?” Fluttershy tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowed in thought. “But that seems a little excessive for a ‘thank you’ gift.”

“What? Oh, nay!” Luna chortled a few times. “Nay, we need Rarity for a task, and she must possess a title for that.” She gestured to Rarity, waving a hoof at her head. “Do take off your headdress, Rarity, it’s–”

“CLANG.”

Luna looked down at the yellow hoof, which was currently resting on the sword it had punched out of Luna’s field onto the paving stones in front of the door. “Uh–”

“Are you serious?” Fluttershy had craned herself up to as near eye-level as she could, wings straining mightily against the straps holding them in close. Ponies saw the princesses and saw horns, but wings saw wings, and all of Fluttershy’s instincts were screaming to her wing muscles to flare out to maximum size to show up a rival hen. It wasn’t a fight she could win, of course: Luna had a fair few hoof-widths of plumage on Fluttershy’s presently mangy wings, but pegasi instincts were not always rational ones; the insult feather-brain existed for a reason. Normally, she’d have kept her wings under tight control, as it was really very rude to flare out in public, but a combination of security in their restraint and sheer abject fury kept Fluttershy’s mind otherwise occupied.

Luna retreated from the verbal assault, squirming away from the incensed pegasus and looking side to side. The minister had, wisely, already backed well away from the door.

Fluttershy didn’t relent. “Are you SERIOUS?” She gestured towards Rarity, whose initial look of alarm had faded into general bemusement. “The last time you sent us on a ‘task’ you left both of us crippled,” Fluttershy spat, voice dripping with contempt.

Luna retreated further. “Well, technically we only need lady Rarity, so you should be–”

“THAT’S NOT BETTER!” Fluttershy screeched (insofar as Fluttershy could screech), nostrils flaring in rage. “That’s not better at all! That’s worse, you big blue–” she firmly poked a forehoof into Luna’s sternum, the two of which were becoming fairly well-acquainted. “–dipshit! The nerve to even suggest she go off on another one of your jobs in a state like this. Look at her!”

Luna did as she was told. Rarity was barely holding back laughter, which didn’t really support Fluttershy’s argument, but it wasn’t like Luna was going to contradict her.

Fluttershy continued, stamping a hoof. “She’s an out of shape unicorn with a chain-smoking habit who, might I add, can’t do magic. Forget fighting, she can’t even sign her name without her horn!”

Rarity frowned, her mood being rather decisively dampened by that. It was all true, of course – her hoof-writing was indeed so abysmal as to be inscruitable – but that didn’t mean she liked hearing it. She softly trod up to her friend, laying a gentle hoof across her withers. “Dear, I assure you it’s alright. I really do feel–”

Fluttershy shucked off her hoof. “No! It’s not alright.” She turned her head to face Rarity. “I don’t know what you see in this, but you aren’t going anywhere, Rarity. You’re staying here where I can take care of you, not traipsing off on some bull– ”

Rarity had laid a friendly but firm hoof across Fluttershy’s mouth, and her eyes, while still as friendly as ever, had taken a slightly domineering edge. “Dear, I implore you, do relax, yes?” She pulled the hoof away.

“But–”

Rarity raised a challenging eyebrow. “But what, dear?”

“–mmmph.” Fluttershy shut up in deference to her friend, although her jaw remained firmly set.

“Thank you.” Rarity pushed a lock of Fluttershy’s hair out of her face. “Fluttershy, darling, I am, as always, eternally thankful for your compassion, but I fear you are being a little, er, overbearing. I may be temporarily disabled, yes, but I am not a child, nor an invalid, and I doubt Luna is planning on sending me on a death-defying adventure à la those books Rainbow Dash is so fond of.” She turned to the princess. “Right, Luna?”

“Of course,” replied Luna, which wasn’t totally a lie; she hadn’t planned much at all, really, so she couldn’t have planned such a quest. “Simply a political visit to Bitaly. We suspect you shan’t see much in the way of action at all, really.”

“See?” Rarity turned back to Fluttershy. “Nothing to worry about. Just a little ceremony, a little, eugh, boat ride, a little politicking at a ball, and I come home. Simple, really.”

“I, er–.” Fluttershy sighed, sitting back onto her haunches and allowing most of the irritation to leave her tensed-up body. “Fine.”

Rarity sighed visibly. She wasn’t sure she could convince Fluttershy otherwise if she really had to, but luckily she had relented without too much in the way of effort. “Well, I’m glad that–”

“But I’m not happy about it.” Fluttershy jabbed Rarity in the chest; not quite as firmly as she used with the princess, of course, but still with no small amount of fire. “I just don’t want you, um, getting hurt out there, okay?” Fluttershy moved to muss Rarity’s mane in affection, but, forgetting the present circumstances, ended up performing something akin to an awkward head-pat. “I still blame myself for what happened to you, and that means I want to help you get better. I need to.”

“Ohhh, Fluttershy!” Rarity pulled her into a tight hug. Fluttershy wrinkled her nostrils in an involuntary reaction to the cloud of acrid cigarette smoke that lingered around Rarity’s head. “You know I could never blame you. Never. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead out there, and vice versa.” She pulled away. “We helped each other. That’s what friends are for, alright? And you’re the finest friend I have.” She wiped away a tear. “You’re the sister I always wished I had, Fluttershy. I mean that.”

Sweetie Belle clutched at her chest, pulling away from the vat of acid she was previously craned over and throwing open her lab coat. “Oh, goddess!”

Scootaloo rushed over, throwing aside her copy of The Foal’s Guide to Inorganic Chemistry. “Sweetie Belle! Are you okay? You didn’t breathe in the fumes, did you? I explicitly warned you not to breathe in the fumes!”

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “No, it’s – it’s not that.” She examined her chest, which was seemingly unwounded. “It’s – it’s like somepony just said something horrible, like my family disowning me or something!”

“Oh.” Scootaloo sat back. “That.” She shrugged. “Yeah, it’s probably that. You get used to it.”

Fluttershy sniffled once. “Thanks, Rarity. I mean it.” She paused for a moment. “But don’t you, um, already have a sister?”

“I know what I said, Fluttershy.” Rarity straightened up, turning back to the princess. “Now, I believe we had a ceremony to conduct, yes?”

“Right!” said Luna, wiping an eye with a wing. She was always the sucker for emotional sororal embraces. “Do remove your hat and bow, yes?”

Rarity did as she was told, placing her muzzle to the dirt.

Luna cleared her throat, levitating up the sword and throwing out her wings into a regal formation. She touched the end of the sword to one of Rarity’s shoulders, commencing her address. “Empowered by ancient decree we do, as Queen Nocturnal, Princess Eternal, and Goddess Primordial, use the Royal Prerogative, to Grant thee the Comital Title of Mareanello and all Lower Realms.” She touched the other shoulder. “Arise, once a Common Subject, now a Noble.”

Fluttershy leaned over to the minister, murmuring in his ear. “How does she do that thing with the, uh, capitalization? She’s just speaking. Why do I know how that, um, looked?”

He shrugged. “Alicorn magic. Celestia does it too. Don’t think about it too much,” he replied.

Rarity, as commanded, arose, replacing the cap upon her head. “Remarkable! Incredible!” she squealed in foalish glee. “I’m a countess!”

Luna smiled. “Yes, you are. Personally, we’re impressed we did that correctly. It has been nigh on twelve hundred years since our last ennoblement, but we, er–” she wracked her brain for the correct slang “–nailed it?”

“I’d say.” Rarity smiled broadly. “Now, when do I get my crown?”

“You don’t,” The minster replied, looking through a parchment he had surreptitiously extracted from a vest pocket. “The position has no crown jewels, and certainly none on this side of the ocean.”

“Oh.” Rarity looked slightly crestfallen. “Do we receive any, ah, tax income? A stipend perhaps?”

“You do.” The minister looked further down his sheet. “You get, er, two bits in taxes. It’s not much of a county, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Rarity was beginning to see how Luna could give this title away. “But I do get a castle, correct?”

“No, you–” The minister looked at the bottom of the sheet. “Yes, actually, you do. There is a castle attached to the property, it appears. No word on condition, however.”

Rarity had heard enough. “That is sufficient. It will do.”

Luna coughed slightly. “Well! Now that we have finished that business, Fluttershy, I believe the minister has a proposal for you as well?”

“Oh?" Fluttershy eyed the unicorn, who stuffed the parchment into another pocket and extracted a notebook.

“Yes, I do!” The minister read through his notes. “Whilst transiting from Canterlot to this town, we poured through the law books to find a potential position for you by which you could be compensated for traveling with your friend.”

Fluttershy held up a hoof. “Kind, but I, um, can’t.”

Luna cocked her head. “But, you had previously expressed your dissatisfaction with having to abandon mist – Countess Rarity, yes?

“Correct,” Fluttershy grumbled. “But unlike some ponies, I do have a job which I both am able and am expected to perform, so I can’t just, uh, leave for Bitaly for a month.”

“But there is an attached paycheck, yes?” Luna turned to the viscount. He nodded.

“It’s not the, uh, money, Princess.” Fluttershy shook her head. “I have a, um, responsibility to this town, and all the bits in Equestria couldn’t make up for a month’s worth of dead pets from me not being here.”

“We see.” Luna frowned. “We cannot fault your principles, although this does make Rarity’s task a fair bit more inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” Fluttershy raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said it was a simple task?’

“Er–” Luna scratched her head with a hoof. “Everypony needs a friend?”

Fluttershy eyed her warily.

Luna continued. “But this does mean we will be forced to find another pony with whom Rarity is friendly with; and one who can miss a month of work at that.” She looked around. “Know you any pony who fits the bill?”

“Yes,” replied Fluttershy, who eyed the clouds. “I do.”

“Who?” asked Rarity. “I can’t think of anypony myself, so I have no idea of whom you are–”

She followed Fluttershy’s eyes to the clouds. Her eyes widened in horror.

It was a gasp. "No."

Author's Note

I promise I'm not trying to game the algorithm, fimfic Oprichniks, I just edited this faster than expected.

Don't worry! There will still be plenty of butterhorse and moonbutt in this story, just not always with Rarity.

It's harder than expected to make a good horse pun on cigarette brands, actually.

The "Slice" of Life Chapter. (Ha Ha, Get It?)

“Absolutely not.”

The girls, and one still very confused minister, trotted towards the current mooring of Ponyville’s gaudiest cloud-borne lodging. One of them was not happy about it. Rarity, who had successfully insisted that she be allowed to put on a least an attempt at makeup before leaving her house, scowled from under a wide-brimmed pink sun hat. “There is simply no way I am going anywhere with her.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Rarity,” lectured Fluttershy, well aware of the futility of that statement. “And it’s not like the princess wants to, um, lock you in a room with Discord or anything.”

Rarity scoffed. “That may be, but comparative misery is still misery, Fluttershy.”

“Misery?” Fluttershy rolled her eyes, attempting to bat Rarity playfully with a wing. She forgot that those were still bound to her sides, resulting in just mostly just some squirming. Hopefully nopony saw. “Rarity, you love Dash just as much as the rest of us.” She pondered for a second. “Um, verifiably so, actually. I’m pretty sure that the Elements don’t, uh, work if that’s not true.”

“You have a higher confidence in the decisions of magical flora than I, Fluttershy.” Rarity adjusted her hat, which, as it was intentionally not cut for unicorns, rested further forwards than was generally comfortable. “And love and friendship have nothing to do with it. I love the spa’s magnificent ash-lined sauna. I would still expire if I spent three hours in it.”

Fluttershy eyed her. “You’d die if you spent three hours in a room with Rainbow Dash?”

“Hmph!” Rarity chuckled darkly. “Somepony would.”

“Rarity!” Fluttershy exclaimed, mortified. “That’s terrible!”

“Just a joke dear,” Rarity assured, mostly truthfully. “I’m not sure I could, ah, deal with her in this state, regardless.”

Fluttershy looked back scornfully. “That’s not very funny, Rarity. It’s not–”

“Pray tell, is that it?”

The two mares came out of their morbid conversation. Princess Luna was pointing disdainfully at the floating house.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Rarity sighed. “It’s very, er–”

“…Individual?” offered Fluttershy charitably.

“Nouveau riche?” countered the minster, a little less so.

“Wrong,” declared Luna, with a snort of derision. “The architecture is incorrect.”

The other three present looked at her oddly, seemingly unaware that architecture could be incorrect.

“Examine the columns,” Luna clarified. “The architect has combined unfluted columns with acanthus-adorned capitals, unusual at best and juvenile at worst.” She held out her wings, using them to frame various parts of the edifice. “And the proportions are abhorrent. The capitals should be but one-sixth of the total height, and yet these verge towards a fourth.” Luna shook her head. “Ugh!. It verges even from pastiche towards caricature. Distasteful!”

“Huh.” Rarity shrugged. “That all sounds correct to me.” She turned her head to face the princess. “I never would have taken you for such a passionate critic of architecture, princess. Personally, I mostly tend to focus on the rainbow-spewing fountains.”

Luna chuckled. “Hah! Nay, not always, but faults are more apparent when one was present for the initial artistic order, Countess.”

“I suppose so.” Rarity looked back to the house. “And the fountains?”

“Fairly typical, unfortunately. The warrior castes of the pegasi have always had a taste for the gaudy.”

“Warrior caste?” Fluttershy looked at Luna incredulously. “Princess, I can’t say that I’m, uh, exactly the most ‘pegasus’ pegasus out there, but I don’t think there’s a whole caste of pegasi soldiers.”

“You would be surprised, fair Fluttershy. We would bet our meager wealth that mistress Rainbow Dash comes from an extensive line of martial breeding.” She shook her head, spreading her wings. “We digress; ‘tis a conversation for another time, and we have not any time to waste.” With a single great flap, she took flight.

“Knock-knock-knock.”

Somepony was knocking at Rainbow Dash’s door in an exceptionally regular manner, which was a bad sign.

There weren’t that many pegasi – winged ponies, she corrected herself, although Twilight would likely have made herself known by careening into her front door and skidding down – in Ponyville, and Dash had fairly extensively memorized the knocking patterns of each one. Fluttershy would give one or two polite, measured knocks, themselves solely a cursory manner as she would never dream of showing up unannounced. Any of her coworkers would try their damnedest to kick through the door, which, unbeknownst to them, she had reinforced with a sheet of eight gauge steel; heavy as shit to move up, of course, but the sublime pleasure of watching that bitch Cloudkicker break a perfectly pedicured hoof on the door made it more than worth it. She suspected her supervisor would resort to throwing stones through her windows soon.

Regardless, it was well outside of normal work hours, which generally meant that it wasn’t a pissed off coworker at the door. Nor, for that matter, had she been expecting a visit from her oldest friend, the uncharacteristic volume of the knocks notwithstanding.

That left one reason. Official reasons.

Still, no reason to panic. There were all kinds of official reasons, and only, like, a quarter of them required a speedy exit from a back window; honestly, it was probably just a necessary signature for a package. Probably. She didn’t think the mayor had put in those speed limits yet.

Well, even if she did, she could blow it out her ass if she thought Rainbow Dash was going to follow those. Why should she have to fly at the same speed as all the other slow-ass pegasi? Rainbow Dash was a pony who had places to be, and, more importantly, places to not be.

Like work.

She looked out the window. Shit, it was getting dark, wasn’t it? The nice mailmare (who was the only pony with an excuse for slow-ass flying) didn’t come around after five, and it was easily edging towards seven at this point. It might actually be the constable at this rate.

Only one way to find out. Dash threw two deadbolts back into the door, raising her wings in preparation to bolt and, more importantly, preparing her mouth for a classic Dash-tastic one-liner, which, in all honesty, was just as important in this kind of situation. With a forehoof, she flung open the door, feathers splayed and face contorted into her very finest smart-ass smirk. “You’re gonna have to catch me if you want me paying those –uuhhhhhh–”

She stared, wide-eyed, directly forwards at the pony on her doorstep. Dash was a short mare, very short if she was truthful, but even she was generally about head-level on everypony else in town, if usually eyes to muzzle.

On this pony, her head was about level with a chin. A very blue chin. It dipped, revealing two piercing blue eyes, a horn, a tiara, and an expression of disgust so deep that one would think Rainbow Dash’s house was coated in a thin film of soured milk and cat piss.

At least it wasn’t the constable, Dash supposed.

The princess spoke first. “Prithee, Rainbow Dash, what architect didst thou contract with to design your residence?”

In the seconds after revealing the royal presence on the doorstep, Dash had made up a few guesses as to why the junior diarch was currently perched on her porch. Maybe she was staging a coup d’etat, in which case not cool but nevertheless right on for making such a kick-ass choice for a lieutenant, even if navy did clash a little with her coat.

But she hadn’t been expecting to talk about architects.

“…what?”

“Ponies are not named ‘what,’ Rainbow Dash.” Luna furrowed her brow. “At least, we think not. Names have become increasingly strange in the millennia.”

“No, uh, she’s not, uh–” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “No, she’s just some pony from Cloudsdale, I don’t, uh, remember her name.”

“We see.” Luna inspected the columns a little closer, frowning. On second look, those capitals verged towards a third. Absolutely grotesque. “Do let us know if you remember, as we would quite like to pay her a visit with a branding iron." She chuckled darkly. "Inscribed with the word dunce, preferably.”

“Uh.” Better to not inquire more deeply into that one. “Sure?”

“We thank thee, Rainbow Dash.” Luna sniffed once, eyes returning to normal. “Now, do follow us to the ground, yes? We have business to discuss.”

“We can’t talk up here?” Dash didn’t want to leave her house to go to the ground. The ground didn’t have baller fountains, and her house did, which immediately made it better.

Luna sighed. Typical pegasus. “Not all of us can fly, mistress Dash,” she stated simply.

Rainbow Dash cocked her head in confusion. “Wait, what?” She eyed the princess. “Like, what part of you can’t fly? Did you leave a back hoof on the ground or something?”

“No, not, er–” Luna chuckled, pointing to herself with a forehoof. “Us.” She gestured with a wing towards the ground. “Us. We are not alone.”

“Oh, okay. The actual ‘we,’ not, like, the Luna ‘we’” Rainbow Dash peered around Luna, seeing a small group of ponies on the ground. “It gets confusing.”

“We suppose.” Luna flared out her wings. “Shall we, er, we?”

“Mmm, I guess.” Rainbow Dash grimaced. “The ground is so boooring, though.”

Luna chuckled lightly. “Thou truly art a pegasus through and through.” She stretched a wing, a playful gleam in her eye. “Would you prefer to race down?”

Rainbow Dash paused, looking at the princess incredulously. “Really?” She scratched her head with a wing. “You want to race the Dash?”

“We do.” Luna smirked wickedly. “Unless thou art gripped with fear at the prospect of your certain defeat, of course.”

“Oh, you’re on.” Rainbow Dash pointed with a hoof at the town library. “But the ground’s too close for a good race. Around the tree and back?”

“Thy terms are acceptable.” Luna turned around, dropping into a crouch. “Commence on three?”

“How did you get, uh, wrapped up in this anyway, minister?” asked Fluttershy.

He rolled his eyes. “Would you believe she accosted me with a dinner fork?”

“Considering everything else?” Rarity fiddled with her hat. “Quite easily, actually. What, they don’t allow her into the armory?”

“Ostensibly, yes, they do.” He looked back up to the garish cloud-house. “She couldn’t find it.”

Rarity snorted with derision. “What, would the secretaries not help her out?”

“Hah!” The minister guffawed. “Help! Rarity, have you ever met any of the castle’s staffers?”

Rarity thought for a moment. “I suppose not, really. If we’re in the castle, we’re generally speaking to the princess directly.” She paused. “Or punching out changelings.”

“I think I’d prefer the changelings, really.” His gaze darkened. “Ironically less duplicitous.”

“That bad?”

“Hmph!” the minister grunted. “An understatement. The ponies in the employ of the crown are the largest collection of bona fide twats one will find outside of a Las Pegasus brothel.”

Fluttershy blushed outrageously. Rarity snorted a laugh. “How profane!”

He shrugged. “It is unbecoming of an accountant to lie.”

“Oh!” After a moment, Rarity managed to compose herself, fanning with a hoof. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s not entirely dissimilar to the rest of Canterlot, really.”

“Unfortunately. The capital has its charms, but I do miss Oxhoof dearly every time I am forced to–” he shivered. “–mingle with the Canterlot aristocracy.”

“My sympathies,” said Rarity, at once reminded of a particular blue-blooded unicorn.

“Appreciated. Let us hope the Bitalian upper-crust isn’t quite so abrasive, hmm?”

“One can hope.” Rarity turned back to the clouds. “Ugh! I know she is fond of purple prose, but how long does it take for Luna to tell Rainbow to fly down here?”

“My sentiment as well.” The minister sighed, pulling out a pocket watch. “Not to besmirch your, er, lovely town, but I was supposed to be home a two and a quarter hours ago.” He looked up to the clouds. “Isn’t your friend supposed be the fast one?”

“Well, yes, when she wants to be. She can be rather, um, obstinate,” Fluttershy pointed out.

“Don’t remind me,” Rarity muttered. “Hence my trepidation at the prospect of–”

“BANG-BANG!”

By the sounds of it, somepony had just set off a pair of bombs in Rainbow Dash’s house. The three ponies looked up just in time to get hit with an enormous rush of wind, catching a glimpse of two parallel blue trails screaming towards the center of town.

“Goddesses!” Rarity clutched her hat to her head, the prospect of it flying off and leaving her totally exposed to the eyes of the hoi polloi almost too horrible to bear. “Was that–”

“The princess?” Fluttershy nodded. “Probably. I don’t think there’s any other blue pegasi in town.”

“Hmph!” Rarity looked disdainfully at the two fliers, who had nearly rounded the library. “Unprofessional!”

Fluttershy shrugged. “Let her have her fun, Rarity. I don’t think she gets to, uh, fly much.”

“Still!” Rarity scowled. “Is there not a rule about speeding through town like that?”

“No.” Fluttershy shook her head. “At least, not yet. There probably will be after, um, this.” She looked back to the race. “You’ll want to hold on to your hat again, Rarity.”

Rarity did as she was told and placed both forehooves onto her hat, resting back onto her haunches. As predicted, a moment later Dash and Luna arrived, crashing to a halt a few paces in front of the group with an explosion of air. Fluttershy and the Viscount covered their eyes with forehooves and weathered the assault. Rarity, already unsteady, blew backwards, landing on her back in a most undignified manner. She kept her hat on, though, which was the important thing.

“Dang, princess!” A sunglasses-adorned Rainbow Dash shook her wings, rattling a few ruffled feathers back into place. “You’re, like, pretty fast!” She ran a hoof backwards through her mane, floofing it back up to the usual unkempt style. “Not Dash fast, but not bad!”

“Not – huff – fast enough.” Luna sucked wind, panting as she collapsed to the ground. “Moon and Stars! Our time coddled in the palace has rendered us shamefully unfit for physical activity.” She eyed the boisterous pegasus, who was seemingly completely unfatigued. “Truly, thou must be the product of generations of fliers as strong as thee!”

Fluttershy, who had recovered from the initial blast, rolled her eyes. “Princess, we don’t have castes of–”

“Uh, hell friggin’ yeah I am!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed, flexing a foreleg. “The Rainbows go waaaaay back! Crack open a history textbook? Bam!” She pointed with a wing at a pantomimed book, emphasizing the point. “You’re gonna find a ‘Rainbow’ or a ‘Prisma’ or a ‘Chroma’ kicking ass and taking names, baby.”

Luna raised an eyebrow at Fluttershy, infuriatingly smug. Fluttershy frowned.

Rarity sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of her head with a hoof. “Really, princess? Was screaming across town really necessary?”

Luna blushed slightly, grinning semi-contritely like a foal caught with a hoof in the cookie jar. “Er, we suppose not, but, we, ah, do not get to fly very often. ‘Tis a rare pleasure.”

Rarity flicked an ear in annoyance. “Perhaps justifiably so, considering the racket you made.”

Rainbow Dash turned to face the irritated unicorn. “Yeah, yeah, Rares, whatever. Stop being such a crybaby. It’s not her fault that nopony can resist flying with the Dash, you–” she lifted her sunglasses, eyes wide. “Sweet Tartarus Rarity, you look like white-hot dogshit!” She pointed a hoof, snorting in laughter. “I mean, seriously, did you put on your makeup wearing a blindfold or something?”

Rarity growled, a forehead vein bulging dangerously. The worst part was that it was true; a lifetime of magic assistance had left her present skills with a makeup brush more than a little wanting.

“Rainbow,” warned Fluttershy, already sliding over to her incensed friend. She had seen what happened in moments of rage, and, although she was fairly sure that Rarity’s current indisposition precluded an incendiary situation, she wasn’t exactly going to hedge her bets in the face of Rainbow Dash’s potentially very painful death via immolation.

Dash carried on, oblivious to Fluttershy’s protests. “And what’s up with the hat? Isn’t it like super uncomfortable to have your horn covered up?” She eyed the bandage affixed to Rarity’s rapidly reddening face. “I mean, what, you get ringworm or something?”

“No, Rainbow Dash,” Rarity squeezed out through clenched teeth. “I most certainty did not get ringworm on my face.”

“Then what’s the deal? Bad mane-cut?” Rainbow Dash reached out with a hoof, Fluttershy’s eyes widening in alarm. “C’mon, lemme see it, it can’t be that bad–”

She picked up the hat, learning, much as the viscount had, that it was indeed that bad.

Rainbow Dash blanched, pupils shrinking and mouth drawing back. “Oh, uh, wow, that’s–” She blinked a few times, swallowing down a heave. “Okay, no, that’s definitely not ringworm, uh, ah, jeez.”

Rarity snatched back her hat, replacing it onto her head with an embarrassed haste. “Satisfied?” she spat.

Dash shook her head vigorously. “Uh, no, like, not at all.” She gave a second look at the two mares in front of her, noticing, this time, the wing bindings and prolific bruising that probably should have warned her something more serious than a rash was at fault. Oops. “What even, like, happened to you two?”

Rarity drew in perilously close with Dash, snarling in a most unladylike manner. “Keep going and maybe I’ll show you.”

Rainbow Dash pulled back. Gods, did Rarity stink? “What’s that supposed to mean?” She paused. “No, yeah, actually, what’s that supposed to mean, I’m still in the dark here.”

“It means–”

“Ahem.”

The two dueling mares pulled back, turning to the minster, who was tapping a pocket watch.

“Oh, uh, right.” Dash flattened her ears. “My bad.”

Rarity said nothing, still scowling.

“Now,” the minster grumbled. “Mistress Dash, are you aware of why the Princess has visited you?”

“No, she never told me.” Dash thought for a second. “Well, I mean, she might have during the race, but I couldn’t really hear her over the wind.”

“Uh-huh.” The minster sighed. “To make an astonishingly long story short, your friend Rarity here is traveling to Bitaly and needs a traveling companion, which your other friends seems to believe you would be willing to be.”

“Yeah, probably.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I mean, Bitaly seems okay.” She smiled. “And I do love skipping work.”

Apparently satisfied, he removed a notebook from a vest pocket. “Right.” He cleared his throat. "Well, to further that end, I looked through Princess Luna’s current legal powers to find an applicable position by which a traveling companion of Countess Rarity could receive a government stipend.”

Dash’s eyes went wide, her head swiveling towards Rarity, whose look of displeasure was now cut with no small amount of smugness. Countess?

He continued, flipping a page. “Now, we all know the Princess has, er, limited powers, but fortunately the government has accrued no small number of positions in the centuries of its operation which are able to be bestowed by royal decree.” He put down the book, pushing up his spectacles. “Critically, the laws specify exactly that; ‘royal decree.’ As the number of royals remained steady at exactly one for nine hundred and eighty years or so, they don’t specify which royal, meaning, for once, this one’s–” he pointed at a sheepish Luna “– word has exactly the same legitimacy as her sister’s”

Rainbow Dash scratched her head in confusion. This lecture was verging dangerously towards Twilight territory. “Uh, and?”

“And,” the minister continued with an exaggerated drawl akin to how one might address a very small child, “that means Princess Luna can bestow one of these positions on you and, more importantly, I can grant a Royal Purse, all without the interference of anyone else in the government.”

“And what positions would those be?” Rarity asked. Personally, she was hoping for “Groom of the Stool,” or perhaps “Court Jester.”

The minster put his book back up, flipping a few pages. “There are a few, but the easiest one is the long-since obsolete position of Conda–” he pulled his spectacles down, bringing the book closer in “–condortay...? That can't be right.” He frowned, moving the book over to the princess. “Er, Luna, do you know this one? My early Bitalian is a little rusty.”

Luna took one look, then shook her head. “We fear not, minister. ‘Tis a fair few years after our time.”

“Early Bitalian?” Rainbow Dash snatched the book over the minister’s faint protestations. She peered in. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She threw the notebook back. The minister did not catch it. Nerd. “It’s condottieri. I guess it would be condottiera if it was me though.”

The rest of the group stared back blankly, not so much shocked that somepony would know the words as by whom it was known.

“What?” Rainbow Dash gestured with wide forelegs. “I told you, history textbooks?” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, come on, there were like four whole generations of ‘Rainbow’ condottieri. You think I’m not going to read about Arcobaleno the Ruthless kicking griffon flank at the foot of Maneterhorn? Pssshh.”

“Yes,” countered Rarity. “I would, considering that I’ve never seen you read anything other than adventure novels for foals.”

“Okay, first off, they’re for everyone,” said Rainbow, clutching a forehoof to her breast in mock hurt. “And second off, like, duh, those books are like, old and heavy. I can’t just take them everywhere.”

“Um, Rainbow?” Fluttershy cut in. “What, uh, is a, um, condor-terry?”

“Con-dot-tee-airy,” corrected Rainbow with a grin, obviously gleeful at the prospect of correcting somepony else’s vocabulary for once. “And it’s like a mercenary, but only for like Bitaly.” She shadowboxed in the air, adding in a few sound effects before finishing with an imaginary sword thrust. “And they were like, totally awesome and super hardcore. The did all kinds of kick-ass stuff like fight battles, and sack cities, and pillage villages, and extort local peasants, and, uh…” she rubbed her head with a hoof. “Okay, maybe not always awesome. But still! Definitely sweet.”

“Uh-huh.” Rarity turned to the minister. “And I suppose the crown can hire such, er, totally sweet mercenaries at will?”

“Mostly, yes.” He coughed. “Although there is one, ah, qualification.”

“For the hired?’

“For the hiring,” the minister clarified. “The law states the crown may raise regiments of mercenaries to protect ennobled agents of the crown in, ah,” he raised the book, looking for the correct term, “‘Actual duress.’” He pointed with a hoof. “Now, answer this very carefully. Considering your current state, are you presently in ‘actual duress?’”

“Well, no, not really, I’ve in many ways come to terms with–” Her eyes went wide. That was probably not the right answer.

The minister smacked his hoof into his forehead.

“Oh, er, I meant to say that I am in abject danger!” Rarity grinned sheepishly. “Absolutely terrified!”

Luna turned to the minister, frowning. “We have no qualms with bending the truth, minister, but we must say that may be too much even for us.”

“Right,” He sighed. “Unfortunately, that is something of a problem, because, as stated previously, she must be under duress for the crown to issue a decree.” He coughed once. “Would, er, anypony like to volunteer to place the countess under duress?”

Rainbow Dash’s hoof shot up.

“Anypony other than the pony ostensibly responsible for protecting the countess?’

Nopony else offered. After an extended pause, Fluttershy raised a hoof.

“Right.” The minister rubbed the back of his head with a hoof. “I guess just, er, trouble her in some way? I’m not sure there’s a threshold here or anything.”

“Okay.” Fluttershy turned to Rarity. “Would you mind sitting back on your haunches for me? It will make things easier.”

“If you insist.” Rarity rested back. “Do mind the hat if you go for one of those choke-holds, hmm?”

“Um.” Fluttershy positioned herself in front of Rarity. “Okay. Uh, sorry about this.”

Rarity cocked her head. “About what?”

Fluttershy answered her question by driving a forehoof directly into Rarity’s liver in a brutal left hook. Rarity crumpled instantly, writhing on the ground and sucking wind.

“I’m tellin’ you, sugarcube.” Applejack shook her head. ‘There ain’t no way the gub’ment needs bits so bad they’ve gotta raise the tax on fresh fruits. They’ve just gotta be bought off by the vegetable lobby.”

“Applejack, don’t be silly!” Pinkie Pie pronked happily alongside her friend. “You know the root veggie guys and the leafy veggie guys don’t get along. How are they going to get anything accomplished?”

“I dunno, Pinkie. But that’s all that makes sense to me.”

The two mares turned the corner of the street, freezing at the sight of, if one believed the magazines, everyone’s fourth favorite alicorn.

“Whoa, hey, it’s Princess Luna!” Pinkie pointed with a hoof, then paused in confusion. “Wait, why would Princess Luna show up to Ponyville and not tell anypony? Oh!” She pushed her head right alongside Applejack’s “Do you think she’s on a seeeeecret mission?”

“Well, she did tell somepony.” Applejack pointed. “’Cause Dasn n’ Rares n’ Fluttershy are all around her.”

“Oh.” Pinkie ceased bouncing. “Well that’s super weird. Why didn’t they need us? Or Twilight?”

“No disagreements here, Pinkie. You wanna walk up and see what they’re fixin’ to get up to?”

“Uh, duh!” Pinkie took a first step. “C’mon, let’s–”

The two mares watched wide-eyed as Fluttershy laid out Rarity with a vicious punch to the gut, both noting, with increasing concern, that Luna seemed nod in agreement at the outcome.

“Uh, Pinkie?” Applejack scratched the back of head with a hoof. “Did Fluttershy just–”

“Send Rarity to the mat like Spike Bison?” Pinkie nodded. “Yeah, I think she did.”

“Dang.” Applejack sniffed once. “How ‘bout that?”

The two mares sat in silence for a protracted moment.

“Pinkie, I think we might oughta stay outta this one.”

“Yeah, Applejack. I think we should.”

Fluttershy turned to the princess. “Will that be, uh, okay? I would really prefer not to hit her again, if that’s okay with you.”

Luna watched Rarity writhe in pain. “Yes, we think that should be sufficient. We would earnestly agree Countess Rarity is in ‘actual duress.’”

“Okay.” Fluttershy rubbed a comforting hoof over Rarity’s withers. “Uh, sorry again, Rarity.”

“Uuuuuuuhhhhhggghh.” Rarity rolled over once, continuing to groan.

“Well!” The minister pulled out a piece of parchment, still eyeing the supine mare. “In that case, my business is done here.” He offered the document to Rainbow Dash. “Miss Dash? Your contract.”

Rainbow Dash snatched it from the hooves of the minister. “Alright, sweet! How much do I get?”

“After conversion?” The minister did a bit of mental math. “About ninety bits a day, at least initially.”

Dash looked back in shock. “What the hell? Ninety bits? Lame.” She scoffed. “I can make more than that not working at work.”

“Perhaps,” said the minister, looking back into his notebook. “But the government is also paying for your travel.”

“So?” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Why would I be excited about some dumb train ride?”

“You wouldn’t.” He looked at the hovering pegasus, smiling knowingly. It wasn’t his first time talking a pegasus into an overseas journey. “But how do you feel about boats?”

Dash paused, eyebrows raised in intrigue. “Like, ocean boats?”

“Yes. Quite a large liner, we would guess.” He put the notebook back into his vest. “Just imagine; all that open water, nothing to hit, and the cleanest airspace in the world. Why, you could spend all day doing laps around the ship, and nopony would care in the slightest.”

Dash was nearly drooling. They were so predictable.

The girls watched the train pull away. The minister, visible through the windows, had already positioned himself in front of the dining car’s bar.

“Isn’t it kind of a, um, long flight back to Canterlot?” asked Fluttershy.

“It is.” Luna sighed contentedly. “But it is not as if we have pressing business at the palace. So long as we are there to lower the moon in the morning it should not be an issue.” She looked at the station clock, her horn lighting gently. “Oh! Speaking of the moon, we suppose it is getting to be that time of the evening.”

“Oh, my? Here? You’re doing it now?” Rarity brightened up. “How exciting! I’ve always wanted to see one of the princesses move a celestial body! Why, there must–”

Luna’s horn extinguished with a relaxed sigh. “Ah. ‘Tis always refreshing to do our anointed task.”

“…What?” Rarity looked around. “But, where, uh, where was the enormous flow of magical energies? The spectacle? The horn-tingling power of it all?”

“The what?” Luna looked at her in confusion. After a moment of realization, she chuckled knowingly. “Oh, nay, ‘tis nothing of the sort. Once one has performed a task so many times it becomes trivial. Not much in the way of spectacle, we confess.” Luna thought for a moment. “We suppose we could try and make more of a show of it, though. Would you like us to lower it and try again?”

“Er, no.” Rarity sighed. “It’s probably best the celestial bodies do not go around for mulligans.”

“If you insist.” Luna shrugged.

The four mares sat for a moment, which dragged on into an uncomfortable silence.

Finally, Dash interjected into the pause. “Dang, I’m hungry, You guys up for some pizza?”

Rarity and Fluttershy shrugged in accepting nonchalance.

“Pray-tell, what’s pizza?”

The three Bearers turned, slack-jawed, to look at the princess, who looked back in confusion.

Luna cocked her head. “What?”

Luna continued weeping as she polished off her sixth slice of pizza, now a full three-quarters of the way through an extra large supreme pie.

“Jeez, do you think she’s, like, okay?” Rainbow Dash squirmed in her chair, one of the omnipresent too small cheap metal ones that every pizza joint in Equestria seemed to have. Luna was comically oversized for hers.

Fluttershy shrugged, taking a dainty bite of a second pie the girls had wisely ordered. “It’s probably just an, um, emotional experience. I don’t the palace feeds her very well.”

“Oh, mother above,” Luna sniffled away a few tears. “We had not known such miracles could exist.”

“Like, pizza?” Rainbow Dash scratched her head. “Princess, it’s, like, just cheese and sauce and bread.”

“Cheese!” Luna’s wings drooped over the sized of her chair, her body crumpling in absolute satisfaction. “Stars, we have missed cheese!”

Ah, Princess, they do feed you at the palace, yes?” Rarity, having been rendered unable to use her usual ‘knife and fork’ approach by her injury, hefted a slice with a hoof. How barbaric. “While I share a healthy appreciation for the dish, it is not exactly, ah, tear-jerkingly good.”

Luna nodded, levitating another slice into the air with her field. “They do, but our sister is, ah,” she paused for a few seconds, thinking of the correct word, “insistent? Particular to a fault?”

The others waited for more explanation.

Luna continued. “Our sister is, er, deeply unsatisfied with many things, and as such has become intensely nostalgic for our youth. As such, she demands the palace chefs cook a simple vegetable stew in the same fashion as mother did.” Luna sighed. “Every day.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy winced in sympathy. “Do they at least, um, do it right?”

“More or less.” Luna shrugged. “But anything grows tiring by repetition, and the ingredient list is rather limited.”

“Can’t you just, like, ask them to make something else?” Rainbow Dash snagged the last piece of the pie. “Surely they’d listen to you, right?”

“And upset our sister? Hardly.” Luna slumped. “Nay, it has been naught but stew for years now.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash paused for a moment. “Yeah, that sucks." She shrugged. "But at least you have pizza now, right?”

“That we do.” Luna took another bite, melting into her chair. “Oh, gods, that we do.”

Author's Note

This came out a little over-stuffed, but I felt bad for moonbutt and wanted to have her get something good for once. Just wait until the drinks come out and she finds out there are unlimited refills.

Man, writing slice of life is freakin hard, man.

Light Lunchtime Conversation from a Fillydelphia-Bound Train at Exactly Two-Fifteen in the Afternoon

“CA-CHUNK, CA-CHUNK.”

Rarity grimaced as the train car bounced over a poorly joined track, the ledge of the junction jumping under hoof, metal fittings across the harness she currently wore under an overcoat clinking in sympathy. After a pause to ensure the next join was a little smoother, she took the step, sliding open the door and entering the dining car. She scanned the room from under the brim of her sun-hat; a mint-green unicorn stallion staffed the bar, a couple sat in the farthest booth, which, judging by the fact that neither one’s face was visible were clearly very interested in each other, a shock of prismatic hair flowed from –

Bingo. “Ah. There you are.” Rarity trotted towards the booth, quietly pleased that she had located her quarry. The two had distinctly not boarded together; as befitted a professional mare, Rarity had arrived at the station at exactly the listed time for the train’s arrival. In contrast, Rainbow Dash, she suspected, had snuck on late via the air. “And here I had thought you had merely gotten lost in the lavatory.”

Rainbow Dash turned her head around in the booth, eyeing the approaching unicorn with bemused confusion. “Uh, duh, where else would I be? It’s lunchtime.”

Rarity slid into the opposite booth, her seat rendered slightly uncomfortable by the unfamiliar presence of a chaste tail bun. The iconic curl required a careful magical touch to pull off, and, as going totally au naturel was obviously out of the question, a loose wrap would suffice for the moment. She squirmed from side to side.

Rainbow Dash chuckled, eyes not looking up from scanning a short menu. “What, you sit on a rock or something?”

“When one has spent her whole life sitting on naught but a flat tail, anything poses some level of discomfort,” Rarity explained, eyeing the clock above the bar. “And do spare me your incredulous remarks. It’s not lunchtime.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash put down the menu. “Of course it’s lunchtime. What do you mean?”

“Lunchtime is between eleven in the morning and one-thirty in the afternoon.” Rarity pointed gently with a hoof towards the wall above the bar. “It’s two-fifteen.”

“Lunch stops being lunch at two-fifteen?” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Last time I checked, lunch was lunch regardless of when you eat it. It just has to happen between breakfast and dinner.”

“Obviously not,” Rarity scoffed. “Lunch is not defined by such vague terms as that, at least in polite society. There are rules for these kind of things, you know.”

“Polite society?” Rainbow Dash gestured with wide hooves towards the contents of the train car. “Rarity, we’re on a train, not in the palace.” She pointed towards the couple, who had almost entirely migrated onto the table between them. “The only other ponies in here are the bartender and, like, the winners of the Equestrian face-mashing contest.”

“Any company I am in is intrinsically polite company, Rainbow, even if others present do not realize it” Rarity affirmed. “Thus, it is not lunchtime.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Rainbow Dash picked the menu back up. “Do you want something or not?”

Rarity sighed. “Rainbow, I just explained to you why this inherently cannot be lunchtime.”

“Not the question. And considering that you’ve been on this train for exactly as long as I have, Rares, and haven’t eaten yet, I’m betting that you’re just as hungry as I am.” She beckoned the attendant over with a hoof. “So I ask again; do you want anything?”

Rarity raised a hoof in protest. “Once again, I–” she lowered her hoof, stomach audibly growling. Social conventions were a strong motivator, but biological ones were an even stronger one. “Actually, on second thought, yes, ah, do go ahead and order for me as well,” she contradicted herself with a slightly embarrassed grin.

“That’s what I thought,” Rainbow Dash said with a smirk.

The attendant arrived by the table side, a notebook and quill held in his field. “What will the–” a slight lip quiver “–lovely ladies be having?”

Rarity gave him an appreciative eyebrow raise. The flattery was obvious, but she was taking what she could get at this point. Rainbow Dash glowered at the stallion, not quite so accepting; she continued nonetheless. “We’ll just have, uhhhhhhh…" She ran a hoof down the page. "One of, uh, each of these.”

“One of each?” The stallion raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what I said.” Rainbow Dash passed him the menu. “And a water.” She turned to Rarity. “You want anything?”

“Considering I haven’t seen the menu – thank you, by the way, very helpful – I suppose I’m limited to drink service.” She turned to the stallion. “I presume you are knowledgeable enough to know your standard cocktails, yes?”

The stallion nodded. “So long as your preferred libations do not require magical components, ma’am, I can fulfill any request.”

“Swell.” Rarity leaned back into her booth, fetching a pack of cigarettes from one of her saddlebags. “A White Lady with your driest gin, with the egg, a Prench soixante-quinze, long pour on the cognac, and, ah, two ashtrays, please.”

“Of course.” The stallion frowned. “I am afraid I cannot supply you with any ashtrays, however.”

“Oh?” Rarity froze, box halfway inverted above a waiting hoof.

“Unfortunately, ma’am, smoking is prohibited in the dining car.” He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.”

Rarity took a deep breath, blinking a few times. “Well!” She put the pack back into her saddlebags. “I suppose I can manage for a few more hours, then. Do double the drinks, though, if you would, for both our sakes, hmm?”

“Of course.” The attendant nodded. “Expect your lunch in about twenty minutes. Would your prefer your drinks beforehand, or with the meal?”

“I suppose with four of them it doesn’t really matter. Two and two?” Rarity asked.

With another curt nod, the bartender stepped off soundlessly, returning to his post behind the bar and grabbing a few bottles from the wall with his field.

“Four drinks?” Rainbow Dash eyed Rarity skeptically. “It’s two-fifteen and we have, like, a full day ahead of us.”

“Don’t worry about that, darling.” Rarity chuckled. “Being in high society is only really five percent taste and elegance. Ninety-five percent of it is social drinking, and I am something of a pro at – oh!” Rarity theatrically face-hooved. “I forgot to specify the, ah–” she turned to face the bartender, waving a hoof “–yoo-hoo, bartender? Do pick something sweeter for the champagne, yes? Thank you.”

The bartender nodded in affirmation, replacing his selected bottle with a different one grabbed from the wall.

“It matters?” Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t champagne just champagne?”

“Heavens, no!” Rarity recoiled in hurt. “Obviously not. There are dozens of styles, and one would hate to look like a rube in polite company by mixing up varieties.”

“Well, duh, obviously your frou-frou stuff matters to your frou-frou friends. I’m asking if it matters now.”

“Naturally.” Rarity relaxed into the booth, unbuttoning her overcoat. “I prefer my sidecars outrageously dry, so one must prepare something suitably sweet to properly cleanse the palate to ensure a full tasting experience.”

“Uh-huh.” Rainbow dash looked skeptical. “Cleansing your palate from the booze. With more booze.”

“They’re vastly different cocktails, dear.”

“It’s booze. It’s not that different.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “You drink it, it’s pretty much the same.”

“Oh sure. And the Wonderbolt’s routine does not, in fact, feature a meticulously choreographed double Immlemare into a side slip followed by a lag roll but, in actuality, is a succession of the same little moves through the air which are, as you say, pretty much the same.”

Fortunately, the booth’s table kept Rainbow Dash’s jaw from hitting the floor.

“Do close your mouth, dear. It’s unbecoming.” Rarity chuckled. “And don’t be too impressed, I’ve heard that little orange urchin you adore so much chattering to my sister enough to have the whole routine memorized, even if I don’t know what any of it means.”

Considerably less impressed, Rainbow Dash did as she was told, shutting her mouth and sitting back into her chair.

“Now, what did you end up ordering us, hmm? Hopefully nothing too gauche.”

“It’s a surprise.” Rainbow Dash answered, intentionally not answering the question both because it would spoil the surprise and because she didn’t know what the word gauche meant. “But you’ll like it. It’s, like, trendy and fashionable.”

“Trendy?” Rarity raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you had merely ordered twelve servings of hay fries as usual. Color me impressed.” She frowned. “Although I am still a little peeved you deemed me incapable of ordering my own food.”

“Not incapable.” Rainbow Dash waved a hoof around in dismissal. “Just, like, sometimes really dumb about it, so I took the option to not let you screw it up.”

“So only occasionally incapable, then?” Rarity asked, unamused. “What a stellar vote of confidence. Do elaborate, if you would.”

“Well, we’re going to be running around the city trying to get from the station to the ship, right?” Rainbow Dash explained.

“Unfortunately.” Rarity sighed. “It’s something of a trek, if I recall from my last time in Fillydelphia.” Rarity thought for a moment. “Of course, I was a rather small foal at the time, so my steps were, er, multiplied by a short stature.”

“Yeah, well anyway, I knew you’d probably order something tiny and girly like a dry side salad, because you’re uncomfortable about how fat your ass has gotten–”

Rarity growled a warning.

Rainbow continued unabashed, either out of outstanding courage or utter cluelessness. “–and then you’d complain as soon as we started walking about how hungry it was making you, and we’d have to stop somewhere while I pretended not to notice you throw down a basket of fries, and we’d end up being late to the ship and getting chewed out by the princess.” She paused for a moment. “Did I miss anything?” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m correct, right? We don’t go on too many adventures together, but that’s pretty much what the other girls told me.”

“Frustratingly so. How generous of them,” Rarity said through clenched teeth, mentally running through which of her friends she could take in a bout of fisticuffs. “But I suppose you’re right, infuriatingly,” she added, relaxing into the booth and separating her teeth, “I am wont of, er, snacking, and I have, on occasion, rendered a group slightly late by my diversions, the consequences of which would be catastrophic today.”

“Well then, like, go me for being forward thinking, eh?” Rainbow Dash jokingly struck a heroic pose. “Rainbow Dash, multi-time savior of Equestria, fastest pony alive, star of a thousand bedroom posters, and, like, good at ordering food.”

“Oh, wonderful. As if you needed anything else to brag about.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “And here I thought you’d nearly run out of accolades.” A stout highball and spindly coupe glass appeared in front of Rarity, the fleeting presence of the waiter as unnoticeable as would be expected of a suitably crack server on a high-class train. The 75 fizzed appropriately, a twirl of lemon swirling around a cube of ice. The White Lady was far less dramatic, the silky drink an impressively uniform shade of stark white which nearly matched the coat of its owner.

“Whoa.” Rainbow Dash blinked a few times. “Okay, never mind, you might have been onto something, those look expensive. My, uh, understanding of booze usually begins at ‘clear’ and ends at ‘toilet.’”

“How sophisticated, and done properly, yes, they are.” She eyed the narrow-bottomed coupe glass, extending a cautious hoof towards the cocktail.

“What, are you afraid it’s going to bite ya’?” Rainbow Dash chuckled. “Just, like, pick it up.”

“Don’t rush me, Rainbow,” Rarity shot back. “A lady takes her time with these things.”

“A lady takes her time, like, picking things up?” Rainbow Dash snorted once. “Dang, being a lady sounds like it sucks.”

Rarity ignored her, wrapping the impossibly thin stem in the crook of her hoof and lifting it shakily into the air. She managed an inch or so before it fell back to the table, bouncing once and spilling a few drops onto the previously impeccable tablecloth. “Damnit!” she swore under her breath, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“You good?” Rainbow Dash looked on in concern as Rarity flexed her hoof.

“No, I just, ah–” Rarity turned back to the bartender. “Ah, would you mind providing a straw, plea–”

Without looking up from washing glasses, the bartender sent two thin cocktail straws towards the booth at a measured but sizable pace, both slipping into their respective drinks with not even the slightest of noises.

“Dang, he’s good.” Rainbow Dash shook her head in amazement. “I hope they’re paying him enough, ‘cause this guy is like the me of making drinks on a train.”

“Judging by the prices we’re paying for this, I suspect he is tipped handsomely.” Rarity leaned towards her drinks, eyes shooting from one to the other in indecision before settling on the White Lady, drawing down to the straw and pulling a dainty sip. Her eyes shot wide open, then settled into a pleasured half-lid as she slumped down the booth.

Rainbow Dash gave a half smile. “That good, huh?”

“That good.” Rarity moaned, going back for another sip.

“Yeah, I bet.” Rainbow Dash coughed once. “You, uh, never answered my question, though.”

“What, about being, as you said, ‘good?’” Rarity scoffed audibly. “Rainbow, you could tell me I’m being executed via burning at the stake in an hour right now and I’d still be at least passably satisfied until this drink ran out.”

“No, not that kind of good,” Rainbow Dash countered, unusually serious. “Like, ‘gee, that adult mare sure has trouble picking up a glass, I wonder if she is, like, okay’ good.”

“Thanks for the insult. I’m glad my sudden foalish clumsiness has somepony amused, at least.” Rarity bent down towards the other glass.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Rares.” Rainbow Dash leaned across the table. “We’re friends–”

“Ostensibly.” Rarity took a sip. As requested, it was perfectly sweet.

“–I watch out for my friends. And you clearly aren’t okay.”

“Really?” Rarity shrugged. “I thought I was doing at least decently, honestly.”

“Okay mares can write their name and pick up glasses.” Rainbow Dash eyed Rarity’s hat. “And they definitely don’t have whatever’s going on under that happening.”

Rarity pondered that for a moment. It was a fair point. “Well, I suppose you are probably correct. I must admit I have, ah, looked and felt better.”

“I’m not talking about looks, Rarity, even if I did, uh, call you, um–”

Rarity snorted bemusedly. “I believe your term was ‘white-hot dogshit?’ Very creative, by the way.”

“Yeah, well, that’s one thing, Rares.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “But there’s a lot worse than that. You’ve got a piece of gauze strapped across your face, you’re covered in bruises, your horn looks like you’ve got crotch-rot on your forehead, and you’re going through Mareboro’s like they’re water. Like, none of that is normal.” Rainbow Dash spread her hooves wide in exasperation. “And I all I know is that somehow you and Fluttershy had some kind of friggin’ crazy adventure with Princess Luna or something and now you both look like you’ve been out wrestling thorn bushes that are, like, on fire.”

“Not entirely incorrect, as both were involved.” Rarity shrugged. “But discretion is a virtue, Rainbow, especially considering the circumstances.”

“Rarity,” Rainbow Dash deadpanned. “Rarity, we’re going to be stuck on a ship for the next week and a half or so. We both know I’m going to figure it out eventually.”

Rarity paused for a moment, obviously thinking about whether or not Rainbow Dash actually would figure it out, before evidently deciding there was a pretty good chance of that happening. “Okay, fine,” she sighed, adjusting her hat. “I suppose you ought to know, although I am skeptical of what good could come of it.”

“Outside of me knowing, like, how to help you not hurt yourself further, or whatever weird stuff you need to fix your horn?”

Rarity furrowed her brow. “Hmm, you may have a point.” In all honesty, she hadn’t thought about just how much help Fluttershy had provided her over the past few days, and while she had recovered considerably in the time since the adventure, she undoubtedly would still require some assistance. She inhaled sharply, straightening up in her booth. “Right! Well, color me convinced. Would you prefer the short version or the medium version?”

Rainbow Dash cocked her head in confusion. “Can I get, like, the long version?”

“Unfortunately not, at least not yet.” Rarity looked around the train car. The bartender was presently missing, but the highly enthusiastic couple were still very much present, and still very much eschewing all public decency in favor of a spirited round of tonsil hockey. “There are, er, legal considerations as far as that is concerned, both personal and national.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash’s eyes widened. “Okay, uh, dang, that’s kinda more serious than I expected.”

“Hence my earlier trepidation.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “Now, the short or medium?”

“Uh, short?” Rainbow Dash offered. “Especially if I’m getting the long version later.”

“You are.” Rarity took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Well, the short of it is that Twilight is a moron, Luna is also a moron, albeit tinged with a healthy amount of piteousness, Fluttershy, as a result of royal incompetence, had an, er, beaked visitor one morning, I, and my property, got wrapped up into the whole sordid affair, the Everfree has exactly one less manticore than before, I was rendered unconscious via application of tree to face, then tied to said tree, discovered an innate knack for turning my face into a flamethrower, trekked out of the woods, and became Equestria’s foremost slayer of foreign dignitaries.” She sniffed once. “Then I was treated by Ponyville General’s finest doctors, looted Twilight for, well, most everything, really, saw Luna again, got a most deserved comital title, and, ah, you know the rest.”

Rainbow Dash looked back, slightly opened mouthed, obviously deep in thought.

“Well, dear?” Rarity asked, dipping back down to her drinks. “Satisfied? Questions?”

“Uhhhh…” Rainbow Dash scratched her head with a wing. “Yes? Several?” She blinked a few times. “And that’s the short version? What’s the medium version?”

“The same thing, but with more swearing,” Rarity answered. “Would you prefer that one? I don’t think I’ve used the word ‘cunt’ yet today, so I’m slightly behind quota.”

“N-no?” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “I just, uh, have some questions, probably?”

“Such as?” Rarity took a sip. “It’s all on the metaphorical table now, dear, so ask away.”

Rainbow Dash went with the obvious first. “Slayer of–”

“Ah, not that one,” Rarity added sheepishly. “Best not describe that one in public, sorry. Choose again.”

“Okay, uh,” Rainbow Dash tapped a hoof. “Flamethrower? Like, fire out of your head?”

“Oh, yes! Quite dramatic!” Rarity chuckled. “Yes, it turns out Twilight was correct about my latent skills for ‘pyromancy’ or something of the sort. All it took was life-threatening peril and rather forceful goading by a certain yellow pegasus and ‘fwoosh!’ Gouts of fire!”

“Uh-huh.” She pointed at the hat. “Is that why you look like that, then?”

“Correct. Mercifully, it's not any sort of disease.” Rarity tipped the hat to the side, revealing more of the damage. “As it turns out, pyromancy practiced by the untrained often results in, er, collateral damage. In my case, it was my magical faculties and the front half of my mane.”

“Front?” Rainbow Dash eyed the unicorn. “Last I saw, you didn’t have any mane left.”

“I shaved the back half. The only thing worse than having no mane is having the ragged remnants of half of one.”

“You shaved your mane?” Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “Rarity ‘I would rather lose a leg than my mane’ cut off her own hair?”

“Well, not me personally. I had Fluttershy operate the trimmer.”

“What, couldn’t work up the courage?”

Rarity shook her head. “It’s quite difficult to shave the back of one’s head, and I am presently facing, er, limited dexterity, you see.”

“Oh, right.” Rainbow Dash pointed to the glass. “Is that why–”

“More or less, yes.” Rarity nodded sadly. “Combine greatly above-average field dexterity and an early onset of magic as a foal with a deserved aversion to filth and you get a mare with a greatly reduced aptitude for fine hoof control.”

“Dang, bummer.” Rainbow Dash chuckled again. “But, like, still! I can see it now! You, in a chair, crying about ‘the worst possible thing’ as ‘Shy lawnmowers your head. Classic!”

“You are unfortunately closer to the truth than I would like, although being tied to a tree and left to die by the slavering maws of timber wolves tends to make one reevaluate exactly what constitutes ‘the worst possible thing.’”

“So, what, no crying?” Rainbow Dash asked, still chewing on that last piece of offered information. Tied to a tree?

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s still moi we are talking about here, darling. There would have been plenty of that had I not taken appropriate steps before the whole ordeal.”

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“I would like to say ‘toughened my psyche up for the shock,’ but really I just drank through Twilight’s wine cellar until I passed out on a fainting couch.” Rarity shrugged. “I wouldn’t recommend making a long term habit of it, but desperate times and so forth.”

“And, what, Fluttershy dragged you from there into the bathroom or something? ‘Cause I know she’s, like, secretly jacked, but that seems a little much even for her.”

“Trust me. Despite my, as you said, unacceptable level of ‘ass-fatness,’ as it were, she is more than capable of that.” Rarity fanned the collar of her overcoat; the inside of the dining car growing increasingly sweaty as the train traveled south. She ran a hoof over the window; fixed, unfortunately. “But she did no such schlepping. The trimming was carried out in situ.”

“Ugh, gross!” Rainbow Dash shuddered. “What, is that couch full of hair now or something? Remind me to never pick that one when I come over.”

“You don’t come over, and I have more,” Rarity dismissed. She actually found that she had more than she had ever recalled buying, but she chalked that up to a quirk of the unstable ley lines that ran through Ponyville. And Pinkie, maybe. “Besides, couches can be cleaned.” She paused. “Not by me, mind you, because digging hair out of wool is indeed foul. That’s what little sisters are for.”

Rainbow Dash thought about that for a moment. It seemed unethical, but she had indeed been known to shanghai Scootaloo into such “super-cool Rainbow Dash sister activities” as tile scrubbing, so she figured that, yeah, that was probably correct.

“In any case, it’s the lesser of the damage inflicted, but the specifics will have to wait on that front, lest I spoil our appetites.” She took an extended sip of her White Lady, draining it to the very bottom of the glass. “Now, any other questions?”

Rainbow Dash thought for a moment. “Well, uh, not really, if you can’t talk about the serious stuff.” She shrugged. “I guess I can just wait on – oh, wait, hang on, yeah, I do have one! Why are you wearing that?” She pointed at Rarity with a wing.

“What?” Rarity looked down. “Oh, my overcoat?” She waved a hoof dismissively. “It’s to cover–”

“No, not the stupid coat, Rarity!” Rainbow Dash chuckled. “Why are you, like, wearing bondage gear?”

Rarity blushed intensely, eyes shooting wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, y’know, like, chains and stuff.” Rainbow Dash gestured with a hoof at the open front of the coat. “Because you’re wearing white straps with buckles and hooks, and I don’t know what else you’d use that for.”

“What? No, it’s, no, oh my–” Rarity chuckled. “No, I assure you, this is a practical garment, not for, ah, carnal purposes.”

“Are you sure?” Rainbow Dash looked on skeptically. “Because the only other pony I’ve ever seen with a harness like that is AJ’s brother, and you don’t look like the kind of pony to go out plowing.” She guffawed. “Maybe the other kind of plowing, though. Ha!”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “Once again, I assure you, this is not that kind of thing.” She waved a hoof dismissively. “I need it to move an especially important part of my, er, luggage, and whilst I can put this on without the aid of my horn, taking it off is considerably more difficult, hence why I kept it on.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “Wait, what the heck kind of luggage needs a friggin’ harness to move?”

“The important kind.” Rarity pulled her coat back closed. “And for what it’s worth, Rainbow, this would make for terrible bondage. All the hooks are on the back, and one certainly does need the assistance of anything but bio-mechanics to keep a partner firmly affixed to one’s back.”

Rainbow Dash was about to ask what, then, Rarity deemed such assistance necessary for when, as before, two more drinks and a platter of food appeared on the table with nary a sound. The drinks looked exactly the same as before, albeit this time a straw was included from the get-go. The food was–

“Sushi?” Rarity exclaimed, smacking a hoof to her face. “Rainbow, you idiot, I can’t eat sushi! Why would you order sushi?”

“Uh, because it’s trendy and fancy and I thought you’d like it?” Sudden realization flew across Rainbow Dash’s face. “Oh, crap, I, uh, probably should have asked if you were good with fish, yeah, sorry. Most pegasi are so I just kinda, uh, forgot.”

“No, not the fish, Rainbow, I like it fine enough.” Actually, the doctors had recommended it for recovery, but Rarity wasn’t sure she trusted the opinions of the squad of doctors who couldn’t look at her directly without vomiting into a bucket. “It’s the chopsticks.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash frowned. “What?”

“Chopsticks!” Rarity pointed to the sleeved porcelain utensils. “You saw me! I can barely hold a wineglass! How the fuck am I supposed to use chopsticks?”

Rainbow Dash eyed her strangely. “Uh, just, like, don’t? It’s not that big a deal. Can’t you just like pick them up?”

“Pick them up?” Rarity asked, outraged. “Are you crazy? And look like the world’s biggest cretin?”

“Who cares?” Rainbow Dash gestured around the train car. “The bartender isn’t here and those two are still at it.” Quite enthusiastically, actually. One had even mounted the table.

“I care.” Rarity answered, sitting up nobly. “I may not have much left, but I have my dignity, and I will not lower myself to the level of eating sushi with my hooves.”

“Oh, come on, Rarity.” Rainbow Dash deftly picked up to of the chopsticks in her left wing, placing one each between the roots of her stoutest primaries. “Just eat the sushi. I won’t tell anypony, I promise.”

“Yes, but I’ll know, and that’s what’s important.”

“It isn’t, but whatever.” Evidently, Rarity’s evaluations of what was unacceptable hadn’t changed too much. “Look, I don’t want to have to deal with you whining all day, so you’re eating one way or the other. Do you want me to feed you or something?”

“You what?” Rarity scoffed. “Feed me?”

“Yeah. You can’t use chopsticks, but I can, so that’s fine or whatever, right?” Rainbow Dash picked up one of the rolls with the aforementioned implements. “So I’ll just feed you like a foal.”

“Absolutely not.” Rarity shook her head emphatically. “I not sure how you could think that could be less embarrassing.”

“It’s your stupid rule, not mine.” Rainbow Dash shrugged, smirking. “C’mon, it’ll be hilarious. I’ll even make wooshing noises.”

“No. Way.” Rarity punctuated the periods with a firm hoof-tap onto the table-top.

“Really?” Rainbow Dash took a bite of the roll: a sophisticated affair topped with sea urchin roe. A few yellow bits fell onto the table cloth. “’Cause these are, like, really freakin good,” she said around a mouthful of rice and echinoderm gonads; undoubtedly, this was a dish best eaten, not pondered.

Rarity pouted in silence, hungrily watching Rainbow chomp her way through the rest of the roll, then through a more traditional one with a healthy slice of snapper.

“Rarity, you’re drooling.” Rainbow Dash pointed with her chopsticks. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re – ugh – fine, you win!” Rarity sighed theatrically, sliding her utensils across the table. “But at least use a separate pair for me. I don’t want to be anywhere near your slobber.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash furrowed her brow in confusion. “What do I need these – oh! Ha!” Rainbow Dash belted out a laugh. “Oh my Celestia, you’re serious!”

“Deathly.” Rarity scowled. “Now, let’s get on with it already, please? I would hate for this indignity to be drawn out any further.”

“Okay, okay, jeez, don’t get your tail in a bunch.” Rainbow Dash picked up the offered chopsticks in her other wing, snagging a tuna roll.

“And don’t even think about making noises,” Rarity warned. “This is already bad enough.”

“Ah-ah, those are part of the deal.” She positioned the roll in the air, sliding it slowly towards the unamused face across the table. “Open up for the air-chariot! Wheeeeeee!”

The only think keeping Rarity from launching herself across the table and strangling her tormentor was hunger, but, as motivators go, it was a good one. She rolled her eyes, opening her mouth.

This was going to be a long train-ride. Good thing she ordered all the booze.

Author's Note

Curious about Rarity's gear? Dunno what that luggage actually is? Read this, if you haven't!

Light filler. I cut some from the succeeding chapter to make it flow better, but that meant I needed a new one. C'est la vie, y'know?

While also a great situational joke when considering who ordered it, the White Lady genuinely rocks. Bring back the sidecar!

The namesake fic for this chapter contains my all-time favorite joke about a "topologically unlikely" parking job. I think I've stolen that joke for, like, three stories at this point.

We Are Now Two-Thirds Of The Way to a Warren Zevon Song

Well, all the drinking had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“HURBGBLBL.” Rarity, ever the picture of social courtesy, had managed to stick her face more or less into a storm drain before upchucking a very expensive lunch.

Rainbow Dash did her best to rub a comforting hoof across the unicorn’s withers, although the wooden box strapped across her back made access a little difficult. She settled for a lower position along the bottom of shoulder joint. “Feeling better?”

“Not –hurk –particularly, no.” A spit. “Mercifully, I needn’t have you hold my mane back, which is a rare plus to my present condition.”

“Good positive thinking, Rares.” Rainbow Dash opened her saddlebag, removing a napkin and holding it with a wing. “Focus on the good stuff, not that you’re puking on a busy street in front of twenty ponies.”

“Oh, swell, a crowd.” Rarity pulled her head up from the drain, taking the offered napkin and wiping her face.

“Want me to get rid of them?”

Rarity raised an eyebrow, writhing her lips in an attempt to clear the taste of what was once sushi. “I’m –eugh – not sure how you think you’d accomplish that, but I’d like to see you try, at least.”

“Easy. Watch this!” Rainbow Dash turned around, facing the rough semi-circle of ponies that had gathered around the unusual spectacle. “Whew! Sorry about that, guys. Just a little contagious illness that my friend here caught in the tropics.” She patted the top of Rarity’s rump with a hoof, noting, with satisfaction, the worried looks that were beginning to spread around the group of Fillydelphians. “Yep! Just a little acute outbreak of, uh–” she thought for a moment, trying to remember a disease that caused nausea “–Mareburg hemorrhagic fever.”

“Oh dear Celestia! Mareburg?” A panicked mare in the crowd took two steps back. “Is – is it the Horsecht strain?”

“…Yes?” Rainbow Dash replied noncommittally, shrugging.

“WE’RE DEAD!” The mare ran off screaming, followed, after a moment’s delay, by the rest of the crowd.

“…Wow.” Rarity threw the besmirched napkin into the storm drain. Apparently, she was only usually the picture of social courtesy, and a spot of littering was acceptable now and then. “I’m impressed. What did you tell them I had?”

“Mareburg fever. It gives you a fever and vomiting, then your blood vessels, like, explode, and you die horribly.”

“Lovely,” Rarity deadpanned. “I suppose their panic was justified, then. Did you read about that in your history books as well?”

“Nah.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “I just learned about to fuck with Cloudkicker. She’s crazy scared of germs and stuff, so I asked Twilight to tell me about the really bad ones one time. It’s tons of fun to watch her freak out when I tell her I’ve got some horrible brain disease.” She snorted a laugh. “She flew through a plate glass window once when I said I had Zebrapox. Shit was great.”

“For once, your cruelty is unexpectedly clever.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “If only we could get you to use that much brainpower the rest of the time.”

“Oh, nah. Doesn’t work like that. Even with the smarts, I’m a sprinter, not a marathon flier.” Rainbow Dash gestured with a wing. “Now come on, we’ve got to meet with that chick from the government before we get on the ship.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. How far away is it now? I feel like we’ve been walking from the train station for ages.”

“Well, it’s, uh–” Rainbow Dash looked at a map she retrieved from a saddlebag. “–it’s still on Seventeenth Street, and the train station was on third.”

“Uh-huh.” Rarity looked around for a street sign. “And what are we on now? Surely we’re at least into the ‘teens,’ yes?”

“Uh, we’re on–” Rainbow Dash peered a little closer into the map “–uh, fifth. We’ve made it two streets.”

“TWO?” Rarity exclaimed. “That’s impossible! What, is this city run by Discord? Has conventional geometry ceased to function in the Celestia-damned place?”

“Maybe.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem that bad to me. Didn’t you, like, hike out of the Everfree Forest bleeding and on fire?”

“Well, yes, I did, but I wasn’t carrying this enormously heavy thing on my back.” She kicked at the ground, sending a few pieces of gravel into the gutter. “And it wasn’t on fucking cobblestones either! Whoever installed these should be garroted!”

Rainbow Dash eyed the pavement. “I don’t think cobblestones are that bad. I think they’re kinda nice looking, actually.”

“Well of course you don’t!” Rarity pointed a forehoof, wobbling a little as she struggled to hold the load on three hooves. “You’ve been flying the whole time!”

“Not my fault you didn’t get born with wings, Rarity.” Rainbow Dash thought for a moment. “Or that Twilight is apparently more … harmonious, or something.”

“Oh, gods, don’t remind me.” Rarity, after a deep breath, set off towards the meeting point. “I suppose there’s nothing for it than to press on, then. I hope you have more of those napkins.”

They had made it, albeit just barely.

“Is – is this it?” Rarity panted out, covered in sweat, the toll of hauling her luggage exacerbated enormously by the pounding heat of a Fillydelphia summer. “Did we make it?”

“Yeah, actually.” Rainbow Dash looked up at a clock-tower, which rose tastefully from a pavilion in the center of the park. “Not by much, but we did.”

“Thank Celestia,” moaned Rarity, flopping to her side into the finely-manicured Bermareuda grass. “How much longer until she shows up?”

“Well, she said five, so, uh,” Rainbow Dash stared at the clock tower, trying her best to remember how to subtract times from one another. “Like, five minutes, maybe?”

“Excellent.” Rarity reached for her left saddlebag, fishing for a pack of cigarettes. “Judging by the intense pain in my chest, it should be just enough time for my heart to explode, or, barring that, perhaps a quick smoke.”

“Sounds healthy.” Rainbow Dash turned away from the clock tower, rolling her eyes. “Maybe try some cardio? You could probably stand to lose a few anyway.”

“First off, eat shit, because my physique is perfect,” countered Rarity, with all the confidence of somepony who wasn’t particularly confident at all. “And I’ll have you know I do plenty of cardiovascular activity.”

“I don’t think whining counts as cardio, but you might push it far enough.” Rainbow Dash offered a water bottle. “Thirsty?”

A weak nod. “I probably ought to, yes, but do spare me a moment. I want to make sure I actually keep it down, as opposed to making another dash for a storm drain.” She chuckled. “Somehow, I doubt you have many more tropical diseases with which to scare off a crowd.”

Rainbow Dash shrugged, taking a drink from the bottle. “You’d be surprised,” she replied around a mouthful of water. “I read, like, all the books in Twi’s library about 'em. You ever heard of blue mange?”

Rarity raised an eyebrow, scanning her friend with a single open eye. “What, is that what happened to you?”

“Oh, ha-ha, good one Rares.” Rainbow Dash huffed playfully. “And I was going to tell you about the awesome symptoms and everything, and now you don’t get to know.”

“Oh, no, how will I ever go on without knowing the horrific symptoms of another disease.” Rarity deadpanned. She waved a hoof in dismissal. “And, for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean whining for my cardiovascular health. I take a brisk trot around the town every morning, which you would know if you were ever awake before noon.”

“Around town?” Rainbow Dash traced an outline of the town in the air with a hoof, scrunching her face in the intense effort of mental math. “But that’s about the same distance as what we just walked.” Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Are you usually this gassed?”

“No, I’m not, because I usually do it with an assortment of tasteful and colorful sweatbands, not, oh, I don’t know, two laden saddlebags and the entire fucking lumber selection of Barnyard Bargains strapped to my back.”

“I mean, I didn’t tell you to bring along a coffee table, or whatever that is. Pretty sure this is all your fault.”

“Correct, but that it is my fault does not preclude me complaining about it.” She gestured with her hoof in a “come-hither” motion. “Now pass that bottle, I’m probably literally dying.”

Rainbow Dash leaned down to the grass, pushing the bottle–

A snort. “You two are the ones I’m supposed to be meeting?”

The two Bearers looked up from the ground. A painfully gray pegasus mare in a mostly conservative suit-jacket (all-business on the collar, but a little daring on the hemline) eyed them with a look of distaste not dissimilar to that one would use for pigs rolling in their own filth.

“That depends.” Rarity returned her gaze, rolling upright. “Are you, er–” she tried to remember the name given to her in the viscount’s instructions “– one Internal Audit, from the Revenue Ministry?”

“No.” Another glare. “The position is correct, but Internal Audit is my sister. My name, as provided by that idiot Viscount in the letter you obviously didn’t read, is External Audit. I hope your apparently subpar memory doesn’t relate to your ability to handle government property.”

“My deepest apologies,” snarked Rarity. “Judging by her name, I presume she is also a member of your esteemed service?”

“No. My sister is a prominent Manehattan proctologist.” She opened a back saddlebag with a wing, retrieving a velvet bag. “If you’re done asking inane questions, let’s get started. I have much better things to do.”

Rarity stood all the way up. “I’m sure you do, like fining little fillies running lemonade stands, or kicking puppies.”

“Hilarious.” The mare’s face didn’t move. “I presume you’re one ‘Rarity Belle,’ correct? Either that, or your friend here picked up an extralegal companion on the way here.” A faint smile. “It’s somewhat hard to tell, what with all the sweat and smeared makeup.”

Rarity scowled, answering through clenched teeth. “That would be me, yes. You read my file, then?”

“Of course. It’s basic due dilligence.” The government mare was now fully grinning, albeit with all the friendliness of a timberwolf circling a piece of meat, a situation Rarity was unexpectedly familiar with. “You know, Countess, I had a look over some records of yours when the viscount told me I was to meet you. I think I saw some irregularities, big enough ones to necessitate an audit.” She licked her lips, unnervingly canine-like. “Ministry policy is four years, but I like to do seven.”

Rarity recoiled in shock. “S-seven? I don’t have seven years of records! My shop hasn’t existed for seven years!”

“Sounds like evasion to me, and I’ve never lost a case.” She twirled the bag around her hoof on its drawstrings. “But don’t worry, I’ve heard spending time on a penal farm is a great way to lose weight.”

“Hey!” Rainbow Dash landed between the two mares, drawing up close to the taxmare’s face and spreading her wings slightly in challenge. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but neither of us have done anything to you, so why don’t you chill out a little bit, huh?”

The pegasus’ wings stayed resolutely glued to her side, but Rainbow Dash’s response had earned an eyebrow raise. “My problem is that you two somehow convinced my boss to send me out to this sweltering provincial shithole of a city, when I should have been enjoying the magnificent hooves of my favorite Canterlot massage-boy.”

“Oh boo-hoo.” Rainbow Dash wiped her eyes of mock tears. “You have to do your job.”

“No, my job is to deal with pony’s taxes, not get involved in the magical bullshit that has somehow infected Equestria over the past four years or so. Do you know how much work two more princesses has created? I had to sit down with a few of the other Revenuers and rewrite the whole book. Twice.”

“And how is that our problem?” Rarity scoffed.

“It’s not, probably.” The mare said. “But whenever something happens, one of the princess’ six little pets is always there, so I figure it’s probably your fault.”

Rainbow Dash pushed a little closer, forehoof raising off the ground menacingly. “Pets? You want to run that one by me again, bitch?”

“Hit me, and it’s ten years.” A smirk.

“Ponyslaughter is only twenty.” Rainbow Dash stomped a back hoof, wings fully splayed. “Guess I’ll just break your neck while I’m at it, huh?”

“Try me.” She snorted. “I did four years as a field agent. I could turn you into a skidmark.”

Rainbow Dash drew in even closer, snout nearly touching her adversary. “Oh yeah? Bring it on, slut. I’ve got nothing to–”

“Yes, we do.” Rarity shoved her way in between the two mares. “We have about nine million bits to lose.” She turned to the government pony. “So let’s just get this over with, hmm?Before you say something so stupid I let Rainbow go ahead and kick your ass.”

The revenuer paused for a moment, eyes still locked with Rainbow Dash’s, then relaxed slightly. “… Fine. I don’t care either way, although it’s been too long since I’ve kicked out somepony’s teeth.” She turned to look at Rarity. “I presume you’re not so much of an idiot that you can read a spell-book?”

“I can.” Rarity nodded. “Why do–” She found herself interrupted by the propulsion of a hard-back book into her face. “–oof!”

“Open that to page thirty-four and cast that spell, please.”

“Why do you need me to cast anything?” Rarity asked, face contorted confusion.

The revenuer rolled her eyes. “Because they didn’t send me with a unicorn attendant because you were here, and I need somebody to cast the spell to lock Mrs. Dash to this Purse.”

“Oh, uh,” Rarity coughed. “Er, I, ah, can’t do that.”

“What? Did you break your horn off or something?”

“No, I most certainly did – hey!” Rarity waved a futile forehoof at the hat being held above her head. “Put that back!”

“Ugh, gross,” said the mare with a sneer. “How did you manage to get herpes on your face?”

Rarity managed to snatch the hat out of her opponent’s hoof, placing it back onto her head. “I did not–”

“Yeah, whatever. Celestia, you’re even worse than I thought.” The revenuer huffed. “I can’t believe this. I get dragged out here and now I have to hunt down some poor unicorn because you’re too useless?”

Rainbow Dash backed up, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, hunt down?”

She had meant it quite literally, actually.

“Oh goddess, wha – what is wrong with you?” Rarity, eyebrows wide in befuddlement, pointed a hoof at the tax officer’s cargo: a terrified unicorn colt.

“I needed a unicorn. I got a unicorn.” She shucked the colt off her back onto the ground. “We don’t have all day, after all.”

“You stole a child?”

“I didn’t steal him, I requisitioned him,” the mare explained, tossing the spell-book to the colt.

“Ho – how does one requisition a child?” asked Rarity incredulously.

“I need your child,” said the dour-clothed pegasus, with the exact kind of uninterested tone one uses when ordering slices of cheese from a deli.

“Y- you what?” The Earth pony mare pulled her foal protectively against herself, hackles raising. “Who the hell do you think you–”

“You don’t understand, ma’am.” The pegasi removed a badge from her vest pocket. “I’m from Revenue.”

The mare’s face broke its stoic impasse, falling into a light smirk. “Revenue gets her marks.”

“M-m-miss,” the colt stammered out. “C-can I go back to my momm–”

“No.” The mare tossed the book at the colt, who caught it in a shaky magical field. “And shut it. Every stupid question is ten points off your credit score, kid.”

Rarity gasped. “You wouldn’t. Not to a child.”

A nod, another smirk. “I would.”

The colt stared back, wide-eyed. “W-what’s a credit score, miss?”

“The evilest kind of magic.” Rarity answered, eyes narrowed into gun-slits at the treacherous agent. “Invented by the very foulest kinds of pony.”

“P-p-pegasi?” stammered out the colt. Both pegai present shot him a look.

Rarity barely stifled a snorted laugh as she shook her head, eyes narrowing. “Ah, no, even worse. The financial sector.”

The agent rolled her eyes. “How enlightened. If you’re done being unreasonably bigoted. we have a job to do.” She pointed with a foreleg at Rainbow Dash. “Put your hoof in the purse and hold still.”

Rainbow Dash suspiciously placed her forehoof inside the velvet bag.

Satisfied, the agent turned to the foal. “Turn to page thirty-four and cast that spell. Hold on the first half, please.”

“Um, okay.” The colt opened the book in his field, leafing through the pages. “Wh-what does this spell do, um, anyway?”

The agent shot him a look of exasperation. “Ten. Points.”

He nodded hurriedly, eyes wide in not-totally understood fear, before looking back down to the book. He frowned. “Um, I, uh, don’t know if I can cast this, cause, uh, we haven’t gotten to polyspells in school yet, an-and teach told me that if I messed one up it could overcharge the–”

“Look, whatever, kid, just cast it.” The agent waved a wing in dismissal. “It will probably just fizzle if you screw it up.”

Shakily, the colt followed instructions, horn lighting. A faint corona lit around Rainbow Dash.

“Uh, i-is this it?” The colt asked shakily.

“Yes, it is.” The agent turned to Rainbow Dash. “Repeat after me. ‘I, your name, do swear allegiance to the Celestial Crown and all the offices therein…”

Rainbow Dash looked down at the now-glowing velvet bag her hoof currently resided in, then back up, gulping in distrust. “I, uh, your name, do–”

The revenuer rolled her eyes in disgust. “No, dumbass, you say your name.”

“Oh, uh, guess you should have been clearer.” Rainbow Dash resumed her oath. “I, Rainbow Dash, do swear allegiance to the Celestial Crown and all the offices therein…”

“Great, glad you were able to get that done.” The agent waved a wing in front of the colt’s face. “Hey, kid? Cast the second half of that spell when she finishes this line, okay?” She turned back to Rainbow Dash. “Repeat again. ‘I, therefore, do humbly request access in perpetuity to this Purse and to the wider Treasury beyond.’ Got it?”

Rainbow Dash nodded. “I, therefore, do humbly request access in perpetuity to this Purse and to the wider Treasury beyond.”

The bag remained the same as it had been, still glowing faintly.

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake – Hey, kid!” The mare waved her wing again, this time more insistently. “Cast the spell!”

With a nod, the colt’s horn blasted into a wide corona, filling the space around the purse with a glow.

Rainbow Dash’s eyes shot wide as she fidgeted, a sparkling corona slinking up her foreleg. “Oh, uh, wow, this is really uncomfortable.” She squirmed her wings. “Is-is it supposed to, like, burn? Cause that seems, like, impractical if these things go out all the time.”

“Oh! Duh!” The taxmare smacked her head theatrically, rolling her eyes. “I forgot to write in the challenge response in the book.” She chuckled to herself, locking eyes with Rarity with eyes glinting of glee. “I guess I forgot while I was, oh–” she tapped her chin “–kicking puppies. Yes, that was it, right?”

“You what?” Rainbow Dash had started sweating, both from worry and the sizzling sensation moving up her foreleg. “What does that mean?”

“It means that as soon as Junior here finishes up with that–”

As if on cue, the colt’s horn darkened with a “pop.” He collapsed to the ground, panting in effort.

“–spell, you’re going to come face to fa – well, technically, hoof to bag with the best efforts of Revenue’s Enforcement spell-grammers.”

Rainbow Dash’s eyes shot from bag, to foreleg, to agent, and back to bag. “Wait, what does th–ARGH!” With an ear-splittingly loud “BZZZZZT,” a series of bolts of arcane electricity shot from the bag into its wearer, rendering her a convulsing mess in the grass.

Rarity, struck by the horror of what she was watching, reached out a hoof to help; unfortunately, she was rendered motionless, presumably due to a dilemma as to whether she should reach out to help her seizing friend or plant it with as much force as possible directly into the agent’s smarmy face.

The agent, watching Rarity’s eyes, snorted in amusement. “Oh, I wouldn’t touch her if I was you. That spell travels well. You could knock out a whole racing eight with that.”

The words struck Rarity out of her fugue. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, dropping into a wrestler’s crouch and gesturing threateningly at her opponent. “Y-you bitch! What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, that?” The government mare pointed at the convulsing form of Rainbow Dash, who seemed to have ridden through the worst of it. A few more weak shocks leapt from the bag. “Oh, no, I genuinely just forgot.” She shrugged. “I’m not sorry or anything, because, oh, you know, two tax codes, but it’s more a happy accident than anything.”

“A HAPPY ACCIDENT?” Rarity screeched. “You just electrocuted my friend with arcano-bolts and you’re happy?”

“I didn’t electrocute her.” The mare swept a wingtip across her jacket lapel. “Electrocution would mean she died. She is very much alive, I assure you.”

Rarity pointed a hoof in accusation. “How do you know that?”

“Because you can’t prosecute dead people. Much better to have the spell immobilize somepony so the agents can retrieve them.” She repeated the move with the other wing and other lapel. “She’ll be up in, oh, ten minutes?” She shrugged. “I hope you don’t have a boat to catch or anything like that.”

“I do, as a matter of – whoa.” Rarity looked past the mare, blinking a few times. “Ten minutes, you said?”

“Yes, I did.” She turned. “What, did your dim-witted friend wake up early or – well!”

Rainbow Dash, distinctly not unconscious and wearing the purse as a necklace, stood shakily, with eyes narrowed and wings fully splayed. Her tail, still smoking slightly, twitched back and forth in abject anger.

The agent snorted. “What you lack in intelligence you must make up for with a robust constitution.” She turned back to Rarity. “Well, it looks like you’ll make your boat after all.”

Rarity glowered back. “I suppose we–”

“CRACK.” The sound of a baseball bat hitting a solid line drive punctuated the air. A fresh line of crimson splashed across Rarity’s chest, falling across her already-dulled coat and harness.

With a shake, Rainbow Dash removed a rear hoof from the agent’s now thoroughly hoof-shaped face, shaking off a tooth or two. She offered a napkin to Rarity, gesturing towards the stain across her front. “Want one?”

The two Ponyville mares hustled down the oceanside pier, walking side by side except for the occasional dodge of a stevedore.

“Oh, wonderful thinking, Rainbow.” Rarity mocked. “Let’s just assault the crown agent. That will make for a wonderful beginning to our journey! Stellar!”

“She kidnapped a child and used him to electrocute me, Rarity.” Rainbow Dash shot back. “What did you expect me to do? Hug her?”

“Nothing!” Rarity replied, hooves nearly stumbling over a too-tall paving stone. “I expected you to do nothing! Seethe? Pout, perhaps? Not assault somepony!”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Rainbow Dash snorted. “Hey, remember that time, like, a week and a half ago when you straight-up whacked a dude for vengeance? Because you apparently don’t.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rarity asked incredulously. “Murder? I did no such thing! That was self defense!”

“Really? Self defense? From, like, a hilltop away?”

“He had demonstrated intent!” Rarity countered. “It was, ah, preemptive self-defense.”

“So, not self-defense?”

“Mmm, fine! It’s semantics anyway!” Rarity stomped a few more steps, then turned her head to address Rainbow Dash. “But I didn’t do it in an urban park, nor did I leave my … assailant around to expose my actions to the world. Grisly as it was, I settled that.”

Rainbow Dash looked back, amusement cutting through some of the scowl she was wearing. “What, you’re saying I should have polished her off? Tossed her in a dumpster?”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t have, although, er,” Rarity thought for a moment, “perhaps not with a child present.” She shook her head. “Regardless, I hate to imagine what sort of welcome we will receive on arrival. I daresay the legal system travels faster than steamships.”

“What? Nah.” Rainbow Dash waved a hoof. “I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, aren’t you some kind of snooty princess-thing over there? Can’t you just, like, say ‘no, she’s fine, don’t take her to jail’ or something?”

“I doubt my powers extend enough to issue pardons, although I daresay I haven’t actually looked.” Rarity shrugged, resuming her brisk walk down the pier. “If that is indeed the case, I’ll make sure to provide you with the proverbial stay of execution.”

“Well, if you can, you probably ought to use it on yourself first, huh?” Rainbow Dash joined back up, falling in beside her heavily laden friend. “Now come on, hustle up. We’ve got to make it to pier seventeen.”

“Ugh, Godddesses above!” Rarity swore. “I thought we already passed it. Where is this damn ‘Pier Seventeen’ anyway?”

“Probably between the sixteenth and eighteenth pier.” Rainbow Dash deadpanned. “What did you expect?”

“Not this!” Rarity huffed in exasperation. “Maybe it would start in the middle! Maybe it would start at twenty and we’d be walking down it!”

“Why would it do that?”

“I don’t know!” Rarity grumbled. “Why wouldn’t it? Numbers don’t have to make sense!”

“They kinda do, cause, that’s, like, what they do.” Rainbow Dash smirked. “Are you sure you ever passed math?”

“Yes, I’m sure I passed fucking math. I made a C-plus.” Rarity shot back. “And numbers do not have to make sense. Why do the mailbox numbers in Ponyville start at ten thousand? There’s not ten thousand houses!”

“There’s not?” Rainbow Dash asked, stopping and shaking out a distinctly sore hoof. “Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, Rainbow.” Rarity snorted in derision. “There are clearly not ten thousand houses in Ponyville.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I guess that explains why Pinkie and I couldn’t find house number one.”

“You two didn’t give up after, say, not finding anything below a thousand?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.

“What? No, there’s something below a thousand. Sugarcube Corner is eight or something.”

“Eight?” Rarity asked incredulously.

“Yeah. Just, like, zero zero zero zero eight. That’s why I always thought there was a one.”

“I suppose that would make sense whilst counting. I daresay I can’t imagine why the town’s planners would have assigned a number like that.” Once again, Rarity chalked it up to a quirk of the ley lines. She stopped suddenly, face brightening up. “Oh! Would you look at that sign! Pier seventeen!”

Rainbow Dash looked up from the pavement, eyes widening at the sight of the magnificent ship at said mooring. “Oh wow! We’re getting to ride on that?”

Rarity scanned the ship’s fine lines. “Well, it does look like quite a nice vessel as these things go, although–”

“Quite a nice vessel?’ Rarity, are you crazy?” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “That’s Umbria, from the Celestial Line! That’s the biggest and fastest screw steamer in the world!”

“Oh, swell!” Rarity sniffed once. “I don’t know what any of that means. Where did you learn all that?”

“I read Mane’s, okay? I like the warships, but that’s not important.” Rainbow Dash fluttered her wings in glee, still somewhat uncoordinated from the earlier shocks. “What’s important is that we’re going on the nicest ship in the world, Umbria.”

“It doesn’t look all that special,” muttered Rarity. “And in my experience ships are all terrible anyway. Every one I’ve ever been on turned into a miserable sweat-filled cocoon within the first hour, and–”

“There’s a ballroom.” Rainbow Dash interjected. “At least, I think there is, because I kind of skimmed all the frou-frou stuff, but I’m pretty sure.”

Rarity paused for a moment, mouth open in mid-rant silence, before giving a slight shrug. “Well, it’s a start at least.” She took another look over the vessel. “Still! I can’t believe that the government is so willing to splurge on us. I daresay I expected some sort of fishing vessel to be waiting for us at seventeen, not this–”

A longshoremare guffawed as she walked past, turning to address the two mares. “Oh, seventeen?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Rarity gestured at the ship. “This is seventeen, right?”

“No, the signs come in front. This is sixteen.” The dockworker pointed to the next space. “That’s seventeen.”

Both mares followed the soiled hoof, eyes begrudgingly falling away from the lovely two-funnel steamship and towards–

“Oh.” Rarity said with a growing frown. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Author's Note

Lawyers? Check. Guns? Check. Money? Not quite yet.

We've finally reached the boats! This has been by far the hardest chapter to write. Things move swiftly from here - a little bit of onboard nonsense, then a lot of ~~just really~~ really ~~hot smut~~ perfectly chaste extralegal shenanigans.

Mane's is, of course, Jane's famous line of warship identification books. Evidently, their cross-dimensional division also inventories civilian ships of note, although it's not unlikely for ships of this vintage to have been pressed into service. On that note, deciding an appropriate level of Equestrian schizo-tech is always tough, especially because the show didn't always know either. I figure that halfway between EDM music and wheel-lock firearms is, like, the turn of the century, so paddle and screw steamers it is!

"If You're Afraid They Might Discover Your Redneck Past..."

Along the railing of a steamship, two mares, one adorned in a sun hat, load-bearing harness, and wooden crate, the other in naught but saddlebags, looked over the port of Moneighlia as they munched contentedly on breakfast.

Below, the port was, if not quite the cosmopolitan trade hub of Fillydelphia, at least a healthy and bustling set of docks, even if the size of ships docked would point towards more local traffic than truly transoceanic – the Yakalaska was clearly the largest ship present, and was most likely only there in an attempt to evade back parking fees at a more typical port. Nevertheless, a few outliers from the local fare could be seen; an occasional zebra, a single thick gold hoop through the ear marking him as a lifelong sailor, a griffon captain strutting about, likely tutting in disdain for the unwashed masses around him, a unicorn in a white coat, gold shoulder-boards and sleeve bands marking him as an officer in the Equestrian Navy, lowly rank pointing towards a command no higher than a steam-frigate.

Still watching the scene below, Rainbow Dash gestured with her bowl of grits towards Rarity. “Hey, Rares, would you mind, uh…”

Without removing her snout from the bowl she was scarfing down at a genuinely impressive speed, Rarity gave a grunt of acknowledgment around a mouthful of grits. She ducked her head down to the railing, removing her hat and exposing her horn. The sight underneath was not nearly as troubling as it had been previously; her horn was still bandaged but now was at least mercifully clean with an exposed black tip, and around the site the beginnings of purple stubble had grown up from where her mane once stood, albeit with a patch of white around the horn, likely bleached from whatever magic had spewed forth.

As one might imagine, Rarity was taking the advent of what she thought was her first signs of an elderly mare swimmingly.

“GRAY HAIRS!” Rarity wheeled around, averting her eyes from the dingy mirror above the sink so as to spare herself from the abominable sight contained within. “I can’t have gray hairs! My mother barely has gray hairs!”

“Don’t feel too bad, Rares!” Rainbow Dash slapped a forehoof across Rarity’s back. “Old age comes for us all! Some ponies just get there fast–”

Luckily, Rainbow Dash was almost as adept at dodging flames as she was slinging insults.

After allowing Rarity to remove her hat, Rainbow Dash placed her bowl of grits above Rarity’s horn, which, with an initial blast of loose orange fire, spewed forth a forceful but contained font of acetylene-torch blue flame.

“Thanks.” Rainbow Dash stuck the bowl in to the top of the flame, rolling it around carefully to avoid scorching her hoof. “You know, I may have called you a ‘high-maintenance lighter’ earlier, but look at you! You’re also good at reheating food.”

Rarity once again grunted from her bowl.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rainbow Dash pulled her breakfast out of the flame, giving it a stir with a fork. “Dang, that’s, what, like bowl five? Didn’t expect you to be so nuts for this stuff. Seems a little low rent, y’know?”

Rarity, having finally polished off the bowl, pulled her head back. “What? No, fuc – burp – oh, excuse me, fucking love grits. Only thing my mother can cook, really, so I ate a lot of them growing up.”

“Oh yeah?” Rainbow Dash chuckled. “You guys didn’t really seem like ‘the grits kind of ponies.’ It’s kinda Applejack food, honestly.”

“I assure you, we are, and she is especially.” Rarity wiped her snout with a hoof, successfully removing most of the detritus. “My mother is as authentic as Applejack pretends to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Meaning that when I went with her a few years back to visit relatives in her birthplace I had to bring along a pair of buckets for well-water and night-soil.” Rarity turned to face Rainbow Dash. “There are two very distinct social strata of unicorns, Rainbow. One of them is the urbanite upper-crust descended from scholars, generals, and nobles – one Twilight Sparkle, scion of lines of officers, is a fine example. The other one is utterly destitute unicorns stuck landless and mostly useless in Earth Pony agricultural towns, hoping desperately for a way out.” Rarity pointed a hoof to her breast. “That would be moi, at least in part. Ponyville is, if you can believe it, sufficiently cosmopolitan to allow for some social mobility.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad. My father’s ability to turn unsuspecting quarterbacks into a thin smear of viscera is the only reason I’m an Element of Harmony as opposed to an element of a depressing documentary piece by a Canterlot newspaper.”

“Huh.” Rainbow Dash pointed at Rarity's usually spectacular tail. "I guess that explains that."

Indeed, wherein Rarity's trademark spectacularly curled tail generally plumed magnificently into the air from atop her rear, it now drooped rather unceremoniously in an eminently practical, and eminently rural, Applejack-esque loose bind, held together by an attractively color-matched piece of light blue elastic. Some concessions had to be made to style, you know.

Rarity gave her tail an idle swoosh, eyeing it disapprovingly. "In the absence of a better option, I am not above such rustic stylings. There are, after all, only so many ways to bind hair, and taking after the stylings of my less, er, sophisticated kin does have some obvious advantages."

Rainbow Dash shrugged. “And here I had you picked out as snooty all the way. Course, that doesn’t totally explain why you scarfed down, like, six servings of grits though.”

“No, it doesn’t. That has to do with my presently insatiable hunger.” Rarity eyed her bowl. “I haven’t the foggiest idea why, but for the past week or so I’ve been just utterly famished.”

Rainbow Dash pointed a hoof at Rarity, smirking. “I’ve got it!”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Rainbow Dash chuckled. “It’s obvious. You’re pregnant!”

Rarity snorted a laugh. “Good goddess, Rainbow, I can assure you that isn’t the case. I can’t be sure of much in the world, but I can be sure of that.”

“I was joking anyway.” Rainbow Dash waved a wing in dismissal. “Nah, it’s probably something to do with your horn. I know when I work out really hard, I get really hungry, and I think you’re pretty much having to rebuild your magic from scratch, so it’s kinda like you’re working out all the time.”

Rarity thought for a moment. “You’re probably right, actually.” She shrugged. “Huh. You never cease to impress.”

“I aims to please,” responded Rainbow Dash smugly.

“It’s ‘aim to please,’ so I am forced to amend my statement about failing to cease.”

“Smartass.”

The two mares sat for a time overlooking the railing. The crowd below continued to mill about.

“You know, it doesn’t look like we’re in a whole new part of the world.”

“What do you mean, ‘look like?’” Rarity turned towards Rainbow Dash. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know! Something more than this.” Rainbow Dash threw out her wings in a shrug. “You know how when you go to the movies and watch a movie and they end up somewhere far away it’s all like a different color?”

“You thought it would be a different color?”

“I mean, not exactly, no, but different, y’know?” Rainbow Dash pointed to the docks. “I mean, outside of the goofy clothes ponies are wearing it doesn’t look that different, honestly.”

"They're not goofy!" Rarity admonished. "They're charmingly rustic!"

"If by 'charming', you mean 'Reneighssance Fair,' then yeah, charming."

"Well, I think they're a fun change of pace." She paused for a moment. “Although, on a slightly more serious note, I must say that there's a seeming drought of pegasi,” Rarity observed. She squinted a little. “In fact, I think it's less drought and more not any, actually.”

“Not a lot walking around, yeah, but then again you won’t find a lot of pegasi walking around in most places they can fly.”

“I don’t see any in the air, either. Is there some kind of airspace law we’re not aware of?”

“I dunno.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I didn’t read that part of Twilight’s guidebook. I got distracted by all the historical stuff.”

“You didn’t – what?” Rarity shook her head in befuddlement. “You didn’t read the part for pegasi? Isn’t that the important part for you, insofar as you are, indeed, a pegasus?”

“I got distracted, okay? Sue me.” Rainbow Dash pulled out the book from her baggage. “And this thing’s not exactly a real page turner, y’know? I got bored.”

“Rainbow Dash, I watched you, out of sheer boredom, count every rivet in the hull of the ship out of a lack of anything better to do on day three. We had eight more days.”

“Well, yeah, but that was important, and it meant I was flying, which is important.” Rainbow Dash shook the weighty tome. “And this definitely meant I wasn’t flying, so not important.”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Rarity rolled her eyes. “Well, regardless, I must, to some extent, agree with your initial point; I am somewhat disappointed with the apparent normalcy of our destination. I don’t particularly see anything out of the ordinary, really.”

“Yeah, right?” Rainbow Dash agreed. “Well, I mean, except for all the stallions in the funny hats.”

“The what?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.

“The funny hats?” Rainbow Dash pointed a wing at the crowd, focusing on a pair of said funny hats. “You don’t see them?”

“No, I – oh, wait, yes I – oh my, I do.” Rarity corrected herself, blushing slightly. “The ones in the dashing and incredibly tight uniforms?”

“…I guess?” Rainbow Dash squinted at the indicated ponies. “I mean, I didn’t see any – oh, wow, those are some – whoa.” Indeed, between the very complementary black trousers striped with red, fetching plumed bicorn hats, and tasteful capes, the stallions did cut a remarkably dashing figure. Rainbow Dash whistled softly. “Holy cow, you weren’t kidding. How did they get those on?”

“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Rarity. “My complements to their group’s tailor for not being afraid to go, er, below and beyond.” Suddenly thoughtful, she furrowed her brow. “Although, now that I think about, exactly what group are they anyway?”

“Well, they’ve all got swords on, so they’re probably some kind of guards, right?”

“They do?” Rarity squinted a little. Sure enough, the stallions did indeed have swords hanging off their belts in black scabbards – the unicorns with long and skinny sabers, their unmagical bretheren with short basket-hilted broadswords. “So they do.” Rarity pulled back from the railing. “Well, they certainly don’t look like any kind of guards I’ve ever seen, much to their credit. Those Neoclassical getups the guards back home wear are just so, eugh, kitsch.”

“No disagreements there.” Rainbow Dash nodded. “I know I’d much rather wear that than those stupid skirts they make the guards wear. How are you supposed to fight in a skirt?”

“No idea. Hopefully we don’t have to find out in our near future.”

A loaded moment passed.

“Sure are a lot of them, though,” observed Rainbow Dash.

“I was wondering about that.” Rarity turned to face her friend. “There has to be, what, at least thirty of them down there, no?”

“At least. It’s like a solid quarter of the docks are those guys.” Rainbow Dash frowned. “That seems like a lot of guards for some random port, right?”

“It does.” Rarity eyed the book. “But perhaps it is typical for the area. Rainbow, do you think you could try and find some sort of, ah, information about all this in that book of yours?”

“I could try I guess, although I don’t remember seeing anything about it before.” Rainbow Dash flipped the book to the final few pages of the index. “What should I look for, anyway? ‘Funny hats?’ ‘Dudes with swords?’”

Rarity peered over Rainbow Dash’s shoulder. “Is there an entry for ‘phenomenal asses?’”

Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “I wish.” She flipped a few pages. “Lets try – ah-ha! ‘Law,’ ‘Law Arbitration,’ ‘Law Codes,’ ‘Law Enforcen’ – there we go!” She flipped to the midpoint of the book, moving forward a few pages. “Okay! ‘Law Enforcement in the Bitalian Region; A Historical Overvie–’”

Rarity coughed politely. “Ah, Rainbow, do you think we could maybe, er, skip ahead to the part we’re looking for?”

“But I wanted to read about – ugh, fine, whatever.” Rainbow Dash shot Rarity a dirty look, but flipped forward a few pages. An illustration of a stallion clad in very similar clothing sat on the page. “Oh, wow, that was easy!”

“That most assuredly looks like one of them to me.” Rarity looked at the picture disapprovingly. “Although the depiction is disappointingly drawn from the front. What’s it say?”

“Well, lets see.” Rainbow Dash cleared her throat. “Ahem! ‘The most visually distinctive of all the top-level Equestrian policing organizations, as well as a firm reminder of the Crown’s once violently imposed power over the region, the famous Bitalian Corpo dei Carabinieri Reali, or Royal Carabineers Corps, is the preeminent group for law enforcement for the Dominion of Bitaly. Responsible for customs enforcement, rapid response against internal magical and nonmagical threats, and acquisition of inter-dominion fugitives, the Carabinieri–”

“Oh, shit.” Rarity, suddenly quite worried, inhaled sharply. “Read that last part again?”

Rainbow Dash cocked her head slightly, but did as told. “‘–acquisition of inter-dominion fugitives – ah, crap, that’s probably bad.”

“Rainbow Dash you idiot!” Rarity smacked her head with a forehoof, then removed her hoof from her face, pulling it to the side of her head and spinning it in conjunction with rolling eyes in a classic display of playground mockery. “‘Ooh, look at me, I’m Rainbow Dash, I share a similar brain capacity to my farm-poultry cousins and fervently believe we will face no consequences from kicking a Revenue Officer’s fucking molars out.’ What did I tell you would happen?”

“I didn’t expect anyone to know this fast! I thought we’d beat the news over here!”

“We’d beat – Rainbow, you thought a ship would beat a telegram?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight, okay? Half of my brain just got fried, remember?” Rainbow Dash threw out her wings in exasperation. “And might I remind you, little miss perfect, that they could just as easily be looking for you? Y’know, because you murdered someone?”

Rarity reeled back, shushing with a forehoof. “Shush! Gods, are you trying to make sure everyone knows? I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t particularly like to face that charge in addition to what you’ve got us wrapped up in.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “We don’t even know if they’re here for us anyway!” She turned back to face the docks. “Look, they’re not coming this way, right? I mean, if they were coming for us they’d be coming this way, and look!” She pointed with a forehoof at a particular pair of policestallions. “Look, they’re just talking to that lady down there! It’s probably just normal for there to be a bunch–”

One of the Carabinieri, a unicorn, levitated a poster out of a sleeve attached to the opposite side of his belt from his sword and unfurled it. As the two feared but expected, a depiction of the pair of Equestria’s heroes rested on the page. In all fairness, it was actually a fairly complementary drawing of Rainbow Dash, although Rarity’s looked terrible, which was accurate to the present circumstances if not very nice.

“–Oh, uh, shit, never mind, we’re on the poster.” Rainbow Dash retreated from the railing, sucking a breath through her teeth. “That’s not good.”

“Not good? Not good? NOT GOOD?” Rarity screeched. “Rainbow Dash, it’s not just not good, it’s, without exaggeration, the Worst Possible Thing. Our quest has been ended before it even began.”

“Hey, stop whining, okay? It’s not over.” Rainbow Dash looked up into the sky, squinting.

“I beg your pardon?” Rarity clutched her breast with a forehoof. “I will whine as much as I damned well please, thank you very–”

“No, shut up for a second, okay? I’m thinking.” Rainbow Dash looked back at the dock, biting her lip in thought and tapping a forehoof on the decking.

Rarity looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

Rainbow Dash continued looking outwards, eyes darting back and forth from members of the crowd. “No pegasi, no pegasi, no – got it!” She straightened up, turning around. “Okay here’s the plan. You’re not going to like it, but it’s a good plan, and it’s going to work, so I don’t really care, okay?”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “I’m suspicious of your confidence, but I’m listening.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be, because this plan kicks ass, so here’s what’s going to happen.” Rainbow Dash pointed to the dock. “The main problem we’ve got is that there’s a bunch of cops down there, right? But here’s the thing; none of them are pegasi. That means I’ve got totally free airspace, because they can’t follow.”

“Correct, although I would hasten to add that whilst you can exploit–”

“–Shut up, we’re getting there, okay? I’m not that dumb.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Now, yes, while normally this would involve me absolutely hauling ass out of here, the problem is that I can’t haul ass hauling your fat ass, so that’s out of the question.” She stomped a forehoof in punctuation. “But! What I can do is make an absolutely awesome distraction and draw away, like, ninety percent of the guards, right? Then I can just make a long banked turn past the horizon, scream back out of sight, duck behind the waves, and come back to where you are two docks down.”

“Seems reasonab – hey, wait a minute!” Rarity shook her head. “What do you mean two docks–”

“–Now, this is the part I told you you wouldn’t like.” Rainbow Dash grimaced. “See, even if I get most of them to follow me, most isn’t all, and you’re slow and really easy to see, so that’s not going to work.” She pointed to the opposite railing of the ship. “What I need you to do is, uh, swim for it.”

Rarity’s eyes shot wide. “NO! Absolutely n–”

Rainbow Dash cut off her incoming retort with a firm forehoof to the muzzle. “Nu-uh! Zip it and listen for a second, girl!” She pointed with a wing at the opposite railing. “Look, I remember your heartfelt story about why you’re scared of the ocean and whatever, but we don’t really have a choice, because the alternative is us getting thrown in a jail or something.” She removed her forehoof. “And I’m not just going to throw you over or anything, okay? I’ll take what I can of your bags, try my best to lower you in, get you like a life preserver or something.”

Rarity stared back firmly, but didn’t say anything, clearly deep in thought.

“Look, take your time, but not a bunch of time, because the longer we wait the more time they have to–”

“I’ll do it.”

“–Oh, really?” Rainbow Dash mimed wiping her forehead. “Wow, that was easier than I–”

“But.” Rarity’s tone was firm enough to work iron on. “If you don’t help me in, or don’t get me some sort of air, or you l-leave–” her tone wavered, eyes slowly softening from cold assuredness to a fear-tinged wideness. “–leave me o-out there in the–”

Rainbow Dash pulled in nearly muzzle to muzzle with the quickly slipping unicorn, locking eyes. “Hey! Don’t lock up on me now, Rares! You’ve got a job to do.” She backed up slightly, pointing a wing at Rarity. “And I’d never leave a friend. Never. I don’t care if I’m being chased by a dozen pegasi, you better believe I’m finding you. I promise.” She swung that wing over Rarity’s head, gesturing. “So get all that heavy-ass stuff off and get ready, okay?”

After a moment to steady herself and, presumably, weigh Rainbow Dash’s trustworthiness against her own fear, Rarity nodded. “…Okay.” She swung her head back. “But help me get this off, please?”

“You got it.” Rainbow Dash stuck her muzzle under the bottom of the box, having learned her lesson from last time. One buckle snapped open, then the other, and, with a skillful maneuver by Rarity, the box made a mostly gentle descent to the deck, felted bottom cushioning its fall.

“Thank you.” Rarity, freed of her heaviest burden, ducked her muzzle under her barrel, loosening her saddlebags and harness before shaking herself out of them. “Strap those to yourself, if you would, but please remove the cognac and the knotted-gold necklace, please. I’ll need those.”

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow, but did as she was told, removing the requested items from opposite saddlebags and placing them in a neat pile. She looked back to Rarity, who was currently digging through a pocket on the harness. “What for?”

Rarity pulled back up from the harness, a little silver key held in her teeth. “Payment,” she said from around the key, then strode over to the box, placing the key into the keyhole and turning it with a soft “click.”

“Payment for what?” Rainbow Dash, much to her delight, found that the bags sized for Rarity’s considerably broader behind strapped quite cleanly around her existing set.

“Shipping my case back, as it most certainly will not float.” Rarity pushed the top of the case open with a forehoof, fixing Rainbow Dash with anunamused glance. “Please do not touch.”

Rainbow Dash trotted over, peering into the box. There, ensconced in lush velvet, rested a surprisingly battered wheel-lock short rifle, adorned lavishly with delicate silver inlays, once-crisp chequering along the mid-section, and, of all things, a crude scrimshaw of a unicorn shooting a griffon from atop a hill in a particularly rough section of the stock.

“…Whoa.” Rainbow Dash continued to stare, commanding haste of a minute before glazed over with foal-like wonder. She reached out a hoof towards the contents, which Rarity ungraciously slapped away. “Hey!”

“I told you, no touching!” Rarity unceremoniously reached in, looping the sling of the rifle around her foreleg, then, with a deft swirl of the hoof, around her barrel, cinching it tightly to herself with her teeth. “Celestia knows there has already been more than enough damage done to my most prized possession by ill-mannered reprobates, and I will not simply not tolerate any further harm.”

“I wasn’t gonna hurt it, Rarity. I’m not an idiot.” Rainbow Dash rubbed her forehoof. “And besides, it sure looks to me like it has already been beat to crap anyway, so what does it matter?”

“Thanks for reminding me, Rainbow,” Rarity grumbled. “And whilst I must agree that there are some unfortunate blemishes, the damage is almost entirely confined to cosmetics, not functional pieces. Thus, what is present can be legitimately viewed as a fashionable patina, rather than marring.”

“Fashionable patina?” Rainbow Dash peered around Rarity’s head, eyeing the graffiti present on the stock. “Rares, there’s like a school desk drawing of you shooting a griffon on it.”

“Except for that, of course.” Rarity sighed. “Such … adornment was most assuredly not my preference.”

“Then whose was it?”

“Fluttershy, if you can believe it.” Rarity reached into the case, extracting a powderhorn, patchbox, and, after swapping from hoof to mouth, a tin of balls. She placed them onto the deck, then pointed at them. “Put the horn on and the other components into my bags, please. They will not survive immersion.”

“Whatever you say.” Rainbow Dash began placing the selected materials into her bags. “And, wait, did you say Fluttershy did that?”

“I did, yes.” Rarity chuckled. “She has something of an odd sense of humor about it.” Rarity paused. “Well, really, an odd sense of humor about death in general, if you can believe it, although I suppose when exposed to so many animals passing one becomes somewhat desensitized the whole ordeal.” She looked back over herself, glancing at the scratching. “I, not quite so similarly numb, do find it to be a little morbid.”

“I agree.” Rainbow Dash sniffed. “Although I guess it is kinda funny, though, with that stupid look on his face.”

“It’s accurate, really.” Rarity snorted a laugh. “Now, where were we?”

“Getting off this ship?” Rainbow Dash offered, eyeing the gangplank. “And sooner rather than later, I think.”

“Oh, right, of course.” Rarity looked down at her case. “Let me just find a suitable lackey to – a-ha!” Rarity waved at a passing sailor walking along the deck, a wizened old jack donkey. “Ah, yoo-hoo!”

One of the donkey’s ears flicked their way, then his whole head.

“Yes, over here!” Rarity gestured again. “Do come here, please? We have a task to ask of you.”

The donkey came trotting over, eyeing the mares suspiciously but closing the distance to a comfortable conversational range.

“Excellent.” Rarity pointed at the case, then the previously set aside bottle of cognac and gold necklace. “If you wouldn’t mind terribly, I need this case sent back to my home in Ponyville. There should be an address listed inside the lid, but–”

“Necklace won’t cover that, ma’am.” The donkey pointed at the offered goods. “Bottles nice, but necklace won’t get it shipped. Only gets it back. Need a few hundred more bits.”

“Seriously?” Rarity raised an eyebrow. “That necklace is worth nine hundred and fifty bits, easily. That is more than enough to get it back to my own home.”

“Says you.” The donkey snorted ungracefully. “Says me, necklace is worth one fifty. That means I need three hundred more.”

“One fifty?” Rarity shot back, outraged. “Are you serious? You couldn’t buy a gold toothpick for one fifty, much less such a fine piece as that.”

“And?” He snorted again. “One fifty max. ’Course, could be fake.” He eyed Rarity. “You look like the type of lady to have fake gold, actually, so I’m going to need four fifty to get it back.”

“You won’t get one damn farthing out of me, you pugnacious brute!”

“Then you won’t get your box–”

“Bill it to Princess Celestia,” said Rainbow Dash casually, as if she was suggesting a restaurant to eat at. “I’ve got a routing number if you want.”

“Are you fucking looney?” The donkey laughed. “Bill it to Her Majesty Sunbeam Asscheeks?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash offered a piece of paper with the number scratched onto it, pen with her wings. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, and – holy shit, you’re serious?” The donkey reeled back. “Y-you actually want me to bill this directly to the crown?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I mean, I’ve got the number, so obviously I’m allowed to do that, right?” She offered the paper. “It’s not hard. Just tell the postal workers to write that on the money order.”

The donkey, after a moment of thought in which he weighed the potential consequences of direct fraud before evidently deciding that it was probably going to go back onto the seemingly suicidal blue pegasus in front of him, took the offered paper.

“Good call.” Rainbow Dash put the pen back into her bags. “Feel free to get yourself a little extra if you’re brave.”

“Yeah, sure, and I’ll just light a picture of Her Majesty on fire while I’m at it.” The donkey shook his head, placing the paper into a pocket in his shirt. “You’re nuts, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse,” said Rainbow Dash, unamused. She picked up the necklace with a wingtip. “Now leave.”

With a shrug, the donkey stepped off, stopping a few steps away to turn and point at Rainbow Dash, or, more specifically, her wings. “I’d put those away if I were you. Locals might not like it.”

“…Well, that’s a weird thing to say.” Turning back to Rarity, Rainbow Dash offered the necklace with her wing, giving it a quick spin. “You’re right, you know. One fifty for this is, like, criminal.”

“I am well aware Rainbow; it’s actually worth about twice that. I was hoping to give him a pleasant surprise when he went to sell it.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “Such are the dangers of being a persistently belligerent jackass, wherein one may miss opportunities when presented.” Rarity took the necklace off Rainbow Dash’s wing, placing it into one of the stacked bags on her friend’s rear. “I’m going to assume that’s not actually the number, right?”

“It is.” Rainbow Dash pointed to the Purse sticking askew out of a bag. “They stitch it at the bottom of the bag, along with this, like, glowing portal thing that has to go to the treasury or something but if you stare at it too long your brain starts to hurt really bad so I only–”

“It is?” Rarity reeled back. “W-what? You just gave that criminal direct access to the Royal Treasury?”

“Yeah, so?” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “C’mon, you really think he’s going to spend a whole bunch of money?”

“Yes!” Rarity smacked a forehoof into her forehead. “Yes, that is clearly what he is going to do!”

“What? Nah. Nobody would be that dumb to spend a bunch of easily traceable government money.” Rainbow Dash waved a wing in dismissal. “And besides, what’s the big deal anyway? I mean, what, they’re going to believe you and I gave him government secrets?”

“Obviously yes! Rainbow, we just attacked a Revenue Officer. We’ve already committed crimes against the Treasury!”

“Oh, right.” Rainbow Dash frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “Ah, who cares? What’s another crime anyway? What, are we going to become more wanted?”

“Again, obviously yes!” Smoke had begun to wisp out from under Rarity’s hat. “Rainbow, they’re going to hang us for this!”

“Well then we’d better get started on you being a duchess and getting us pardoned, right?” Rainbow Dash, after a final check of her baggage for security, removed a pair of sunglasses from under a wing before placing them above a cocksure smile. “Now let’s get you in the water, capisce? Kinda tough for you to swim to another dock without, y’know swimming?”

“…Fine.” Rarity grumbled, not totally sure that Rainbow’s ideas about the powers of local nobility were correct. She shook her head, mentally preparing herself for the plunge that awaited. “Now, how are we going to – hey!” She suddenly found herself wrapped by two blue legs, her own hooves kicking uselessly in the air and towards the slowly receding ground. “I was most certainly not–”

“Holy-shit-please-stop-talking-and-moving-you’re-so-godsdamn-heavy.” Rainbow Dash slowly hovered, squirming unicorn in tow, over the railing of the ship. “O-okay, Rares, I’m going to try and go down slow, so please stop moving–”

Rarity, rather than take Rainbow’s advice to stop moving, looked directly down into the sapphire blue waters of the Bitalian coastline. She first froze, then began to squirm anew, this time even harder, panicking. “Oh, gods, Rainbow, I-I can’t do this, p-please–”

“Rarity, you’ve got to stop squirming–”

“Put me back, please, please–”

Rainbow Dash felt her grip on the unicorn slipping. “Rarity, if you don’t stop moving I’m going to–”

She didn’t finish her sentence before Rarity slipped out of her grasp, plummeting into the waves below.

In horror, Rainbow Dash looked down at the receding splashes.

A gulp. “Ah, shit.”

Author's Note

rara's dead fic's over lmao (jk, obv)

Anyway, take it away, Mr. Folds!

Also, yes, the pants really are that tight. Incidentally, if anyone has any suggestions for an artist deserving a commission, I would gladly get that picture recreated with the main characters.

It's a Regency Dress – but a Regency of Whom?

As she plunged headfirst into wine-dark seas, eyes closed against saltwater burn, no small part of Rarity’s brain screamed in abject terror.

Here she was, once again, adrift in uncaring ocean, this time not quite so weighed down with the inability of youth but quite literally weighed down with armaments, helpless and doomed to suffer an awful fate and a watery–

Ending her spiraling dismay rather suddenly, a hoof shot into the water, grabbing a firm hold on her (thankfully uncharacteristically reinforced) tail and yanking her unceremoniously towards the surface. The light on the front of her eyelids prompted her to open them, revealing the sunglasses-adorned face of one Rainbow Dash, ship’s life preserver in hoof.

“You good?” asked Rainbow Dash, dropping the wet end of Rarity’s tail back into the water as the waterlogged unicorn began to frantically tread water.

Rarity, head dipping between waves, decided on a better usage of limited above-water time than answering the question, which was to swear at Rainbow Dash through clenched teeth.“I AM GOING TO TEAR OUT YOUR INTESTINES WITH A GARDEN HOOK AND STRANGLE YOU WITH THEM.”

Rainbow Dash, snorting in laughter, clapped a forehoof onto Rarity’s shoulder. “That’s the spirit, Rares.” She tossed her rapidly-sinking friend the life preserver, which Rarity eagerly grabbed onto. “Now get to it.” She rose into the air, pointing behind Rarity. “Remember, you’ve only got to get around the first ship, then just go up the stairs. Got it?”

“Get fucked, go fuck yourself, and fuck off.” Rarity had calmed down slightly, which meant she could afford to open her mouth when swearing.

“Anything else?”

A beat, then a sheepish “…And bring two towels, please?”

“After you asked me so nicely? How could I not?” Rainbow Dash flew above the edge of the ship, then sharply into the air, towards the town. A few indistinct yells could be heard, then the sharp “crack!” of airborne acceleration.

As the sounds of flight receded, Rarity looked back down at the thankfully calm harbor waters, then back into the air. “Why’d Twilight get the wings, anyway?” she grumbled, setting off for her destination with gentle kicks.

Rainbow Dash returned to a very soggy, and very hatless, Rarity attempting to dry her tail with her horn-flame, contorted into a sort of ouroboros-esque shape.

It was exactly as hilarious as it sounded.

“Please, whatever you do, don’t move until I can get a camera.”

Rarity ignored the chuckling from her right, focused utterly on drying her tail. “Yes, Rainbow, I’m sure this is hilarious-looking–”

“–This is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen, and I saw Twilight turn herself into vegetables once–”

“–but there is really only one way to geometrically achieve the task of bringing one’s tail to one’s forehead, and it is most certainly not an elegant way to do so.”

“No argument here.” Rainbow Dash smirked. “’Course, I’m a little surprised by how much you’re, like, dying over here. I was sure you were an expert in keeping your head up your own ass.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response and am, instead, going to once again imagine you being vigorously disemboweled.”

“By what?”

“Me, hopefully.” A sniff. “Anyways, did you bring the towels I asked for?”

“Oh, yeah, I did!” Rainbow Dash turned her head a stuck her muzzle into a bag, then tossed out two identical towels, each a little smaller than the average beach-goer’s. “Will these work?”

“Stupendously, yes.” Rarity used one to give herself a quick pat-down before wrapping her tail in it, then, after removing her slung armaments, used the other to ever-so carefully pat dry her beloved rifle. The saltwater was unquestionably going to ruin it unless she was able to oil it thoroughly, but she could try and mitigate the damage at least. “In all seriousness and disemboweling aside, thank you for these. Where did you get them?”

“I stole them from a clothesline about a town over down the coast. Left some bits, too – wouldn’t want to be rude, y’know?”

“Naturally. One would hate to add insult to injury when stealing laundry.”

“Yeah, right? Wouldn’t feel right.”

“No, and it wouldn’t be particularly generous of us either.” Rarity paused her drying, thinking for a moment. “Which, I suppose, wouldn’t be an issue for you, but would cause me to–” a frown “–well, I don’t really know, actually.” She scrunched her face in thought. “Fall over dead? Explode? Find myself smote in some other hilarious way by magical flora?”

“I can go take the money if you want to find out, because that does sound pretty funny, now that you mention it.”

“I would prefer if you didn’t, all things considered.”

“Your choice, I guess.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. After a moment, she pointed at Rarity’s presently towel-ensconced tail. “Also, why were you drying your tail earlier if you were just going to stick it in a towel?”

“Because, Rainbow Dash,” said Rarity, rolling her eyes as if speaking to a small child. “If I were to merely stick my tail into the towels sopping wet, I would end up with terrible tangling and knotting.”

“And?”

“And?” Rarity recoiled, forehoof to her breast. “And? Rainbow Dash, I may not be able to keep my signature coiffure in tip-top shape presently, but I would be remiss to totally discard maintenance. I will, at some point, be able to restore it to its full glory, and I would hate to have to catch up on deferred maintenance when I find myself in such a situation.”

“If you say so, I guess.” Rainbow Dash, after a moment of mental clarity, looked around the dock – mostly empty, and nopony near this particular set of stairs. “Uh, on second thought, maybe we shouldn’t, um, try and maintain our ‘signature appearances?’”

“Heavens, Rainbow, why would you suggest such a thing?”

“Because, Rares, last time I checked our ‘signature appearances’ are, like, literally glued to walls right now.”

“…Oh, right.” Rarity frowned. “Unfortunately, you probably have a point; when trying to evade authorities, it wouldn’t exactly be prudent to go around looking exactly as we appeared on the front page of Canterlot newspapers.” Her frown deepened. “Now that I think about it, that’s going to be quite the issue. Both of us have the usually advantageous but presently quite disadvantageous traits of rather distinctive manes, coats, and marks, which means that in order to successfully disguise, or at least make less obvious, our presence we would require – Oooh! Oh-ho-ho!”

“What?” Rainbow Dash fixed Rarity with a look. “What’s with the creepy laughs, Rares?”

Rarity’s frown from before had been replaced with a frantic smile, and her eyes, twitching from side to side, shone with a manic glee. “Raaaaain-bowwwww…” she crooned out in a sing-song voice.

“What?” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Rarity, what’s gotten you so–”

A sudden realization of panic.

“Rainbow, it’s time for makeovers!”

“Ah, hell.”

Luckily, Rainbow’s airborne shenanigans and subsequent police response had pushed most of the little port town’s residents inside, rendering their sneaking through town mostly uneventful. On occasion, the pair would catch a glimpse of eyes through blinds held open or curtains not quite shut, but invariably anypony seen through a window would disappear almost instantly back into the darkness; evidently, the wanted posters had done their job, although the sheer terror displayed by the locals was, in Rarity and Rainbow Dash’s opinion, a little out of proportion with the apparent threat. Perhaps they just lived particularly uninteresting lives? Then again, Rarity and Rainbow Dash and, really, all of Ponyville lived particularly and often quite unpleasantly interesting ones, so it was perhaps coming from a rather skewed perspective.

Whatever the case, the town didn’t exactly present Bitaly in the finest light. A casual glance wouldn’t see anything too bad; the residents clearly took pride in their town, and the streets and walls were free of trash and graffiti respectively. But a watchful eye, and Rarity had an exceptionally watchful eye for these kinds of things, would pick up on wrinkles in the facade – here a broken window patched up with a sheet of wood, there a caved-in storm drain, and everywhere dulled paint, patchy awnings, and flickering streetlights.

Eventually, the two arrived unharmed at the front door of a shabby (the charitable would call it ‘shabby chic,’ but there’s nothing chic about peeling shutters) little boutique of some sort. Rarity, hat replaced atop her head, her baggage once again attached to her derriere, and rifle safely ensconced in a pair of slightly damp towels, raised a hoof to knock. “Shall we?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash, less concerned with decorum, merely opened the door.

Rarity rolled her eyes.

From inside, a sweet, light voice cut through close-packed fabric. “S-signora, please, w-we are closed by order of – aie!”

As Rainbow Dash and Rarity ducked inside the store, the faint sounds of tumbling items could be heard from behind a small counter, and an off-white tail fluttered nervously above the rim.

Rarity, concerned, trotted over to the scene of the commotion. “Dearie me, darling, did we scare you? I assure you we are nothing to be–”

The mare behind the counter poked her head over the edge, revealing herself to be a somewhat diminutive pink unicorn younger than either of the travelers; she was barely over filly age, really. Her eyes first scanned over Rarity, then to Rainbow Dash, whereupon they shot completely open, pupils shooting wide in fear as she ducked back down with another squeak of terror.

“Goodness!” Rarity, chuckling, rounded the counter top, finding, after a small amount of initial difficulty, the store’s proprietor crammed up against the far wall, shaking in terror. “I assure you, you have no reason to be afraid. Whatever you saw on any posters or heard from authorities is simply, ah, a misunderstanding.”

The little mare paused for a second, then, with a quizzical look, locked eyes with Rarity. “…Posters?”

Rarity returned her confused look, gesturing gently outside with a forehoof. “Er, yes, the posters outside. I presume that’s the source of your consternation, no?”

“Const-consta–” the clerk shook her head. “I do not know this word, and I do not know what posters you are talking of, but if it has to do with this robbery then it does not matter, as I have very little and–”

“Robbery?” Rainbow Dash guffawed from across the store. The proprietor gave another squeak of terror.

“Robbery?” said Rarity, a little later and with a gentler tone. “No, I have full intentions of paying you. Where in Celestia’s name did you get that idea? The posters?”

“No, of course not!” The clerk shook her head, panic creeping back in. “I don’t know what you keep talking about, but it obvious by your friend’s state that your intentions are no good, yes?”

“Hers?” Rarity cocked her head in confusion, squinting in thought. “Well, I suppose she does look a bit like a ruffian, although by my estimation she is mostly harmless and not to be feared unless one is a plate glass window, in which case any fear is justified and–”

“No! Are you stupid?” The mare popped back over the counter, pointing a forehoof at Rainbow Dash; more specifically, at her ruffling wings. “Your friend! Look at her!”

Both Rarity and Rainbow Dash turned to look at the exasperated little mare. Rainbow Dash, deeply confused, scratched her head. Rarity coughed politely.

“Do you not see? Are you blind?” the Bitalian reiterated.

Rarity, after a moment, shook her head, defeated. “Er, I suppose so. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, dear.”

“Yeah,” added Rainbow Dash. “I got nothing over here either, unless – oh! Duh! I forgot!” Rainbow Dash knocked the side of her head with a hoof. “It’s these guys, right?” She moved to grab the sunglasses off her face, unfurling a wing. “I forgot that some ponies get kinda touchy about seeing ponies’ eyes, so lemme just–”

As soon as Rainbow Dash’s wing stretched out to its (frankly somewhat puny) full length, the Bitalian clerk nearly screamed in terror.

Rainbow Dash froze, eyes shooting to the clerk. She gave her wing a wiggle, which seemed to upset the clerk more, much to her profound confusion. “Uh.”

Rarity, having scooted a little nearer to the clerk, echoed the sentiment. “…Her wings? Are you concerned about her wings?”

“Yes! Yes of course!”

“…Why?”

“They’re out!”

A beat passed.

“Well, yes, of course they are.” Rarity recoiled a little in shock. “Heavens, I can’t think of the last time I saw a pegasus with her wings covered outside of the occasional medical situation.”

“W-what?” The clerk shook her head. “I do not understand what you are–”

“Rarity?”

Rainbow Dash sometimes spoke authoritatively, and she sometimes spoke calmly. She rarely did both.

Rarity, unnerved by the uncharacteristic severity, turned to Rainbow Dash. “Yes, Rainbow?”

“I think I might have figured something out.” She gestured to her bags. “I don’t have my reading glasses on, so, if you wouldn’t mind, can you get Twilight’s book out of the left one and read page thirty one?”

Rarity nodded as the trotted over. “Sure, I suppose, although I must ask as to what you expect to find on there.”

“It’s the first page of the section for pegasi. I remember the table of contents.”

“I thought that might come in handy.” Rarity rolled her eyes, digging her snout into the bags. After a moment, she returned with the book, spitting it, with comedically overstated displeasure, onto the floor. She turned to Rainbow Dash, joking. “Wow, that thing is absolutely repugnant. It tastes–”

Rainbow Dash didn’t laugh.

“…Ah. Right.” Rarity, realizing that she might have misread the room, grimaced slightly as she opened the book. “Okay! Page thirty one, thirty one, thirty – a-ha! Here we are! Ahem! ‘The Pegasus and Bitaly,’ by yadda-yadda and – oh.” Rarity peered in a little closer. “Read: ‘For the pegasus curious about traveling to Bitaly, it is the author’s opinion that one should simply, if at all possible, not visit at all.’ My, well, that’s quite the severe warning.” She kept reading. “‘Even among Bitaly’s many different societal ills, perhaps no failing of Bitalian society nor symbol of its backwardness when compared to other Equestrian dominions is so readily apparent as the treatment of pegasi in Bitalian society. While across the civilized realms there are differences in, for example, permissibility of flight above populated areas, Bitaly’s restrictions, and especially those in the northern region of the province, placed on pegasi go enormously past any other region and, indeed, verge quite heavily into,’ ah,‘ cruelty.’” Rarity paused, taking a moment to compose herself and inspect Rainbow Dash for any signs of reaction.

Without ceasing to look straight ahead, Rainbow Dash answered Rarity’s implied question through clenched jaw. “I didn’t ask you to stop. Keep going.”

Rarity gave a little nod. “‘Likely due to long cultural memories of airborne bands of well-armed mercenary-brigands, open-parenthesis see Condottieri subsections Arcobaleno and Prisma in the appendix close-parenthesis, that hounded the region whilst it found itself under the neglectful hoof of a series of disinterested Royal Viceroys, the sight of an unbound pegasus in public is generally seen as extremely provocative and aggressive. While a symbolic scarf, usually made of silk, tied around the wings will generally suffice in the south of the dominion, in the north it is universally expected, under point of law, that a pegasus’ wings should remain t-tightly covered.’”

Rainbow Dash continued to stare at nothing in particular, but her flaring nostrils and rising wings revealed what her face did not; namely, abject, absolute, wall-punching rage.

Rarity put the book down, looking at Rainbow Dash with deeply sympathetic eyes that, despite her best effort, displayed no small amount of alarm at what looked to be an enormously destructive emotional blowup. “Rainbow, I’m sorry, I – I didn’t realize that things here were so–”

“FUCKING … FUCK!” Swears flew out of Rainbow Dash like grapeshot, punctuated with fully extended wings and a stomp of a back hoof. “TIGHTLY COVERED? What the FUCK kind of shitfucking shit-palace is this fucking place, huh? What, like, do they tie up little pegasus fillies and tear out their fucking feathers or something? Did I die on that fucking boat and end up in in the fires of pegasus Tartarus or something?” She kicked out another back hoof, catching a roll of fabric and sending it flying across the shop. “I mean come the FUCK on, really? Nopony thinks this is absolutely fucking completely fucking godsawfully fucking nuts? We’re all just cool with it?”

“Rainbow,” said Rarity gently, “I can assure you that I am absolutely disgusted by–”

“Not you, dipshit!” Rainbow Dash smacked a wingtip to her face, accidentally sending another item of clothing spiraling. “Of course you think it’s fucked, which, let me be clear, this is fucked, but nopony else? The entire fucking government? Luna’s a fucking idiot, so she wouldn’t know because I think she can’t read, but nopony else?” She pointed out the window. “And forget our own homegrown fucking morons, everypony here is just cool with this? ‘Oh, hey, guess you got shat out by your mom with wings on your side, life is going to fucking suck fat fucking cocks for your entire life, hope you don’t mind?’”

Rarity continued to try and calm her friend down, speaking in a low and gentle tone. “Rainbow, I’m sure that the vast majority of residents here have their own feelings about the matter, but laws and customs–”

Rainbow Dash scoffed. “Really? You’re sure about that? Because when we walked in here I’m pretty sure the chick running this shit-shack didn’t kindly and gently remind me to do shit, she just started fucking pissing her pants and, like, I don’t know, calling the cops to come behead the big bad scary feather-brain.” She stamped a forehoof, then pointed it at Rarity. “That doesn’t sound like somepony who’s not on board, Rares!”

“Perhaps,” said Rarity, a little firmer, “but that is an assumption, Rainbow, both of motive and desired action. It appears to me that, outside of personal concerns, there are legal–”

“Is it?” Rainbow Dash interrupted. “Because it seems pretty obvious to me, Rares.” Her wings fluttered in time with forceful breaths. “And I don’t really see how are you aren’t getting this, but I’m about ready to start kicking in teeth and burn–”

“Enough!” snapped Rarity, stamping a forehoof in punctuation. “Of course I get it, Rainbow, but I’m not going to tolerate talk like that.” Her vigorous interjection having successfully stopped her friend mid rant, her expression softened and she gently stepped over to Rainbow Dash, pulling up close beside her and lowering the tone of her voice considerably. “Despite appearances, I’m not an idiot, Rainbow Dash; this is, as you say, completely fucked, a description which which I most certainly agree. But tearing up this poor soul’s store is going to accomplish nothing, okay?”

Rainbow Dash said nothing, stewing for a moment.

Rarity continued. “More importantly, whether you agree or not, I won’t stand for it, and, more pragmatically, we still need a change of clothes, okay? So lets focus on that before we go on the warpath against the various unfortunates of this gods-forsaken place.” A pause, then a gesture towards the wreckage behind Rainbow Dash. “And clean some of this up, yes? It’s unsuitable for cultured mares like ourselves to act this way.”

Rainbow Dash nearly spat out a retort, but, with an impressive and impressively uncharacteristic display of restraint, mostly held her tongue. “…I still hate this fucking place,” she muttered under her breath as she began to pick up a toppled piece of furniture.

“Fair enough,” Rarity chuckled, then thought for a moment. “Although I suppose our quest to assume political control of this place has an ulterior motive as well now, hmm? Acquire currency and change the world, as they say, no?”

“Pipe dream, but whatever,” Rainbow Dash grumbled. “And I’m still flying anyway, law aside.”

“I would expect nothing less, Rainbow.” Rarity backed away, turning her body towards the counter before trotting gently towards the sounds of whimpering mare. “And I suppose I could make this a little better for you anyway; just remind me to pass a declaration legalizing free-flight as my first official act as Contessa of–”

“WHAM!”

Shocked by the sound of something falling off a counter top, Rarity turned her head towards that corner of the room, only to suddenly find her progress halted by the new presence of a pink unicorn quite literally attached to her forehooves and mumbling bilingual apologies in between sobs.

“…Oh.” After a moment of realization, Rarity looked up from her currently occupied forelegs with a look of disgust. “Oh.”

“Rarity?” Rainbow Dash, looking over a display she was currently righting, concerned. “Everything good over there?”

“Locally and immediately? Yes. In the big picture? Quite the opposite, because I believe I have figured something else out about this place.” Rarity took a deep breath, pushing back a deservedly prodigious but presently counterproductive rant, then looked down at the grovelling unicorn presently attached to her hooves. “Please do get up, dear, it’s unbecoming, and you have a lovely face that would be marred terribly by tear lines.”

The mare sniveled some more, but did at least open her eyes and cease her mumbling.

“There we go.” Rarity took a moment to compose herself, then affixed her kindest face to her visage. “Now, listen, I believe we may have gotten quite catastrophically off on the wrong hoof, and I would, if you would allow me, to try again. My name is Rarity, my friend here is, as you likely heard, Rainbow Dash, and I can say with absolute certainty that, despite what she said in the heat of passion, we are not going to harm you.”

The clerk nodded shakily at Rarity, but her eyes shot back down to Rainbow Dash as she extended a pointing forehoof towards her still-wriggling wings. “Bu-but what–”

Rarity gently pushed the tailor’s hoof back to the floor, smiling gently. “Dear, we are, as you might have noticed, foreigners. What passes for normal here is quite alien to us, and what passes as normal for us is quite alien to you.” She gestured towards Rainbow Dash. “To you the sight of uncovered wings is a major offense, to us binding and covering the wings of a pegasus would be tantamount to torture.”

“Oh, I apologize, I-I was not aware things not here were so different.” The mare wiped her eyes once, then twice. “W-where are you from, then, contessa?”

“Canterlot, more or less. The Old Country,” Rarity replied, smile visibly broadening in elation that the conversation had finally reached brighter topics. “And you needn’t address me by a title, either. Just Rarity is fine.”

The clerk’s eyes shot back open in panic, looking left and right desperately as she resumed whimpering. “O-oh! I-I ap-poligize! Per favore, signora, I meant no–”

“Shush.” Rarity, after a cautious light touch to test the proverbial waters, laid a gentle forehoof across the back of the prostrate mare. “Remember what I said? I’m not going to hurt you.”

The Bitalian mare gave one more shudder, but quieted.

“That’s better.” Rarity removed her hoof. “Now stand up for me please? If you are feeling it, and I certainly hope you are, I would quite like to purchase some of your works and goods.”

At the word “purchase”, the mare’s mood brightened considerably, and she stood up.

“Excellent. I know the prospect of a sale always makes me feel better – I can only assume it does the same for you.” Suddenly, Rarity’s curiosity got the better of her, and she vocalized her implicit concern from earlier. “Now, I can’t help but notice that you reacted a little, ah, severely to my title. If you wouldn’t mind, purely to sate my curiosity about the culture of this place, you see, is there any particular, ah, experience that you have had that would … influence your response?”

The mare looked to the left and right, then, keeping eyes averted, nodded hurriedly. “Ah, yes.” Another nod, likely more to calm her nerves than anything. “W-when I was smaller, and mother had left and father had passed, I, ah, did accidentally not s-show a contessa who visited my store her deserved respect with the correct address, and so s-she had done to me the lama, a, er, file or a saw-blade, I think you would call it, I believe.”

“File?” Rarity looked around the shop, looking for damage to the walls or furniture that would indicate some sort of judicially sanctioned vandalism. She turned back to the mare. “I’m afraid I don’t–”

Rarity at once noticed the worn but regular pattern of gouges and scoring around her fellow unicorn’s horn. She also noticed, as an aside, that she had not seen the shopkeeper use her magic once.

She also noticed that she was suddenly quite sick.

“Oh dear Celestia, I–” Rarity produced a choked gurgle, only just managing to swallow down bile. “Oh, that’s–”

“Rares?” Rainbow Dash, hearing the unpleasant utterances, rapidly made her way over, pulling up alongside her friend and steadying her with a wing. “You good?”

“Mmm-hmm!” lied Rarity, visibly unwell and tinged slightly with green. She, noticing Rainbow Dash’s presence, turned her muzzle to place it almost directly into Rainbow Dash’s ear. “Absolutely not, no, I am not. Look at what they did to her horn!”

Rainbow Dash gave it a quasi-sneaky glance, eyes widening as she turned back to Rarity – words were unnecessary; a shocked grimace was sufficient.

Rarity gave a quick nod, murmuring a quiet “my thoughts exactly” as she turned back to the clerk. “I…see. Which countess did this to you, exactly?”

“The Contessa di Galloparte.” The clerk shuddered, then make a sign with her hoof neither mainlander recognized. “A unicorn – green, with white hair most striking and eyes like fire. A very important lady in Marelan.”

“So I see.” Rarity, upon hearing that her fellow countess still drew breath, had already mentally written a letter to Luna asking for tips on how to best perform an ornamental cranial impalement. “Well, that unpleasant business aside, as I said, I would quite like to see what you have to offer. I understand that your inventory of premade garments is likely to be quite limited, but I should think we would be more than happy with whatever can be made to fit.”

“Of course!” The clerk, while still to some extent unnerved by Rainbow Dash’s still exposed wings, was clearly more comfortable with the present circumstances now that she was in the more familiar environment of selling clothes. “I think … sì, eccellente, I think that I will be able to accommodate that without too much issue, as it is just past the season for springtime parties and balls and I have more than usual.”

“Superb news!” Rarity’s smile faltered slightly. “Although, if at all possible, I fear that a ballgown may be not quite what we are looking for.”

“Do not worry! I have many things suited for the everyday.” She whizzed past the two mares, diving into ostensibly sorted stacks of dresses – apparently, the dressmaker’s tendency to work in poorly-organized chaos was a cultural universal. “Now, for you, I think … yes! I think this will fit you.”

“If you are right, I’ll be impressed!” Rarity said without a hint of irony. “I, for one, usually mess up with merely visual sizing – I never quite get the right estimate for the rump, usually too large.”

“Really? I never have a problem with the rump.” The clerk pulled out of the stack, a dress held in a forehoof and outstretched with fizzling and unsteady hornlight, faint sparking and arcing visible from the faintly glowing scoring along her horn.

Rarity gulped, temporarily struck dumb. “Well, it’s … very quaint?”

It was that, although the faintly plumed elbow-length sleeves, wide and plain pastel-yellow skirt with Neoclassical geometric patterning along the foot, and high-waisted light blue bodice with a surprisingly low-cut rectangular neckline pointed less towards “classic quality” and more towards “literally a century old.”

It looked astonishingly like the dress Rarity’s grandmother wore to her wedding, actually.

Rainbow Dash snickered. Rarity gave her a stealthy kick with a back hoof.

The clerk’s smile faltered as she looked between the dress and Rarity’s nearly-almost convincingly forced pleased expression. “I r-realize it’s not the finest of Marelan, but we do the best that we can with what we have, sì?”

“No! Don’t apologize! It’s–” Rarity, suddenly remembering the state of the town outside, had another epiphany; namely, that the dress looked like it was a century old because it probably was, and that its quaintness wasn’t a choice but a consequence of necessity. “–it’s actually very nice!” Rarity’s expression fortified back into a legitimately pleased smile. “I presume it’s originally a Regency piece? That would explain the high bodice and the neckline, although the lack of pleating is a little surprising considering the vintage.”

“Yes, it is!” The shopkeeper nodded enthusiastically. “Well, the top of the dress is. The skirt on the original was ripped so badly I could not repair it, so I put the skirt of another dress on it that had damage from the moths on the bodice.”

“Clever! I don’t think I would have thought of that.” Rarity stepped closer, running a forehoof along the ornamentation along the bottom of the skirt. “Was the pattern original?”

The Bitalian seamstress moved the dress back to the top of a stack, extinguishing her horn with a slight but noticeable wince. “No, it was originally left plain. I thought the Roanan pattern would add some of the nice lines.”

“Well, I think you did splendidly. How much?”

“No!” The clerk shook her head. “After I insulted you earlier, I would prefer if you simply took–”

“Nonsense.” Rarity cut her off. “How about one hundred bits?”

“Un centinaio? You speak truly? I-I couldn’t–”

“Non. Sense. It’s a nice dress and I will pay you what it’s worth.” Rarity gestured to Rainbow Dash. “Rainbow, pay the nice mare a hundred bits out of the silly magic bag, please.”

Rainbow Dash removed the Purse from her baggage, grumbling. “Rarity, generosity is great and all, but we still have to get something for me, remember?”

“We will have plenty left for you, Rainbow.”

“Yeah? What if whatever I have to wear costs more?” Rainbow Dash trotted over to the counter top, depositing the requested sum into a dish. “What if that happens?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rainbow Dash. Your dress would never cost more than mine; it only needs half the fabric.” She turned to the clerk. “Now, I understand the particular … difficulties for you in selecting a dress for a pegasus, but if you have anything at all I can virtually guarantee we’ll take it.”

“It’s … she is a tricky one, no?” The mare tilted her head, squinting at the pegasus across the store. “Very small frame with little of the padding, and the wings – I do not get many pegasi, you see. Few live here.”

“Understandably so,” Rarity mused. “If I may recommend, Miss Dash is, ah, svelteenough that she typically fits into an, er, youthful size? Not a fillies’ one, mind you, but something that a young mare would wear to a high school graduation or a debutante ball, perhaps?”

“I see. ‘High school,’ I do not know, but debutante yes.” The clerk tapped a hoof thoughtfully. “I have things sized for such, yes, although I will have to take out some fabric around the rear to properly fit an … adult mare.”

Rarity snorted a chuckle. “I can assure you, that isn’t going to be a problem.”

“So I see.” The mare scrunched her face in thought. “I think, then … how big are her wings?”

“Normal!” shouted Rainbow Dash from across the store.

“Rather small,” said Rarity more convincingly.

“Oh! Then I have something, I believe.” The clerk gave a sheepish grin. “But I will warn you that it is, um, very traditional.”

“More traditional than this?” Rarity pointed at the dress selected for her. “Really?”

“Sì. That would be quite modern.” She turned back to the racks and stacks of dresses. “This … well, it will fit, so long as the wing sleeves are the right size, but I do not think it will be to the liking of your pegasus friend.”

“It can’t be that–”

Likewise outstretched with fizzing magic, the dress selected for Rainbow Dash was clearly, in comparison to Rarity’s, an unmolested original. A wide, ruffled floor-length pink skirt, ornamented with baroque floral patterns, flowed upwards into an oddly wide white velvet bodice constructed with internal stays and high v-neck.

Rarity looked delighted.

Rainbow Dash, having returned from the other side of the room, looked considerably more skeptical. “…You’re telling me ponies wear this around?”

The mare shrugged. “It is a little formal, but would not be uncommon.”

Rainbow Dash grumbled. “… Fine.” She eyed the dress like a mongoose does a cobra, circling it. “How do I put this thing on, anyway? Do I go up the bottom?”

“Yes, but the top comes off so the wings can be secured and the stays inside can be fastened. Have you worn something with stays before?”

“I don’t even know what stays are.”

“I see.” The clerk deftly unbuttoned the top from the rest of the dress with a forehoof and mouth before carrying it over to Rainbow Dash. “Then have your friend help you try this on, per favore? I need to see the how the wings lie.”

Rainbow Dash stood over the garment, squinting. “What’s up with the things on the sides?”

Rarity trotted over. “I’m not sure, actually.” She turned to the shopkeeper. “Where are the wing holes?”

“Wing … holes?” the mare asked, puzzled as to the nature of the question. “If you mean holes for the wings, there are openings in the inside for the sleeves.”

“Sleeves? What do you mean–” Rainbow Dash, after a moment of realization, recoiled in shock, shuffling nervously from one forehoof to the other. “Oh! Uh, Rares, I, um, really don’t like having my wings covered, and I really don’t like them caught in something, so I don’t know if I’m gonna like this much.” A gulp. “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t know if I’m gonna like any part of it. Aren’t these kinda tight?”

“They’re not so bad once they’re on, and I’m sure that applies for the wings as well.” She pulled the knot on the back laces open, then spread the halves, revealing the inner pockets for Rainbow Dash’s wings. “In you go! Arms through the big holes, neck stays in the middle, and, er, I suppose the wings go in the slots along your sides.”

“You sound suspiciously confident about this, Rarity. Have you worn something like this before?”

“This? Sure!” Rarity leaned in closer to Rainbow Dash’s ear, whispering. “Corsets? Yes. Something with stays? No, absolutely not, because nopony has made anything like this in a century, and those things you feel poking you are whale bones, which means this whole thing is immensely illegal, but we don’t have a choice.”

Rainbow Dash, ashen faced, nevertheless did as she was told, hiking the garment up her forelegs and, after some difficulty, threading a wing into one of the sleeves, squirming all the while. She turned to Rarity. “Can you, uh, help me with the other one? I can’t get the angle right.”

Rarity, ever the helpful, guided the free wing into the other pocket, then centered the stays and, with a mighty tug that led to a most un-Rainbow Dash and particularly girly squeak, yanked down the laces in the back, folding the extra length along the top before gesturing to the clerk. “Would you mind tying this for me? My usual method for doing so is presently out of commission, you see.”

With unsteady magic, the mare, after another pull to ensure a snug (but not too snug) fit, tied the laces.

“Now!” Rarity came around to Rainbow Dash’s front. “How’s that feel?”

“Tight.” Rainbow Dash was visibly uncomfortable. “Kinda like I can't breathe right, like I broke a rib or something or somepony is sitting on my chest and I can’t get my w-wings out.”

“Rainbow?” Rarity took a step towards her friend, forehoof extended in concern. “Rainbow, are you okay?”

Rainbow Dash began to back up, squirming in the corset with ears pulled flat to her head. “Y-yeah, I just–” a gulp “–I just need to fluff my wings out because I think they’re–”

“Rainbow, if you think you need me to take that off of you I–”

“–yeah I think they’re caught lemme just move them out and – I can’t–” Rainbow Dash, panicked, began to stammer “–oh goddess where are where are my wings I can’t feel my–” she turned her head around, eyes bulging at the apparent lack of her wings, themselves writhing inside velvet pockets affixed firmly to her sides. “–R-Rarity where are my wings I can’t feel – I have to get out of this I-I can’t feel my wings get me out ge–”

Rarity sprung over to Rainbow Dash’s back, yanking on the knot tied into the stays and releasing Rainbow Dash from her imprisoning garment. Through catlike wriggling and a bit of torn fabric, Rainbow Dash managed to shuck the load from her body before flinging herself backwards in the air, hovering a few paces away as she sucked wind through shallow breaths, pupils shrunken to the size of pinpricks.

“Rainbow?” Rarity followed her friend across the floor, noticing that Rainbow Dash was quite liberally tearing up.

She had never seen Rainbow Dash cry before.

“Rainbow?” she asked again, as softly as she could.

“How?” Rainbow Dash pointed a forehoof at the offending piece of velvet. “How? How does anypony wear th-that? That’s torture, a-and I know that I’m about as pegasus as it gets and I don’t do well with small places but that thing would probably kill Fluttershy, Rarity.”

Rarity reached out to her friend. “Rainbow, if you–”

“D-don’t make me put it back on, please!” Rainbow Dash, with a sniffle, dodged away from Rarity’s touch, swatting frantically. “I c-can’t p-put that on! P-please Rares, i-it’s like you cut off my wings.”

Rarity pulled her hoof back, shaking her head. “Rainbow, I’m not going to make you put that on. Gods, I shouldn’t have made you put it on in the first place, but I’m certainly not going to make you do it again.”

“O-okay.” Heartened by Rarity’s declaration, Rainbow Dash’s breaths slowed down, and she began to slowly drift back down to the floor.

“That’s better.” Rarity gave a soft smile. “I’ll cut some wing holes in it and procure a jacket of some sort to cover your wings or something like that, if you think you can handle that.”

Rainbow Dash nodded. “Yeah, I-I think so, and I could probably keep them inside a dress if they weren’t b-bound up in pockets, like just free in there and I could get them out.” A sniff. “Just no pockets or anything like that, uh, please.”

“Rainbow, the only way you’ll find yourself bound like that again is over my broken and eviscerated corpse.” She gave her friend a playful mane tussle. “And, to preempt your next question, I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone about that. Your reputation will remain intact.”

“T-thanks,” mumbled Rainbow Dash, looking down at the ground. “I-I don’t like ponies seeing me like that.”

“I shouldn’t think that anyone would, Rainbow, but take heart that you’ve seen me in far worse.” Giving a final gentle wither-pat, she turned to address the clerk. “Right! Now that we’ve addressed that unpleasant business we can get on to–”

“No, we can’t.”

Rainbow Dash, uncharacteristic meekness replaced with trademark fire, snapped, herself having likewise turned to speak to the clerk. “You’re telling me every pegasus that comes in here is just cool with that?”

The shopkeeper gulped, pale in the face. “W-well, ah, no, the adults are used to it, but the foals–”

“F-FOALS?” Rainbow Dash’s wings had splayed fully. “Gods, stop talking! Foals? You’re doing this to foals?”

The Bitalian had begun quivering. “N-not exactly–”

“For what? Fashion?” Rainbow Dash raised a threatening hoof. “Because if that’s it, how ‘bout we cut off your horn so you can fit in hats–”

“–Rainbow!” Rarity hissed, giving Rainbow Dash a light but swift kick with her back hoof. “Rainbow, we are not–”

The Bitalian mare gave a choked sob.

Rarity and Rainbow Dash turned just in time to see her pawing at the saw-marks ringing her horn, a shell-shocked and horrified expression on her face.

“…Ah, hell.” Rainbow Dash, sheepish, slouched. “I, uh, guess that might not have been the best choice of words.”

Rarity sighed. “I’d chastise you for your lack of tact, but I suppose I can understand.” She trotted over to the shopkeeper, leaning in close. “Dear?”

The clerk froze.

“Look, I’m … sorry about my friend’s outburst; I can guarantee that she wasn’t thinking about whatever ghastly sort of mistreatment had been inflicted upon you in the past. It was simply an emotional outburst.” She coughed. “That being said, I am forced to agree with her outrage; the thought that anypony would subject a foal to that is abhorrent.”

“The parents request it.” The shopkeeper had, if not quite ceased shaking, mostly composed herself. “Even though the foals always cry.”

“And you persist in doing it anyway?”

“I must; they must start somewhere, as the adults must be used to it.”

“You must?”

“It is the law.”

Rarity huffed. “Of course it is.” A grumble. “Well, that you at least recognize the unjustifiable suffering is enough for me.” She turned to Rainbow Dash. “Is it enough for you?”

“Kinda, but I guess it’s not her fault, so let’s get on with it.”

“Sufficient.” Rarity shrugged. “Anyways, we do have a few more needs – and I will take that dress for her, by the way, although I will naturally be cutting wing holes – if you are capable of fulfilling them; namely, mane and tail dye and a wig for myself.”

The Bitalian straightened up substantially at the thought of further sales. “Er, dye, yes, but not much do I have.” The clerk thought for a moment. “I think I have some of the color-fixer solution, and I may have some other shades if you do not want your own color.”

“Well, the color-fixer will work swimmingly for my friend, although I will be having to match a wig of course.”

“Oh, ah, sì, the wig.” A frown. “I do not have much, just some second-hoof ones from old mares who have died, and all very … distinguished styles.”

“Hah!” Rainbow Dash guffawed, mood considerably brightened by the prospect of a new thing to make fun of Rarity for. “You hear that Rares? She’s got the perfect wig for an old lady like yourself!”

“Hilarious,” Rarity deadpanned.

“I know, right?” Rainbow Dash wiped a tear of laughter with a wing before gesturing to the shopkeeper. “Come on, bring them over! I want to see them on old lady Rarity here.”

With a nod, the mare’s horn lit, her unsteady field poking around boxes in search of the aforementioned hairpieces. Horn still lit, she turned her head to address the dubiously elderly mare in the room. “Ah, signora, I must say that you look splendido for your, ah, age most distinguished.”

“No, I’m–” Rarity ungracefully face-hooved. “–I’m not old, dear, she’s just being her usual insufferable self. Rainbow and I are more or less the same age, although I believe I have her by a few years.”

“Oh, my sincere apologies.” The clerk grinned sheepishly. “Then, ah, I am saddened to hear that a mare as enchanting as yourself has fallen prey to the thinning of the mane so early.”

“Oh, it’s just so sad, isn’t it?” Rainbow Dash swooned theatrically. “She puts on such a brave face despite all her mane just falling out – oof!”

Rarity cut Rainbow Dash’s theatrics short with a semi-serious kick to the gut that sent the pegasus crumpling to the ground, grabbing her gut in a mixture of laughter and pain.

“Oh!” The Bitalian whimpered, backing away from Rarity. “M-my apologies contessa, I-I did not know you were so sensitive about the issue.”

“No, it’s not – I don’t have premature mane loss.” She removed her hat, pointing to her horn and exposing the sea of purple and white stubble underneath.

The clerk’s eyes widened. “Oh my! Y-you are a unicorn!”

“By the grace of all the gods and goddesses, yes, I am.” Rarity frowned. “Albeit not much of one presently, but a unicorn nonetheless.”

“Well, it is always a pleasure to see a fellow unicorn. We are not so common here, you see, although – oh, no!” the Bitalian, having given Rarity’s horn another look, had spotted the affixed bandages. “I – I did not realize they also practiced the scoring of the horn in the Old Country as well, and to a contessa as well? It must have been–”

“They do not.” Rarity cut her off. “There are innumerable problems back home, but they absolutely do not perform that level of barbarism.” A shudder. “No, I damaged my horn and mane via a magical accident, not via the actions of another.”

“Oh, well that is … good to know.” The clerk cocked her head. “What kind of accident?”

Rarity, rather than explain the lurid details of the incident, simply produced a contained spurt of fire from her horn. “The inflammatory kind.”

“Fuoco? From one’s horn?” The clerk raised her eyebrows in shock. “I did not know such a thing was possible!”

“Neither did I, at least in the quantities provided; hence the accident.” Rarity snorted, then shook her head. “Never mind that anyway – unnecessary details. Show us what you have, please.”

With another nod, the mare, her field having found the wigs mid-conversation, began to pull the first around a stack of fabrics. “I have only two for which I have dyes that will match; the first is a shade of a muted arsenic green–”

“No.” Rarity shook her head. “I will take the other one.”

“Oh, contessa, there is no arsenic in the wig, just the color–”

“Yes, exactly, the color.” Rarity wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Green? How unsavory.” She shook her head vigorously, composing herself. “No, the absence of arsenic is actually a negative, really, because it might kill the wearer before one fully comprehends the horror of one’s present hair color.”

“…So I see.” The green wig went back into the stacks. “Well the other one is … not green, but it is something of perhaps a more, ah, striking appearance.”

“How striking, exactly, are we talking – oh sweet Celestia, it’s–”

Held aloft in shaky white field, the wig of interest was magnificent in its ostentation. A high-piled courtly hairpiece in a brutal lithium-fire red, it combined, in equal measures, the form of a highly styled and quite regal fashion as was occasionally worn by the ever-stylish Princess Cadenza in official functions and the mane color of a cheap whore.

It was, thus, the funniest thing Rainbow Dash had ever seen.

“Ha! Classic!” Rainbow Dash, efficiently already located on the floor, continued to roll back and forth in laughter. “Oh man Rares, you sure don’t want the green?”

Rarity gulped in horror. “Oh, gods, I can’t wear that! I’ll look likesomeone spilled Merlot on bed-sheets!” She, with considerable effort, managed to wrench her eyes from the spectacle in front of her. “Are you positive you don’t have anything else?”

“That I can dye your tail to match? I do not.” The mare shook her head. “And, if you are intending for your hairpiece to cover your horn, which I believe you are, then nothing else will work. Everything else is quite reserved in size.”

“Then, oh gods…” Rarity ground a forehoof into her face, then, after a deep breath, removed her hoof, face locked into a miserable acceptance. “Then I’ll take that one, I suppose, and bring on the bleach.”

“Of course.” The mare offered a sympathetic smile. “And, ah, I share your sadness, contessa; your natural purple is lovely.”

“Trust me, I am well aware,” Rarity grumbled. She turned to Rainbow Dash. “Do you need me to help you with selecting a dye? I presume you are already knowledgeable with how color-fixer works, right? Picks a color in one’s mane for the whole thing?”

“Yeah, duh.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes, turning to the Bitalian. “I think, uh, pretreat five and treatment nine should get me to–” she pointed at the red lock in her mane “–this color all around?”

The mare did some mental math, then nodded. “Yes, it will.” She stepped off towards a back room.

As the two mares watched the Bitalian mare trot around the corner, Rarity turned to Rainbow Dash, eyebrow raised. “Well! Color me – heh – surprised! I know plenty of customers of mine who, even if they won’t admit it, dye their manes habitually and still wouldn’t be as fast on the draw as that.” She chuckled. “Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you dye all those colors in your mane!”

“I do.”

Rarity recoiled in shock. “You do?”

“Yeah, Rares, all the colors are – nah, I’m just joking.”

“Oh, well, your confidence would have had me fooled.”

“Well, I mean, I do dye the red part. It’s treatment nine.”

Another recoil. “You do?”

“Yeah, I have to.” Rainbow Dash explained. “I didn’t used to have to, but the red has kinda faded recently so it looks like mom’s, and the saturation’s all wrong for the color palette of my mane.” She shrugged. “Plus, y’know, we’re in the news sometimes, so I’ve got to keep looking like I did the first time, right?”

“I can’t fault your logic there; Celestia knows I’ve wanted to try spiraling the mane the other way myself, for example, but one mustn't mess with one’s public image.” Rarity took a closer look at Rainbow Dash’s mane; no visible imperfections, which meant that Rainbow probably hadn’t done it herself. “It’s a good dye job. Who does it?”

“Aloe and Lotus.”

“A – Aloe and Lotus?” Rarity clutched a hoof to her breast in semi-serious hurt. “Rainbow, you chose them over me? I just invested in a set of state of the art mane-care suites and you chose them?”

“They’ve got steady hooves, Rarity, and you get a free preen and wax with a mane treatment.” She turned to Rarity, smirking. “Do you have that?”

“No, but that’s a splendid idea, Rainbow. Why, I’ll make sure to start throwing in freebies at once as soon as I return!”

“Oh yeah? What?”

“For you, Rainbow?” Rarity clapped a hoof across Rainbow Dash’s withers. “A free kick in the gut with every treatment.”

“Oh wow!” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes, shucking off Rarity’s forehoof. “What a steal!”

“Oh, but of course, Rainbow!” Rarity grinned broadly, poofing up a presently imaginary mane with a few throws of the head. “Why, I am nothing if not generosity!”

“SCREEEEEEEEEECH!”

Rarity and Rainbow Dash, shocked from their session of shit-shooting with ears flattened to their heads, winced in sync from the ungodly noise emanating from around the corner. As they watched, through squinted eyes, the little Bitalian mare dragged a tin wash-pail into view, huffing and puffing all the way. She, after a few more moments of screeching across the brick floor, dropped the handle from her mouth, evidently satisfied with the placement. “Mi scuso, I know it is noisy, but it is what I have.” She sat back onto her haunches, then looked at her two visitors. “I will fetch the pot of water I have set to warm on the stove and go grab the right chemicals. Who would like to go first?”

Rarity and Rainbow Dash pointed at each other.

“She would!”

An hour or so later, Rainbow Dash watched Rarity, head virtually ensconced in that immensely goofy scarlet wig and dressed in what could have passed for her grandmother’s dress, step out of the store. In truth, it wasn’t like Rainbow Dash really had any room for making fun; with her corseted (albeit now decidedly with wing holes) floral dress, withers-spanning pastel blue shawl, and now solely red hair pulled back into a short and frankly devastatingly cute ponytail, she looked, if not ridiculous in absolute terms, so utterly unlike herself as to be equally gutbustingly funny.

So a draw, really.

“What were we waiting on?” Rainbow Dash looked around Rarity, only catching a fleeting glimpse of the inside as the door shut.

“Outside of me getting her address such that I may write to her a later date – she's got talent, you know, more than this place deserves – I wanted to ask her some more questions.” Rarity reached back into a saddlebag, now strapped across the outside of her dress’ bustle, and extracted a pack of cigarettes. “Namely, if she could tell me more about that countess who … mutilated her, and, separately, if she would be willing to send a few more dresses to Mareanello as to give us some changes of clothes.”

“And? Could she?”

“The first no, although I don’t blame her for wanting to keep that out of mind, the second yes, although she was frankly enormously confused as to why anypony would want anything sent to Mareanello, which she confidently told me is essentially deserted.” A grumble. “Which doesn’t bode well for the state of my demesne, but I suppose we’ll see about that soon enough.”

“How soon? Like, a few minutes soon?”

“Three hours walk, two hours trot, as I understand it. I hope you filled up our canteens whilst we waited.”

“I found a well.” Rainbow Dash jiggled the bottles hanging from her hips to emphasize them, sloshes confirming what she had said. “It looked only kinda-sorta clean, so I hope we don’t get, like, cholera.”

“We must hope; I have serious doubts about my ability to, in most basic terms, remove this dress sufficiently quickly in case of emergency.” Rarity pushed her wig back, exposing her horn and lifting a laden cigarette holder to the tip; with a soft “fwish,” it lit, and she placed it in the corner of her mouth, drawing a first puff with a contented slump.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rainbow Dash agreed. She, after a moment, pointed a hoof at Rarity’s breast. “Nice tuft, by the way.”

“Hmm?” Rarity, with an amused smirk, looked down at the neckline of her dress; sure enough, the patch of fluffy fur on her front had, mostly due to the geometry of the dress, sprung up in, to most, attractive ruffles. She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, would you look at that?” She looked back up at Rainbow Dash, then pointed a hoof herself, snorting a few giggles. “Of course, you’re one to talk. Look at you!”

“What? C’mon, I’m – whoa!” Rainbow Dash followed Rarity’s hoof down, finding that the corset and v-neck of her dress had thrown her own naturally lesser fluff out to an almost outrageous degree. “Hey-hey-hey! Look at that!” Rainbow Dash chuckled. “Man, if I ever make full ‘Bolt I guess be replacing ol’ Spits and her sis as the centerfolds in the calendars, eh?”

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself, Rainbow; these old dresses are basically cheating. It was very much the style back then.” Rarity smiled broadly. “That being said, remind me to get the top of the next dress I make for you reinforced like that. Helps draw out your … natural qualities.”

“You’d better.” Rainbow Dash sat back on to her haunches, still giggling. “Dang, can you imagine Fluttershy in one of these?”

“Oh, trust me, I don’t have to imagine it, Rainbow; I had her fitted for something of the ilk once.”

“And?”

“And Thunderlane caught a glimpse through one of my side windows and promptly crashed into the Apple’s market stall.” Rarity started to laugh a little harder. “A weapon, I tell you. A weapon.”

“Ha!” Rainbow Dash fell backwards, rolling around in laughter. “Serves his dumbass right!”

“N-no, you – pfft – m-missed the best part, Rainbow,” Rarity stammered out, wiping a tear with a hoof. “H-he then, after coating himself in applesauce and getting his ass kicked by Applejack he-he waited outside the boutique, sticky and bruised, to ask her to a date.” Rarity fell backwards herself. “Can you imagine? J-just – oh gods – dripping in apples and barely on his hooves, c-camped out at my front door?”

“And?” Rainbow Dash was in conniptions. “D-did it work?”

“You know? I don’t remember.” Rarity managed to sit up. “I think I had been reduced to a howling mess at that point; the sight of him was just too much, you see.”

“Well, I like to think that he did.” Rainbow Dash, with a final hoot, managed to catch her breath. “Dumb as he is, you can’t help but admire the spirit, y’know?”

“I do, Rainbow,” Rarity agreed. “I do.”

A few minutes passed, the levity of the moment passing and the realities of their setting settling in.

Rarity broke the silence. “Rainbow?”

“Yeah, Rares?”

“Are, uh–” Rarity thought for a moment on how to best phrase her question; she eventually settled on the most basic “–are you going to be okay?”

“What, about the wings?” Rainbow Dash answered. “I mean, it’s not fun, but they’re not so bad under this.” She wriggled her wings for emphasis; a few blue feathers occasionally peeked around the shawl. “But I’ll be okay. It’s not like that first thing. That – eugh–” a shudder “–that thing was a nightmare, Rares, like, literally, I’ve had nightmares about stuff like that.”

“Well, yes, but more about … all of this, Rainbow.” Rarity waved a forehoof around to indicate the wider scope of her question. “More the whole ‘I accidentally dragged my friend into pegasus Tartarus’ thing, because I, for one, feel awful about this.”

“I mean, considering they took a fucking saw to a filly’s horn I think this is just ‘everypony Tartarus,’ but even besides that, no, you shouldn’t feel bad.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Rarity, I don’t think anypony thought it would be like this, much less you, and I’d never think you’d have put me in a place like this on purpose.”

“Well, I’m glad you have that much faith in me at least.” Rarity stood up from her seated position. “Anyways, I suppose there’s nothing for it but to try our best to make the most of it, hmm?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash joined her friend in standing. “I’ve got some ideas on how to make this place better anyway. Not a lot better, but a little better at least.”

“Oh yeah?” Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Does it involve placing heads atop pikes?”

“…You know? Yeah, actually, it does.”

“Ah! Great minds, it would seem.” Rarity gestured with a hoof. “Come along, it’s a long walk to Mareanello and, more importantly, my castle.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited. We haven’t even seen it yet.”

Rarity scoffed. “It’s a castle, Rainbow. How bad could it be?”

Author's Note

tuftlets unquestionably btfo

Sorry about the long chapter. Start of it probably should have been part of the last one, but these things happen, you know.

If You Want It, You Can Have The Crown.

“Th-This isn’t a castle!”

“Oh, sure it is, Rares!” Rainbow Dash managed to squeak out between diaphragm-busting bouts of laughter. “Looks good as new!”

Rainbow Dash’s occasional mocking may have seemed like unplanned random acts of jackassery, but she actually took great pride in her quite exhaustive planning. Take, for instance, the matter of Rarity’s oft-discussed but hitherto unseen castle. In this situation, Rainbow had thought it best to assign a sort of reverse bell-curve distribution of japes – if the castle turned out to be flawless, it was only natural to make fun of Rarity for her new acquisition, as, outside of making sure that Rarity didn’t get to feeling too high-and-mighty, it would also be mostly harmless. If, however, the castle was instead a bit rundown, a little leaky, and staffed with miserable locals, Rainbow Dash decided that is was probably best to lay off the jeers for a little bit, or at least once the initial disappointment had started to mellow into just another layer of simmering misery.

And as for the other side of the bell curve? If the castle was some kind of mix of a quarry and landfill?

Then bring on the jokes, because it can’t get any worse.

In her defense, if funniness was directly correlated with shittiness, then this was absolutely fucking hilarious. Despite the present circumstances, the property could indeed be roughly described as a castle, or, rather, what was once a castle, and the rough shapes of a leaning, roofless tower and low unsteady walls still rose out of the Bitalian landscape, although both had been fairly conclusively depleted by weather, wind, and, judging by the other low buildings surrounding the site, sticky hooves.

“I just – I don’t – I can’t – hey!” Rarity stamped a forehoof, wheeling around to the now thoroughly enraptured Rainbow Dash. “What’s so fucking funny, huh?”

Rainbow Dash only managed to point a forehoof and utter a choked “castle!” between heaving breaths, rolling in the dirt in apparent blatant disregard for the craftsponyship of the much-beleaguered Bitalian mare whose hooves wrought it.

“I reiterate, Rainbow; what is so fucking funny.” Rarity narrowed her eyebrows. “Because, in case you have forgotten, we don’t have anywhere else to, oh, I don’t know, sleep? Stay? Generally satisfy our basic need for shelter?” She swept a forehoof across the scene. “I don’t know about you, Rainbow, but I generally do not like cuddling with rocks, and I certainly do not like dying of exposure in the rain.”

Her mood quite sternly contradicted by Rarity’s severity, Rainbow Dash’s laughing fit somewhat awkwardly tapered off into a few awkward chuckles, follow her sheepishly rubbing the side of her head with a hoof. “Oh, uh, I, um, guess you’re right.” She paused for a moment, then jovially threw out her wings (shawl be damned) in a shrug. “Well, Rares, I can tell you that we don’t have to worry about rain.” She gave an immensely important foreleg flex, then pointed at herself with the same hoof. “After all, you’re talking to Ponyville’s foremost cloud engineer r-r-rright here!”

Rarity snorted in derision. “Oh, gee, what a delightful bit of knowledge. I’m sure you’ll put it to good use when you build a citadel of clouds above my rock-pit just so you can mock me.”

“‘Just so you can mock – ’” Rainbow Dash, joviality cut with genuine concern, shook her head.“What? No! I – look, I’m sorry I made fun of this, okay? I-I didn’t really mean to be mean, Rares. I was just trying to, y’know, lighten up the mood a little.”

“Well you didn’t!” Rarity snapped, stamping a forehoof. “Oh, yeah, you really lightened the mood, Rainbow. I’m sure the audience of this magnificent comedic fucking tragedy is eating up yet another round of ‘kick the fat little paper-crown countess.’” She spun a forehoof in the air, gesturing like a circus ringmaster. “What wonderful comedic timing! Your outright astonishing capability for vitriol continues to be unmatched, my dear Rainbow!”

“Jeez, Rarity!” Rainbow Dash took a step back. “Glad to see that’s all you think of me, huh? Oh, yeah, forget the whole ‘getting us away from the cops’ and ‘dunking your sorry ass out of the ocean,’ I guess, because all I’m good for is tormenting the precious contessa, huh?” She threw out her wings again, this time in exasperation. “Fuck the dumbass pegasus who got dragged along, right? Nobody gives a rat’s speckled ass about the friend who got duped into this humongous pile of dogshit, right?”

“You elected to be here, Rainbow!” Rarity stepped forward, eyes full of fire and hackles raised. “I watched you elect to be here!”

“So did you, dumbass!” Rainbow Dash mirrored her step, drawing in nearly face to face and wings shooting out into threat posture, sending the shawl flying. “Don’t act like you’re not in the same boat as me!”

“Only because they lied–”

“–oh please, and they didn’t lie to me, Ra–”

“It’s not the same, Rainb–”

“–oh, really, cunt? What’s different about–”

“Excuse me? Cunt? You recalcitrant little–”

From above, a magnificent “CA-HAWNK!”

“Gah!”

“Eek!”

Both mares jumped back, dresses fluffing as they were shocked out of their feud by something overhead. Looking up into the tree branch overhanging the path, they saw a hefty white-throated raven perched atop the limb, looking quite smug with itself, as ravens often did. As they watched, the raven cocked its head and let out a warbly “Kaa-hunt!”

Rarity and Rainbow Dash, memory of their disagreement fading in the face of such audacious avian activity, almost instantly broke into giggles. “Well, I guess someone didn’t take kindly to the two of us having a shouting match under his tree, hmm?” said Rarity after a moment to compose herself.

“Guess not.” Rainbow Dash appraised her fellow feathered companion with a glance. “Got anything else, bud?”

The raven once again looked at Rarity, then, authoritatively, repeated himself. “Kaa-hunt!”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Oh, great, the feathered ones are ganging up on me.” She looked at Rainbow Dash, smirking gently. “I assume a friend of yours?”

Rainbow Dash scoffed. “What? Nah, c’mon, passerines? You’d never catch me with such lame-o birds.” She shrugged. “But maybe a friend of a friend.”

After a pause, and with raised forehoof, clearly confused mid-response, Rarity looked back dumbly, the metaphor clearly having not quite landed. “…What?”

“Passerines, Rarity. Songbirds and stuff.” Rainbow Dash explained after a huff. “No talons. Lame!”

The raven squawked in protest.

Rainbow Dash pointed an accusatory forehoof. “Shut it, you!”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “No, the friend of a friend part, Rainbow, although I am impressed by your knowledge of ornithology.”

“Well, duh, of course I know my birds. You gotta know what kinda wings you got, Rarity. Some pegasi have wings like eagles, some have wings like albatrosses, and some have wings like, uh, squabs.” Rainbow Dash winced in sympathy. “I’ve got ones like a hobby falcon, if you’re curious, which is why I have to be so careful about exercising, because if I put on a little pudge I’ll just sink in a thermal.”

“I see.” Rarity cocked her head in interest. “Is that typical for pegasi?”

“No, most don’t have wings like me. You kind of only see it from the old warrior stock. Fluttershy, for example, has wings like a vulture, which sounds like an insult but really just means she could fly for freakin’ ages in a thermal if she had the wing muscles for it.”

“Does she?”

“No, and it pisses me off, but whatever.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Anyway, she’s also the reference I was making earlier, the friend of a friend thing? Y’know, because animals, and friends fighting, and she wouldn’t like her friends fighting?”

Rarity thought for a moment. “Well, it’s a slightly convoluted metaphor, but, now understanding it, I must agree; that’s probably accurate.” She coughed politely. “I wager she indeed would be most cross to see us come to blows, as I find the idea that she would be amicable to the idea of physical confrontation quite unlikely.”

Fluttershy, reaching down to pull up a rear stocking under a stolen dress from Cadence’s limited wardrobe at Canterlot Castle (much depleted, but quite a few items remained from her youthful days when she sized mostly the same as Fluttershy), suddenly tensed up, swearing as she clutched her side.

“Fluttershy?” Luna peered around a changing divider, noting, to her displeasure, that Fluttershy had just attempted to bend at the waist with two freshly broken ribs. “Fluttershy,” she doted, “you mustn’t aggravate your injury! You know well enough we would help you.”

“Yes,” Fluttershy squeaked out, “but I forgot for a second.”

“Then do not forget next time.” Luna’s horn lit, gently pulling the exposed stocking the rest of the way up before buttoning it neatly to a garter.

“I’ll try to remember,” deadpanned Fluttershy, offering the other hind leg once Luna had finished with the first.

“Do so,” said Luna, missing the sarcasm.

A moment passed, Luna carefully raising and buttoning the other stocking.

“You know,” started Fluttershy, “I actually don’t regret breaking Twilight’s nose at, um, all.”

“Really?” Luna raised an eyebrow. “After your impassioned speech to the contrary?”

“Well, I’m still sad it went that way, and that my friend and I got so mad we started fighting, and all the rest of it.” Fluttershy smirked lightly. “But, given that it did, I’m pretty glad that I, uh, gave as good as I got too.”

“Hah!” Luna chuckled, levitating over a dainty tiara (also stolen, of course) from a wooden case with a smashed-open lock. “Well! Perhaps a bit of that ancient pegasus blood runs through you yet!”

Fluttershy watched the tiara nestle itself neatly at the front of her suitably regal hairdo. “I’m the Element of Kindness, Luna. Not the element of losing.”

Rarity continued. “And anyway, Rainbow, I’m sorry that I snapped at you.”

“Nah, don’t be, Rares.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “I’ll admit, that one was a little bit mean, even for me.”

“It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, Rainbow, really, it’s just–” she scrunched her face in thought, trying to find the right words “–I was just hoping something would come out right this trip, you know?”

“Well, we aren’t in jail, so that came out right.”

“No, that’s an outcome that isn’t the worst possible. That isn’t the same thing.” Rarity tapped a forehoof, thinking for a moment. “Look. Rainbow, if I’ve inadvertently discounted your difficulties, I apologize. That wasn’t my intention. I’ve just – I’ve had a really hard couple of weeks, okay? I started this whole thing by simply answering the door, and now look at me; I’m bald, I’ve got red hair–”

“–well, so do I, Rares–”

“–yes, but you always have red hair; or, at least some of it.” Rarity shook her head. “And, even worse, Rainbow, some of this is permanent.” She pointed to the scar that sat proudly below her left eye. “I freely admit I was never the best looking of all the girls, as it were, maybe number, er, three, at best, but now, to add insult to injury, I’m packing the prominent scars of a lifetime soldier too, just to really ensure I’ll never be able to model my own dresses.”

“What? Nah, Rares, it’s not that bad.” Rainbow Dash gave a mostly-convincing reassuring smile. “It’s an opportunity, y’know. Kinda badass. Maybe you could make a theme off it?”

“I don’t want to make badass clothes, Rainbow. I want to make beautiful ones.”

“Things can be badass and beautiful, Rares,” Rainbow Dash offered. “I mean, look at you and me, right? Save the world on Tuesday, turn heads on Wednesday, right?”

“I would posit that – wait, hang on a second, Rainbow, was that a genuine compliment?” Rarity clutched a forehoof to her breast, equally shocked and surprised. “Me, ‘beautiful?’”

“Well, sure, I guess.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I mean, I’m not going to disagree with what you said about not being the ‘best looking,’ because that’s clearly true and it’s obviously Fluttershy–”

“–yeah, right?” Rarity huffed good-naturedly. “It’s actually quite frustrating, really.”

“Oh, Celestia, tell me about it.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “I actually got her to get out of the house one time and go out with me to one of the usual spots, right, ‘cause I was thinking that it would be nice to have a wingmare for once, right?” She shook her head ruefully. “But nope! Turns out I’m the wingmare.”

“Did she apologize to you about all the attention you weren’t getting?” Rarity chuckled. “One time I took her to a formal event, you know, dressed her up, got the mane out of her eyes, a bit of makeup, the full works, and she was almost crying she felt so bad after the first thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, but after three or four glasses she just started kinda aggressively pointing them my way. It didn’t work, but it was a nice thought.” She shook her head. “But look, Rares, not being able to compete with our annoyingly gorgeous friend aside,that doesn’t mean you’re bad looking, Rares; I’ve heard enough puberty-driven ramblings from Spike to know that’s not true, and I don’t think a little scar is going to drive anypony away.”

“…Perhaps, Rainbow,” Rarity answered, thinking that, at some point, she really needed to have a conversation with the little lizard about what constituted acceptable conversation topics. “Well, that aside, and perhaps worst of all, I’m still crippled,” Rarity sighed. “And outside of my displeasure about things like being unable to effectively operate cutlery, the fact remains that I am presently unable to do my actual job.” She paused for a moment, waiting for a response from Rainbow Dash that didn’t come. “…What, no words of encouragement?”

“No, nah, that just sucks, Rares.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “If I lost a wing, like, permanently, I’d probably just find a nice cliff somewhere and tuck the other one in, y’know?”

“Well, I’m not quite there yet, Rainbow, but I’m glad you understand.” Rarity pointed to the castle. “So, to bring this astonishingly roundabout conversation back to the original point; forgive me for being so short. I suppose there was some part of me that really just wanted this one thing to go right. Just, walk over the hill, find a perfectly preserved castle staffed by handsome butlers and stocked with fine wines and fine dresses.”

“I mean, Rares, judging by everything else in this place I predicted that, like, ten hours ago.”

“Obviously, Rainbow. But, crucially, I didn’t know that a week and a half ago, which is the important part.” Rarity sighed, sitting back onto her haunches. “But, more realistically, I knew it wasn’t going to be a lavish chateau, Rainbow, but I was, I suppose foolishly, still holding out hope for something like, oh, a roof? Running water? A warm bed – caveat, my own warm bed.”

“Your own?” Rainbow Dash guffawed. “What, you tired of sharing with the Rainbow Dash?”

“I’m tired of pulling your feathers out of my tail, yes.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “That being said, that was a hierarchical presentation of needs; I should think a roof is the most important part.”

“Well, in that case, I don’t think we’re out of luck yet, Rarity.” Rainbow Dash pointed to the bottom of the castle wall, where a few small buildings had been constructed against the remnants of the wall. “Because I’m pretty sure I see a couple intact roofs in there.”

“We may be lucky yet, then.” Rarity looked around the landscape. “Although I’d be surprised if any of these shacks are inhabited, considering the lack of, well, anything around that I can see.”

“Only one way to find out, Rarity!” With that, Rainbow Dash trotted towards the ruins.

Rainbow Dash, shawl once again affixed around her wings, raised a hoof to push in the door of the most promising looking hovel.

“A-ta-ta, Rainbow!” Rarity tutted, fidgeting with the rifle still ensconced in towels across her back.

“What?”

“One does not simply push in ponies’ front doors, Rainbow Dash.” Rarity chastised. “It’s rude.”

“Rarity, nopony lives here, clearly.”

“Well, you don’t know that!” Rarity shook her head disapprovingly. “Far from our minds should it be to judge another’s living situation.”

“Yeah, I do, Rarity.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes, but did raise her hoof to knock as opposed to pushing in the door. “Look, it makes you feel better, I’ll knock on–”

As if to prove Rainbow wrong, the door flung open.

“Ciao, ah, and–” The pony behind the door, a lanky and coltish unicorn youngster, no more than late teenager in age, dressed in stately if quite old fashioned and slightly oversized robes, gasped, eyes wide as he gazed upon the gorgeous mare that darkened his door. “Y-you must – you are the–”

“Yes?” Rarity raised an eyebrow, amused by how much this stallion reminded her of the aforementioned love-struck lizard. “The what, sir?”

The stallion, after a little stutter, managed to get out the rest of his statement. “Y-you are the most fetching mare my eyes have ever had the fortune of falling upon.” He bowed in a theatrical show of respect. “May I ask your name, signora?”

Rarity clutched a forehoof to her breast, suddenly looking enormously pleased with herself. “Oh, my! What a gentlestallion. I am the–”

The colt coughed once, shooting a glance at Rainbow Dash.

Rarity’s newly smiling face collapsed into another scowl. “You have to be fucking kidding–”

“Hah!” Rainbow Dash smugly clapped a forehoof across Rarity’s withers as she pumped the other in victory, complemented with a stadium chant. “That’s right! Num-ber three! Num-ber three!”

“Hilarious.” Rarity rudely shucked off Rainbow Dash’s forehoof, sending her sprawling to the floor, dress bunching up around her waist as she turned to address the stallion. “Well then, loverboy, would you care to explain what you are doing here?”

“D-doing here?” The stallion cocked his head in confusion. “I, er, live here, no?”

Rarity took a look around the dimly lit hovel. Sure enough, this was clearly a domestic space, if a profoundly odd one; interspersed with normal items of domesticity seemingly at random was a collection of precious items, all at various levels of disrepair – here a lovely silver platter streaked with lines of ugly tarnish, there a tapestry moth-eaten and threadbare on the corner. “I … see. And these are all your items of–”

“Oh, but forgive me, you two,” the young stallion interrupted in a display of hilarious irony, “for where are my manners to as have not introduced myself!” He ducked his head, pulling his forehoof to his chest. “I am, ah, Empty Ledger, if you please.”

“Empty Ledger?” Rainbow Dash, having recovered from her tumble, raised an eyebrow. “That’s a depressing name. How’d your parents come up with that?”

The stallion lightly coughed. “Parent,” he corrected.

“What?”

“Parent,” he reiterated with practiced words. “My mother died in childbirth from the poisoning of the blood.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash rubbed the back of her head with a forehoof. “My, uh, condolences.”

“I did not know her well enough to grieve, but I do digress.” He continued. “But, to answer the question you have, my father named me in the tradition of our line. We served as stewards for the conti e contesse of this house from its ennobling by the imperatrice until its ending, and for generations the tradition continued.”

“So I see.” Rarity looked around for any sign of this elder steward. “Is your father around?”

“Ah, no.” The stallion shook his head once again, this time with a little less practiced detachment but still with an impressive amount of composure for his youthful age. “My father perished ten years ago after he was press-ganged into the service of another lord.”

“Which left you thus orphaned at age …?” Rarity trailed off, raising a hoof in question.

“Age eight, signora.”

“Age eight?” Rarity recoiled in horror, shooting Rainbow Dash a quick glance.

“Another orphan,” mused a similarly shocked Rainbow Dash under her breath into Rarity’s ear. “I think I’m noticing a trend.”

“Me too,” replied Rarity, gulping. She turned back to the stallion. “And did your father know the lord or lady of the castle before his passing?”

“Know th – oh, no, of course not.” The stallion shook his head. “The contessa has been dead for about two hundred years, well before his time.”

“Two hundred years?” Rarity gave a few slow blinks, then looked around at the surroundings. “Well, I suppose that explains the condition.”

“Yes, in part.” he replied with a nod. “After the castle was rendered empty and the House of Mareanello-Manegila’s wealth was dispersed, it found itself repurposed as building materials for the remaining residents. The weather and a shaking of the earth did the rest, of course.”

“Other residents? I don’t recall seeing any other substantial residences on the way in.”

“There are none else; only I remain.”

Rainbow Dash butted in. “But, like, why?” She gestured with a forehoof. “This place is a dump.”

The stallion affixed Rainbow Dash with a look. “An orphaned child is not particularly wont of leaving the roof above his head.”

“Oh, uh,” Rainbow Dash sheepishly shrugged. “Yeah, that, uh, makes sense.”

Satisfied, he turned back to Rarity. “Anyway, I suppose I forgot to ask; what brings you to this, as your friend put it, dump?”

“Oh, right.” Rarity took a moment to compose herself, affixing her most noble look to her face. “Well, to make a long story short, I’m the, er, new contessa.”

A moment passed in silence, the stallion looking back in abject confusion. “…Che?”

“The new conte–”

“No, signora, I heard what you said.” The stallion shook his head. “But it is nonsense, assolutamente nonsense. You cannot be the lady of this castle, for the line of Mareanello-Manegila is totally extinct, and there is no viceroy to ennoble one into this position.”

“I am not of any noble blood, so the first point is moot, and I don’t know anything about a viceroy, but I can assure you I am this castle’s lady.”

“By whose word, signora?” shot back the stallion, wary after having seen a few “long-lost cadet branch” claiming grifters in his short time.

“By the authority of the sovereign,” said Rarity with a smirk, satisfied that her credentials would be sufficiently shocking to show up the suspicious little would-be steward. “We were ennobled by Princess Luna herself.”

Rather than the dramatic cowing she expected, the stallion merely stared back dumbly, brow creased in confusion.

“What?”

“Princess – signora, there is only one imperatrice in High Canterlot, and it is radiant Celestia.” He shook his head. “And there is only twoof the alicorns anyway; Celestia and the lovely Cadenza from the south.”

“You – what?” Rainbow Dash, puzzled, recoiled. “What are you talking about two princesses? There’s at least three.”

“Four,” corrected Rarity gently. “Twilight–”

“No castle, no crown, no Princess,” snarked Rainbow Dash under her breath before turning back to the stallion. “C’mon, you know, Luna? Celestia’s sister? Big blue and scary? Kinda dumb? Flat ass?”

“Celestia has no sister,” replied the stallion, his tone conveying a level of assuredness so high it was as if he was describing the color of the sky. “She defeated the foul Nightmare in combat a thousand years ago, banishing her to the fiery depths of the inferno from where she will never return.”

Rarity and Rainbow Dash stared back, mouths agape as they looked between themselves in absolute befuddlement. “Uh.”

“But,” the stallion continued unabated, “your story is so ridiculous that I must agree there is some level of possibility to it, so I would like to ensure.” He turned around, then, after a bit of rummaging through a pile, tossed a jeweled coronet onto a table, following it with an elegantly adorned short-sword in a scabbard.

Rarity eyed the offered items suspiciously. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Prove your claim,” the stallion responded smugly. “For these are enchanted with spells which will burn you horribly if you are … not …”

Rarity finished placing the coronet atop her wig, which, after a small tingle, remained resolutely not on fire.

The stallion extended a shaky hoof. “B-buh-but the crown has not–”

“Yes.”

A gulp. “W-which does mean that you are legitimately the–”

“Yes.”

“And that a there is a princess–”

“Yes.”

“An-and that you are a contessa, who I have repeatedly insulted.”

Rarity chuckled lightly. “Well, perhaps justifiably. I can’t say that I’d be particularly trusting of a strange mare who … appeared…” she coughed “er, what are you…?”

“My apologies, then.” The stallion had maneuvered in front of Rarity, dipping his horn in front of her face. “Do what you must; I will not beg.”

“Do what I–” Rarity gasped, shaking her head “–goodness me, no, I’m not going to harm you!”

The stallion, after a start and a momentary loss of composure, replied. “You aren’t?”

“Of course not. What, am I some kind of sadist?”

“Judging by his examples, I’d say it was a pretty good guess, Rares,” noted Rainbow Dash. She turned to address the youngster. “And, dang, you’re taking this like a champ. If I was about to get, like, horribly maimed I would, uh–” she scratched the back of her head “–well, shit, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I, uh–” he sank to his haunches, steely demeanor flowing away with a prodigious sigh. “I have had much time to prepare my responses to such an encounter; I had resolved to not go away in the same way my father did.”

“Unexpectedly mature,” Rarity mused.

“I don’t think this place gives a lot of time for foalhood,” Rainbow Dash added.

“It does for some, but I am not as unlucky as one would hope,” the stallion replied before looking back to his guests. “But, I digress, I am truly sorry for the disrespect.”

“No, please, don’t be. I made assumptions about what you knew.” In truth, Rarity was still reeling from the news that at least some of the ponies of this land had somehow avoided hearing about the return of the immortal sister of High Celestia, but she had filed that away under “ask later in case the reasons are as bad as expected.” Shoving that down, she took a deep breath, composing herself. “Now, let’s try our introductions again. I am Rarity, the contessa of this place. This–” she gestured to Rainbow Dash “–is my, er, bodyguard. Now, what did you say your name was again?”

“Empty Ledger, ma’am.”

“That’s right.” Rarity, realizing that she hadn’t tried the other object on the table, hefted the sword and scabbard absentmindedly. “Well, Mr. Ledger, I think you can clearly see that my friend and I are rather unknowledgeable about this place.” She smiled gently. “And as, I would argue, you have found yourself to be rather suddenly employed in your family’s tradition, do you think you could give us something of a tour, steward?”

Fortunately, and much to Rarity’s delight, the castle’s devastation wasn’t quite uniform, and there were some rooms with intact roofs, one of which was the main dining hall, featuring a well-sooted heath, long benches, and, remarkably, the remnants of what had once been a lovely set of drapes. However, it was the enormous portrait over the opening of the fireplace that drew the attention of all assembled.

Rarity scanned over the framed painting. “I presume this is she, then?”

It was a striking portrait. The mare pictured, a lightly teal-coated mare of about middle age, long sunset-orange mane streaked with lines of gray and dressed in a low-necked goldenrod dress and silver shoes, sat erect in a fine high-backed chair, foreleg thrown across the back and face fixed in a deep sneer in a challenge to the viewer that, even in the dilapidated surroundings, bore a certain unquestioned superiority. “Who are you to dirty my floor with your presence?”

“Uh-huh.” Rarity lowered her eyebrows somewhat distastefully. “She doesn’t exactly look like a particularly pleasant lady.”

“What? Oh no. Hah!” The stallion chuckled ruefully. “Oh, no, signora, the contessa was a pony most abhorrent.”

“So I see.” Rarity frowned. “Seems to be something of a theme with the local elites, it would seem.”

The stallion raised an eyebrow. “You have had a meeting with them already?”

“A run-in with a pony who has herself had a run-in, rather.” Rarity thought for a moment. “A seamstress in, er–” she waved a forehoof vaguely in the direction she and Rainbow Dash had come from “–the port town in that direction.”

The stallion thought for a moment, then lit up in recognition. “Oh! You must mean Thrift-Thread, the little mare in Moneighlia, with the, er–” he spun a hoof around his horn.

With a shudder, Rarity nodded.

“–right, yes.” He grimaced. “Yes, we have met a few times when I must venture forth to have a garment repaired. She is a nice girl; it is an unfortunate thing indeed that she had the misfortune to meet with Signora Galloparte – she is one of the worst, you see.” He shook his head. “I digress. The contessa was a wicked mare; unpleasant by our time but awful in her own.”

“What’s that mean?” Rainbow Dash asked. “Like, she murdered some dudes or something?”

“Well, yes, she did, and stole money from holdings in Marelan to furnish her castle and wardrobe, but that is not terribly unusual, especially in our own time.”

“Then what was it?” Rainbow Dash interjected, clearly eager to get to the good stuff.

The stallion shot her a look of annoyance, but continued. “Her worst faults were of a … carnal nature, which is even now quite reprehensible. The contessa strictlypreferred the company of mares, hence the extinction of the line; not unknown in her time, especially behind the walls of palaces.” He paused, preempting the next question. “Before you ask, signora, no, that is not her crime; her crime is that, in contrast to her peer’s occasional trysts most salacious behind closed doors, she did not want to waste her time with courtship; she merely selected her next, ah, prey, regardless of their own marital status, and had them brought to her for performance.”

“…Oh,” Rarity, after a pause, tersely replied, looking very understandably disgusted. “Evidently, the principle of noblesse oblige never quite migrated to this place.”

“It was not always quite like this, signora,” the stallion offered. “I have no doubt the founding families of this place, ennobled by the imperatrice, were mighty ponies, and even the contessa’s father and grandfather were decent enough ponies if a bit gluttonous, but all things fall apart.” He shrugged. “If it is any comfort, as is so often the case, the contessa’s own demise is the fault of her own evils. As the story goes, one day she did take the castle lands’ new game warden’s young wife while he worked in the forest to cull a herd of boars. When he returned from his task to find his weeping beloved, he suddenly decided that, the consequences be damned, he would avenge his honor, and marched up to the contessa in her chair above her court and quite swiftly and decisively disemboweled her with his hunting sword.”

Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “Like, just in front of everypony?”

“Oh yes. It is said that a court painter was working at the time, and, somewhere, there is a sketch of her mid-expiration. If so, it is not here.” He shook his head. “Of course, the real tragedy, and perhaps irony, of the matter is that the contessa’s indiscretions were allowed to continue because of her courtiers’ fear of retribution from her famously fiery temper as well as consequences from the other members of the court, but not one hoof was actually lifted in her aid. She died, intestines spread across the floor, completely alone, and by the hoof of her own gamekeeper. Who would have expected?”

“… Her employed warden? Yes, who indeed.” Rarity added with a cough, glancing across the stones in front of where the lord’s chair likely sat: no evidence was immediately apparent for stains. “I must commend you for your evocative storytelling.”

“My father was sure to tell me plenty of tales in between my sessions of tutoring, both of which I am especially grateful for.”

“Tutelage in what?” Rainbow Dash cocked her head in mild confusion. She, in light of her informal ward, had extensive experience with tutors; while of course many bright students sought additional help, her experience was more of the “desperate attempt to help a truly dumb kid” variety, hence the confusion. “You seem like a smart kid, and I can’t see you having any problems in school.”

“School?” The stallion raised an eyebrow. “Signora, I can assure you, we were by no means wealthy enough for me to be sent off for my schooling.”

“Sent off?” Rarity thought for a moment, then frowned, mentally adding another item, public education, to the rapidly growing list of things Bitaly failed utterly at. “Oh, I see. I suppose that explains the poor tailor’s unfamiliarity with the term ‘high-school,’ although I still had held out hope for at least primary schooling.”

“Ah, no, not out here at least. Some experiments in Roan, I believe, but not here.” He shook his head. “But I cannot complain too much; I was given an altogether effective tutelage in arithmetic and literacy, both in my own tongue and yours.” He dipped his head in a slightly meek display. “I, ah, have not had an opportunity to speak yours much, as I do not get many visitors. I hope it is satisfactory.”

“It is excellent, I assure you.” Rarity chuckled. “Your diction is better than hers–” she indicated to Rainbow Dash with a nod “–easily, and she’s at least ostensibly a native speaker.”

“Hey!” Rainbow Dash shot back, semi-playfully outraged. “What do you mean, ‘ostensibly?’”

Rarity smirked. “Do you mean the implication of the sentence? Or do you not know the definition of the word, thereby proving my point?”

“The implication of the sentence, smart-ass!” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Gods, you’re insufferable,” she added, drawing out the final word to prove her own vocabulary in spite of Rarity’s mocking. “I meant, to answer your question; what else would be my first language?”

“Presumably birdsong and grunting, which I’m not sure you’ve moved far beyond, really,” snarked Rarity.

“Alright, that’s it, you over-sized marshmallow!” Rainbow Dash stomped a forehoof with a furious squeak that, much to Rarity’s eminent delight, was not totally unlike the squawking of poultry. “Where’s that dude’s sword?” she asked the stallion. “I hope you can draw, because I’m about to do a rerun, and I’d hate for you to miss a chance to get a picture.”

The stallion backed away, visibly concerned. “It – it is not here, as it was his own sword.” He shook his head. “But I would greatly prefer if, for many reasons, if you did not gut your own sister in main hall of this castle, signora.”

Both mares, stopping their fussing at a start, turned to face the stallion; Rainbow Dash looking deeply confused, Rarity with a rapidly growing mischievously delighted smile. “…What?” said Rainbow Dash first, shaking her head. “Rarity isn’t my – ack!”

Rainbow Dash found herself rather decisively interrupted by Rarity virtually launching herself at and over the still-befuddled pegasus, the unicorn vigorously tussling her captive’s mane. “Oh, she would never do that to her big sis! It’s just siblings fighting about something silly; no need to worry!” She preemptively put a foreleg across Rainbow Dash’s face, cutting off any protests. “What gave it away, hmm? Ponies always seem to miss the relation.”

“Oh!” The stallion chuckled in relief. “I am glad to hear I will not have to clean up entrails from the stones; one would presume they stain.” He pointed at Rarity’s wig with a forehoof. “And, to answer your question, signora, it is the manes that clued me in. You both have nearly the same color with wildly different coats.”

“How perceptive!” Rarity ceased tussling Rainbow Dash’s mane (which wasn’t really that close in color, being more than a few shades lighter, but she had long since given up on stallions’ abilities to properly describe color), but kept the foreleg across her mouth. “Yes, she and I both take after our father – same mane color as mine, you see.”

“I do.” The stallion looked a little closer at the two. “But I presume from the quite different coats and bone structures that–”

“Oh, yes, we do not have the same mothers.” Rarity gave a theatrical sigh. “Sis here is a product of our father’s indiscretions, you see – which, I suppose, considering my new social rank, makes her a quite literal bastard–” a muffled scream from under her foreleg; Rarity continued unabated “–but I would never hold that against her, of course – I love her as much as anypony could.”

He nodded. “Of course, his sins are not hers.”

“My thoughts exactly – I’ve felt that way since I first saw her, really. Children can be so much more understanding than adults sometimes.” She shrugged, impressively still maintaining a hold on the squirming pegasus underneath. “I digress. I shan’t keep us from your tour around this castle–”

“Your castle, signora,” he gently corrected. “What you see is yours.” His face lit up. “Oh! Speaking of, I suppose that the remaining trophies and other items are yours as well to do with as you wish.” He set off down a corridor. “Please, follow me, if you would.”

Rarity pointedly did not follow him, instead letting him disappear around the corner before releasing her captive. Rainbow Dash immediately backed away, wings visibly rising under her shawl. “What the heck, Rares?” she demanded. “What was that about?”

“What was what about, Rainbow Dash?” replied Rarity knowingly.

“What was what – you know what, Rarity!” She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t know, you telling him we’re sisters? Does that ring a bell?”

“Oh, that? Well, logically, I did it as a form of misdirection for our current evasion from imperial authorities.” She smirked. “Truthfully? I did it because it is hilarious.”

“Hilarious? What’s the joke? What’s funny about that?”

“Your indignant reaction quite literally right now, for one.” Rarity chuckled, then set off down the corridor after their guide. “And do calm down. I’m sure we’ll find something in the care of this castle to cheer you back up.”

“I doubt it!” shot back Rainbow Dash, following Rarity nonetheless. “Because it’s going to have to be pretty freaking cool to do that!”

Well, she was drooling, so that was probably a good sign that it was.

“Rainbow, dear, you’re making a fool of yourself.” Rarity grumbled, eyeing the growing puddle.

“I want them.”

Now, to Rainbow Dash’s credit, it was appropriately drool-worthy. Hung somewhat haphazardly from an armor stand were an almost rust-free cuirass, complete with attractive edge trimming in a tarnished brass, tied-on spaulders, and, importantly, wing holes, a relatively undecorated burgonet helmet, without facemask but with high crest, and, perhaps most excitingly of all, a fat scabbard hanging from the belt of the armor, basket hilt protruding above it.

Rainbow Dash turned back to Rarity. “I want them,” she repeated.

“Rainbow, whatever the legal status of their ownership, we are not ransacking this poor stallion’s prized possessions.” She gestured to the hanging armor. “It’s probably some sort of family heirloom!”

“It is not,” he clarified. “Not much remains from our days of service, but what does is hidden away.”

“See!” Rainbow Dash said, wings rustling under her shawl in excitement. “It’s free for the taking!”

“There’s got to be a catch,” grumbled Rarity. “There’s no way that, despite the ransacking of this castle, this eminently steal-able item would remain.”

“Most of the dispersion of things took place early on, and I believe my ancestor at the time stashed it away, although I could not tell you why – I believe it belonged to a condottiiera in the castles employ, who I believe was also perhaps his lover. I do not remember.”

“Then it’s cursed, or something!”

“Only in form. I suspect the reason it is still here is because it is an uncommon size; it is quite small and is cut for a pegasus, which you are … not…”

Rainbow Dash had already pulled off the shawl, releasing her wings which had begun to flutter in excitement. Unsurprisingly, the stallion’s eyes had shot wide upon the sight of them; more surprisingly, and somewhat disconcertingly, it tended quite sharply away from the alarmed panic Rarity had expected and more towards mouth-agape captivation, an assessment aided by the growing blush on his cheeks.

“Rainbow!” Rarity hissed, noticing their host’s reaction. “Rainbow, stop debasing yourself in front of–”

Rainbow Dash, ever the bold, was now attempting to find where the bottom of her collection of skirts and underskirts lay.

“–oh, gods, Rainbow, you’re going to kill the poor fool!” Rarity chastised under her breath, gesturing to the stallion with a shrug, who did indeed look like he was on the verge of fainting.

The threat of potential lethality temporarily shocked Rainbow Dash out of her hurried undressing. “Huh?” She looked up from her now thoroughly rumpled skirt, catching glimpse of the nearly gasping youngster. “Oh. Oh! Right, I–” she noticed his eyes on her wings, then, after a moment of thought, affixed her very sultriest (which wasn’t particularly so in an absolute sense; she wasn’t very good at this) smolder to her face, drawing a wing across like a concubine’s harem-silks. “Oh?”

The stallion did not answer, presumably because he was unable to.

“Oh, you like these?” Rainbow Dash took a step towards him, running the tip of a feather under his jaw. “Then how about you find me something else to have?” She drew a little closer in. “’Cause if you do I might just be out of this by the time you come back.”

The speed at which he left the room would not have been uncharacteristic for Rainbow Dash herself.

Rarity watched him go, then turned to her friend with a scowl. “Oh, you despicable cradle-robbing–”

“Chill, Rares!” Rainbow Dash huffed back. “I didn’t jump into bed with him; all I did was tease him a little.”

“That’s–”

“That’s what? That’s wrong to show off a little to get something out of some drooling schmuck?’ Because I’d check your own ledgers before you start casting stones, sis.”

“Excuse me?” Rarity clutched a foreleg to her chest in outraged hurt. “I would never–”

“Really?” Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “Oh, yeah, like you’ve never batted your eyelashes and thrown your hips around to get what you want.”

“That’s – that’s not the same thing, Rainbow!” Rarity spat back. “I will admit, I have been known to, on occasion, mmph, show off a little to squeeze a better price out of a business associate – but that does not mean I go dragging my tail across the flanks of some poor unfortunate to place them under my beck and call!”

“No?” Rainbow Dash accused. “Really? Because I sure have heard some lines around your house that say that you sure do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, come on, Rarity. Really?” Rainbow Dash batted her eyes a few times, doing her best impression of Rarity. “‘Oh Spikey-Wikey!–” another flurry of batting “‘–I have some more errands for you, daa-aarling!’”

“H-he enjoys helping me!”

“Because he’s obsessed. Gods, Rares, you have him clean your kitchen! Nopony enjoys that!”

“He’s not–”

“He is.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “But, look, I’m not here to criticize you, okay? We all have our vices, and I’m not saying you’re a bad pony or anything.” Her expression softened. “But what I am asking is that you let me have a little fun with this, okay? I get to be ‘Rainbow Dash the Awesome’ all the time. I don’t get to be ‘Rainbow Dash the Pretty.”

Rarity thought for a moment, hackles raised, as she attempted to come up with a suitable protest, but eventually relented, relaxing to a still slightly disgruntled set of grumbles. “It’s still just unpleasantly unethical.”

“Rarity, I’m not sure we’ve been doing anything ethical, and I don’t really see that getting any better.” She shrugged. “Now come on, help me get this stupid dress off.”

Rarity trotted over, positioning herself over the laces on the back of Rainbow Dash’s bodice. “You were serious?”

“Duh.” A beat. “Oh! No, not because of what I said. I just want to try on the sick-ass armor.”

Rarity pulled the knot out of the laces, allowing Rainbow Dash to begin wriggling herself out of her garments. “Well, I do hope it fits. I fear my talents for alteration do not extend to breastplates.”

Rainbow Dash responded, but, as her face was presently about halfway down the dress, she wasn’t exactly intelligible.

“What?”

Rainbow Dash finished pulling her head out. “I said, I think it should fit, more or less.” She trotted over to the armor stand, coat still stuck down and rumpled from the dress. “Pegasi like me kind of tend towards a certain size. Sort of a breeding thing.”

Rarity joined her friend. “That close?”

“I think there’s only, like, four sizes for the Wonderbolt uniform, tops, and that includes the stallions and the mares.”

“So I see.” Rarity eyed the helmet. “Hopefully that still applies to your head too – I figure your ego may have increased the circumference enough to render the helmet uncomfortably tight.”

Rainbow Dash chuckled. “Yeah, probably.” She unbuckled the left side of the, letting the breast plate swing away from the back-plate. “Help me lift it? I’ve got to thread my wings in.”

“I’ll try my best – I have a feeling most pages were unicorns.”

After allowing Rarity to grab the far end of the plate with her teeth, Rainbow Dash carefully stuck her wings through the provided holes, then leaned down to push the breastplate up into fastening position. Rarity walked around her, fastening the buckles.

Rainbow Dash looked over her self, smiling and posing. “Aw, dang, do I look good in this or what?”

“Yes, you look like quite the warrior.” Rarity hefted the helmet in a forehoof, giving it a spin. “Want to try this on?”

Rainbow Dash nodded, dipping her head; Rarity fitted the helmet to her friend. “How is it?’

Rainbow Dash shook her head from side to side. “A little loose, but not too bad.” She hopped up and down a few times, smile growing each time. “But the cuirass fits pretty well!”

“Good to know.” Rarity gestured towards the hanging and jostling scabbard. “And the sword?”

“Oh, right!” Rainbow Dash, after a moment to get her hoof properly inside the hilt, pulled the sword from its sheath, revealing a broad, machete-like blade with a surprisingly thin profile. Despite its age, it was in mostly quite good condition, only spotted occasionally with small rust pits.

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Odd looking thing. It sure doesn’t resemble any sword I’ve ever seen.”

Rainbow Dash echoed the eyebrow. “You’ve seen a lot of swords?”

“I’ve seen the one Fluttershy bought.”

“The one–” Rainbow Dash shook head. “Wait. The one Fluttershy bought?”

“The one and only. She’s got a thing for knives; likely a practical one, considering her occupation. I assume the sword was an outgrowth of her previous interest.”

“…Huh. Can’t say I guessed that one.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Well, anyway, the reason you haven’t seen anything like this is because nopony makes swords like this anymore. It’s a, uh–” she thought for a moment, trying to remember an almost-forgotten line from a history book “–falchion! It’s called a falchion.” She gave the sword a few swings. “It’s kind of a specialist thing, right? It’s just for swinging, not thrusting, and it’s really thin, because it’s meant to go through cloth.”

“So, not meant for going up against creatures bedecked in mail?”

Rainbow Dash nodded. “Yeah, it’s for using against things who don’t have hard armor.”

Both mares paused for a moment, thinking about the implications of that specialization.

“You know, there’s sort of an uncomfortable element of environmental storytelling there about cruel mercenaries and desperate peasants,” noted Rarity.

“Yeah, I guess there kind of is,” agreed Rainbow Dash, sheathing the sword.

“Well, hopefully we can put it to better–”

A forceful gasp echoed around the chamber.

Both mares turned toward the entry to the room, spotting their host, panting under the effort of levitating a heavy looking bundle of cloth, a few hilts protruding from one end. An outrageous blush had spread across his face.

“Oh, well, look at you!” Rainbow Dash, once again slipping into her sultriest tone, took two steps towards the stammering steward. “What a big, strong, stallion you are, coming back with all this!”

The stallion, apparently unable to speak, merely squeaked in reply.

Rainbow Dash threw out her wings luxuriantly, gesturing with her primaries. “Now, what have you brought back for us?” She once again ran a wing-tip under his jaw. “I hope it’s–”

“WHAM!”

His carried items fell to the ground, followed closely behind by his unconscious body; evidently, the strain of magically carrying the offered goods combined with the teasing of the gorgeous warrior-mare in front of him was simply too much.

Rarity trotted up. “Good goddesses, Rainbow, I think you killed him!”

“What? Nah, he’s–” Rainbow Dash paused for a moment; thankfully, his chest was still moving “–no, he’s definitely alive.”

A moment passed.

“Probably.”

Thankfully for Rarity, upon diving into the stores of the castle, she was able to pick out more than a few items of interest. While unfortunately the unenchanted regalia of the House of Mareanello-Manegila had been long since appropriated, a decent number of worthwhile items remained: a sort of steel-reinforced vest made of red velvet, which Rainbow Dash helpfully defined as a “brigandine;” a few weapons, the enchanted short-sword from earlier chief among them; and best of them all, a collection of mostly-intact bottles of somewhat mysterious but definitely boozy liquids.

Perhaps more importantly, her earlier fears about lacking a roof were unfounded. While many sections of the castle’s roof had indeed collapsed, a good number of both outer rooms and outlying buildings were fully watertight, including a cozy little chamber fitted out as a guest bedroom with a hearth and two rudimentary but clean hay-mattress beds that the two had retreated to after a light supper, it already being fairly late in an exhausting day.

Said hearth was presently roaring, courtesy of some freshly-cut firewood (by Rainbow Dash, who agreed with Rarity in deeming that a step too far in terms of feminine manipulation) and a judicious dose of horn-fire.

“Well!” proclaimed Rarity, backpedaling away from the fire and looking quite pleased with herself (and also quite bald; her wig having been safely stashed away with her things.) “I think that should do the trick! I’d wager neither of us should have to worry about freezing to death in the middle of the night.”

“Rarity, it’s summer,” deadpanned Rainbow Dash. “I think we would have been okay without a fire.”

Rarity turned her head around. “Would you like me to snuff it out?”

Rainbow Dash answered with silence.

“That’s what I thought,” said Rarity smugly. She turned back to the fire, touching her hoof to areas of the stone floor around the mouth of the fireplace.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for hot spots and–” she waved a forehoof in front of the fire “–the quality of the draft.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d prefer if we didn’t suffocate in our sleep,” explained Rarity. “We won’t, by the way, nor perish in an inferno; it should burn out in a few hours or so, and there’s nothing for the embers to land on nearby.”

“Your horn make you an expert on fire too?”

“No, my mother did.” Rarity fully turned away from the fire and began trotting towards her bed.

“What, she some kind of, like, fireplace enthusiast?”

“She was a fireplace enthusiast in the same way you and I are enthusiasts of breathing.” Rarity stopped at the side of the bed-frame, selecting one of the pilfered bottles. “It’s cold enough on a winter night up on the mountains to freeze your teeth out without a fire, and while our home in Ponyville was both equipped with furnace heating and distinctly not atop Clingmares Peak, she would be damned not to impress upon us the skills that kept her alive.” She pulled the cork out of the bottle with her teeth. “One of many such skills, actually. How to forage for pokeweed, how to cook pokeweed so one doesn’t die from it, the like.”

“Things that bad up there?”

“You wouldn’t believe it, Rainbow. In many ways, I think my exposure to it has actually rendered me somewhat more resistant to shock at the state of this place – not the acts of individual cruelty, mind you, but the general state of it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because at a very young age I came to realize that Good Mother Celestia’s pinions don’t quite make it over every pony.” She gave the bottle a swirl. “Albeit in not quite the same way, of course; here, we have an empowered group of blue-blooded reprobates, whereas there they never even made it to the point of having blue-bloods in the first place. As far as I can tell, some golden-helmed pegasus merely flew in one day, told the clans that they now owed fealty to the Great Lady in some place called Canterlot, then fucked off, never to return to all those, as my grandmother once put it before she died, ‘poor bastards up ‘ere on Shit Mountain.’” Rarity sighed, then offered the bottle to Rainbow Dash with an extended forehoof. “I digress; I’m being depressing. Want some?”

She was being awfully depressing, but it wasn’t like Rainbow Dash was going to tell her. “I don’t know. What is it?”

“Well, it–” she looked into the bottle “–it is clear.” A sniff, then a choked gasp. “And strong!” she squeaked.

“How strong?”

“I don’t know exactly, Rainbow. It’s not like they labeled the bottle, but, er, roughly, wait, hang on–” she dug through her belongings, pulling out her powder horn after a bit of rustling. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to try this!”

Rainbow Dash watched skeptically as Rarity uncapped the horn, pouring out a short line of black powder on the stone floor of the chamber before wetting it with the liquor in question. After a second or two to let it saturate, she bent down, igniting the tip of her horn and touching it to the trail of powder, which promptly went off with a puff of smoke; Rarity jumped back just in time to save her eyebrows, not having a lot of hair to lose, you see.

“Gah!” Rainbow Dash likewise retreated from the spectacle. “What was that, Rares?”

“That,” stated Rarity, looking absolutely chuffed, “is capital-p Proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“No, it’s proof of, er, Proof, like the number on the front of the bottle. It means it burns in powder, so, what, sixty percent or so?”

“Sixty?” Rainbow Dash shook her head, eyes wide. “Uh, nah, screw that! I’m not trying to go freaking blind.”

“Suit yourself.” Rarity shrugged, then lifted the bottle to her lips, throwing her head back and pulling a few quick gulps.

Rainbow Dash, eyes somehow even wider in alarm, gasped. “Oh, Celestia, how–”

Rarity put the bottle down, somehow not even flinching at the quantity of lighter fluid she just chugged as she replaced the cork. She turned her head to face her aghast friend. “What?”

Having been rendered momentarily unable to speak, Rainbow Dash gestured between Rarity and the bottle of rotgut while making befuddled squeaks.

Rarity got the gist of the gesticulations. “Look, I lost my earplugs somewhere in the kerfuffle earlier, and I would prefer to actually sleep tonight such that I may face the day tomorrow, so, in such desperate times, knocking myself out is an altogether not illogical solution.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be a barrel of sunshine tomorrow morning, too.”

“You’d be surprised, Rainbow; I spent much of our time at Cadence’s wedding painfully hungover, which is probably how I managed to put a back hoof through a changeling’s face. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see about that.” Rainbow Dash snorted semi-derisively. “I’m just going to go ahead and guess Future Rarity isn’t going to agree.” She paused. “What are we doing tomorrow anyway? Did we ever establish that?”

“Well, we didn’t, but I did. I figured I would just tell you as we did it.”

“Thanks for involving me,” Rainbow Dash deadpanned. “What is it, then?”

“Well, tomorrow morning I’m going to ask one Empty Ledger about who he believes the least despicable of the electorate is, then we shall travel to the city and seek an audience of some sort if only so we can actually figure out what we’d need to actually accomplish our task. Meanwhile, I’ll ask him – or, actually, I’ll have you ask him – to fulfill some tasks I need doing; mainly, securing two parcels from the griffon lands I’ve had shipped to the nearest Post office and delivering a list of requested garments to the nice tailor we met earlier we both will be needing.”

“Uh-huh.” Rainbow Dash didn’t sound particularly convinced. “Uh, Rares, I’m not sure that straight up walking into the house of one of these ponies is a great idea.”

“I’m sure it will be fine – I don’t think they will attack us in broad daylight or anything of that ilk, as surely law enforcement wouldn’t allow that, right?”

“I mean, I guess, but if they didn’t stop–” she shook her head “–never mind. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“We will.” Rarity shrugged. “I suppose if he says they’re all absolutely abhorrent we’ll have to think of an alternative, but surely at least one of them is a decent pony, no?”

Rainbow Dash didn’t look so sure.

“Well, anyway,” Rarity said with a yawn, slipping under the (fur, disturbingly) blanket. “I’m about to lose consciousness, so I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I guess so. ‘Night.” Rainbow Dash likewise placed herself, wings facing up and out of the blanket, in her bed, hay mattress rustling loudly as she squirmed.

A few minutes passed, every fifteen seconds of which were punctuated with the sounds of Rainbow Dash’s mattress creaking.

“Creator above, Rainbow!” exclaimed Rarity after a particularly loud bout. “Will you settle down? I’m trying to enjoy the ambiance of the fire over here!”

“Sorry! I’m just, uh, it’s just that–”

“Yes?”

“–It’s that I – oh, gods, this is embarrassing–” a sniff “–I, uh, kinda got used to, um, us, uh…”

“Us what, Rainbow? You got used to – oh!” Rarity exclaimed, already starting to laugh. “Oh Celestia, did you–”

“N-no!”

“You did! Ha!” Rarity started to baby-talk. “Did wittle sissy get used to cuddles with big sis and now she’s won-wee and can’t sweep?”

“No!” shouted back Rainbow Dash, supremely unconvincing.

A beat.

“…yeah,” corrected Rainbow Dash, defeated.

“Ugh!” protested Rarity non-seriously. “Well, I had been planning on enjoying my own bed, but I suppose I can make an exception. Come on then, Wainbow!”

“S-stop it with the baby-talk, weirdo!”

“Ah-ah-ah! You can’t have it both ways!”

Another grumble, then the sound of hoofsteps.

“That’s what I thought, wittle sis.”

Author's Note

Fellas, is it gay to cuddle with the homies? (obviously not).

Long chapter again. I promise next time we'll actually have some action, eh?

Yes, that's what proof is. Rum rations had to be high enough alcohol content that they would not keep gunpowder from burning, which was "proof" that it was strong enough - about 57% booze.

I am NOT Responsible for any Lead Poisoning Resulting from an Attempt at Experimental Confirmation.

Astonishingly, things had actually gotten off to a promising start.

Upon waking in the morning (and untangling themselves from each other), Rarity had followed through with her plan and asked the young steward of the castle who, if any in his assessment, was worth meeting out of the potential electorate. After a lengthy period of thought, he remarked the only noblepony he hadn’t heard anything terrible about, aside from something or somepony called a “bishop,” was a minor countess with a manor along the entryway to Marelan that the two would be taking – he hastened to add, however, that “not hearing anything terrible” should not be understood as “hearing good things.” Despite his lack of confidence, however, that was encouraging enough news to convince Rainbow Dash and Rarity that it was at least worth an attempt to meet with said Contessa di Cremaneia, even if Rainbow Dash in particular was skeptical about how things were going to go.

“Rainbow, I am not letting you wear a sword and armor to a social occasion!”

“Oh, come on!”

Nevertheless, after sending the lad out to fulfill the other tasks they needed doing, the two had set off, bright and early, towards the city. Rarity had been quite unhappy to learn that their destination was just barely inside the walls of the city, remarking, with no small irritation, that she was going to be arriving for a social function in a “fashion capitol” in dresses her grandmother would have worn, but the combined factors of seeing that the clothing in the city, at least this far away from the city center, was not entirely dissimilar to what she was wearing and the presence of her comital tiara that she had wisely decided to wear as evidence of her status had mostly assuaged her concerns.

However, where those concerns had faded, new ones arose. Upon arrival to the “manor” di Cremaneia, itself resembling a walled fortress far more than any mansion either one of them had ever seen, Rarity and Rainbow Dash had, after some deliberation, simply knocked on the door in order to request a meeting; if the shocked expression of the really quite young mare (a borderline foal, really) at the entryway had been any indication, this was more than a little unusual. After a moment where she retreated from the door, ostensibly to prepare a welcome but, the two suspected, really to discuss the event with her overlord, the now quite nervous mare had requested they follow her into the main hall. Rarity and Rainbow Dash, obviously not wanting to place themselves so far from public view, had protested, leading to their present position within a sort of corner tower outbuilding, a large stained glass window offering a view of the mostly-empty street outside through a kaleidoscope of abstract shapes.

There the two had sat at a small table, a measly platter of refreshments in front of them, for what had seemed like hours now.

Naturally, as one would expect, the conversation was of astonishingly high quality.

“How do they get the bubbles into the water?”

“How do they what?”

“The water. How do you think they get the bubbles into it?”

Rainbow Dash looked up from her Collins glass of effervescent water, befuddled. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Forgive me for making conversation, Rainbow.” She looked out the main window of the room; another smaller pane sat alongside the heavy entrance door set into the wall opposite the stained-glass. “I’m just trying to pass the time while our incredibly tardy host ‘prepares herself,’ or whatever the stewards said.”

Now, to their host’s credit, she was entertaining a visit from an ostensible societal equal completely unannounced, and as such some time to prepare oneself was not unexpected; nevertheless, time had begun to really drag on.

The refreshments helped.

“But, to answer your question, Rares; I don’t know. I think it just comes that way.”

“Comes that way?” Rarity cocked her head. “Comes from what? The ground?”

“The tap, I guess.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “That’s how it was in Cloudsdale, at least.”

Rarity froze. “The what?”

“The tap.” Rainbow Dash repeated. “You know, the faucet? In Cloudsdale you had two faucets, one for still water, one for sparkling.”

Rarity looked back in mouth-agape shock.

“What?”

“Rainbow,” Rarity stated, lead-heavy with disbelief. “Are you telling me that you grew up in a town where seltzer comes out of the faucet?”

“…Yeah? I guess. I mean, it was kinda nice, ‘cause it was really cold cause it comes from the cirrus clouds, so when I was all sweaty from flying around the summer I could just chug a – what?”

Rarity, leaning back in her chair, chuckled softly, eyes closed in mirth.

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Rares. What’s so funny?”

“Rainbow, you are never allowed to make fun of me for being fancy ever again.”

Rainbow Dash raised a hoof in retort. “What? No, hang on, that’s – that–” she lowered her hoof. “Okay, no, yeah, that’s pretty fair.”

Rarity took a breath to steady herself, then reached for the now well-discussed glass of water with a forehoof. “It’s not an insult, mind you, it’s just – shit!”

Rainbow Dash watched, with a wince, as Rarity knocked it over, forehoof clumsily grabbing for it.

“Oh, gods.” Rarity slumped into her chair, sighing in embarrassment. “And here I was almost having a pleasant time.”

“Still working on that, huh?”

“I’m getting there, I suppose, but…” Rarity trailed off, shaking her head. “It gives you a certain appreciation for Earth Ponies, let me tell you.”

“They’ve got something else going on, I think. It’s not fair.” Rainbow Dash gestured towards Rarity’s presently-hidden horn. “How’s the magic?”

“Weird.” Rarity turned the glass back onto its base. “It’s really weird, mostly. Feels sort of, ah, antsy, I suppose. And a little itchy.”

“Antsy?”

“Antsy.” Rarity reiterated. “Like’s somethings building up, like water behind a dam.”

“Antsy. Huh.” Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Is that what’s like when you’re a foal? Because unicorn foals have, uh, surges, right?”

“Not for me at least.” Rarity shook her head. “Unicorns with particularly powerful inherent magic get big surges – I’d wager ten bits Twilight maimed somepony as a foal – but I did not. I’ve always been something of an, er, magical weakling. I failed magical kindergarten–”

Rainbow Dash interrupted her, snorting a laugh. “Wait, magical kindergarten is real? I thought Twilight was always just joking!”

“Oh, it’s very real, Rainbow, even in the hinterland. How else would unicorn foals who caught just the right amount of throwback blood from their differently-gifted parents ever figure out how magic works?”

“I thought both of your parents were unicorns?”

“They are. For them it was just cheap daycare before I was school aged.” Rarity chuckled. “I digress; as I was saying, I failed magical kindergarten – well, really, I suppose the actual term is ‘was released due to inviability.’ They thought I was, as some would rudely put it, a dud.”

“That can happen?”

“Rarely.” Rarity nodded. “I don’t pretend to know what’s inside a horn, although I suppose I got a better look than just about anypony when my own was falling to pieces, but there’s something deeply complicated inside there that just every-once-in-a-while doesn’t come out quite right. And when that happens?” Rarity sucked in a breath through her teeth, shaking her head softly. “Il n’y a rien. Nothing.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash leaned back in her chair. “Kinda like Scoots back home.”

“Does she have the same problem?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Rainbow Dash shrugged, throwing out her wings from under the shawl. “I mean, look, there’s magic in your wings, and there’s wings in your wings, and she doesn’t have enough of either. She’s still young, so there’s a little hope, but, uh, I don’t see that changing any time soon.” She tucked her wings back under the shawl. “And every time I see her, I know that I should tell her that ‘uh, hey, kid, I know you like these flight lessons and whatever, but there is a very big chance you are never going to reach a cloud under your own power,’ but I – I just don’t want to. She doesn’t have anything else, just nothing else but me, and I don’t know if I can take that away.”

The two mares sat in silence for a moment after that, visibly deflated.

“Well that was a fucking bummer of a sentence to end on. My bad.” Rainbow Dash chuckled darkly before one again pointing to Rarity’s horn. “Anyway, I’m guessing you aren’t actually a, uh, dud, right?”

“No, I am not.” Rarity shook her head, glad to be off that most depressing business. “I am not a powerhouse of magic or anything, but I do manage to squeak into the ‘normal’ category at the doctor’s when I get a physical, even if only just. I’m no Twilight Sparkle, or even a Lyra Heartstrings, that bitch, but it is sufficient, even if I’ve never been able to cast anything more complicated than a modified “Finders-Keepers” spell I use to find shiny rocks, which, incidentally, is what put those upon my buttocks.”

“Well, nothing more complicated until all the fire, I guess.” Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow, amused. “Also, ‘that bitch?’”

“That puke-green skank owes me nine-hundred fucking bits for a dress she ‘accidentally–’” Rarity made quotation marks in the air with her hooves “–wore out of my store while I was performing my ablutions.”

“Dang, that is scummy.” Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “Want me to remind you to shoot her in the knees when we get back?”

“Rainbow!” Rarity clutched a forehoof to her breast in hurt. “How dare you suggest something so cruel?”

Defensive, Rainbow Dash held up her hooves. “Aw, come on, Rares, I was just–”

“The knees? How barbarous.” Rarity scoffed. “I’ll go straight for the heart. I can hardly think of a more fitting end for one Miss Heartstrings, no?”

Rainbow Dash paused mid apology, locking eyes with Rarity before the two of them broke into wide smiles, snickering.

“I suppose that wouldn’t help our already dubious impression with the locals of Ponyville, would it?” Rarity asked, wiping her brow with a forehoof as her giggles faded away.

“I think shooting a mare in the middle of the street wouldn’t even, like, crack the top five of ‘worst things those six crazy mares have done to us,’ but it might just edge out the ‘chaos god turned my house into ice cream’ complaints.”

“Fair point.” Rarity leaned forward in her chair, eyeing the pitcher of water. “Well, to bring us back to the original topic at hoof, I am actually quite thirsty, and, in absence of better options, I am going to chug directly from the pitcher in a most inelegant manner.” Rarity gestured towards the door. “Would you mind keeping a lookout? I would hate to be interrupted by our host while I do something so crass.”

Rainbow Dash, usually one to argue against Rarity’s various neuroses about social etiquette, did not, as she agreed that, yeah, chugging out of a pitcher was pretty crass. She hopped out of her chair, trotting over to the door of the room such that she could observe for the approach of their host.

Now, Rainbow Dash, despite occasional appearances, wasn’t a dumb pony. She wasn’t a brilliant pony; she had met brilliant ponies, one of whose names rhymed with “Brilight Farkle,” and she would freely admit that they had her by a good bit when it came to sheer brain power, but she wasn’t a dumb pony. In fact, ponies who spent a lot of time around her would eventually come to admit, sometimes begrudgingly, that, despite her apparent inability to calculate risk, Rainbow Dash was actually a very perceptive and quick pony, even if that perception was occasionally focused on everything but what it should be focused on. But that scattershot approach to perception was occasionally extremely useful; this instance was looking to be one of those cases, because Rainbow Dash had noticed something odd about the room they were in.

Again, Rainbow Dash wasn’t a dumb pony, but she did know some things about doors. For example, doors that opened inwards, as this one did, sometimes had bolts to lock them in place. This door did indeed have a bolt, but, curiously, the receptacle for the bolt had been removed, rendering it useless.

Now that was a puzzling one. Thoroughly intrigued, Rainbow Dash examined the handle on the door. It was as simple as it could be, just a loop of twisted wrought iron bolted to the heavy oak boards that made up the door; she was forced to admit it did have a sort of rustic charm. She also noted that it, however, did not include any kind of internal latch to hold the door closed; thus, there should be nothing holding the door shut.

And yet, the door was shut.

Curious, Rainbow Dash gave the handle a cursory tug.

Authoritatively, “Clunk.”

The door had moved towards her about a quarter-hoof width before something smacked into the stonework door-frame on the other side of the wall, which answered the question about what was holding the door shut. It also meant that the door was locked from the outside.

Huh. Now that was something to think about.

Starting to worry, Rainbow Dash inspected the small window set next to the door. It would have been at about head height on most ponies, but, as she was on the shorter side, the bottom sill ended at the approximate bottom of her jaw. A glance at every corner confirmed her suspicion – the panes of glass were fixed into the wall, not set into a movable pane.

Which, she began to realize in horror, meant there was, if the pane on the opposite wall was the same way, no way of egress from this room.

Rainbow Dash, wings shuffling in alarm, began to back away from the door. “Hey, Rares?”

Rarity was also occupied. Having finished (and really truly finished, a herculean chug, really) the pitcher of water and placed it back onto the table, Rarity, or, really, her immense appetite, had focused on the orange in a small dish on the middle of the table. It was a good looking fruit, nice and round, free of blemishes, and with a vibrant shade of orange. Rarity quite liked a good orange, both because of their health benefits (scurvy did not befit a pretty mare) and because they, rather simply, tasted nice.

Oh, but how to open it with these useless hooves? No knife had been provided, and while she supposed she could bite into the rind and fling it away like wolves diving into a fresh kill, that would seem rather barbaric –

Oh, hang on, speaking of barbaric, could she – no, not with her her horn-tip having been so recently mangled during her medical treatment, it would be far too dull. Rarity, you see, had the peculiar and uncommon (albeit somewhat less so than one might think) guilty pleasure of, when alone, spearing citrus fruits with her horn. There was something about it, something with the resistance and texture that combined with the particular barbarity of it to make for a decidedly spine-tinglingly delicious basal thrill that called back to some deep blood-memory inside a select few unicorns, something wild and –

“Rarity!”

“Ah!” Rarity flung herself away from the table, looking right and left. Had somepony somehow heard her deviant thoughts?

“Rarity!” repeated Rainbow Dash, considerable worry cut with in small part by the hilarity of watching her friend bust her ass falling out of her chair. “Rarity, are you okay? You’ve been staring at an orange for, like, a minute.”

“Fine, fine!” replied Rarity in a still slightly-panicked sing-song voice, moving her chair back to the table. “Just thinking about nutrition, that’s all!”

“… Uh-huh.” Rainbow Dash, skeptical, continued nonetheless. “Well, I think I noticed something kinda, uh, bad.”

“What’s that?” Rarity had, after a little bit of fumbling, hefted the orange, inspecting it in the light.

“Well, it’s, uh, that there isn’t a way out of here.” Rainbow Dash, absentmindedly removing the cover from her wings, used them to point out things around the room. “Because the window by the door doesn’t open, and I’m pretty sure that–” she pointed to the other window in the room “–one is fixed too, and the, uh, door is locked.” A gulp. “From the outside.”

Rarity, without lowering her prize, replied, brows creased with concern. “Which means that we are…”

“Trapped.” Rainbow Dash nodded. “And that us insisting on the outside building because we wanted to make sure we could get out wasn’t really, uh, effective.”

“…Right.” Rarity looked around, now clearly truly worried. “Perhaps it’s just unfortunate optics? If it’s some kind of ambush, I should think they would have merely waylaid us at–”

“CRASH!”

Rainbow Dash and Rarity ducked their heads, ears flattening from the noise of breaking glass pounding through the room. Each mare looked a different direction; Rainbow Dash looked up at the window, noticing that only a single pane had been broken, not the whole thing; Rarity, meanwhile, looked back to the fruit in her hoof, noting, to her confusion, that it wasn’t in her hoof. She looked to the opposite side of the room from the now ventilated window, where she found her orange pinned to the curtains.

With a crossbow bolt, now dripping in citrusy gore.

“O-oh shit.” Rarity fell backwards out of her chair, scooting back along the floor, dress catching on the gaps in the stones. “We’re–”

“Yeah!” Rainbow Dash likewise ducked to the floor, pulling herself against the wall below the window. “We are!”

Rarity, after a shaky breath to steady herself, nodded, looking left and right for something to hide behind. “R-right. Guess that settles that.”

“Oh come on, really?” Rainbow Dash yelled out of the window, more to make herself feel better than anything else. “You invite us in, then try and kill us?”

“Hardly sporting.” Rarity mused, looking at the increasingly perforated window again just in time to watch an indeterminate spell of some kind explode against the glass, once again sending pieces over the mare taking cover against the wall underneath it. “Get away from there before you get your head cut off!”

Rainbow Dash, not one to argue with such obvious evidence, nodded, throwing herself against the wall on the opposite side of the door. She turned her head, a drop or two of blood already running from a nick on her snout, to Rarity, keeping a hoof against the door in case of an attempted entry. “You’re looking calmer than I thought you would, Rares!”

“Not my first time stuck somewhere with no way out but into the jaws of death, actually.” Rarity replied, scooting herself under the table in the middle of the room. “But let’s not focus on the whole ‘dying’ thing until we’re dead. Any ideas?”

“Fuck if I know!” Rainbow Dash ducked again as something else smashed into the window, this time not making it into the room. “’Cause I don’t like our odds going out the way we came in, and I don’t see any way to get out through the big-ass window on the other side of the room either.”

Rarity didn’t respond, looking around the posts under the table, inspecting the window in question. Indeed, there wasn’t any obvious way it was going away – the little glass panes were quite firmly set into the dull, lusterless metal crossbars that ran from wall to wall, with no obvious way to – no, hang on a second–

With a start, Rarity sprung out from under the table, rearing back as she exited and delivering a firm Applejack-esque kick which swiftly toppled it onto its side as she called out to Rainbow Dash. “Rainbow! I think I’ve got us a way out!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” Rarity threw herself against one end of the now turned-over furniture, attempting to rotate it so that the broad side sat facing the door for use as cover; it scooted a little bit, but her mass was insufficient to really spin it. “But I need you to help me move this first!”

Rainbow Dash, after a moment to ensure no new volleys of bolts seemed to be coming through the window, flung herself behind the table with one powerful flap of her wings, skidding to a halt beside Rarity. “And how are you going to do that with a table, exactly?”

“Less questions, more pushing!” Rarity pushed herself against the table, already lightly panting from effort. “On three?”

Rainbow Dash nodded, likewise positioning herself to heave against the furniture; as Rarity reached zero, both, with wings and hooves in Rainbow Dash’s case, heaved mightily, successfully spinning the heavy oak table to a horizontal position.

“What was that for anyway?”

As a finer answer than Rarity could ever provide, two bolts thudded themselves into the top of the table.

“That.” Rarity gestured towards the impacts with her head. “I’ll need some time to get through the window, and I’d prefer not to die from an arrow to the spine whilst I do so.”

“… Get through?” The sheer casualness of Rarity’s statement about apparently “getting through” a sealed window had managed to temporarily shock Rainbow Dash out of her agitated state, wings ceasing to rustle. “What do you mean get through?”

“I mean get through, and I have more important things to do than explain how when you’ll see in only a moment.” Rarity reached up with a forehoof and inelegantly removed her wig and tiara, exposing her horn, then pointed to the window. “Now, go lick one of the crossbars and tell me what it tastes like, please?”

Rainbow Dash looked back in abject confusion.

“What?” Rarity demanded. “Did you not hear me?”

“Uh,” Rainbow Dash started, not having moved. “A-are you, like, making a joke, or–”

Another spell flew at the window, this time passing through an open portion of the panes and slamming into the table with a distinct “WHUMP” and smell of burnt lacquer. Both mares dropped to the ground.

After a moment to ensure no other spells were immediately coming in, Rarity stood back up to full height, eyes furious and horn sparking. “No, I am not making a joke! Do you really think I’d be making a fucking joke right now?”

“It sure sounds like it!” shot back Rainbow Dash even as she prepared to bolt over to the window. She flapped her wings, shooting over to the window before, much to her still-present confusion, licking one of the crossbars.

“Well?” asked Rarity.

Rainbow Dash smacked her lips a few times. “Well, it’s, uh, mostly just dusty, but I guess it’s kinda … sweet, maybe?”

“Perfect.” Rarity, looking immensely pleased, dropped into a crouch, bracing herself against the table. “Now please fuck off from my side of this room and put yourself back by the door such that we aren’t killed via a sword to the belly, because I have work to do.”

“Which is?” Rainbow Dash had already begun to run over to the door; she may not have been convinced by Rarity’s plan, whatever it was, but she was convinced of the necessity to keep herself from being stabbed.

“That sweet stuff keeping the glass in is lead, Rainbow Dash.” Rarity chuckled darkly. “And while I can’t melt glass, I can meltlead.”

With a stomp of a back hoof and a guttural cry, Rarity’s horn sparked to life, shooting out a focused stream of blue fire to a good six hoof-widths in front of her face. Unfortunately, Rarity was about four times that distance from the window, so that wasn’t going to quite cut it.

“You’re going to burn our way out of here?” Rainbow Dash looked up at the ceiling high above – long, dark timbers. “With a wooden roof?”

“We’re either going to be out of here or dead by the time the ceiling catches, Rainbow. Either way, it’s not our problem.”

“Guess so.” Rainbow Dash once again ducked against the wall by the door. “And since when do you know what lead melts at?”

“Since I started making balls and shot in my basement.” Rarity eyed the rather diminutive spout of flame currently spewing forth from her horn disapprovingly. She knew she could make more fire than this; she had on accident while strapped to a tree. “Although right now I’m not sure I’ve quite got the chutzpah to get through; I seem to be coming up a little short.”

“Well, uh, don’t?” Rainbow Dash said. “I’d prefer not to die in here, Rares!”

Rarity snorted in derision. “Yes, well, very helpful Rainbow, but I’m trying my–” oh, hang on. Rarity suddenly, in conjunction with her minor outburst of anger, noticed that the flame coming from her face had grown ever so slightly bigger. “–that’s it!” Rarity exclaimed gleefully. “Rainbow, say something that will make me furious!”

“What?”

“Do it!”

“Well, uh, like…” Rainbow Dash thought for a moment, trying to figure out the right combination of elements in this verbal cocktail to really get Rarity running. “Uh, Sweetie Belle will grow up to be way prettier than you! Just, like, a way better mane!”

“Nope, that one wasn’t it, sorry.” Rarity gave a few chuckles despite the severity of their situation, just barely audible over the sound of fire. “Poor girl will need the looks, really, not a lot else going for her.”

“Okay, uh,” Rainbow Dash chewed on her cheek for a second. “Oh! Even before she got wings and everything, Twilight always had a nicer horn than you! Just pointier, and nicer, and, like, better?”

“Factually correct, so not frustrating. Dud, remember?”

“Damn, uh, like – oh!” Rainbow Dash lit up. “I get all my tailoring done at Sofas and Quills!”

“fwww-WOOOOSH!”

That one did it.

“You WHAT?” roared Rarity, barely audible over the other roar she was producing: the flame had about doubled in size.

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” yelled back Rainbow Dash, squeezing herself against the wall as best she could to hide from the intense heat.

“You’d BETTER be, you – oooooooooohhhhhh…” Rarity moaned loudly: that nebulous “antsy” feeling of pressure in her head was rapidly fading, like stretching out an awful cramp. “…yeah.”

“Is that a, uh, good moan Rarity?” Rainbow Dash craned her head up, trying to see over the table at the veritable jet engine on the other side. “Or are you, like, dying?”

“Oh, it’s very good.” Rarity cackled, metaphorically feeling around in her head for whatever metaphorical carburetor she had just metaphorically figured out how to relax. “Especially if I can just–”

She apparently could ”just,” as the spout of flame once again redoubled in size, flaring forcefully against the window.

“…Holy…” Rainbow Dash stammered out, barely audible over the sound of the inferno and the crazed ramblings of the inferno’s producer. She, after another glance at the prodigious flames, shook her head, clearing her thoughts for the task at hoof; keeping the door closed. It was right on time, too; just as she splayed a forehoof across the door, she could hear something, probably the unseen crossbar, scraping open outside.

Unfortunately for Rainbow Dash, a combination of her years of aerobatic exercise and her naturally small stature had rendered her a particularly light mare, and even though she had almost immediately thrown herself against the door, hind legs braced against the floor, it continued to creep open, quickly reaching enough space for a mahogany-red foreleg to just poke through the gap. Rainbow Dash, suddenly wishing she had been a little less joking about bringing some kind of weapon, chose her next best option: throwing her head over to the corner of the door and biting as hard as she could. She was rewarded with a mare’s yell, then a series of unintelligible swears; the move had put Rainbow Dash off balance, however, and the she tumbled to the floor, letting the door open and revealing the mare, a slightly stumpy Earth Pony, now with a knife in her teeth and clutching at her forehoof.

Both mares scrambled to their hooves; the one outside rushing to enter the room, Rainbow Dash to get behind the now mostly-open door; having learned her lesson from before, Rainbow Dash didn’t bother to try and push the door closed against the intruder, instead lining up for a double-hoofed back-kick. As soon as the mare’s head entered the room, eyes wide in alarm as she caught sight of the enormous spout of fire currently taking up the middle of it, Rainbow Dash did her best impression of Applejack, slamming her back hooves out from under the back of her dress and into the boards and launching the door into the mare. The edge of the door caught her right in the front of the head, sending her slumping to the ground, muzzle twisted at an awful angle and knife clattering to the floor.

“Yeah, take that, you–” Rainbow Dash’s eyes lingered heavily over the mare prostrate on the floor, her snarky, triumphant quip that had been rising previously in her throat replaced with rising bile instead. Not trusting her mouth to be open, she put a back hoof on the mare’s head and, ignoring the horrible feeling of things moving underneath in a way they shouldn’t, pushed her out of the doorway, closing the door behind her.

No sooner had she pushed the door to than her front hoof slipped; only with a quick flap of the wings was she able to keep herself from tumbling. A quick glance down to check what it was she slipped in confirmed the worst: a crimson skid across the floor, her fetlocks stained in sympathy. Rainbow Dash promptly added to the mess on the floor by losing her previous battle, upchucking her meager breakfast.

Rarity, hearing the action behind her, inquired without turning around or ceasing her infernal assault. “Rainbow? Are you okay?”

“… I guess,” responded Rainbow Dash after a spit, placing herself back behind the door and picking up the dropped knife in her left wing. “But you’ve really got to hurry, Ra–”

She didn’t get a chance to finish; as the door behind her flung open with enough force to launch her ass-over-head into the front of the table, slamming into the flat top fully splayed and upside down, only narrowly avoiding the shafts of the bolts stuck into the piece of furniture. Opening her eyes revealed a trio of mean-looking ponies in the door’s threshold; two Earth Ponies, each armed with heavy shoes, and one unicorn, horn already crackling with a spell.

Frantic, Rainbow Dash cried out. “R-RARITY!”

“Keep low!” Rarity, having heard the impact and quite easily figuring out where Rainbow Dash was, wheeled around, never dousing her flame. She didn’t really know what she should be aiming at, but the screams as she gave one final burst of white-hot fire meant that she probably hit something important.

Rainbow Dash, not one to to waste a good opportunity, ducked around the side of the table, skidding to a halt beside Rarity just as she finally extinguished. Rarity, as one would probably expect from a mare who just spent the last minute and a half on fire, was positively drenched in sweat, dress visibly damp even through its layers and droplets falling from her chin.

“Did –wheeze – I get them?” asked Rarity, ducking behind the table, panting heavily.

Rainbow Dash popped her head over the table, spotting nothing but the now-scorched and smoldering remnants of the door; satisfied, she nodded, likewise ducking back down. “I’d say you did.”

“Right.” Rarity shivered. ”Rather glad I didn’t see that, really.” She turned around, surveying the results of her efforts with wide eyes. “Oh my, I guess I could get through after all!”

Rainbow Dash turned towards the window too, spotting the damage and whistling. “You sure did a number on the window, huh?”

She had; the window had been reduced to warped pieces of glass and puddles of red-hot molten lead, the surrounding stonework scorched black.

Rainbow Dash continued. “You good after that?”

“I need a cigarette or six, but I’m pretty damn swell, actually.” Rarity pointed up at the ceiling, timbers starting to catch and drop embers, then stood up, dropping into a sprinter’s crouch. “But I don’t think we have time to admire. Ready to go?”

Rainbow Dash nodded. “After you.”

Rarity took a deep breath, then, after a sheepish pause to re-don her wig and tiara, launched forwards, bounding on great steps before jumping through the former site of the window, dress billowing in the wind as she disappeared from view, landing with an audible “clack” of hooves after what sounded like a pony-length drop.

After a moment for Rarity to clear the landing zone, Rainbow Dash spread her wings, flaring her feathers in preparation to launch, then one step, two steps, and out–

Unfortunately for Rainbow Dash, one of the intrepid crossbow wielding ponies had fired his bolt through the open door, wisely having decided to loose his bolt once the enormous tongues of fire pouring from the room ceased. Had Rainbow Dash left mere seconds earlier or later, the bolt would have sailed overhead harmlessly; had his aim been just slightly lower or higher, it would have embedded into the table or bounced off the wall-stones.

It was, in all aspects, a one in a million shot – but the Bearers had prevailed against those kind of odds before, and the world had a way of balancing these things out.

Instead, it found its target just as she caught air through the window, carving a path through her dress and her right haunch underneath before flying on into the meat of the respective wing, embedding within and stopping the appendage’s up-stroke.

All she could do was gasp as she rolled to the left, landing heavily on her other, outstretched, wing as she skidded across the pavement.

Author's Note

Snarking! Suffering! Seltzer! All in all, a pretty typical chapter.

Some lead compounds actually are really sweet - that's why toddlers would eat the paint chips. I don't know if licking the framing of a leaded window would taste sweet too, but I don't really think I'd like to find out either.

"Come With Me / And You'll Be / In a World Of Swift Exsanguination..."

"Come With Me / And You'll Be / In a World Of Swift Exsanguination..."

Panting, Rarity body-checked the enormous door shut, backing away as it clattered to a stop.

“Do you think we made it?”

Behind, Rainbow Dash swore in pain, doing her best to not struggle as her back right leg shook, wings hanging limply from her now-thoroughly ruined dress. Limp wings on a pegasus were immensely disquieting; like a rabid animal stumbling around in delirium, they exuded a horribly unpleasant sense of wrongness that sent shivers down even a unicorn’s spine – wrongness enhanced by the rapidly growing blood stain spreading down Rainbow Dash’s left wing.

The rapidity of that bleed contributed greatly to Rarity’s shivers. They hadn’t tarried in the slightest escaping from the now-thoroughly burning tower, and, except for a few glances back as Rarity half-carried and half-helped Rainbow Dash hobble down the street to make sure they weren’t being followed, they had made as quick of a clip as they could, going across a dozen or so cross-streets before diving into an odd, spire-topped, and enormous building. Thus, that her wing was now at least halfway saturated (not to mention her apparently likewise-wounded haunch, which had soaked through a basketball-sized area) meant that something deeply, deeply bad had happened.

Deeper into the foyer, Rainbow Dash staggered to a halt against a wall, panting in effort. “Well, uh, if you mean ‘we didn’t get shot again’ then, yeah, I guess we made it.”

Rarity had begun stammering out desperate apologies even before she had fully turned around. “Oh, goddess Rainbow, I-I didn’t mean for it to all go–”

Rainbow Dash abruptly cut her off. “No, there’s, uh–” an absentminded rustle of the wing brought another wince, then a grimaced glance towards her wounded side “– oh damn, they got me pretty good huh?” She shook her head. “But, uh, there’s no reason to apologize yet.” She smiled weakly. “Just gotta think positive, right?”

Rarity reeled back, incredulous. “… Positive?” She shook her head. “Rainbow, forgive me if I demur, but I will freely admit that I have a very hard time seeing the positive of this situation.”

Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “I mean, they could have hit me a hoof-width to the left. That would have been worse.”

“Oh.” A moment of thought. “Oh!” Rarity flattened her ears sheepishly. “Right, I suppose that would have been worse.”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt as much,” Rainbow Dash chuckled darkly. “But, uh, not ‘positive’ like that. More, like, action-oriented. We’ve gotta focus on fixing the now before we think about what was.” She gave a come-hither wave with a forehoof, wobbling dangerously as she did so. “So get over here so we can get started, Rarity,” she ordered, suddenly rather more businesslike.

With a gulp, Rarity trotted over as swiftly as she dared. She could see a short wooden shaft protruding from the bottom of the wing now that she was closer, complete with a set of vanes and a leaky faucet of bright blood. She forced her eyes away from the gruesome sight, shifting them to Rainbow Dash’s face. “R-right. Where do we start?”

“Bolt has to come out,” stated Rainbow Dash matter of factly as she nodded, likely more to convince herself of her own psychology than anything. “Can’t stop the bleeding unless it comes out. Can you see if it has gone all the way through?”

Rarity gave the top of the wing a glance. Sure enough, the tip of the arrowhead was about halfway exposed among the ruined feathers. She nodded.

Rainbow Dash gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Celestia.”

Rarity, averting her eyes from the grisly scene, once again looked Rainbow Dash in the eyes, eyebrow raised. “An arrow going through your wing is a good thing?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash nodded. “Otherwise it has to, uh, come out the way it came in.”

“As opposed to?”

“Going through.” Rainbow Dash carefully rolled her wing over, then pulled it towards her face, apparently intending to pull out the bolt with her teeth. She only got about halfway before wincing in pain, jerking her wing away. “Nope! N-no, can’t reach that.”

“Can’t reach?”

“I can’t get the top of my wing that far forward with a bolt in it, which means I can’t pull it out.” Rainbow Dash shot Rarity a look. “Which means I need you to do it.”

“Me?” Rarity backed away a step or two. “I – I don’t know anything about medicine! Goodness, Rainbow, I’m more liable to hurt you than–”

“Yeah, you don’t. But I do.” Rainbow Dash cut her off. “Look, Rares, first thing they teach stunt fliers is to keep flying when you fuck up. Second thing they teach you is how to not die when you can’t.” She shook her head. “So in the interest of not dying, I’m going to teach you too. It’s not hard, Rares. Just grab it with your teeth and pull straight up.”

Rarity shook her head vigorously, blanching at the prospect of grabbing the thoroughly blood-soaked bolt with her mouth. “No, gods, Rainbow, absolutely not! I – I’d kill you trying to–”

“I’ll die if you don’t, Rarity. No bullshit, no jokes, nothing; I’ll fucking die, okay?” Rainbow Dash snapped with understandable if uncharacteristic severity, stamping a forehoof in frustration. “Look, Rares, I've been doing a pretty great job of being my usual cool-ass ‘nothing scares me I’m The Dash’ thing, but to be totally honest I am in an absolutely incredible amount of pain right now and I’m about twenty seconds away from fucking collapsing into a pile.” Rainbow Dash gave a firm gesture with her other wing, itself obviously wounded as well. “So get over here already.”

Rarity merely continued to continue to look on, eyes lingering hard over the wing, frozen in shock.

“Well?” asked Rainbow Dash, justifiably impatient.

“Oh, er–” with a shaky nod, Rarity began to walk over. “Right, sorry.” She took a deep breath, more to calm herself than anything else. “What should I do first?”

“Finally.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes, huffing. “Take your dress off.”

Rarity gave a few slow blinks; she hadn’t been expecting that.“…and why are you asking me to–”

“Because if you don’t it’s going to get ruined, and I’d hate to get both of ours destroyed on the same day.”

“Is that really important right now?”

“To me? Not really. If it were two of me, I’d be happy to destroy them both.” Rainbow Dash pointed with a back hoof. “But I know it is to you, because if you don’t, you’ll be thinking about the whole time, and if you’re thinking about it, you’ll screw something important up.” A very light smirk; injury couldn’t keep all her wit down. “So strip, babe, and ditch the wig too.”

Rarity thought about it for a moment, but didn’t really need much convincing – preservation of clothing was her default position, after all. She reached her head down, conveniently sending her hairpiece and tiara to the floor before grabbing a loose lace-end with her teeth and pulling out the knot across her breast, then threw her head up as she started to shimmy her way out from all of the fabric. “I would like to state for the record, Rainbow, that such a crass request wouldn’t work normally: generally speaking, it takes more than that to get me out of my hypothetical clothes,” Rarity joked with a snort, surprised by Rainbow Dash’s apparent ability to make jokes in light of serious injury and very much grateful for a bit of levity.

“Right, right.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Can’t forget the four bit bottle of wine.”

“Four-bit wine and a single wilted rose hurriedly stolen from Roseluck’s garden, Rainbow. One mustn't forget the flowers,” Rarity chuckled. She stepped out of her dress, fur unpleasantly matted from sweat-lines. “Now, would you like some assistance as well? I should think it is far too late for your dress, but it might make you more comfortable.”

“I, uh, don’t know if I can get out.”

“Because of your haunch?”

Shaking her head, Rainbow Dash gestured to the presently perforated wing. “That … probably wouldn’t be a problem, and I could definitely get the left one out; I think it’s just sprained, maybe a little fracture at the tip from the roll. But I can’t exactly slip the other one through the wing-hole, because, y’know, there’s an arrow through it.” A snort. “I know you failed geometry and all, but cylinders usually go through holes better the long way round.”

“Oh, come now, Rainbow; I should think that if I found myself undressing for wilted flowers on a daily basis I would be well aware of the correct arrangement of cylinders and holes, as it were.” Rarity chuckled. “You need to keep your insults consistent, Rainbow.” Shaking her head, she thought for a moment, then lit up with an idea. “Oh! Doesn’t yours button together?”

“I guess so, but I don’t really think we have time for unbuttoning every single little button, Rares.”

“Who said anything about unbuttoning?” Rarity bounded over, placing a forehoof on Rainbow Dash’s back just above the seam in the dress. “Let’s just hope she didn’t use fishing line to sew the buttons on. Ready?”

Rainbow Dash, in lieu of responding, braced her good legs solidly against the creases of the stones of the floor.

Rarity, satisfied with that response, grabbed the dress with her teeth and gave a mighty tug; sure enough, she felt a button let go. Rainbow Dash gasped, the sensation jostling her wounds rather more painfully than she expected. Rarity let go of the dress in her teeth, worried. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“Not really,” Rainbow Dash lied, it hurting quite a lot. “Just, uh, get it over with, uh, please.”

Nodding, Rarity took the dress into her mouth, then, with a few more solid yanks, each punctuated with a whimper, liberated the skirt from the bodice. With another, gentler, pull, the skirt slid down Rainbow Dash’s body, sticking along her right side before eventually crumpling to the floor around her ankles.

Rainbow Dash took a shaky step forward, carefully removing herself from the heap of fabric. She turned her head around to snark at Rarity. “Jeez, Rares, I thought you’d have a little more mercy for the sewing–”

Rainbow Dash stopped mid sentence, eyes lingering hard on her haunch. With the dress removed, the extent of her previously hidden injury was readily apparent; an ugly but, mercifully, not particularly deep gash right across her mark.

Rarity followed Rainbow Dash’s eyes down her body, joining her in looking at the wound. She let out an involuntary gasp – the injury wasn’t really that bad, but the sight of a besmirched mark was deeply unsettling; it ran roughshod into some kind of innate sense of the self for ponykind, some kind of deep magic far more complicated than Rarity was capable of understanding, or, more accurately, knew to even attempt to understand. Whatever the case, she quickly averted her eyes to try and quell the rising sense of panic, panic which, she noted, was despite it not even being on her own flank.

She couldn’t even imagine how Rainbow Dash felt.

With a hard swallow, Rainbow Dash turned her head back towards her front, focusing on something in the distance; anything, nothing, probably.

“Oh, Rainbow, it’s–” Rarity bit her lip, trying to think of an appropriate thing to comfort her friend with “It will grow back, Rainbow. They always do.”

“Yeah, I know.” That was true; marks had a way of always reappearing even if the surrounding coat scarred. “But it’s still just…” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “I’ll think about it later. We’ll think about it later.” She lifted her right wing. “But right now we need to get this arrow out, or I’m going to be in real trouble.”

“Right, of course.” Rarity hurriedly agreed, gesturing at the bolt. “I suppose we’ll have plenty of time to discuss this once I’ve yanked–”

“No-no!” Rainbow Dash stutteringly corrected, a wince of pain shooting through her. “No, Rares, please don’t yank on anything, okay?”

Rarity corrected herself.“…gently remove?”

Rainbow Dash nodded, then turned her head back forward, finding a nice section of the wall to stare at to try and distract herself. “Gently remove. Just grab the end gently and gently pull straight up, okay? And if you – whoa!”

Rainbow Dash swung her head around to figure out what enormously heavy thing had just lain across her back, only to find its path impeded by rather substantial wall of white hair. “Uh, Rares?”

“S-sorry, Rainbow, but I’m afraid this is the only way I’m going to to be able to do this,” answered Rarity from atop Rainbow Dash’s back. “I’ll need to hold your wing in place, and I’ll need two hooves to–”

“No, yeah, do what you gotta do. It’s fine.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Just, uh, keep the weight off the bad leg.”

Rarity shuffled around to get more of herself across Rainbow Dash’s withers. “I, er, didn’t mean to shock you.”

“No big deal, just, uh–” Rainbow Dash let out a few chuckles in spite of the situation. “Well, I usually try and at least get a few drinks out of them before they get to the full mount.”

Rarity snorted a laugh. “But of course, Rainbow.” She positioned herself outstretched across Rainbow Dash’s body, grasping her wing in between her forelegs and holding it outstretched. “If it’s any comfort, I’ll make sure to throw in an ear nibble to make it seem like I really care.”

“Oh, wow. What a gentlestallion.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “That always does it.”

“An expert’s move to be sure. No mare could conceivably resist, really.”

The last few chuckles died away.

“Right. Suppose that’s that then,” said Rarity, once again deathly somber. “All out of jokes, with naught but the prospect of pulling an arrow out of my friend’s wing ahead of me.” She took a deep breath to steel herself, drawing closer to the protruding bolt. “Just, er, let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?”

“Rarity, you’re pulling a crossbow bolt out of my wing. Everything about this is going to hurt.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Rarity positioned her mouth above the arrowhead. “Ready?”

A beat. “Y-yeah. Yeah, go for it.”

Spurred on, Rarity took hold of the bolt’s head in her teeth, drawing a whimper from Rainbow Dash, then, with a foreleg on either side of the wounded wing, began to pull upwards. Mercifully, it moved upwards without too much effort.

“Yeah, n-not too bad,” Rainbow Dash stammered out through clenched teeth, shifting her forelegs as she stared hard ahead. “Little faster, I guess.”

Rarity, without thinking, nodded a reply, making it through a full movement up and down before realizing her mistake.

“HOLY-” Rainbow Dash choked out “–FUCK NO DON’T – don’t do that!”

Rarity, wisely holding her reply until she had finished the task at hoof, merely resumed dragging out the bolt, going an agonizing inch of crimson-stained wood at a time. With a final choked whine, the vanes cleared the wound, dripping on the previously un-besmirched bits of wing as Rarity pulled it skywards before chucking it to a clattering halt on the stone floor a few paces away.

“You – you get all of it?” asked Rainbow Dash, panting.

“I did,” stated Rarity, smacking her lips to clear the taste of blood. “Unless there is another one in there, I believe you are presently unperforated.”

“…Cool,” said Rainbow Dash, which, as seemingly mundane as it was, was fair enough a perfectly acceptable response to a situation she had never thought about before. “Lemme just take a look at my wing now that I can bring it around.”

“Be careful, Rainbow,” Rarity warned as she unmounted from her friend. “I fear you have started leaking at an–”

Not heeding Rarity’s warning, Rainbow Dash flung her wing around to her front, inadvertently splattering Rarity with a fresh line of crimson across her face. “I don’t know if it actually hit the artery or–” catching sight of her friend, now breathing deliberately with eyes closed, Rainbow Dash threw her ears back sheepishly “–uh, my bad, Rares.”

“No, no, Rainbow. No need to apologize; I should think that you have more important things to think about.” Rarity opened her eyes, inspecting the damage across her visage. “Just, er, give me a moment to steel myself such that I do not find myself vomiting yet again.”

“Right, yeah, wouldn’t want that,” agreed Rainbow Dash absentmindedly, staring at her wing in concern.

“No, we wouldn’t, albeit it would not be a particularly unlikely turn of events all things considered. Before we embarked upon this little quest I could have counted the number of times I had lost my lunch since I was a small child in one set of tally marks.” Rarity wiped a foreleg across her snout. “I think I might have topped that number on our third day if you count all of those discrete visits to the ships head.” She shuddered. “I digress. As you were saying?”

“Uh, yeah.” Rainbow Dash gave her wing a shake, the rustle of feathers followed by the splattering of a window-washer’s squeegee.

Rarity winced. “Was that, ah, you?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was saying before I, uh, put you in the splash zone. I’m pretty sure the arrow nicked the humeral artery, so that’s, like, bad.”

“How bad, exactly?”

“Me dying bad, unless I can stop it.” Rainbow Dash gave her wing another look. “Wing arteries don’t like to clot. Too much demand from the fast twitch muscles in fast flight, tons of blood, tons of pressure.”

“Which means that you are presently losing, as you say, tons of blood at a high pressure.”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash sat back onto her haunches, wincing as she belatedly rolled away from her wounded flank. “I’ve probably got, like, five, maybe ten minutes before I pass out, so we kinda need to move fast.”

“Oh,” said Rarity gravely, taking a few steps closer. “And do you, ah, know what to do?”

“… Yeah?” said Rainbow Dash, shrugging with her forelegs. “I mean, stunt fliers and ‘Bolts wannabes like me have to go through first aid courses before they let you up so you don’t die if you stuff it into the dirt, and I’ve stuffed it into the dirt a whole bunch. Not exactly a newbie on putting myself back together.”

“That’s reassuring, at least. Celestia knows I know nothing of the sort.” Rarity frowned. “On the other hoof, I should rather think battlefield medicine is quite different than a casual spill through Applejack’s barn.”

“Not really. Keep the red stuff in, keep gross stuff out, go see a real doctor before your leg falls off.” Rainbow Dash thought for a moment. “On the other hand, I don’t see any doctors around, and I don’t exactly have a bag full of tourniquets and hemostats–”

“Hemostat?”

“Hemostat.” Rainbow Dash mimed pinching her forelegs. “Like tiny locking pliers or tweezers. Use ‘em to pinch a blood vessel shut. Had one used on me once when I went through a plate glass window when I was a kid.”

Rarity lit up in recognition. “Oh! Like a needle holder? I can see how that could be useful.”

“It would be. Except that I don’t have any.” Rainbow Dash scowled. “I don’t have shit, actually, which means I need to think back to the ‘you just crashed in the middle of the woods and fell into a tree’ lessons.” She tapped a forehoof in thought. “So let me think for a second.”

Rarity furrowed her brow “Well, I suppose we do have some things, and although I cannot foresee this place having all of the items in–”

“Thinking!” interrupted Rainbow Dash, eyes flicking back and forth through mostly-remembered classroom lessons.

Rarity, understanding the instruction, ceased.

Not bothering to acknowledge, Rainbow Dash began rattling off items. “No sutures, no hemostat, maybe tourniquet, no windlass, no styptic solution, no sludge-blood solution, no – oh, Celestia, that one’s–”

Rarity cocked her head. “What, forgot something important?”

Rainbow Dash shook her head, grimacing with ears held back. “Remembered something actually, which is worse.” She pointed at Rarity’s exposed horn, wig and tiara lain askew a few steps away. “How’s the fire?”

“Better than ever, actually. I have a feeling my display back there did me some real good.” Rarity gave a spurt of flame for emphasis, the roaring sound of combustion echoing around the chamber. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t have any good way to stop myself from bleeding out, which means I need to use a bad way. A cave-pony way.”

“What, an improvised tourniquet?” Rarity looked at the crumpled remains of the bottom half of Rainbow Dash’s dress. “I should think we could make a fairly decent one out of the fabric we have present.”

“Well, yes, we will need one of those, but a tourniquet stops blood in and out. It will help cut down the bleeding for a little bit, but if I keep it on, my wing falls off, then I die. Still bad.” Rainbow Dash picked up her dress’ skirt in her teeth, giving it a few shakes. A knife, the same one she picked up earlier, tumbled out of a fold and clattered to the stones. “Which means we need something more permanent while we’ve got it slowed down.”

Rarity nodded, then pointed to the knife. “And that?”

“Is how we’re going to do it.” Rainbow Dash picked up the knife in the crook of her foreleg, then deftly spun it around, offering it to Rarity blunt side first.

Rarity eyed it skeptically. “Rainbow, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but typically sharp things make bleeding worse.”

“If you use the pointy side. But we aren’t using the pointy side.” Rainbow Dash pointed the knife at Rarity’s horn. “Because, in the absence of better options, but the presence of heat, our best bet is you just absolutely scorching this thing and burning my blood vessel closed.”

Rarity took a step back, aghast. “Burning? Rainbow, you cannot be serious!”

“Why not?” Rainbow Dash shrugged her wings as best she could. “Look, I’m not excited about this – actually the opposite, I don’t think I’ve even been less excited about something – but it sure beats kicking the bucket.”

“Well, sure, but that implies it works!” Rarity raised an accusatory forehoof. “How many times have you ever cauterized a wound, much less me with my less than precise hooves?”

“Gods no Rares, of course I’m not letting you do it.” Rainbow Dash shook her head, once again offering the knife. “I can sear it shut myself. I just need you to make the fire.”

“But what if you miss?” Rarity inspected Rainbow Dash’s wound again; she sure couldn’t identify anything in there. “Or pass out in pain halfway through?”

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but considering the alternative it’s not really important right now.” Rainbow Dash answered again, a little more forcefully. “Take it.”

Rarity continued. “Or what if I can’t get the blade hot enough, or your preening wax catches fire, or–”

“Rares, hey, look at me.” Rainbow Dash waved a hoof. “Rarity, I don’ t think my wax is going to–”

“–or-or maybe somepony could walk in and see me with a bloody knife and think that I’m the culprit–”

“Hey!” Rainbow Dash took a step towards Rarity. “Rarity, stop being dumb already and just do it!” Her expression softened slightly. “Look, Rares, I’ll admit it, there’s a lot that could go wrong here. I am very aware of what could go wrong here. But I need you to focus or we’re going to screw up the big thing here, which is that all of my blood is coming out of my body.”

“Right, sorry. Fair enough, I suppose.” Rarity, after a final breath to steel herself, lit her horn, forming it, by mental effort accompanied with a frankly hilarious set of eyebrow gestures, into a tight Bunsen-burner flame. “Do you need any help with anything else?”

“I’ve got the tourniquet myself.” Rainbow Dash ripped open a seam on her skirt’s foot, pulling off the decorative patterning on the bottom. “I should be able to double this over itself to get it stiff enough.”

With a final nod from Rarity, each one set to her own task; Rarity took up the knife in the crook of her foreleg, pressing the blade into the fire, while Rainbow Dash, after folding the heavy velvet cloth over itself, puled it around her wing root, spinning it around itself to create enough pressure.

“Did it work?” Asked Rarity, careful to not move her head and thus horn away from the knife.

“I think so,” responded Rainbow Dash, examining her wing. The dribble had slowed to a trickle. “How about you?”

Rarity cut her horn flame off. The knife stayed glowing red. “I would say so. Would you like to take it now?”

“Would I like to burn an arterial hemorrhage shut? No.” Rainbow Dash extended a forehoof towards Rarity. “More like ‘is it time for you to take it,’ which is true. Pass it over.”

Rarity, ever so carefully, offered the blade to her friend; Rainbow Dash less carefully snatched it out of her hoof. She held it in the crook of her right foreleg for a second or two, watching the wavy lines of heat ripple up from the red-hot surface.

“You’re a braver mare than I, Rainbow Dash,” Rarity mused. “I fear given the circumstances I would likely bleed to death rather than attempt such a grisly procedure.”

“I’m betting that, if it came down to life and death, you’d be braver than you think, Rarity.” Rainbow Dash passed the knife to her other hoof. “That being said, I’d like it if you’d, like, not keep bringing up how gnarly this is going to be.”

“My apologies. Correction: this isn’t going to hurt at all.”

“Not helping.”

“I tried.” Rarity took a step closer. “Ready?”

“Guess so. Just, uh–” Rainbow Dash wobbled on her hooves; balancing on three hooves was hard enough when they were all working. “–can you, uh, come over here and, like, hold me up?”

“Hold you up?” Rarity had begun to trot even before her question had fully left her mouth.

“Yeah. Real chance I pass out or just lose my balance.” Rainbow Dash gulped. “Either way, it’s bad when I’m holding a knife that’s on fire.”

“You don’t need to convince me of the prudence of supporting you, Rainbow,” Rarity assured. “How would you like me to position myself?”

“Just, like, along the left side, hook a foreleg over.”

Rarity did as she was told, her greater height making it fairly simple to put her foreleg around Rainbow Dash’s frame. “Like so?”

“Like that, yeah.” Rainbow Dash took a few sharp breaths, steeling herself. “Okay, yeah, you can do this, Dash. You’ve done cooler things than this, ‘cause you’re a bad motherfucker, Dash.”

“The very foulest, Rainbow,” Rarity snarked, taking the chance to squeeze Rainbow Dash in a little tighter. “An absolutely reprehensible motherfucker, as it were.”

Rainbow Dash’s self-hyping paused for a moment as she broke down into chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Oh, thanks Rares, there goes my mood. And here I was just about ready to go, too!”

“Sorry, Rainbow. I’ll make sure to only refer to you as a ‘good motherfucker’ from now on.”

And, impossibly, both of them lapsed into full blown laughter, even as Rainbow Dash’s wing continued to drip unabated onto the floor.

Laughter heavy enough that neither one of them heard the inside door behind them unlatch.

But they sure heard the gasp from the now open doorway.

Ears shooting up and swiveling around, Rarity wheeled about, horn already lit in as intimidating a spout of fire as she could manage. “WHO–”

Precise, razor-sharp diction in the delicate tones of a fine alto. “I should ask you the same, although I quite sure I already know the answer.”

The pony in the doorway, a squat Earth Pony stallion in a knee-length black gown over an ankle length white frock and adorned with an odd peaked cap replete with pom, merely raised an eyebrow over a chubby face– evidently, despite the voice, he was made of stern stuff. “However, the better question is ‘how and why this situation is unfolding in the entryway of my house of worship?’”

Rarity stamped a forehoof in an aggressive response. “And why, do tell, do you care about who–”

Rather less concerned about the precise motives of the newcomer and much more concerned about the prospect of perhaps not having to burn her arteries shut, Rainbow Dash raised her wing in front of Rarity’s face, which accomplished the dual purpose of quite neatly showing off the present problem at hand and shutting her up.

The stallion scanned the leaking appendage with practiced, now scowling eyes. “I suppose that answers the immediate sense of my question. I shouldn’t have expected anything different; Marelan never ceases to surprise with its consistency.” He backed away from the door, gesturing around to the scattered articles around the floor. “Gather your things, but stay there. I will return with an attendant and supplies.”

Rainbow Dash lifted a forehoof. “Better bring a bucket, too. And a mop.”

“Yes, and a bucket.” The stallion eyed the red lines between the paving stones under the mares’ hooves. “I’d chastise you for sullying the narthex, but it is understandable considering the circumstances.”

The odd pony backed fully away from the enormous door, then shut it, sound reverberating around the vaulted ceiling.

After a moment to let the echoes clear. Rainbow Dash shook her head, turning to her friend and locking deeply confused if ultimately relieved eyes with Rarity. Between them passed a veritable firing squad of implied questions.

Who was that?

Why did he sound so weird?

What kind of building was this anyway?

Only one actually made it to the stage of speech.

“What in the absolute fuck is a ‘narthex?’”

“A ‘narthex’ is the proper term for an entryway. A lay-pony might say ‘vestibule.’”

“You heard that, Rares? It’s a vestibule.” Rainbow Dash looked over the top of the pony tightly wrapping a dose of clotting powder and sulfa drugs into her wound at her friend.

“Yes, I heard you.” Rarity, wig replaced on her head as to present the best possible appearance and tiara sat askew atop her brow, rolled her eyes. “You are generally fairly difficult to not hear.”

Not minding the exchange, the stallion gave the wing bandage a tie, then tucked the ends into the mass of bandages to secure it. “How does that feel?”

“Tight.” Rainbow Dash gave her wing a few cursory shakes. “But it feels like it’s going to hold and, y’know, keep me from dying.”

“That will have to do.” The stallion gave a curt nod. “While I am fairly confident in my skills with the surgeon’s needle, wing-skin is both delicate and highly stressed. Best not to risk it.” He looked Rainbow Dash over. “Any other notable wounds?”

Rainbow Dash raised her wing out of the way, exposing the gash across her flank.

“Notable indeed,” the stallion mused. “And an awful spot for it to occur. To sully our marker of the Infinite Grace is a terrible, albeit mercifully always temporary, thing.”

“…Right, yeah. ‘Infinite Grace.’” Rainbow Dash, slightly puzzled, locked eyes with an equally confused Rarity. “That’s, uh, that’s one way to put it.”

“Not that it’s a bad way to put it, mind you,” added Rarity, always loathe to offend a host, “but it’s–”

“–merely unusual,” the stallion said. “Not an unexpected reaction for foreigners; despite the proximity, I find the average inhabitant of the Old Country to be sorely lacking in matters of theology and magical theory.”

“Theology?” said Rarity, clearly unfamiliar with not just the ‘matters’ of it but the word in its entirety.

“Theology?” said Rainbow Dash simultaneously, eyes lighting up in recognition. ‘Theology’ was an unusual word essentially never heard in the Old Country; vocabulary such as it tended to stick fairly closely to a particularly ‘Provincial’ understanding of Celestia's nature. “That’s – so that’s what this place is!” She turned her head around to look at the stallion. “This is a cathedral! That’s the word!”

“Not quite.” The stallion didn’t look up from the wound but did grant her a slight impressed eyebrow raise. “While I find myself here most of the time, my cathedra resides in the city center, even if sitting in it is not exactly wise.”

“Close enough!” Rainbow Dash turned back around to Rarity, naturally quite smug at her correct guess.

“How wonderful.” Rarity weakly smiled at Rainbow Dash before turning her attention to the stallion. “Ah, forgive me for prying, but there have been quite a few words in the preceding moments that I frankly did not understand.” She waved a forehoof around in a circle. “Would you care to restate yourself for an, er, ‘average inhabitant of the Old Country?”

The stallion gave a small smile. “There’s no reason to couch your language in quite so many entreats; I fear that, along with speaking almost solely in what must seem like so much nonsense to you two, I have also totally neglected to introduce myself.” The stallion bowed his head, the peaked cap somewhat making up for his short stature in giving the gesture its required gravity. “I am Bishop Dove, Bishop of Marelan.” He bowed again. “At your–”

He, upon raising his head halfway, found his passage blocked by a horn thrust in his face, end sparking.

“Bishop?” said the voice attached to that horn, clearly on edge.

“Bishop,” replied the bishop in an even and measured tone, clearly having seen something like this before.”

“Uh, Rares?” Rainbow Dash asked, more worried about the fireworks occurring a hoof-width from her ass than anything.

“Bishop. Not the title of a count, but a title nonetheless. The kid said you were a ‘good enough pony,’ but I’ve been fooled once. Not again.” The horn flicked to the side. “Back away. Touch her and I’ll kill you, you understand me?”

Rainbow Dash looked wide-eyed between her homicidal friend and the clergy-pony. “Rares, come on, calm–”

Rarity shushed her, taking two steps towards the bishop to shield Rainbow Dash’s body.

The bishop dutifully did as he was told, eyes narrowing as he began to understand the situation. “…ah. I see somepony has informed you about the Electorate, and my theoretical position among them.”

Rarity nodded, willing to betray to him at least that much.

He nodded to Rainbow Dash. “I am also guessing, based on your reaction to my status as well as your esteemed friends’ wounds, that you have encountered one of my, ah, contemporaries.”

Rarity nodded again.

“My condolences,” the bishop stated, “although to fall under the murderous gaze of one of the counts as a low-pony is quite rare, especially as a foreigner.” One side of his mouth raised into a half smirk. “Despite their willingness to slaughter each other over mostly-worthless crowns, they are absolutely not stupid enough to drive away the Equestrian Half-Crown; a preponderance of foreigners who have met untimely ends will kill what is left of this city’s markets and guilds.”

Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “How are you so sure we’re not from around here?”

Rarity, her stance broken by the sheer dumbness of the statement, smacked a hoof into her forehead.

“How indeed?” The bishop chuckled, a bizarrely light, tinkling thing. “Where to begin? The patterns of speech? The lack of accent?” He waved a hoof up or down. “Although I suppose schooling could take care of those; I pride myself on my diction. No, most obviously, it is the fact that the both of you are far too tall and well-built for low-born locals.”

“I’m too tall?” asked Rainbow Dash, incredulous.

“Well-built more so, but you are of average height. Your companion is firmly both.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Rarity clutched a hoof to her breast in offense, having heard enough snide remarks from waiflike clothes models about her “healthy build” to be permanently suspicious.

“That you, along with sufficient musculature, show no signs of the stunted growth, hoof malformations, bowed legs, or muscle flaccidity that one would expect from a lifetime of malnutrition; all typical attributes of our urban poor. Unfortunately for those unable to afford otherwise, a pony cannot live on bread alone.”

“Well, I’m glad to see that I pass the test for ‘appropriate foalhood nutrition.’ How do you know so much about this anyway?” Rarity flared her nostrils in distrust. “As last I saw, doctors do not wear whatever that is youhave on.”

“A doctor of medicine? No, I am afraid my highest education focused on collective theurgy, not medicine.” He shook his head. “That being said, my duties once included several years caring for the needy in an almshouse, and even now I must tend to my flock’s physical needs as well as spiritual. Eternal Light provides for all, but an occasional bouquet of mushrooms helps in warding off the rickets.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “You mean to tell me you just put all this on me and you aren’t even a real doctor?”

He raised a forehoof “Are you still bleeding profusely from your wing?”

“Probably!” Rainbow Dash raised her wing to inspect it.

She was not, in fact, bleeding.

“See, I’m–” Rainbow Dash looked again. “–okay, no, yeah, guess you got it right.”

“I can assure you, whilst I may not have been trained in a college of medicine, I have spend what seems like a lifetime, once as a lowly monk, still now as a bishop, mending the wounds of this city’s endless conflict, which, might I add, the average Canterlot healer has not experienced in the slightest.” The little bishop took a step back, pushing open the enormous door with a back hoof. “Speaking of, you still have another wound I must tend to, and I really would prefer to treat you in the sanctuary as opposed to my vestibule.” He backed into the open doorway. “Please, follow me.”

Rainbow Dash took a limping step forward, only to find her path impeded by a white foreleg.

“No thanks,” said Rarity flatly but firmly, taking a step back and horn sparking faintly. “I think we’ve had quite enough of being locked into rooms today, sir.”

“The doors have no locks.” He kicked the other side open for effect. “And you are free to exit at any time, if you so wish.

Rarity clacked a forehoof off the paving stones. “False hospitality will not fool me, bishop. I might have been born at night, but I wasn’t born yesterday, you preposterous–”

Rainbow Dash decided it was best to interrupt before the parade of insults really took off. “Rares, please, just chill for a–”

“Chill? Chill?” Rarity whipped her head around, tongues of blue fire shooting from her horn and sending her wig and tiara flying towards the bishop, skittering across the floor. “How can you be ‘chill’ about anything? We were almost murdered mere minutes ago! Murdered because, might I add, I was an idiot who sent us into an obvious trap, Rainbow! ‘Oh, yes, how bad could it be? I’m sure they’re a kind and nice pony, Rainbow!’”

“Rarity, please, you’re–”

“–and you even warned me, you told me it was a bad idea but I pressed on in blithering stupidity and THIS happened because of it.” Rarity fell back onto her haunches, suddenly feeling almost overwhelmingly small in the cavernous room. “By our Creator, Rainbow, do you know how I felt as I carried what I believed all in the world to be your corpse to this place? The headlines I imagined? ‘Equestria’s Finest Savior Slain, National Afterthought Escapes Harm!’ An endless sea of mute, hateful faces sneering their disapproval at my continued existence? ‘Why you and not her? How are you worth her?’ How could I face that, Rainbow? How could I face your parents and tell them how you died? How could I tell our friends? Celestia, how could I face her down and tell her how I got one of Equestria's proudest daughters killed?”

“–hey, no, look, you’re–”

“I can’t DO THIS anymore, Rainbow!” Rarity shouted out, screechy overtones bouncing around the high ceilings. “Silly ‘quests’ and bendy gods are one thing but this? I’m not a rogue, not an assassin, Rainbow; for Celestia’s sake, I’m a seamstress!” Rarity let out a few choked sobs, staring at the stones underhoof. “Look at me! Look at what this place has turned me into! I’m a bald, blood-speckled incendiary lunatic on the run from the authorities!” She whipped her head up to meet Rainbow Dash’s, eyes pleading. “Gods above, Rainbow, what’s happening to me? What’s happening to us?”

In lieu of replying, Rainbow Dash pulled Rarity into a tight hug, wrapping her wings around her as best she could; Rarity enthusiastically returned the gesture.

“Rares,” comforted Rainbow Dash, careful to pull Rarity to the un-bleedy side of herself, “I don’t need you to be an–”

“Heavens, Rainbow, you? I-Idon’t even know what I need me to be!” Rarity choked out. “I’ve only the vaguest idea what we are supposed to be accomplishing, and even less how!”

“Look, worry about ‘accomplishing’ anything later. We don’t need to worry about whatever particular crap she gave us to fix right now, okay? Let’s just focus on keeping you safe, keeping us safe right now. Worry about everything else later.”

“But I can’t!” Rarity shouted. “Gods, Rainbow, I just can’t! You can focus on your friend; that’s your raison d’etre; that’s your gift, for Celestia’s sake! But me? Gods, me?” Rarity gave a single, spiteful laugh. “Ha! I can’t stop focusing on everything but us. My damn gift from on high demands I observe every gods-forsaken fucking crumb of the misery that we seemingly have found ourselves swimming in!” Not content with a single exclamation, Rarity loosed a pained growling scream as she stomped a forehoof. “Every SECOND I spend here some voice in my head screams at my audacity to have such ostentatious wealth in this land of orphans and vagrants, about how I shouldn’t so much as blink before I have taken every action I possibly could to improve the lot of every pony around me, because every time I see something like the shack that poor colt lives in or the poor little seamstress mutilated or any other of the countless multitudes of dirty little urchins with hollow eyes I had to dodge on the way here I just about LOSE IT!”

“Rarity, you’re being ridiculous, you can’t blame yourself for–”

“Of course I know that, Rainbow! I’m not an idiot; I’m not going to blame myself for some other pony’s cruelty twenty years ago!” Rarity shook her head, clenching her forelegs around Rainbow Dash. “But even if I know that, that little piece of magic stuck on my soul like a tumor ever since that first time I saw that damn necklace just has to pipe up about my inadequacy, about how I’m a terrible pony who lets ponies suffer because I’m too greedy to give up some impossible thing to make it alright, about how I let ponies suffer because I don’t want to help.” She, giving a final, awful sob, pushed her face into Rainbow Dash’s shoulder, speaking barely above a whisper. “And I do, Rainbow, gods I want to help them. I just don’t know how.”

Not sure of an answer to that question either, Rainbow Dash let Rarity finish up her last few silent wracks. In the mean time, she gave the bishop, the presence of whom the two mares had forgotten about a minute or so ago, a quick glance.

The bishop, sat back onto his haunches, stared back, mouth agape.

“Uh, sorry.” Rainbow Dash, naturally believing it was a reaction to the severity of the outburst, smiled sheepishly. “It's, uh, an emotional topic for her.”

The bishop merely continued staring back, still open-mouthed.

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “You, uh, okay? You’re still just kinda sitting there staring at–”

“Dear Mother Above,” he finally replied after a few slow blinks, eyes shooting back and forth from marks to faces. “I know who you both are.”

Author's Note

Poor, poor Ra-Ra.

Sorry for the wait, I had to return some videotapes. Part of the reason I have delays is because what I pre-write is inevitably garbage. Part of the reason I have delays is because I just spiral into research rabbit holes for days about what I'm writing about, This time, it was traumatic first aid. Anyway, I have, like, four IFAKs now.

A Mare Clothed With The Sun, and The Moon Under Her Hooves

Rarity slowly retreated from Rainbow Dash’s embrace, turning around, face fixed in a mix of suspicion and confusion. “You know who we are?”

The bishop shook his head, knocking the dazed look off his face and straightening up. “Ah, forgive me, that was a particularly crass way of putting that; I hope you understand my shock from recognition – if your intention was disguise, your present appearance has worked fairly well.”

Rarity cocked her head slightly, one eye lidded in thought. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. Recognition of what, exactly; our identities, or our status?”

“I should have thought the status and identity were one and the same. I wasn’t aware the titles, as they were, were separable from the identity.” He reached down, scooping up the wig and fallen tiara from their place just in front of his hooves, tossing it over with a swift flick of the forehoof – not swift enough, however, to avoid burning a line into his arm with the rim of the tiara. “Although I suppose I might not have a perfect understanding of–” a high pitched and eminently coltish squeal “–ach!”

At once, Rarity realized her mistake. “Ah, sorry about that. I suppose I should have warned you about the enchantment. The whole thing is quite new to me.”

“No, I’m the resident, I should have guessed.” The bishop shook his head, still rubbing his foreleg. “But you ought to be careful with your jewelry; I’m sure you can put that thing to better use that whatever ruin you pulled it out of, but ownership enchantments often carry long-term curses besides their immediate–”

Rarity, wig now safely replaced on her head, placed the tiara in the front of the hairpiece with a clumsy forehoof. Finished, she lowered her head to see why the Bitalian had trailed off so suddenly.

The bishop pointed a shaky forehoof at the coronet. “Wh-hoose crown is that?”

Rarity raised an eyebrow; while she was still somewhat suspicious of the odd little stallion, she figured it was an innocent enough question to answer truthfully. “It’s the former possession of the, uh, House of Mareanello, or, rather, the contessa thereof.” She scrunched her face in thought. “Which, I suppose, makes it my crown by virtue of the second qualification, although that may not be your intended ques–”

“A TITLE?”

Rarity took a step back from the bishop, forehoof raised mid-sentence. “Er–”

“You have a title of nobility?” The bishop took a step forwards, incredulous look on his face.

“…Yes?” Rarity cocked her head. “Is that not what you were referring to with your first question?”

“Of course not!” The bishop rolled back onto his haunches, throwing out stubby forelegs in exasperation.

“Then what were you referring to?”

“You! Both of you! Your identities, your importance, your extraordinary statuses?”

Rarity (and Rainbow Dash, who had turned her head around) stared back at him. “Meaning?”

“Meaning?” The bishop barked out a laugh. “You-you’re two of the Aspects of Harmony! The manes and tails threw me off, but the Marks and accents clued me in; you–” he pointed to Rarity “–are Rarity Belle, Aspect of Beneficence, and you–” he pointed to Rainbow Dash “–are Rainbow Dash, Aspect of Fidelity! What else could I mean?”

Rarity and Rainbow Dash did a bit of mental thesaurus work before turning to each other, eyes wide.

Rainbow Dash turned away first. “Oh, you, uh, meant our, uh, actual–”

“Yes, your actual titles.” The stallion, picking himself back up onto his hooves, moved towards the doors on the opposite wall of the entrance. “And the apparent presence of some other set of titles is both an utter shock and very elucidating to your present situation, so with that in mind, I strongly recommend we do not keep speaking in the entranceway wherein a nosy pony may overhear what is rapidly becoming a quite sensitive conversation.” He opened the door, holding it open with a forehoof as he looked over his shoulder. “So, please, follow?”

Rainbow Dash, after a shrug followed after, hind leg dragging at a limp. “Works for me. Plus you can, uh, finish up back there.”

“But of course.” The bishop watched her plod in, then turned to Rarity, who looked on in renewed suspicion. “And you?”

“Ah,” Rarity bit her lip, “forgive me for my trepidation, but–”

“You’re still not sure of my intentions–”

“Precisely.”

“Which, in light of your apparent elevation to the Second Estate, is very understandable.”

Rarity wasn’t familiar with the terminology, but got the gist of it anyway. “Right. I understand that my sampling size is quite limited, but exactly one hundred percent of my fellow, ah, Electorate I have entered the domains of have attempted to murder me, so I hope you can understand my reluctance.”

The bishop nodded. “Of course. But they and I are fundamentally different. Their actions were evil but logically consistent, whereas any harm done to you by me would be illogical.” A sniff. “Not that I could, mind you – I would wager you would quite handily annihilate me it if came to fisticuffs.”

Rarity wasn’t inclined to disagree that she most definitely would annihilate this pudgy little fellow, but that wasn’t exactly her worry. “But an employed ruffian with a bow or rifle hiding on the other side of that door would render that point moot.” She shook her head. “Nevertheless, your original point on some sort of fundamental difference wasn’t exactly compelling. Explain, if you would.”

“Of course. The contessa you visited earlier – which contessa was that again?”

“I neglected to say. The one up the road, er, Cree-something, I don’t remember.”

“Cremania is the one you are looking for. I don’t really know anything about her; about as minor of a player in the grand game as any. Regardless, she, or, really, her steward, as I seriously doubt she makes any decisions of her own in her state, is actively trying to be elected Duchess, at least in the long term, which you are inherently in the way of. More importantly, your death and thus extinction of–” the bishop stopped his sentence mid way, lowering his gaze to Rarity “–you don’t have any foals, do you?”

A twinge of, mostly, confusion, but only a twinge. “Er, not last time I checked.”

“…Checked?” The stallion cocked his head in confusion. “Madam, I should think that an unknown offspring is a problem strictly for stallions. Rather hard to miss it on your side.”

“Normally? Yes. But in the context of the past few years of my life wherein I have continuously crossed paths with ancient gods and vengeful spirits?” Rarity rolled her eyes. “A miniature version of myself running about wouldn’t be entirely unthinkable.”

“A fair observation, I suppose.” A snort of laughter. “Right, then. So long as there is not some unknown offspring, the extinction of your title and thus house would create a rush for your house’s assets.” The bishop raised one side of his mouth in a smirk. “I’ve only passed Mareanello once, but as I recall that would mostly be a pile of stones, no?”

“More or less.”

“The point remains; the elimination of competition and acquiring of assets. All good for those in the running.”

“And you?”

“I am not trying to be elected anything. The bishopric has never taken the seat, and, legally speaking, I am not sure I could even if everypony somehow decided that was best. Whatever the case, it is simply not an issue.”

“And what about the other thing?”

“Personal assets, contessa, are not something I need to worry about.”

Rarity gave a quick look around, examining the fine masonry and gilded statues of various ancient pones. She was sure that, in different circumstances, Rainbow would be raving about her favorite semi-historical figure from around the room, but she was obviously occupied. “I can see that, yes. Judging by your property, personal assets such as mine would be nothing compared to your fortune.”

“Quite the opposite; the building, the adornments, my vestments, everything but my undergarments is the property of the church, not me.” He waved part of his set of robes for emphasis. “I would remind you that this is not my domicile, but, that aside, what small luxuries and frivolities I do enjoy are ones apportioned by my superiors and law, not taken or purchased from anywhere.”

Rarity looked mostly convinced, but only mostly.

“Look,” the bishop started, taking a gentle step towards Rarity. “I do not blame you for being wary of seemingly genuine acts of hospitality, and certainly if I had caused my dear friend and fellow national savior to nearly die through good-hearted naivete I would be dead-set on not repeating that. But if I had meant to cause either of you harm I certainly wouldn’t have stopped one of my targets from hemorrhaging; that seems a little counterproductive, no?” He gestured with a foreleg towards the door’s opening. “So, please, do enter before some passerby hears us? These are sensitive topics, and I am frankly dying to hear about your stories.”

“And I’m frankly dying, so get in here.”

Rarity peeked her head around the bishop to see Rainbow Dash standing in the doorway, wobbling on three legs. “Nowhere to sit inside?”

“I didn’t really want to go bleeding all over the benches.” Rainbow Dash shrugged, wings remaining conspicuously still. “And I’m getting dizzy, so if you stay out there bitching any longer I’m going to keel over anyway, sitting or not, so stop being so paranoid and come on already.”

“Paranoia is for unfounded suspicion, Rainbow–”

“It is unfounded, Rarity. Why would he patch up the bleed in my wing with a bunch of sulfa drugs to keep me from getting gangrene if he was going to kill me in five minutes?”

It was a good point. “Fair, but–”

“But nothing, Rares.” Rainbow Dash cut her off. “Look, you can be worried all you want, but I kinda don’t care, because unless you feel like trying to sew up my flank I need it done no matter what. You’re welcome to stay out there all you want, but stop being obstinate on my time, okay?”

Momentarily stunned by Rainbow Dash’s utilization of a word with more than three syllables, Rarity reeled back, giving a few slow blinks. “G-goodness Rainbow, I’ve–”

“Yes, I know, you’ve never heard me use a word that smart before. Forgive me for illustrating my eloquence in order to shock you from a spell of petty recalcitrance.” Stone-faced visage slipping a little, Rainbow Dash couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Oh, wow, how do you talk like that? I feel like I just puked a dictionary.”

Rarity grumbled, knocked rather nonplussedly out of her daze. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Rainbow Dash smirked. “And stop worrying anyway. What, you can’t watch him for anything shady? I saw you turn three dudes into barbecue like ten minutes ago. Just roast him if he reaches for a knife or whatever.”

“It’s not him I’m strictly worried about, Rainbow, but–” Rarity looked around, noticing that the little stallion had seemingly disappeared. “–wait, where did he–”

“Inside, while I had you distracted. I’m clever like that.” Rainbow Dash pulled away from the door, holding it fully open for Rarity. “And besides, you’re gonna want to see what’s in here.”

Skeptical, Rarity started walking regardless. “Judging by what we’ve seen so far in this place, I seriously doubt that – oh, wow.”

The room, insofar as it could still be called a room, beyond the door was indeed something Rarity wanted to see. Cavernous with a stratospheric ceiling above rows of benches and endless hoof-cut stones, the room was nevertheless well-lit through innumerable stained glass windows, chief among them a depiction of the sovereign at the very head of the room. While the subject of the window was of course quite familiar to the pair, the styling was very much unlike anything they had ever seen; Celestia, clad in a tongues of fire in the form of an ancient cuirass and adorned with a star-studded and brilliant archaic hinged crown, stood, burning wings raised into a crest, above a serpentine, fanged,and shadowy creature of some kind, a shoed hoof atop the creature’s horned head and a brilliant sunbeam-like spear raised for the coup de grace.

Notably, the creature shared some considerable resemblance to her sister.

Rarity, after a shake of the head, stared at the regal portrait. “Well, she certainly doesn’t have anything like that at the palace.”

“Yeah. Guess it doesn’t really fit her, as you’d say, current season.” Rainbow Dash shrugged as best as she could considering her injuries. “It is kinda kick-ass though.”

“Not exactly the intentions of the builders of this building, but close enough.”

Rarity and Rainbow Dash turned to face the stallion, who had returned with another set of bandages. Rarity cleared her throat. “It’s a well-executed portrait, mind you; we meant no offense. It’s just that we, er, aren’t quite used to seeing her that way.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry – I assure you, you haven’t offended me in the slightest. Most visitors to the overseas provinces say something similar upon seeing our … particular tastes in worship. High Celestia tends to emphasize the ‘gentle mother’ rather than the ‘conquering hero’ these days, enough so that many of your ilk aren’t used to such a depiction. Only here does the noble and ancient form of the Conqueror persist.”

Rainbow Dash pointed at the bandages. “Speaking of ‘persisting,’ I’m guessing those are for me? Not that all the history talk isn’t interesting – it’s great, actually – but I think that’s probably important to take care of the bleeding gash first so I can, uh, persist.”

“You are correct.” The bishop rounded Rainbow Dash, examining her wounded flank all the while; Rainbow Dash squirmed slightly under his gaze. “It’s not as bad a wound as your wing, but it still must be treated as before with a good amount of pressure.”

Rainbow Dash scooted a little closer to him, sticking out her leg as best as she could. The bishop, before starting the wrappings, ran a clean, wet cloth over the wound, then tore open some sort of waxed-paper packet with his teeth, pouring it into the gash.

“Ah!” Rainbow Dash sucked a breath through her teeth, wriggling a little from side to side. “A, uh, little warning would have been nice there, doc.”

“My condolences, but the bolt went through fabric and carried debris with it. The sooner it is sterilized the better.” The stallion ran out a length of the bandage, laying it atop the wound. Carefully, without breaking contact with the surface, he ran his hoof, roll in tow, backwards in order to wrap around the limb. Unfortunately, as he rounded the cleft of the cheek he found his progress impeded by the presence of a tail and other leg, which has snapped shut as his hoof trailed backwards. “Miss?”

“Uh, sorry.” Blushing, Rainbow Dash looked pointedly towards nothing in the distance. “It’s, a, uh, reflex. Sensitive things back there, y’know?”

“Understandable, but you will have to move so I can continue.”

“No, yeah, obviously, but, uh, just gimmie a minute, okay?” Rainbow Dash bit her lip. “Is there a mare who can do this?”

“No.” The bishop raised an eyebrow. “Unless you would prefer for your friend to take over, that is.”

“No, gods no, she’s hopeless. With her hooves she’d probably miss the whole leg.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “It’s just that it’s a, uh, little uncomfortable, y’know?”

Deadpan. “It’s a wound, ma’am. They tend to be.”

“No, not that!” Rainbow Dash huffed. “It’s uncomfortable because you’re, like, having to feel me up to do this!”

The bishop, puzzled, momentarily stopped his efforts, cocking his head. “Feel you up?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yeah!” Rainbow Dash nodded. “And you’re, y’know, a stallion? Kinda awkward?”

The bishop paused a moment, then, dropping the roll of cloth, busted out into laughter, howling in that same high, tinkling little laugh as before. “Ha! Feel you up?”

“Uh, yeah?” Slightly miffed, Rainbow Dash eyed the cackling stallion. “Dunno what’s so funny about it.”

“What’s so – pffft!” With a snort, the bishop wiped a tear from his eye. “No, that’s – I assure you, miss, that, much like with your friend’s rock pile, my personal assets, or lack thereof, have rendered me quite uninterested in that.”

Similarly puzzled, Rarity butted in. “Personal asset – okay, firstly, that’s a horribly distasteful way to talk about one’s wife, and secondly I’ve found many a supposedly ‘taken’ stallion to still lech and leer, so I really don’t think that discounts her suspicion.”

Shocked out of his laughter, the bishop cocked his head. “Er, wife? I don’t follow.”

“Pray tell, then; what did you mean by ‘personal assets?’”

The bishop snorted a laugh. “Ah, no, contessa. I most certainly did not mean that for my ‘lack of assets.’”

“Then what did you mean, then?”

“I meant, contessa, that I am uninterested in your friends femininity in a much more basal sense; I am, due to my lack of assets, quite biologically uninterested.”

Rarity and Rainbow Dash merely stared dumbly back, clearly not getting the squat little stallion’s meaning.

“Assets, mistresses.” The bishop explained, drawing out his words like one would to a small child. “I am clearly a gelding.”

After a moment of realization, both mares stepped back, wide-eyed. “A what?”

“A gelding,” the bishop started, “I have been … liberated of my–”

“No, I-we know what it is, but–” Rainbow Dash shook her head, cutting a quick glance at a still dumbstruck Rarity. They indeed did know what it meant, but not in the immediate “I am familiar with this” sense: like “beriberi” and “trepanning,” the definitions came easily, but actually associating dusty textbook passages with what they saw in front of them was another thing entirely, one which was not an easy feat in the slightest.

“But you’ve never actually encountered it?”

“Pretty much,” Rainbow Dash nodded. “Is it, uh, like, a punishment or something, or were you like a soldier, or…?”

“Nothing that exciting, I assure you.” The bishop shook his (conspicuously un-scruffy and rather baby-fattish, now that they really looked at it) head. “Out customs can be somewhat peculiar here, but we don’t geld as punishment, nor have I ever found myself in the employ of an army.” He gestured towards the triumphal portrait of Celestia at the head of the room. “I presume, by your second guess, that you’re something of a student of history? You must be referring to High Celestia’s ancient proclivity to, ah, fix favored prisoners into stewards?”

“Yeah, the, uh, whole ‘griffon bureaucrat’ (while not an exact usage of the word, historians typically applied the term to Celestia’s faithful corps of neutered griffon toms that once stamped and signed Equestria’s borders into existence from the battlefields of conquest) thing was where I knew it from.” Rainbow Dash gave a few slow blinks; not exactly her favorite historical moment to recall. “So, then, uh, why did you get, uh–” Rainbow Dash made a cutting motion with a foreleg “–y’know?”

“Not exactly how it works, but I’ll spare you the details.” The bishop gestured with a foreleg for her to come closer. “But, now that I think I have shown I do not possess ulterior motives, we should continue, no?”

With a still-dazed nod, Rainbow Dash once again offered her leg for mending; with a few more wraps, then a final tug to cinch it snugly against the surface followed by a dollop of some sort of paste to hold the end in place, the bishop finished his task. “There. That should hold for about a day, after which you should change the bandages and bathe yourself in as clean of water as you can manage. The fit takes precision; do you have somepony who could help you besides your friend? A unicorn would be best to limit the harm of untrained hooves.”

“No, I–” Rainbow Dash realized that there actually was a plucky lad of a unicorn who was apparently destined to be her friend’s lackey “–yes, actually, I do have somepony who can help.” She gave her back leg an experimental shake; a little tight, but not too bad. “Uh, thanks for, uh, y’know, helping keep the blood in me. Apparently not a guarantee around here.”

“It is not, and you are certainly welcome.” The bishop gave cursory little bow. “I generally try and avoid directly communicating with my peers and the agents thereof for my own preservation, but I would never be dissatisfied with doing too much good in the world. Regardless, you are by no means the first victim of petty violence I have treated, nor will I be the last.”

With a weak smile, Rainbow Dash gave another nod.

A silence descended across the room.

After a few more moments passed, the bishop gave a perfunctory cough, “You are welcome to ask me anything you like, of–”

“Oh, okay.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “What happened to your balls?”

Shocked from her still-heavy thought and compelled to action by the sheer force of social inelegance occurring next to her, Rarity screeched in horror. “Rainbow! Rainbow, you cannot just ask him that!” She whipped her head around, wig askew, as she attempted to stutter out an apology. “My sincerest apologies, sir – my friend can be dreadfully uncouth.”

The bishop raised a forehoof. “It’s not the bluntest way I’ve ever been asked anyway.” He turned to address Rainbow Dash. “To answer your question, they were removed when I was an older colt, hence my decidedly un-chiseled jawline, among other things.”

“How?”

Rarity once again looked as if she was going to explode.

The bishop’s expression hardened slightly. “Ah. That I will not answer.”

“Right, yeah. Kinda personal. Maybe, uh, why?” Rainbow Dash offered.

“A better question, although it is one I still do not really know the answer to. I was the eighth of eleven foals; with five older brothers, continuation of my father’s baronial bloodline was not exactly predicated on my viability. Supposedly it was a medical treatment for a particular kind of hernia – that was what my mother always said at least.”

Slightly pale-faced (more-so than usual of course) Rarity grimaced. “You treat hernias with that here?”

“At one point in time it was a reasonably common strategy, although I am quite a bit older than I look. Whatever the case it is not an effective method, so it is not practiced anymore.”

“How old are you? ‘Cause you don’t look, like, that old.” asked Rainbow Dash.

Rarity, fully surrendered to her fate, merely sighed. “Rainbow, we must have a conversation about appropriate conversational transitions.”

The bishop continued unabated. “Would you believe just over sixty? We castrati tend to age well.”

“Well!” Rarity exclaimed, genuinely impressed by, and more than a little jealous of, his remarkably smooth complexion. “You look excellent for your age, then.”

“Yeah, totally.” Rainbow Dash agreed. “You, uh, said ‘supposedly’ before. What did you mean by that?”

“That I don’t believe them. Once upon a time, and still even today in some more … traditional regions particularly skilled and clear voiced colts would be relieved of that which would ruin their voice into a pedestrian tenor. The lucky ones end up in the finest opera. The others do not.”

“They mutilated you for opera?”

“The odds are greater than half, I believe. I do remember quite a lot of vocal training in my youth, although I was never exceptional. Whatever the case, I certainly did not end up with the kinds of vocal cords necessary to find myself on stage, despite their efforts; personally, I think they catastrophically misunderstood my name.”

“Dove, right?” Rainbow Dash asked. “Is there another part? Because doves aren’t really songbirds.”

“No, they are not, despite what my parents thought, and yes, there is. My full name is ‘Rock Dove.’ Do you know what a rock dove is?”

“A pigeon,” Rainbow Dash correctly stated, ornithology once again proving itself relevant, “like the ones you see in cities.”

“Precisely. I believe that they thought it was the name of a melodious bird, but I have found that the Spirit of Harmony’s plans actually referred to my desire to immerse myself into the urban life much like the flying rats I share a name with. I have found myself in a city ever since I had the agency to do so; my native Salmareno first, then Roan, Trottingham, Mareseilles, Canterlot, and finally here.”

“Canterlot?” Rarity interjected. “You’ve spent time in Canterlot?”

“Before my ordination as a bishop, yes. All of us spend at least some time in Canterlot in study; even if our ranks in the Old Country are running quite thin, study at the closest sites to our magical past is still essential.”

“Do you mean ‘us’ as in your job? Or ‘us’ to mean stallions affected with your particular condition?”

“Unless they’re the same,” Rainbow Dash added, cocking her head. “Are they the same?”

“No,” the bishop chuckled, “they are very much not so. I am a rare bird, pun intended. There are a few short of five hundred bishops, and I am the only gelding. I have met a few others in the lower ranks, but by and large we are but a sliver between two already tiny circles.” A shrug. “All of us in the service are sworn to celibacy regardless, so I’ve always found it to be a serendipitous fit.”

“Right.” Rarity shook her head. “But, ah, Canterlot? Really?”

“Yes, and Trottingham. I spent some number of years on your side of the ocean.”

“Explains the accent. Or, uh, lack of accent, actually.” said Rainbow Dash. “You must have spent a lot of time there to lose your own.”

“About a decade in total. My first exposure to your tongue was from a Canterlot instructor, so I managed to avoid the flaws in diction one picks up from an imperfect teacher. That was not the only thing I managed to pick up, of course; quite a lot of my education was spent in the Old Country, and I think it is likely that my continuing disillusionment with the state of affairs here derives mostly from that experience; put another way, from a knowledge that things here are distinctly not normal.”

“Not normal?” Rainbow Dash scoffed. “I think you’re being a little too generous with that one there, bud.”

“I am inclined to agree.” Rarity nodded, clearly deep in thought on how to phrase something delicately. “But, ah, I do have to wonder about the, er, general lack of clothing in Canterlot, insofar as it relates to potential questions about your, shall we say, condition?”

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Oh, now look at who’s being ‘indelicate!’”

Rarity shot her a look; she hadn’t spent that much effort in phrasing to be chastised.

The bishop chuckled. “Ah. No, wearing of the habit is mandatory at all times, fortunately. I have never had to have that conversation in the less … modest parts of the world.”

“Right. It must be supremely awkward.” Suddenly feeling quite naked upon her understanding of the bishop’s subtext, Rarity blushed. “Speaking of, ah, modesty, are my friend and I currently in violation of social convention?”

“A little, and within the confines of this cathedral you would generally be expected to to cover up, but considering the situation I shouldn’t think anypony would have a problem. I can have a pair of cloaks brought if you would like. They’re simple things, rough-spun and undyed, but–”

“Don’t apologize.” Rarity shook her head. “I would be loathe to criticize any act of charity, but especially not now. We graciously accept.”

“Plus,” added Rainbow Dash, “the plainer the better. We did just burn down a house, so it’s not like we’re exactly trying to advertise ourselves out there.”

“Underst – burned down a house?” The bishop raised an eyebrow from under the brim of his ridiculous hat. “Do tell?”

“Oh, no, we didn’t burn down a home,” Rarity jumped to assure.

“You didn’t burn anything down?”

“Well, we burned something down, that’s true.” Rarity nodded. “But it’s probably best that you skip that topic of conversation if you try and avoid talk about your, as you said, contemporaries.” A moment of thought. “Or, at least, skip it until we find ourselves suitably disguised.”

“Understood.” A nod. “You needn’t say more; I’ll send for them at once. Anything else you believe you might need?”

“No–”

“Yeah, actually.” Rainbow Dash cut Rarity off. “You got anything for pain? Because I’m pretty sure I’m running out of adrenaline here and I’m starting to hurt pretty bad.”

“A few. How badly?”

“Well, besides the pair of crossbow bolt wounds I think I managed to pull my left wing out of socket when I fell on it.” Rainbow Dash attempted to give it a wiggle from where it hung limply; the fresh hit of pain convinced her that was probably a bad idea “It went back in, but, uh…”

“I understand.” A wince. “Our stock of prepared drugs is low, but I can have a preparation of willow bark made. Not exactly as good as Hay-Ern tablets, but effective enough.”

Rainbow Dash shook her head. “That will up the bleeding. It’s also not, uh, like, very good.” A slightly impish cocking of the head. “You got anything … better?”

“I believe I have few bottles of a weak tincture of opium.”

Rainbow Dash tried her best to hide her not-totally inappropriate enthusiasm.

“Normally,” a grumble, “we try and preserve that for the most dire of situations, but I suppose on a certain level your ability to be effective may very well be of dire importance. I’ll send for some.” A frown. “On the other hoof, I don’t have very much, so I will have to be rather stingy on the dosage.”

“I’d usually object to our usage of your scarce resources for our decidedly nonurgent needs, but I shouldn’t think she should require very much anyways,” Rarity interjected. “She only weights as much as a slightly pudgy pubescent filly from any other tribe, so, what, three teaspoons of standard laudanum two hours apart? That should keep her pretty much comatose for a night or so.”

Rainbow Dash shot her a questioning look, impressed by her roughly correct dosage but somewhat concerned by her ready knowledge of how much laudanum it took to knock out a filly almost exactly the same size as her sister.

The bishop did a little mental math. “That’s about right, yes.” He took a step back. “Please excuse me for a moment while I fetch some things.” With a prompt about-face, he was off.

Rarity and Rainbow Dash watched as he paced away, vestments gliding smartly just above the floor. Rainbow Dash spoke up first. “Huh. That went better than I expected, honestly.”

“I suppose statistically speaking some of the urban wildlife must be of good moral character,” Rarity deadpanned. “That being said, I will still be giving whatever he brings back here a sniff to make sure it smells right and not like, say, bitter almonds.”

“I think I found myself pretty much convinced by his arguments, Rares. What kind of pony would bandage a mare before throwing her in front of a hired bow?” A half-shrug, careful to avoid any wing movement. “Plus, y’know, he’s giving me free drugs, so that’s pretty rad.”

“Not usually a sign of good moral character, but considering the circumstances I suppose…” Rarity shook her head. “I see what you’re saying.” She shot Rainbow Dash a side eye. “I do presume you know about the nature of this particular poison, right?”

“Whew! More than I’d like to, yes.” Rainbow Dash stared off into the distance, evidently now deep into a flashback. “When I was about Sweetie Belle’s age I took classes on advanced acrobatics at Immelmare’s, the big flight academy, right? Well, anyway, one time while I was flying through the course one time somepony forgot to check if the cloud cannon was clear before firing and launched a sandbag they used to cover the muzzle up at me at, uh, pretty damn quick speed.”

“What happened?”

“Not sure. I was flying straight, and then I was in a hospital bed strapped to a bunch of supports and covered in a cast.” Rainbow Dash gave her right shoulder a rub, eyes still forward. “Apparently I got hit broadside by that sandbag. Shattered my clavicle, broke a few ribs, dislocated and fractured my humerus, the works.” Rainbow Dash turned her head to face Rarity, eyes uncharacteristically hollow. “Spent two months in there, then another half year re-learning how to walk. Part of the reason why I don’t do it when I can.”

“Really?” Rarity shook her head, mildly surprised. News of Rainbow being horribly injured in the past was still news, but not exactly shocking: like another case of mild food poisoning from Pinkie’s shop, it came with the territory. “I never knew. Forgive me for all – ah, about half of my moaning on the subject, please.”

“Forgiveness halfway granted.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “But of course you didn’t know. I never told you. Never told anypony, actually. Except Fluttershy, of course, because–”

“–she always figures out anyway?”

“No, because she came to see me almost daily in the hospital.” Rainbow Dash smiled, some of her good humor returning. “But also yes, she does always figure our your secrets.” Those puppy-dog eyes were irresistible when they needed to be. “Anyway, the point is is that I woke up in that room hooked up to a full drip bag of grade-A morphine and stayed that way for two weeks. So I’m very aware of what this stuff will do you, for worse and for worser-worse. On the other hoof, I’m also very aware that I’d like to spend as much of the next twelve hours as extremely unconscious as possible, so I’m gonna suspend my fear of extreme constipation for a while.” She gave Rarity a suspicious look. “The better question is why you have exactly how much dope it would take to knock out your sister memorized?”

“I don’t have that memorized, I have the formula memorized, because I needed it for her fellow Crusaders too.”

Rainbow Dash took a step back, genuinely shocked. “Rarity, you didn’t!”

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Rarity smirked. “But after the second hour of ‘attempting a cutie mark in Sardineighian throat singing’ I sure thought about it. Incidentally, it’s an extra spoonful for Apple Bloom and a half dose for yours.”

“You thought about it hard enough to memorize the formula? That seems … unlikely.”

“I may not have the pure mental grunt of some, but I have great recall, Rainbow, especially when presented something in writing, which I was.”

“Recalling … the back of a bottle?”

“Goodness no, Rainbow. Me? Regardless of one’s own desires and needs, to keep that around the house? Where Sweetie Belle could get it?” Rarity scoffed.

“Fair enough, but I think she’s probably old enough to know not to – actually, on second thought, she probably would do something bad, yeah.”

Rarity chuckled. “I was about to say, Rainbow. Them? Not do something stupid? Given the opportunity she’d probably try to get a Mark in illegal pharmacology by infusing my cigarettes or something of that ilk. I’d rather not take a drag one day and find myself deep into an opium house.”

“Infusion? I don’t know about the other two, but Scootaloo’s not that, uh, smart. She’d probably just try putting a bottle – uh, a whole intact bottle that is, still sealed – into a pie or something.”

“Also a good point; perhaps worrying about unprompted amateur compounding was expecting too much.”

Rainbow Dash snickered. “I mean, I’m not really sure you can expect too much out of them, but I get the idea.”

“Right.” Rarity gave a cough, already looking away from Rainbow at the previously noticed stained-glass window. It was awfully easy to notice. “Speaking of worrying…”

“Uh-huh,” agreed Rainbow Dash, likewise noticing the window. “You, uh, notice that the thing Celestia is about to stab in that window looks a whole lot like her sister?”

“I did.” Rarity furrowed her brow. “Which is frankly a little weird, because – well, two reasons actually.” She raised a hoof. “One is that, despite all the times I’ve read or heard about that little sibling spat, I’ve never actually seen it depicted.”

“Right, yeah, same.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head in thought. “Which, like, I guess she could have had the windows and paintings changed over the years or whatever, right? I mean, it’s not like either of us spent a whole lot of time in Canterlot before our, uh–” Rainbow Dash took a moment to figure out an appropriately respectful and weighty word for their magical empowerment “–elemental embiggening.”

“I had been once, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the windows; with how small I was, I don’t think I could have physically looked that far up anyways,” Rarity agreed. “I suppose we could ask Twilight if there had been some sort of historical prohibition, but…”

Both mares separately reflected on the size of that lesson.

“…No thanks.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “But, more importantly, ol’ Sunbutt up there is, like, a second away from putting a lance through her sister’s head. Now, I don’t know for sure if alicorns operate like normal ponies or if there is some kind of hydra thing going on, but usually when a spear goes through a pony’s head they, uh, kinda die. Immediately.”

“Which is a problem, because Luna very much didn’t die.” Rarity took a quick look around the cathedral for any other depictions of the lunar princess; none were immediately apparent.

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Luna not dying is a problem?”

“No, the – for the narrative, Rainbow. It’s a problem for the, if a window and my castle’s steward’s apparent beliefs represent the region at large, predominant narrative. I certainly don’t have a problem with Luna being around. I think she’s a sweet girl and smarter than she appears, if a little, er–”

“Kind of a pussy?”

“Well I wasn’t going to say it, but go on.”

“I mean, look, I get trying to fit in after a literal thousand years is going to be hard, and yeah you trying to kill your sister is pretty bad, but she could stand up a little bit more, y’know?” Rainbow Dash absentmindedly shrugged, drawing a wince. “It’s – ouch, that was dumb – like, I don’t have siblings, right, but I once saw Applejack and Big Mac get into a frying pan fight over the right way to make apple compote. If there’s anypony you need to have some fire with, it’s your family.”

“I would agree,” said Rarity, greatly amused at the mental picture of the usually so reserved Big Mac deep into a sparring match with kitchenware. “A, er, frying pan fight?”

“Oh yeah. Full contact, full force, sparks flying.” Rainbow Dash raised a hoof. “And before you ask, the answer is nopony. Nopony wins a frying pan fight.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Violence aside, I’ve whined and pouted my way around enough petty nonsense to know that Luna would be working from an immensely stacked deck. Celestia being domineering? Simply refuse to lower the moon as the punctuation of a hissy-fit of epic proportions. What’s she going to do?”

“Uh, she’d just lower it herself before, apparently, killing you with a spear in the brain?” Rainbow replied.

“Oh, right. I suppose we’ve seen what the aftermath of such a hissy-fit would be already,” admitted Rarity sheepishly. “Maybe just a little pouting then.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I do have to wonder why an entire city would apparently reject Celestia’s own account of that night.”

“Oh, that? That’s easy,” scoffed Rainbow Dash. “That’s because it sounds like total bullshit.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah. Come on, Rares, you never really thought about it?” continued Rainbow Dash. “Look, if I took, say, Cloudkicker, for no particular reason, into a ravine and came out three hours later covered in blood and with her very much not present and I told whoever found me that she had been ‘banished to the moon’ I would be swinging from a gallows by the morning because that is clearly bullshit and I definitely just murdered her with a rock or something.” Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “I mean, hell, if I hadn’t seen Luna with my own eyes, I might kind of agree with the whole city, y’know?”

“Not the whole city, Rainbow Dash.”

Both turned to the voice. The little bishop silently closed the distance down the main aisle, a bottle hung around his neck by a rope and a pair of folded, hooded tunics across his back.

Rainbow Dash blushed in embarrassment, hopeful that addressing one of Equestria’s diarchs as “kind of a pussy” didn’t count as some kind of blasphemy. “How much of that did you hear?”

“I came into earshot in the midst of a discussion about a ‘frying-pan fight’ involving, if I recall correctly, another one of your fellow Aspects of Harmony.” He held up a presumptive hoof. “I am under no pretenses that any of you are in any way infallible, so please don’t be embarrassed.”

“If the worst you thought about us was that we sometimes get into bouts of cast-iron carnage you would have a much better opinion than most.” Rarity likewise held out a hoof. “I’d quite like that cloak, if you don’t mind; I’m feeling rather naked, and I’d rather get her–” she gestured towards Rainbow Dash “–dressed before she loses her faculties from what you have around your neck.”

Rainbow Dash huffed. “I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, Rarity.”

Rarity, a foreleg already laden with the requested cloaks (she was always amazed at the ability of Earth Ponies, especially as she was so conspicuously lacking in those skills), smirked. “Really, you’re small enough that I could probably manage with you totally unconscious, but that would be really rather demeaning for you.” She leaned in towards Rainbow Dash. “Take it from one cripple to another, Rainbow – under the circumstances, pride isn’t worth it. Take the help.”

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes but nevertheless held out a forehoof. “I never thought I’d be lectured by Rarity about the sin of vanity, but here we are.”

Rarity rolled her eyes, nevertheless looping the correct arm-hole around Rainbow Dash’s extended foreleg, then the central hole around a ducked head. Once threaded in, Rainbow Dash stepped through the remaining hole, whereupon Rarity tossed the rest of the cloak over the pegasus, resolving to deal with the top of her dress at a later date. Satisfied, Rarity stepped back, swiftly donning her own vestments while watching Rainbow Dash for any sign of difficulty. “There! I would wager that we both look like the very picture of monastic fashion.”

“Not quite,” interjected the bishop amusedly, “as the colors are not quite right for a habit – these are for the occasional layponies.”

“I will defer to your knowledge, sir–”

“‘Father’ or ‘bishop,’ please. In this tongue, ‘sir’ is a title to which I am not entitled.”

“–bishop,” corrected Rarity, finding the whole “father” thing a little weird, “as my talents for fashion do not include the sacred.”

The bishop waved her off with a foreleg. “I should think with either of you two involved the ‘fashion,’ as it were, becomes inherently sacred.”

Both mares looked at each other uneasily. Rainbow Dash was wont of occasionally half-seriously proclaiming herself a demigod of sorts, but it was always with tongue in cheek, usually in order to irritate Fluttershy who found it immensely annoying. That being said, that was not to say that all forms of religious appellations were without seriousness; the Bearers had occasionally encountered certain ponies who would praise them to their faces in the most devotional of terms – something that even Rarity and Rainbow Dash found more than a little uncomfortable. Rarity, decidedly interested in nipping that in the bud, spoke up first. “Ah, Bishop, I’m afraid that would be an incorrect belief. There is nothing “sacred” at work here; we are, plainly, not gods.”

“Of course you are not gods.” He barked a laugh. “Ha! Gods. Nay, insofar as there are gods-in-persons, you are clearly not one of those.”

Rainbow Dash chimed in, confused. “Then why would you use the word sacred? Sort of hard to be that without, y’know, the god part.”

“No, that word is ‘divine.’ Different meaning.” He shook his head. “And that aside, just because you two are not gods does not mean than you two are not touched by a higher power. That is what I meant.”

“What do you mean, higher power?”

The bishop, rather than answer, merely pointed up at the sun-drenched stained-glass depiction of Celestia high in the air above the two, a goldenrod-yellow halo resplendent above her head.

“Celestia?” asked Rainbow Dash with plain incredulousness. “I mean, I guess I’ve touched her at some point, but…”

“It didn’t seem particularly remarkable, really, except for the minor burns which might have resulted with prolonged contact” Rarity mused. “Still, I wouldn’t say that being touched by the Princess, her own divinity notwithstanding, would inherently confer any kind of sacredness.”

“Not High Celestia, at least not in an essential sense.” He moved his foreleg higher. “Look past the picture. Look at the sun, the halo, the perfectness of the form. Feel the touch of the sun’s rays, the tranquility of this space.”

“The Sun?” Rarity mocked. “I think that would generally be called sunburn, not–”

“Harmony, Rarity” Rainbow Dash cut her off, unusually perceptive. “He’s talking about Harmony.”

“Precisely. Precisely!” the bishop emphasized, smiling broadly.

“Harmony isn’t a higher power, it’s what I sing whenever we have one of our big sing-a-longs,” said Rarity, suddenly aware of how strange that sentence was. Truthfully, the long history of spontaneous public song was indeed probably evidence of some kind of higher designs, although, considering the effect of the average pony’s singing voice on Rarity’s trained ears, that deity was likely a sadist.

“Not ‘little h’ harmony, Rarity. Big ‘H’ Harmony. Like the Tree, y’know?”

“Crystalline flora is not a higher power either, magical power notwithstanding,” Rarity deadpanned.

Only the slightest of eyebrow twitches gave away the bishop’s well-hidden irritation, but it was enough for Rarity to notice – and enough for her to tone down the flippancy a little, if only out of a desire to not offend her host. “Ah, sorry for my wording if I have offended you. This sort of thing is, ah, quite alien to me; I would not consider Ponyville a hotbed of, ah, harmonious sentiment, and where my parents came from far less so even than that.”

“It would take more than that to offend me.” The bishop waved her off with a foreleg. “I recognize for some it can be an unfamiliar presentation. By the lilt in your voice which you are almost hiding behind your manufactured diction, I would guess you are descended from Hightops stock, no?”

Wide-eyed in surprise, Rarity took a step back, rather shocked. True, a distinctive bit of twang would eek out around her usually impenetrable High-Culture tones, but only very occasionally. “Ye-yes, that’s correct. How–”

“With as many tongues as I command, one picks up an ear for that sort of things,” the Bishop explained. “I would presume, then, that they are–”

It was Rarity’s turn to cut him off. “Ante-Apotheosis Creationists? Yes, and quite staunchly.”

“Ah. ‘There is a Creator, and it created all other gods – Celestia included.’ Not a traditional position among those who recognize Harmony in the way I do, but not incompatible. Clearly an attractive position for those for whom High Celestia commands unfortunately little love.” He cocked his head towards Rarity. “And you?”

“I suppose so as well, although I never got into the dogma or ceremony of it; that was well above my intellectual interests as a foal,” Rarity explained. “Still, the basic principle seems plainly true to me at least. I have a pretty good idea of how old Celestia is, and I know exactly how old the gemstones I dig out of the ground are – my talent, you see – and the second dates considerably before the first.”

“I would not put it quite so simply as that, but I would not argue against you in those terms either.” He gestured to Rainbow Dash. “And you?”

“Uh,” started Rainbow Dash confusedly, shocked out of rubbing her wing joint under her cloak with a wince. “I, uh, guess my parents were into the old Pegasus goddesses and stuff. I never really got into that stuff; I like the serious history a lot more.” She pointed towards the bottle still suspended from the Bishop’s neck. “Speaking of, uh, getting into that stuff, do you mind? The adrenaline is really starting to wear off not.”

“No, of course not! My apologies.” The bishop passed his cargo over; Rainbow Dash, after a moment of thought and examination of the bottle’s size and potency, pulled out the cork with her teeth and took a measured swig. “I’d hate to let my discussions of theology prolong your suffering.”

“I was enjoying it, actually. Not something I’ve ever really thought about.” Rainbow Dash recorked the bottle, passing it back to the bishop who stashed it somewhere in his robes. “Just not enjoying it enough to, y’know, distract me from the serious injuries.”

“Nor, I hasten to add, were you inflicting suffering on me,” added Rarity. “I can be overly sarcastic sometimes out of proportion with my actual feelings. Despite my upbringing, it’s not that I inherently disagree with you, it’s just that I’m a little, ah, skeptical of the specifics.”

“Understandable. For those so inundated with its presence, it would be difficult to see the limits of Harmony’s presence; the fish cannot look up and see the end of the water.” The bishop shook his head. “If desired, I could offer explanations and apologies for hours, but I fear we do not have hours.”

“You’ve got about five minutes,” corrected Rainbow Dash, eminently aware of how much of a lightweight she was. “But I’m interested. What can you do in that?”

“Well, I’d usually go into a spiel about the nature of the Celestial Mother, but for those who have had such prolonged contact with she, the flowery language is going to fall quite flat.”

“It would indeed.” Rarity grumbled. “Celestial or not, she is certainly not any kind of perfect.”

“No, she is not,” the Bishop agreed. “And even the old Scripture-Epics would agree; Equestria was wrought with a fiery sword, but it was not wrought without mistakes.”

“I meant in the present day, Bishop.”

The bishop raised a forehoof. “Yet, even at that you have come face to face with the mysteries of the sublime!”

Rainbow Dash, with a yawn, interjected with uncharacteristic politeness. “…Explain?”

“Certainly.” He trot towards the center of the cavernous room towards a central circle of stone, beckoning the mares to follow. “As you have both observed, Celestia is, despite her status and deeds, a mare of flesh and blood, no?”

Both mares joined him in ambling towards the circle. Rainbow Dash, after some hobbling, took a seat on a wooden bench nearby. Rarity answered his question. “Among other things, yes.”

The bishop seemingly ignored her comment. “Yet, despite her essentially mundane substance, there is clearly some other nature which is present. She is fundamentally fallible, fundamentally not immune to harm – yet, at the same time, there is unarguably some component of her person which is not mundane and ordinary. Her connection to the life-giving sun, her longevity, all that which made her different to all those other ponies in the age of bronze and petty polities.”

“And that’s … Harmony? Big-H Harmony?” asked Rainbow Dash, attention rapt.

The bishop nodded. “The presence of it, yes, it is.”

Rarity, with a raised eyebrow, was not quite so convinced. “I suppose that there indeed must be some unusual component of her ‘nature,’ as you put it, but there are lots of unusual things out there. Twilight once told me about a place in Canneighda wherein one must check one’s path with thrown pebbles lest one stumble into a pocket of wild magic and have one’s flesh melted from one’s bones. I would find the description of that as ‘Harmony’ to be rather dubious.”

“Of course it would be, nor would I attempt to explain it in that way.” The bishop shook his head. “But consider this; why isn’t the whole world like that?”

“Why isn’t the whole world ocean?” Rarity shrugged. “I don’t follow your line of questioning.”

“I – never mind. It is a minor question at that.” He pointed at the mares. “But do not become fixated on High Celestia alone. Consider, instead, yourselves, and your own particular connections to Harmony.”

“And the Elements thereof?” Rarity asked. “Because if it is I must admit that, despite my earlier rant which you overheard, I have only a very tenuous grasp on what the true nature of the, ah, ‘blessing’ bestowed upon us.”

“Yeah, me too.” Rainbow Dash agreed. “I asked Twilight one time and she spent the next fifteen minutes talking in circles. I just, like, resigned myself to only kinda-sorta getting it.”

“Understanding! Heavens, no, I wouldn’t dream of asking you two for real understanding. I doubt even Celestia fully understands Harmony fully.” The bishop shook his head, voice raising into the crescendo of his argument. “And yet, you both fully recognize that there is now some greater component of yourselves which is not of yourselves. You are not just the ponies you once were, you are, inextricably, part of your Aspects. Not gods, not divine, but you are, perhaps unlike all other ponies but those blessed with the gift of the Alicorn, the three forms in one, essentially linked with Harmony.”

Rarity continued her steady visage of being unimpressed. Rainbow Dash, albeit tinged with some understandable sleepiness, bore a look of at least moderate interest. She gave a polite cough. “I, uh, yeah, that makes sense I guess. As much sense as what Twilight told us about what the Elements meant to us for our future.”

“Which was?”

“That they were gifts bestowed upon us by a particularly garish tree.” Rarity answered. “I, for one, was not aware that trees possessed enough capability for executive decision making to really bestow anything, but I am not of the right tribe to make that call, I suppose.”

“Applejack says they do,” added Rainbow Dash. “And I trust her opinion about plants, ‘cause, y’know, Applejack.”

“They do not quite, but there is indeed an essence of a connected being there,” confirmed the only Earth Pony in the room, “the interconnected nature of which is precisely the kind of–”

Rarity cut him off. “–thing which proves the so forth and so on.”

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now look at who’s being uncouth.”

Rarity, with a light blush, hastily added an apology. “Sorry. Just attempting to keep things moving – limited time, of course.”

“I understand.” The bishop gave a small nod towards Rainbow Dash. “I suppose I was treading on familiar ground there; I’m sure you have your own questions.”

“Thank you.” Rarity tapped a forehoof, looking askance at nothing in particular. “I, er, suppose that you are … probably on the right track as far as the whole mixing of essences goes. Even ignoring my earlier statements about the effects I have noticed on my psyche, I fear there are some physical changes as well.”

“Really? That-that’s at the very heart of the mystery of the alicorn, of their unique nature!” The little bishop’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Please, do tell!”

“I, er, can’t speak to the applicability of my own situation to something as vast as that, but–” Rarity rubbed at her horn through her wig “–I certainly feel like I have become a more potent unicorn; not more skilled, mind you, but more potent. Even besides the ‘lighting my face on fire’ thing–”

The bishop cocked his head to the side. “The what?”

“Another time. It is as it sounds.” Rarity resumed her explanation. “As I was saying, even besides that I have noticed that I, for example, cut into the table beneath a cloth I was rending in two, something I would have been incapable of before, or turned a light toss of a doll back to my sister into a volleyball spike directly into her face, or any number of things like that.” Rarity looked back over herself, curves hidden under the loose cloak. “And I think I’m putting on weight.”

Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “That’s just because ‘Rarity’s emergency stress ice cream’ is now ‘Rarity’s every day ice cream.’ That’s not magic, Rares. You’re just getting fat.”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Remind me to kick you once you’re less crippled. I’d hate to be cruel.”

“Just make sure to aim away from anything delicate. All that mass in one place like a wing? I’d be in trouble.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “I think you’re right about that though. I know Twilight has put on a ton of weight recently too.”

“Really?” Rarity, ever the hound for gossip, was instantly at attention. “How much?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Rainbow Dash’s grin was appropriately shit-eating. “About two wings worth?”

Rarity, enthusiasm crushed, sighed. “Remind me to kick you twice, actually.”

“You’ll have to catch me first. Maybe lay off the chocolate for a while.” Rainbow Dash chuckled, turning her head towards the clergypony as she stifled another yawn with a hoof. “So, is being part of Harmony or whatever just something for us and the wings-and-horns squad? Or is it in every pony? Because I don’t think I’d be very motivated to ‘venerate the great Harmonious force’ or whatever if only like ten ponies get to have it.”

“Certainly not.” The bishop emphatically shook his head, ridiculous hat wobbling too and fro. “Not all are as touched as they and you are, but all are touched – pony, tree, and everything in between as well.” He pointed straight upwards. “Look up, on the roof.”

They followed his point. There was, in the roof of a circular dome set into the vaults, a painted-on sun disc, the fiery tongues of which cascaded down the sloping walls. Below the ledge of the dome was a row of fifteen windows, each with an illuminated pony bedecked in scales of armor and long mail and decorated with colorful caparisons – invariably a unicorn or Earth pony, never a pegasus. Below sat another row of windows, this time all pegasi, and with all of them dressed in a lighter and more archaic set of feathered cuirasses and ridged helmets with transverse crests of hair, each dyed to match its wearer.

Notably, one of the pegasi bore a striking resemblance to the pegasus currently seated in a pew, that pegasus’s dye-job nonwithstanding.

The clergypony did not wait for comments. “When this building was built all those years ago, it was with intent. Witness how the sun-disc – the symbolism of which I am sure is obvious – cascades around the windows, and their position high in air; these ponies, perfectly mundane ones at that, are elevated by Celestia’s presence into their status.”

“Literally, I see,” Rarity mused. “And who are those ‘mundane’ ponies?”

“Celestia’s Companions. Farther north they would be called ‘paladins.’ Mighty warriors each, and all lieutenants of the host when this land was conquered. These here are–”

“No, wait, I actually know this one!” Rainbow Dash, ever the fiend for historical tales which met her threshold for badassery, sprung back from the brink of slumber with a final bit of wind. “It was family line kind of thing, and it was crazy old – some of them were clans from before Equestria.”

The bishop looked suitably impressed. “Correct on all counts, Miss Dash.”

“I know my stuff.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “Except if these ponies were supposed to be around when Bitaly was founded, that’s, like, several hundred years too late for any paladins to be around.”

“For most of them to be around, not all. Do you recall what happened to the paladins?”

“Uh…” Rainbow Dash scratched the back of her head. “Not really? That was after the cool part.”

“The paladins, Miss Dash, persisted past the ‘cool part’ of the epics and campaigns of antiquity. They stuck around long enough, in fact to almost be annihilated in the great muster of the levies upon her sister’s rebellion.”

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “I feel like I would have read about that.”

“You would not have. Celestia quite directly instructed chroniclers to omit that detail, as the ‘immortal companions’ faced such horrible losses largely because no small number of them found themselves on the other side. Would have been bad for the mythos and the realm as a whole.”

“Uh-huh.” Rarity pointed upwards. “And these are the blessed … survivors? Victors?”

“A subset. After quelling the rebellion Celestia set her sights across the waves. The somber historian would state that, having broken the rust from her scabbard and with her paladins pressuring her for rewards for their loyalty, she set to conquering the pony-lands across the waters.”

“A somber historian as opposed to what?”

“The folk-memory of the events here, especially by those inclined to look for Harmony’s presence. To them, Celestia was a liberating crusader who voyaged over the seas to justifiably exterminate a society which habitually sacrificed foals to a horned cow-god.” The bishop shrugged. “The winners write the story, but I have seen the little skeletons in the catacombs of Roan. I am inclined to sympathize with the second.”

All present shuddered at the thought of that.

He continued. “Whatever the case, after the campaign concluded Celestia installed what remained of her companions as members of the nobility – hence their depiction. The comital lines of the region are descended, however distantly, from those steadfast ponies.” He pointed at one in particular, a white-bearded stallion draped in a checkerboard of green and white. “That one is the progenitor of the now-extinct line that ruled Mareanello.”

“Noble and steadfast?” Rarity scoffed scornfully. “Apparently, in light of the descendants, the ‘presence of harmony’ does not extend through the ages. How the mighty all have fallen.”

“It does, but even those touched by Harmony the most can turn to wickedness. That is the lesson to be learned from The Nighmare, Luna Apostasa, not that Celestia is all-conquering. That High Celestia did not commit sororicide is a key element of the story, an element which was unfortunately swiftly forgotten in the centuries.”

“I’ve never asked Luna about the details, but I would guess she would agree.”

“Is that so?” The bishop raised an eyebrow. “I must admit that it would be among the first things I would ask, politeness disregarded. To settle such a classic theological debate so easily is an opportunity too sweet to not be taken.”

“I think you’ll find that Luna’s word carries less weight than you might guess, Bishop.” Rarity looked back at Rainbow Dash, her being uncharacteristically silent. Both of her eyelids were fluttering shut; as simple an answer as any. “I’d be happy to discuss the matter of Equestria’s nocturnal princess at some other point, but I’m afraid we must be wrapping things up, or at least pivoting towards more practical conversation. I’ll be needing to start carting my sleeping ward back to our meager housing soon.”

“N-not sleeping yet.” Rainbow Dash, with one eye barely cranked open, gently raised a forehoof in protest. “’Still got a question.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash pointed to the rainbow-maned pegasus in the windows above. “I’zzat Arcobaleno?”

“Arcobaleno’s grandmother Folgore, yes. The great pegasi were the paladin’s champion-attendants; Thunderbolt, Lighting, Storm Bird, and the twins Sabre Typhoon and Sabre Tempest are among the names you have likely heard of. As for Folgore, I think that pegasus served under…” a moment of thought. “It might have been Mareanello’s line, actually.”

“What perfect synchronicity,” mused Rarity, eminently aware that coincidences usually meant that deeply magical nonsense was afoot, something she had entirely too much of recently.

“Perhaps.” It was the bishop’s turn to cast his gaze away. “The champions have a more, er, checkered record. Arcobaleno’s line were rather infamous for–”

“Being so bad that everyone is still scared of pegasi today.” Rainbow Dash closed her eyes again. “Read that part of the book already.” A slight smile as her head relaxed. “…still pretty cool to be related, though.”

“Did you say related, Miss–”

A snore informed him that his question would go unanswered.

“…And there she goes.” Rarity chuckled. “Surprised she made it that long, poor thing.”

“Quite,” the bishop agreed, inspecting the sleeping pegasus. “With all the blood she must have lost at her size and the depth of that gash, I’m surprised she could still walk at all.”

“She’s tougher than she looks, partly because she habitually launches herself into hillsides and homes alike.” Rarity joined his gaze. “But it’s also because, in her mind, big-L Loyalty means always being there for your friends, for better and for worse. If that means putting on a brave face in the here-and-now and breaking down later, that’s just part of the cards she’s been dealt.”

“Are the Aspects really that forward in your mind?”

“Very literally indescribably so,” Rarity answered firmly. “None of us have been turned into slobbering wrecks yet, but all of us have had the wonderful experience of part of our previously-concrete psyche ripped out and replaced with a billboard commanding obedience to a particular concept. She probably takes it the best, if only because of an ego so enormous as to crowd out virtually all other aspects of the self from her mind, but I do catch her struggling occasionally.”

“And yourself?”

“You’ve already seen that. I manage.” Rarity turned back to the bishop. “To round us out, Kindness frets about it constantly; understandable, as it’s a nearly impossible thing to pin down for every encounter, Honesty does just fine; probably because she is a simpleton, and Laughter … has her ways.”

“And Power–” the clergypony shook his head “–sorry, Magic?”

“Twilight Sparkle was always a slobbering mess, so she does not count.” Rarity allowed herself a smirk before turning back to Rainbow Dash’s sleeping form. “I was not being figurative about that cart, by the way – I am literally going to have to cart her home. Do you have something like that?”

The bishop smiled. “I’m sure I we can scrounge something up.”

The little courtyard behind the building was really a very pleasant patch of grass, even if the little outbuilding in the corner did have a certain stench of death to it.

Rarity figured the gravestones over fresh earthen mounds adjacent to it turned it form “worrying” to merely “foul.”

The kegs of beer removed from the simple wooden cart by a hooded and eerily quiet figure (which the bishop helpfully informed Rarity was indeed a monastic and thus provided evidence to his earlier correction about her fashion knowledge), Rarity finished cinching the simple draw-bands across her breast and barrel. “I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to maintain a low profile dragging a cart behind me with a pony in it, but I’ll try my best.”

“It just looks like you’re moving a corpse. It happens all the time around here.” The bishop spun a forehoof around. “Especially from precisely here.”

“In a beer cart?”

The bishop shrugged. “There are only so many carts. Pragmatism is a virtue.”

Rarity at once decided to stick to wine from henceforth.

“In your habits, nopony will bother speaking to you anyway. Vows of silence are absolute.”

“Right.” Rarity looked at the rough wooden bed of the cart, then at the still peacefully slumbering Rainbow Dash who she had moved to a bench in the courtyard with an inelegant carry. “Do you perchance have anything with which to cushion–”

That same hooded figure rather unceremoniously dumped Rarity’s dress into the cart, then topped it with a layer of half-disguising, half-cushioning hay.

Rarity looked impressed. “I suppose all those layers should be put to good use anyway.” She turned to the two other ambulatory ponies present. “Would you mind helping me get her into the cart?”

The monastic took a step back, shaking his head under his hood. The bishop likewise refused.

Rarity raised an eyebrow.

The bishop preempted her question. “The monks will not touch a mare. Part of their vows.”

“And you?”

“Not much for strength at my age.”

With a roll of her eyes, Rarity trotted over to Rainbow Dash. With a bit of awkward shimmying, she managed to get Rainbow Dash onto her back – she was truthfully very light – and, with some unsteady steps over uneven stones, rolled her into the cart. Her ending pose did end up being rather corpse-like, so that was good news for the disguise at least.

“Suppose–” a huff “–that’s it, then.” Rarity moved to the front of the cart. “Can you at least help strap me in?”

“That I can.” The bishop joined her at the front of the cart.

With a squat, Rarity presented herself for fastening; deftly, lines were connected and buckles fastened. She looked over herself, inspecting the craftsmanship for any potential pinch-spots. “Every time a unicorn gets fastened into a yoke, I think Princess Platinum rolls over again in her grave.”

The bishop chuckled. “I think you will manage, tribal affinities aside.”

“We’ll see.” Rarity likewise chuckled before turning to address him. “I, er, suppose I should thank you. For saving her life, for–”

The bishop held up a forehoof. “It is the least I could do.”

“What do you mean, least?” Rarity asked, incredulous. “I’d say you went well above and beyond the realm of normalcy!”

“No. Anypony who stumbled into my church so grievously wounded would have received aid. That’s normal. But that does not matter, because this was not normal.”

“Violence? That seems quite normal here, bishop.”

“It is.” He shook his head. “But two Aspects of Harmony entering my careis not normal.”

“Bishop,” warned Rarity, “I thought I made my opinion on ‘undeserved blessings’ quite clear.”

“You did. But there are more important things than your feelings, such as ensuring you two do not perish and, instead, succeed on your quest.”

“Quest? What quest?”

“I am not sure yet” the bishop stated, looking into the distance, “but two Aspects of Harmony do not travel across an ocean for no reason. You two are here for something important, something with great weight.”

“It is important. We’re here for some ungodly amount of money to which Luna is apparently entitled but is inaccessible to her due to some intricacies of bureaucracy.”

“By what means?” The bishop continued to look away.

“By my assumption of the title of Duchess of Marelan.”

A sharp intake of breath, then the bishop turned to lock eyes with Rarity, pale-faced and wide-eyed. “Your what?”

“I, likewise, have come to understand the gravity of the situation I am in,” Rarity grumbled, smiling in a show of wicked gallows humor. “It managed to sink in while I ran for my life about fifteen minutes ago, so the initial shock has mostly worn off.”

More stammered gasps. “T-that’s a suicide mission, a roundabout execution.”

“I truly believe that Princess Luna did not know enough to know that,” Rarity said. “At least, she better not have known better, or I will personally kill her in the unlikely event I survive long enough to see her again.”

A long pause followed.

The bishop, after a few slow blinks and some carefully paced breaths, managed to compose himself enough to turn his questions into something more than just incredulous babbling. “We-were you instructed as to how you were intended to accomplish this?”

“Not really, no.” Rarity attempted to shrug, but mostly just succeeded in jostling the cart she was yoked too. “I, upon assignment, had prepared to do nothing more than sign my name upon a sheet of parchment, the comital title being nothing more than a prerequisite for a rubber stamp; I, in other words, had prepared no plans.”

“And now?”

“Now? It’s coming together.” Rarity looked over her cargo, eyes lingering over the lumps in Rainbow Dash’s cloak where her wings sat limp beneath. “The only other Countess I have interacted with tried to immediately kill me, so I can only assume that’s the best way to, as you stated earlier, remove competition. I figured that I should just try that first.”

“That’s not – no.” The bishop shook his head, suddenly steeled with a previously unseen resolve. “No, you cannot do that.”

“Do what? Kill all of my competition?” Rarity asked. “I mean, it seems unlikely we could get through all of them, but I am quite crafty when I need to be, and she–” Rarity gestured towards Rainbow Dash “–is dangerous even when she is not intending to be, so I figure we’d make a good run at it.”

“No, signora (his diction had slipped with the news, Rarity noticed, a sure sign of its impact), not like that. I do not disagree that you could kill, or even that some of your, ah, peers would, for those inclined to vengeance, be deserving of it.” He shook his head. “But you are not here to simply murder. You are not here to darken this city with your presence.”

“I never claimed that, bishop,” Rarity frowned. “And I already stated what the reason for this voyage was.”

“You are not here for that money, Contessa.” He shook his head again, this time with more gusto. “Not in totality. That was the just the reason for the start.”

“Spare me the prophecy, please.” Rarity’s frown deepened. “I’ve had more than enough of that for a lifetime.”

“Prophecy ceases being prophecy in the present. Then it is just reality.” The clergypony removed his hat and wiped his brow. The close-cropped mane beneath the hat was heavily speckled with white hairs. “Ha!” A rueful bark of a laugh. “Of all the ways for Harmony to answer my prayers. ‘Mysterious ways’ indeed!”

“Answered prayers?” Rarity stamped an irritated back hoof. “Bishop, we are not–”

“Of course you are.” The bishop cut her off. “Of course you are! The duchy is not just a paycheck, contessa, a duchess is a solution to this place, this … decay.” He began to pace. “Every year I have been alive, this city has been without a ducal voice, and every year that passes the counts and countesses and all their hired blades and horns will continue to annihilate what remains of this city. A duchess ends that.”

“Ends ‘that’ how?” Rarity scoffed. “Unless a duchess also grows wings, I fail to see how the presence of a titular ruler would do anything.”

“Because titles have structure. A duchess could command the Carabinieri, could call a tribunal with enough power to try even a count, could demand a legion of Royal troops.”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen the Guard in a fight?”

“Presence is enough. Even a count or countess could not strike a Royal officer without punishment.”

“I’ll remember that next time I feel the need to punch a tax collector.”

“This is no joking mann–”

“Look.” Rarity, suddenly serious, interrupted his next line of spiel. “I accept that all that may indeed be true. But I am, for a number of reasons, almost supremely unsuited to whatever hypothetical crusade you have decided is necessary. I may or not be touched by Harmony or fate or something of that sort, but I am, as I stated so emphatically, a seamstress, not somepony fit for ruling.”

“And your peers would be?”

“A fair point,” Rarity granted.

“You needn’t do it all yourself, or even most of it yourself. Appoint a marshal or call for a Royal Governor to rule in your stead. But your ascension to that throne is destined, if not for the benefit of yourself, then for the benefit of all those ponies of which you so emotionally spoke.” He pointed a forehoof. “What finer form of Generosity could there be than to place oneself in a position wherein one can–”

“Don’t lecture me on Generosity!” Rarity snapped, this time stamping a forehoof.

Cowed, the bishop took a step back, ducking his head. “Sorry. I was not trying to overstep the bounds of–”

“No, stop.” Rarity shook her head, her tone softened. “Look, it is absolutely not that I am lacking in empathy for this city, for the ponies of this city. I made that clear.” She drew a line in front of her in the air with her hoof. “But my first and second duties are keeping her and myself alive – that’s it. That’s for selfish reasons, because I quite like us both being alive and would like to keep it that way; for national reasons, because she and I are, I don’t know if you remember, assets of the Crown who, seemingly, have to save the world every few weeks; and for your own survival, because if she and I ended up dead at the hands of some two-bit mercenary or some puffed up countess Luna or Celestia or, indeed, even the newly-minted Princess Twilight would turn this city into a crater full of pillars of salt.”

The mention of the potential consequences seemed effective; once again ashen-faced, the bishop ducked his head. “You are right. I will not begrudge you to stay.”

“That is not what I said. I do not plan on running away, bishop,” Rarity corrected. “I was given a job to do, and I do intend to do it.”

“Because of the money?”

“Well, I do intend on keeping a little bit.” Rarity allowed herself a bit of a smirk. “But no, not really.”

“Then why?”

“Because, unfortunately, I think you might be right about ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’ or something of that sort. I remain unconvinced of a worldly and otherworldly ‘Harmony’ in the sense that I believe you possess, but–” she bit her lip, rubbing her forelegs together “–if there is something like that, some force pushing the world away from Chaos and evil besides just the whims of a crystalline tree? I figure it would be in opportunities like this.”

The bishop tried to contain his smile.

Rarity raised a forehoof. “But that does not mean that she and I won’t just slaughter our way through the countesses and counts, however.”

“I would prefer if you did not, but–”

“But?”

“–you could likely get away with a few, at least ethically.” He shook his head. “But I think you will find that most of the Electorate, or what is left of it, rather, very well may agree to some negotiation, or at least a more … creative approach.”

“Such as?”

“Try the one up the road again. This time, skip the pleasantries and go straight to the contessa.”

“I’ll think about it.” Rarity, looking up, noticed the descending sun. “I’d better start on my way back.” She turned to the bishop one more time. “Thank you, truly. For all of this.”

“It is the right thing to do.” He nodded. “Stay safe and stay vigilant. You know where to find me.”

“You as well.” Rarity took two steps, then stopped. “Oh, ah, one more thing!”

“Yes?”

“You are a member of the Electorate, are you not?”

“Technically, yes.”

“Swell.” Rarity nodded. “If necessary, would you vote for me?”

“I do not foresee that being necessary.”

“Yes, yes.” Rarity nodded. “But would you?”

A lengthy pause. “… Yes. If I were to be able to, I would.”

After a moment of thought, Rarity was satisfied with that answer. “Thank you. That’s a start.” With that, she set off, after a look side to side, through the gate of the courtyard and onto a street, headed back towards her castle, slumbering cargo in tow.

After the last sign of the unicorn’s red tail dipping around a corner, the hitherto silent figure also present in the courtyard spoke up for the first time. “Shall I prepare your casket now, Father?”

The bishop, removing his hat, ran a forehoof through his thinning mane. “That depends. Do we still have any of the fancy enameled and velvet-lined ones? I should like for my closed-casket service to still have some pomp.”

“I commend your sense of gallows humor, Father,” the figure grumbled. “Father, I am quite serious.”

“Of course you are, brother. This is the first time you have spoken to me in years.”

“Because you have signed your own death sentence!” The monk shouted, vocal cords grown lax in misuse squeaking like a pubescent colt. “Have you forgotten what happened to your predecessor?”

“Beaten to death on the doorsteps of this building for the sin of picking a favorite count?” He guffawed. “As if I could! I pass his remains going to my domicile.”

“And yet you persisted in not just speaking to that mare once you learned of her status, but actually recommended a course of action?”

The bishop’s tone darkened. “Might I remind you, brother, that ‘those mares’ were Aspects of Harmony?” He turned to address the monk. “Do you recall the object of our adoration and study?”

Suitably admonished, the monk dipped his head; a sign of supplication that communicated enough meaning.

“Of course I know I am dead, friar. That conversation was by no means ‘contained.’ I would not be surprised if some skulking agent of Galloparte hiding in the rafters had already reported my treachery.”

“Then why?”

“Because it was more important that I save those ponies, both literally and spiritually, than anything else. If that entails my demise, so be it.” He turned back towards the church, beckoning for his attendant to follow. “I can think of no more important a task I’ve ever encountered than guiding an Element of Harmony towards her destiny.”

The monk did so. “Always ready to sacrifice.”

“We are all called, friar, but this is not such a big sacrifice, really.” The bishop opened the side door of the church located on the end of the transept. “I have lived long enough anyway. If this is how it ends, so be it.”

A sigh. “I only hope you live long enough to see how it ends.”

They both went in.

Author's Note

Sorry about the wait. I had to win a gunfight.

Next chapter is a yellowhorse and moon-ass one.

Writing about the ersatz Catholic Church is supremely odd. I would think the classically Japanese JRPG TVtropes-ey case of just basically similar imagery would be pretty easy, but when you get to the meat of things you come to the realization of how profoundly odd the Apostolic churches are. They're unquestionably the oldest thing any of us interact with with reasonable frequency (if not in totality) and so transporting any real semblance of that to a universe in which the Godhead is both very much present and not requiring a vicarate church as well as being not particularly revelatory (read JPII on why that matters) is particularly challenging - but supremely entertaining. If you've ever been curious about that perpetual nature, of being in but apart from the world, go read A Canticle for Leibowitz. Actually, just do that anyway.

Who are the pegasus champions named for?

Inter-Two-Ud: The Feds Don't Want You to Know This, But You CAN Gaslight/Girlboss Your Way Past Passport Control

High above the floor of Canterlot’s airship hangar, in a dusty window sill shrouded in twilight’s shadow, sat the two best-dressed soon to be customs jumpers in Equestria.

“Methinks we have found our conveyance, Fluttershy.”

“Well, it, uh, has the right name on the side, so I think you’re probably on the right track.”

Below, the airship Sheneighdoah, magnificent in repose. A monstrous and haughty specimen of ponykind’s very finest engineering and magi-neering prowess, it beautifully melded the peak outputs of Equestria’s tribes. Above, a mammoth perfecto-shaped gas envelope held carefully tuned bags of light-gas, chilled synthetic dragon-fire, and what the Equestrian Dirigible Concern called, with tongue in cheek, “a secret ingredient;” it was usually assumed to be some particular kind of skillfully pegasus-massaged weather formation. Below, attached tightly to the gas envelope, a rakish wooden and steel gondola-yacht, complete with gold-adorned promenade deck and small cabin balconies and with two underslung podded props, all finished in gorgeous and perfect alabaster white. If Rainbow Dash, avid reader of Mane’s, had been here, she, in between hyperventilated breaths of excitement, would have rifled off a litany of impressive factoids: an eighty knot cruising speed, a maximum altitude well above what all but the most athletic and dedicated pegasi could accomplish, a thermo-magical atmosphere system for the comfort of its exclusive passenger list, the works. Even Fluttershy and Luna, the former of whom generally ignored Rainbow Dash’s gushing about the newest and greatest vessels, the latter of whom did not know such things as “airships” existed until Twilight had mentioned them a half day ago, could see that the vessel below them was as close to an ideal of “elegance” writ expertly in steel and magic as had ever existed.

They also saw that the attendant outside was checking the incoming passengers’ papers before boarding.

Fluttershy had noticed the problem “That’s not good.”

“What is not?” asked Luna, fiddling with part of the pilfered mostly Night Guard uniform she had squeezed herself into. After some short deliberation, it was decided that Luna probably ought not go gallivanting around undisguised and would be traveling covertly, both for the sake of avoiding tabloid speculation and as an experiment to see if Celestia would even notice. A duchess being unlikely to travel unaccompanied, Luna decided to attempt a disguise as a member of Canterlot’s nocturnal squadrons. Most components could be sourced readily enough, although the cuirass and unicorn’s helmet sat beside her, both clearly too small for Luna’s size.

“The guy up front is checking for travel papers.” Fluttershy fidgeted in her dress, clearly worried. Cadence’s old dress fit Fluttershy remarkably well, if a little tight around the rear, but it, combined with the mixture of Luna’s (hastily resized via a bit of magic) tiara and Cadence’s jewelry she was wearing, was considerably more clothing than she was used to.

The concealing shawl around her patchy and definitely un-ducal wings did not help.

“What is the issue?” Luna’s horn lit, levitating two tickets towards Fluttershy for emphasis. “Our bookings upon yonder vessel are legitimate; we have nothing to fear.”

“They are, yes.” Fluttershy plucked the tickets out of the field. They really were genuine articles, the results of Twilight’s last-minute inquiries to a ticketing office and a frankly disturbingly large check drawing upon a Crystal Empire state account. “But they are legitimate for a ‘Duchess Tempo’ and … ” Fluttershy inspected the ticket to find Luna’s invented name “… ‘Lunar Presence?’ That was the best you could come up with?”

“It is a perfectly satisfactory alias for a pony colored and Marked as mine posterior is.” Luna shrugged. “Twas short notice.”

“It’s … fine. I don’t think anyone is going to, um, go inspecting you on a hunch anyway.” Fluttershy rolled her eyes. “Just remind me to make up the backstories from now on.”

“Our suspect mastery of the modern dialect would give us away anyway.” If nothing else, the “Royal Canterlot ‘We’” would do that. “Continue with your description of our predicament.”

“Our problem is that we are not a ‘Duchess Tempo’ and her attendant, Luna. We have tickets, but if he asks for visas and travel documents we don’t, uh, have any.”

“You are a duchess, the blood-kin of a princess. You needn’t concern yourself with such lowly things.”

“I am not–”

“Are you not?” Luna stamped an authoritative forehoof against the window frame. “We accepted your and our fellow princess’s warning that our traveling undisguised would be a cause for great hullabaloo from certain notorious broadsheets; a fair concern, especially if we are to keep this trip a secret from our sister and the Crystal Princess.” She pointed a forehoof. “But if we are to be successful in our endeavor we must be truly disguised. I will grant you your request – we shall keep our dialogue to a minimum. But if that is to be the case, you must be utterly convincing. This point hence, mistress Fluttershy is no longer extant; there is only the fair Duchess Tempo.” The forehoof lowered. “Understood?”

“I guess so.”

“You cannot guess so. A duchess does not and shan’t do any guessing – ‘tis beneath her station. You must know, and one should project that she does.”

“Okay.” Fluttershy nodded, not entirely sure if she got quite all of Luna’s drift about the necessarily self-assured nature of nobility (especially as that seemed more than a little incongruous with Luna’s previous behavior, but she chalked that up to her rather fiery handling of previous interactions) but kinda-sorta sure she got the basics of it. “I know so. I am the Duchess Tempo, and I deserve to be on that airship.”

“Excellent!” Luna chuckled. “We shall make a haughty paladin–” and there was a tiny little hitch there “–of you yet! Now. Let us – Oh! We did forget our own disguise!”

“Yeah. It’s, um, probably more convincing if you lose the wings. Or horn.” Fluttershy gazed around Luna at the pilfered, piled breastplate and helmet. “And lost a few hoof-widths of height. And got small enough to fit into a guardspony cuirass. How are you, uh, going to do that again?”

“Such a metamorphosis can be done, but, er–” Luna blushed, red flashing across navy blue “–the process by which we regain our … diminished form is a mite bit embarrassing.” A cough. “Do turn around?”

Fluttershy did as she was requested. There was, after a moment, a rush of air, followed by a sound not unlike protracted flatulence. After another moment, a sheepish “you can face us again if you so wish.”

Fluttershy did, gasping as she saw the lunar princess. Shrunk down to Fluttershy’s size, more or less, Luna had brightened a few shades in her coat and had had her ethereal mane replace with an attractive but pedestrian shock of hair in of light blue, sans even a single star. Her wings and horn remained larger than a normal pony’s, but only a little. The guardspony gear, previously rather undersized, now fit comfortably around her, the helmet carried aloft in her field. Fluttershy, full of questions, only got the start of one out. “How–”

“We know not. Sister and I have both inquired with the magical minds of the eras, but did receive no seriously satisfactory answer. It may be a certain … damping of our relations with our celestial bodies, but it may as well also be some sort of harmless magical seizure. We know not.”

“Oh, okay.” Fluttershy had to ask. “Is, um, with the, uh,noise … does it actually involve, y’know–”

“Ah, no. It does not, despite the uncouth sounds which do originate from it.” Luna shrugged. “Another mystery. A long-forgotten curse, perhaps?”

“A practical joke by Discord?”

Luna’s eyes hardened. “In forlorn times past Discord did not play jokes such as that, Fluttershy. If he had possessed such power over us as to enact such a spell, he would have found it much funnier to replace my blood with spiced honey before eating me whole.” A beat. “A Royal Feast.”

“I don’t think he would have done something quite like that, Princ–”

“Verily?” Luna cut her off with more than a little bit of edge. “Based on what experience? An hour’s worth? A day’s worth?” She shook her head with gumption. “Decades. I had decades. The toil of a century, of centuries, magnificent cities of bronze and stone-cut reliefs which did honor and worship our and our sister’s name, all wiped clean by decades of naught but hellish chaos. Our warband swelled to an army, to nearest all of pony-kind, for the fields grew naught but poison and the cities naught but horrors in the shadows, and while we did amass such a host as to defeat him it extracted an immense toll from us, all of us – we did lose not only the cities and the kingdoms, weighty things, but also the Talents of civilization; the Fine Four Winds set askew, the techniques of antimony-bronze, the doom-songs and ballad-epics of our works, the very art of writing.” Luna swore something ancient, spitting out the word like a loosed arrow. “Perkwunos! Wasted years, poetry and song and art and fanciful little games struck away by thee which did condemn me to another lifetime of war, of scores of years as the campaign’s ambush-planner, quartermaster, and a dozen other low, thankless stationsunder the incorruptible Sun-Bearer.” A stomp, ice crackling along the window-frame under hoof. “But who rallied the levies when thine visage did slip, sister, and crushed so many before us at such an awful cost? Yet once your banner, your sun, did rise above your Ever-Free redoubt and our forces did lock the Discordant One in stone, was there any place for those old troubadours and tinkling moon-lit dances in our new Equus? Any place for–”

“Luna?”

“Ach!” Luna, shocked out of her rant, slipped a forehoof along the patch of ice, nearly falling off the ledge. That would have been bad for maintaining stealth, but it probably would have been pretty funny.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, really – worry not, we beseech you, please! Just–” Luna wiped away a tear Fluttershy had previously not noticed “–old memories, that is all.” She shook her head. “We beg your pardon, it is simply that we are a smidgen … excitable at present. Sortieing out into the world, watching your and our fellow princess’s brawl – all quite invigorating. Mine emotions are running a bit hot; that aside, we digress. Truly, we shall return to business at once. Unicorn or pegasus?”

Confused by what seemed to be a tremendous non sequiter, Fluttershy was momentarily unable to respond. “Uh … in what, um, sense?”

“For your escort; we would inquire as to what appendage you would have us hide with spellcraft.” Luna thought for a moment. “We suppose we could abandon both, but we would frankly not enjoy such an ask; we have grown quite fond of our horn and wings over the years.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Fluttershy answered rather quickly. “Unicorn. I think a pegasus would have a unicorn as a guard.”

“There are different thoughts about such a situation, but I would agree with you.” Luna levitated the helmet onto her head, then, with a burst of spell-fire, cast a spell atop her wings; they disappeared from view.

“Whoa!” Fluttershy took a cautious step closer. “Are they still, um, there?”

Luna answered her question by waving an invisible but still present wing under Fluttershy’s jaw; she batted it away, giggling.

“Aie!” Luna skipped backwards in a joking expression of greatly exaggerated pain, drawing her presently-invisible wings in with a “woosh!” of air. “Stay thine hooves! You are stronger than you look”

Fluttershy smugly and deliberately placed her fore-hooves back beneath her. “Serves you right.”

“Yes, yes, that may be. We have been accused once or twice of being quite the rascal.” Luna held out her own hoof. “Ready to depart?”

Fluttershy, unsure of Luna’s intentions, touched her hoof to Luna’s; in the next moment, she was on the floor of the station, just out of sight of the guard. With a squeak and a pant, she hopped into the air, wings rustling under her shawl. “Goodness!” She fixed Luna with a look of betrayal. “A little warning?”

“A warning addressing the dangers of what? Teleportation?” Luna barked a laugh. “Ha! Teleportation is not dangerous. One can only come to harm through insufficient casting power or improper targeting; put simply, if cast by an idiot. And we are not an idiot.”

Successfully settled, Fluttershy fixed part of her hairdo that had come loose in her shock. “Twilight once teleported all six of us on a visit to Canterlot. Sixteen pony-lengths off the side of a cliff. If I hadn’t been warned, I think I would have not been able to catch Pinkie.” And that was a miracle in and of itself – she wasn’t a great flyer, and her somewhat wimpy climbing ability sometimes struggled with just her distinctly un-pegasus sized frame; when combined with Pinkie’s spectacular density, her ability to fly was … tenuous.

“As we did say, ‘if cast by an idiot.’” Luna’s horn lit again; with a “fwip,” the pair’s luggage popped into her waiting field.

“If you say so.” Fluttershy rolled her eyes, suddenly standing-to with an idea. “Wait, could you teleport us onto the ship? We could avoid having to, uh, talk to the attendant. Which would be nice.”

“We could not.” Luna’s field extinguished; the bags floated gently to the ground. “We did check for that first, but there is a ward preventing such access around the hull of the vessel. We could break the protection, but its absence would surely be noticed.” She shook her head. “Besides, we have no such need for that level of subterfuge; our tickets are genuine and our bags need porting.”

Fluttershy looked off to the side, “Yes, but–”

“We shall suffer no buts, ‘Tempo!’ Our success is predicated upon your own confidence – if you cannot even convince a lowly guard, we would not succeed anyway.” Luna lowered her gaze to the gangway of the airship. “Now, advance!”

The mares set off at a smart trot, levitated baggage (of which there was a lot, seeing as a number of Cadence’s old dresses were being brought along) in tow. The steward, a dull looking unicorn, raised his eyes from his clipboard. “Names and tickets?”

Luna’s horn lit softly, a thin line of her field passing to her lips. Fluttershy’s question as to what she was up to found itself quite staunchly interrupted by the answer; Luna’s imperceptible whisper was a firm and clear voice in Fluttershy’s left ear. “A duchess is always a ‘The,’ Tempo. “The Duchess Tempo.”

“I know!” Fluttershy shot back in an unfortunately un-amplified whisper; Luna clearly heard it, as her horn extinguished. Satisfied, she turned to address the guard, channeling her best “haughty bitch” (mostly Rarity at her worst, a little bit of everypony who had been present at her show with Photo Finish) and putting a little bit of extra “clack” in her hooves. “We are The Duchess Tempo and her attendant, er, Lunar Presence.”

“A duchess?” The attendant cocked his head. “Really? Walking? On her own hooves?” He shook his head. “How peculiar. Forgive me, your grace; I can only assume the palanquin service was somehow incapacitated. I’ll have to check in.”

“That won’t be necessary!” said Fluttershy a little too quickly, but she managed to recover her appropriate sense of gravitas. “There is, er, no need to do that. We simply … prefer to trot on our own hooves. It is delightfully–” Fluttershy thought for a moment to select an appropriately snobbish piece of vocabulary “–pedestrian. And it helps with the exercise.”

At a deadpan. “Right. A thoughtful and wonderful way for you to stay in touch with the lowly hoi polloi.”

“You–” Fluttershy gasped, taking a dramatic step back in what she hoped was a realistic portrayal of hurt ego. “Watch your tone when you speak to me!” In all honesty, she would have probably let something like that loose in the face of such verbal snobbery, but she had a character to play, damn it.

“I am giving you the required amount of deferment, your grace. The Equestrian Dirigible Concern Passenger Line is dedicated to serving all citizens of Equestria with the utmost of respect and care.” He paused. “I would also like to emphasize that the Concern is a Royally Chartered organization which operates with primary jurisdiction in the realm of airship transiting. As such, what local privileges you possess are moot, and all arbitration must go through the highest levels.”

“Well, that’s all fine, but I am a, um, Duchess in the Crystal Empire.”

“A client state. Your rights and privileges remain the same.” A thoughtful scowl. “Although that does explain why we did not receive a letter informing us of your attendance. Anything above a baroness would usually receive, timing notwithstanding, a welcome from the captain. For that I do apologize.”

“Well, you – you should be! I would have expected a red carpet.”

“My condolences. We cannot prepare for that we are not informed of. I will happily provide a telegram station for your steward to contact in the future.” He bowed theatrically. “All that aside, I welcome you to our noble vessel. Please present your tickets and associated travel documents.”

Fluttershy, after a moment of fear from her lack of such documents, hoofed over hers and Luna’s tickets.

“Thank you – wait, hang on.” The stallion sorted through the two foil tickets, confused. “These are two tickets. Why did you give me two tickets?”

Fluttershy gestured towards her attendant. “Mine and hers.”

“I only asked for yours. I take tickets one at a time.” He appraised the odd-looking mare in not quite right guard armor. “Can she not give her own tickets?”

“… No.” Fluttershy shook her head. “No she can not.”

“Why not?”

“She is, um, foreign. She speaks very bad Ponish. And she is very dumb.”

“Really?” He locked Luna with a gaze. “She doesn’t look very foreign. Where is she from?”

“I, um–” suddenly unable to think of a single passable foreign country, Fluttershy folded. “I don’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know where your bodyguard is from?”

“She is retained because she is big and strong and tough. Not because she can, uh,speak.”

“Right.” Another squint. “So? Where are you from, mysterious soldier?”

Caught off guard, Luna had to think for a moment for a bit of foreign tongue appropriately obscure for the situation. “Shalom aleichem.”

A beat passed. “Huh. You know, I don’t think I know that one.” He shrugged. “Okay. That’s fine, I suppose. I’ll look at them both.” He held both tickets aloft, eyes widening as he passed by the level of accommodation. “Ah. I had been wondering who our Royal Stateroom passenger was. Excellent choice, and we thank you for your selection of our vessel for your transportation to Dubrayvnik. I hear it is lovely this time of year.”

“We are disembarking in Marelan.”

Not wanting to question the sanity of the seemingly very brave duchess before him, the stallion decided to recuse himself from that line of questioning. “… I see. Please excuse me.” He passed the tickets, now marked with a stamp, back to the waiting mares. “Those look fine.”

“Thank you.” Fluttershy took a step forward. “Will you be taking our bags, or–”

The stallion stepped in front of her. “I am sorry. I also need to see your travel documents.”

“What documents?” Fluttershy did her best to looked indignant; internally, a wispy flame of panic was rising. “I do not know what you are, um, talking about.”

“A number of them.” The stallion matched her attempt at a forceful stare – unfortunately, Fluttershy’s famous Stare was rather less effective on ponies. “I will need a passport for the both of you–”

“A pass – Bitaly is in Equestria!” shouted Fluttershy, wincing as her shock aggravated her very fresh injuries.

“That is true, but the airship will be passing through and docking at The Slingers, which is a Minotaur island. You will need documents for that.” He pointed a hoof at Luna. “I presume your guard also has a sword? Importation of armaments through their lands will require a form number fifty-three twenty, unless it is magically enhanced by a fire charm in which case you will also need a form number nine and a letter from one of their pashas.”

“T-this is outrageous!” Fluttershy stamped a forehoof. “I am a duchess! I will not be subjected to this, um…”

The stallion raised an eyebrow. “This … what, exactly, your grace?”

“Shakedown! This injustice!”

“I will repeat myself. ‘The Concern is a Royally Chartered organization which operates with primary jurisdiction in the realm of airship transiting.’ I reiterate: ‘As such, what local privileges you possess are moot, and all arbitration must go through the highest levels.’ While I am sorry to require this additional work, you are required. What powers you do and do not have in the Crystal Empire are irrelevant.”

“Bu-but this is outrageous!” Fluttershy was starting to lock up. “I bought my tickets! I, um, de-deserve to be on that, uh, ship!”

“I frankly do not care what you deserve.” The stallion shook his head, reiterating. “I simply do not care what you think you deserve, because I have nothing in my book of regulations regarding what duchesses think they deserve.”

“I-I’ll, um, make sure you lose your job over this! You will never work again for disrespecting a duchess!”

“Whatever you say, your grace. But this is not a fight you are going to win.” He allowed himself a smirk. “I have had this fight before. Prince Blueblood once swung at me over needing an entry document into New Aerostotska and I punched him so hard he urinated himself. I was commended by the ownership for this.”

With that last anecdote, Luna’s mask of non-understanding slipped; she snorted a few giggles at that admittedly extremely funny mental image.

The stallion shot Luna a look of confusion. “I thought you didn’t understand me?”

Her cover blown, Luna, after a moment of thought, shrugged, horn lighting. “It was a decent attempt. We are sorry for this.”

The stallion’s eyes widened as he took a step back, horn starting to light. Before he could spool up whatever spell he was preparing, Luna’s field snapped forward, striking him on the horn. His own field extinguished immediately, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Fluttershy, momentarily confused, gasped. “Luna! You can’t–”

“He is unharmed.” Her field snaked back to her horn, corona still burning. She addressed the stallion in a clear voice. “We are trustworthy and attractive mares, are we not?”

“Guuurrrhhh…” The stallion stumbled forward. “Sh-sure?”

Luna helped him straighten up with a bump of telekinesis. “A fine observation. And such mares as us, so striking in our beauty, would verily not commit acts of treachery, yes?”

“Uh-huh.” He stammered over his words. “Yer-you’re both really pretty.”

“Many thanks for your appreciation of our shapely forms.” Luna took a step closer. “Now, should mares like us who do possess valid berthings upon this vessel be denied entrance?”

“N-no.” The stallion staggered aside, pulling a rope with him. “Wel-wekkum aboard.”

“Many thanks!” Luna beamed, field surrounding the mares’ baggage and pulling it along. “Come along, duchess!”

Gobsmacked, Fluttershy followed her along the gangway.

“Are you serious?”

The mares, baggage in tow, had ducked into a cranny of a hallway after boarding the ship.

“Quite, presumably.”

“MIND CONTROL?” One of the jewels on Fluttershy’s tiara was sparking faintly, which probably meant that she was close to triggering some kind of automated defensive enchantment. Luna idly tried to remember which one that was.

“’Twas not mind control. We merely did … addle his decision making. Like drunkenness. We henceforth directed his logic.”

“That’s supposed to be better?”

“Ethically? No, not particularly. Legally? Yes, if the laws we did write long ago still shape the present interpretation. To control another pony’s very mind is a grave, awful offense. But to … lubricate the windmill of another pony’s mental grindstone? Minor, really.”

“I can’t believe you would try and justify–”

“Cease.” Luna shot her an unexpectedly stern look. “Quiet yourself, lest a passerby perchance catch our conversation.”

Fluttershy did shut up, but if looks could swear, the one she was giving would be accumulating fines from the Equestrian Standards Board at a rate of 168 bits per second.

“We could continue, but carefully: what would you have us do? You had been caught. Our ruse was nearly over. ‘Twas either our noble failure and your friend’s likely death, or it was mine own deception and a chance at making things right and just later.” She shrugged. “We would never make a statement so authoritative as to suggest that all means can be justified in light of the desired end. We, er–” a very faint blush “–know all too well about that. But in this case methinks it justifiable.”

“It’s still wrong. What kind of kindness is that?”

“We do not know, but that is your problem, not ours. Tis thee who art the Element of Kindness, not us.”

Fluttershy’s retort was cut off by a voice from around the corner. “Mistresses?”

Both mares peered around the corner. An attentive looking attendant (funny how that worked out) stood with head cocked, gesturing at the levitated baggage. “Can I relieve you of your baggage?”

“Certainly!” Luna abruptly cut her field off, dropping the bags at the mare’s hooves. A look of mild shock cut across the attendant’s gaze, but only fleetingly.

“R-right, of course.” The mare’s horn lit, picking up nearly every bag presented before her with only a mild grimace of effort. Notably, one bag stayed resolutely un-ensconced in field. “Wh-what is–”

“Private documents of the Empire.” Fluttershy, having composed herself in the meantime, decided to answer before Luna could. “They’re mine as part of my duties as, uh, duchess.”

“Duchess?” The mare’s ears perked up, preceding a quick curtsy. “My apologies for not recognizing you from the guest list previously.” Truth be told, she had gone through the guest list fairly extensively last night and had not seen any kind of duchess, but she chalked that up to faulty memory – duchesses did not book last minute after all. She decided to prevent any further faux pas by taking the easy route. “M-may I see your tickets as to guide you to your staterooms?”

Luna’s field lit, pushing over the tickets in her shimmering aqua field.

“The Royal Stateroom it is. A fitting choice.” The mare set off smartly. “Please follow me. Your cabin is at the bow of the ship, so we will be getting a wonderful overview of the amenities!”

That tour had, at the very end, encountered something of a problem.

The Royal Stateroom, as befitting its name, was placed at the very front of the gondola-yacht to allow for a full set of wrap-around windows complete with private promenade. It was the forward-most room on the vessel, with only the pilothouse, located directly below it, protruding further. This meant that the Stateroom enjoyed unmatched privacy and amenities, including, as an ultra-rare luxury, a private head.

But it also meant that to get to the Stateroom, one had to walk through every single meeting space, it seemed, on the ship, with the vast asbestos-lined smoking parlor cum dining room directly in front of the doors into the room. This was the finest lounge space on the vessel, with high-backed chairs and chaise couches and every other bit of fine furniture the Equestrian Dirigible Concern had thought to budget for, and could, at peak time, fit up to fifty percent of the passengers into the room.

It was really quite impressive, then, that what seemed like a hundred and ten percent of the passengers were currently between Fluttershy and her cabin.

Emboldened by whispers that a duchess was on board (no doubt overheard as the bellhop plodded through the ship, mares in tow), the Sheneighdoah’s entire compliment of ass-kissing well-to-dos had decided to make an appearance and greet the duchess in person (and if some personal finagling also got accomplished? All the better, then!).

Which meant that now dozens of ponies were waiting with bated breath, for the duchess to make her public introduction.

For Fluttershy to make her introduction.

Seconds dragged on. Fluttershy, conspicuously, had not made her introduction. Fluttershy had conquered much in the way of her fears those last few action-packed weeks – unexpected guests, unruly manticores, potential judicial consequences for murder, potential judicial consequences for battering a princess, potential judicial consequences for battering a different princess, the works – but she hadn’t conquered all of her fears.

And definitely not her fear of that most horrible of things; public speaking.

Luna leaned over to speak into Fluttershy’s ear. “They await your introduction, duchess.”

Fluttershy visibly gulped, swallowing nothing from a dry mouth. A quick glance ahead showed that the attendant, baggage in tow, had fixed her with an odd look, puzzled by the seeming oral ineptitude of this ears-back, stuttering duchess.

“Duchess,” Luna said with a little more force. “’Twould be unthinkable not to train one of your status in etiquette and courtly manners. You need not be perfect, but to not be an apparent fraud you must attempt!”

Steeled with necessity (as she had found herself quite often recently) Fluttershy, after clearing her throat, did what she had to do. “T-the Duchess Tempo is–”

And then, curiously, a gemstone from the very tip of her tiara illuminated a soft aquamarine, and the rest of her address seemed just a little bit more important – and quite a bit less Fluttershy.

“–hath been rendered quite wearied from mine own lengthy and arduous travel from the Crystal Kingdom. Whilst we are greatly appreciative of your interest in making mine acquaintance, we must request a night in which we may find some small recuperation from such as to more effectively converse and make our introductions. As our accommodation is directly ahead, we do ask for your dispersal such as we may enter our stateroom.”

The crowd did not move, both shocked at the eloquence of this unknown duchess as well as shocked by the apparent fact that she had time traveled at least two hundred or so years forward.

Luna, seeing her opportunity, firmly rapped a shod hoof off the high-pile carpets. “Your cooperation is greatly encouraged.”

The crowd, fully understanding that, parted.

The three went in, baggage in tow.

“You can reach the staff with the intercom on the wall. Just press the red button and wait for the dial tone to clear.” The attendant neatly stacked all but one trunks against the wall. “Do you require anything else?”

“That will suffice, thank you.”

Without another word, trained steps ducked around a corner, the door latching after her.

As soon as the door latched, Fluttershy wheeled about, one foreleg going between pointing at the tiara on her head and the princess across the room. “What the FUCK did this just do to me?

“Ah, yes, we did forget about … some of the enchantments.”

“Like mind control?”

“Tch! So flippant with your usage of that term.”

“It made me say things I didn’t think, Luna. That’s what it means.”

“It does – but that is not what you experienced. You said exactly what you wanted and believed you needed to, even if it did not spring forth exactly in that form from your mind.”

“Then what was it?”

“Naught but an accessory ward to the other spell-gems in the piece. Sister and I were raised in a tongue now extinct as a pair of hard-scrabble fur-adorned illiterate warriors, Fluttershy. We learned, we studied, but we did not have the dubious honor afforded to to the dignitaries to have been raised from from the literal and figurative teat of high society. We were better than she, but we did both make mistakes.” She pointed to the tiara. “The ward simply presents a … recipe to the mouth for the mind’s intentions. We suppose it must still be a useful bit of spell-craft, as it evidently has been refined since mine original departure.”

“This is the update?”

“Of course. You would not have understood much from the original routine for a room full of sycophants – probably for the best, as it started with a joke about the never-extant yet infamous practice of prima nocta. ‘Twould have made for a poor first impression methinks, though we can assure you it was a smashing bit of jest once upon a time.”

Fluttershy tried to think of a retort, mean-mugging the whole time.

“Think for a moment.” Luna cut in, suddenly serious. “You have managed to make it this far by punching your way through, which, while impressive, and perchance a bit frightening, be not a winning stratagem for the sort of politicking we will likely be performing in Bitaly.”

“If she’s still alive, it’s been working for Rarity.”

“Rarity seemingly possesses a combination of purposeful savagery and no remorse for her actions and is, additionally, not pretending to be a duchess upon a vessel full of court-rats. Not comparable.” Luna shook her head. “Courtesan-talk is exhausting, Fluttershy. Take all the help we can muster.”

Fluttershy thought for a moment. “… Fine.” She stamped a shod hoof. “But I need to know what else this thing does too.”

“All of the enchantments? Goodness, no, we can’t remember that.”

“How about some highlights?”

“You already saw the most commonly used one. Besides that, it is mostly a collection of defensive spells to combat a waylay whilst one is in regalia. If your heart-beat becomes elevated and the spells think you in danger, a harness of armor-plate will fit itself to your form, a set of spectral weaponry will be placed around your waist, and a number of enchantments will fill your body with an excess of wild, formless magic with which to embolden one’s horn and wings.” Luna paused. “Which, with further thought, and seeing as you lack a horn, is likely enough magic to cause your heart to explode. Then again, the enchantments target an alicorn, so…” Luna shrugged. “It may simply do nothing at all. You may take your chances.”

“And you were going to tell me about the landmine sitting on my head when?”

“Well, you were the one who demanded to use mine adornments. I simply forgot in the haste.”

Fluttershy, after a deep breath, carefully removed the tiara, placing it onto a mirror-polished mahogany table. “I’ll … take my, um, chances. I guess I do need all the help I can get.” She turned to face Luna. “I’m sorry about snapping at you. Just, er, a bit stressful, all of this.”

“Apology accepted.” Luna, after a pause, flashed her horn: her armor lay neatly on the same table. “Now what?”

“Now what what?”

“We are presently being conveyed in the peak of luxury, Fluttershy, and, to be perfectly frank, I aim to enjoy it.” She waved a forehoof around. “So survey and find us something entertaining.”

Fluttershy looked around. The nice big phonograph in the corner was interesting, but probably a little uncouth at this hour depending on the sound-proofing of the cabins. The full-size and well stocked bathtub visible through the head’s door was interesting, especially considering that Fluttershy was about seventy percent soreness by volume at this point, but bathing was usuallystrictly a one-pony affair, which would probably be a little rude to Luna. And then–

–and there it was.

Fluttershy possessed a peculiar curse: she was too good, or her friends were too bad, at drinking.

Fluttershy had spend much of her precious teenage partying years with Rainbow Dash, who was both a horrendous lightweight (unsurprisingly) and who also seemingly forgot that every single time they went out. Many a night had ended up with a mildly buzzed Fluttershy wiping vomit from Rainbow Dash’s miserable and occasionally unconscious face after the prismatic party-animal had sucked down a grand total of three whiskey sours or cosmos or pulls of Firemane and then proceeded to self-destruct over the course of fifteen minutes.

Rarity was … better, although not as good as she believed. She often fancied herself an “expert” at public drinking, and she was indeed better than Rainbow Dash insofar as half a bottle of wine would not send her to the brink of Tartarus, but she too could be drunk under the table by Fluttershy, resulting in any number of less than desirable outcomes. The best would be her falling asleep peacefully, usually after raiding the nearest freezer for a generously sized tub of ice cream, which was altogether fine enough, even if usually entailed retirement from carousing a little early for the butter-yellow heavyweight. The next was Rarity experiencing a bout of “inspiration” which led to a flurry of furious illustration – usually okay, but the paint cleanup the next day was occasionally tedious. The last, thankfully rarely seen, was Rarity launching herself at the nearest passably attractive stallion like a bitch in heat, about which the less said the better – it was really a tossup as to who that was most embarrassing for; the stallion, Rarity, or Fluttershy, who generally had to drag her squirming friend away.

The others weren’t much different. Applejack was as robust as Fluttershy, but had evidently had a bit of a problem in the past and now stuck to cider only. Fluttershy wasn’t about to pry, nor was she about to make demands, but she didn’t much care for cider – much too bloating for the quantity she would theoretically require, and the grand Apple-clan gatherings full of loud cousins-of-cousins were very much not Fluttershy’s style. Pinkie would firmly refuse an offered drink, which, as Pinkie didn’t refuse much, was enough storytelling for Fluttershy to know not to push it. Twilight was usually too anxious about her public appearance to have much fun, although Fluttershy supposed post-change Twilight might be worth another shot or six.

All of which meant Fluttershy, every single time the girls went out, barely got to the “fuzzy eyes and numb nose” stage of the night before she was stuck baby sitting at least two of her friends. She didn’t mind the caring, mind you, but sure would be nice to actually get to the “embarrassing anecdotes and running into doorframes” stage at some point, especially because of her “never drink at home” rule – she had read too many stories about isolated little cottages with reeking winos inside to make that mistake.

But here?

This was perfect.

Who better who match Fluttershy’s formidable capacity for imbibing than this demigod, this mighty alicorn, full of vitality and assuredly well-seasoned from many an ancient feast? Oh yes, Fluttershy had finally found someone to go hooftip-to-hooftip with, Celestia help them both.

And the bar! The room’s minibar (though little was mini about it) was stocked with bottles the names of which Fluttershy knew only as the punchlines of jokes about conspicuous consumption. There were bottles in the racks she was pretty sure were more expensive than she was.

“Luna?”

“Yes, Fluttershy?” Luna cocked her head. “Have you found something for us to do?”

“When was the last time you drank? And I mean, uh, really drank. With an objective.”

“Truthfully?” Luna sucked in a breath. “Since before I was imprisoned, and a number of years before that as well.” She smirked. “We would warn that we have quite the constitution for these kind of things.”

“Perfect!” Fluttershy pointed towards the minibar. “It’s time to, uh, get back in the swing of things then.”

“Pardon?”

Fluttershy put it more succinctly, borrowing a turn of phrase from Rainbow Dash. “Let’s get fucked up.”

Author's Note

Protip: do not do this.

Inter-Two-Ud Two: Blah Blah Blah, Just Drink The Beer, Beer Drinker!

Three little glasses, each with a different color and species of spirit, lay in two rows atop the table between the mares.

“Pray tell, what be this?” Luna peered in a little closer. “It does not resemble any weighty ale we are familiar with.”

“It’s liquor.”

“Liquor of what?”

“Liquor of … liquor?” Fluttershy scratched her head, confused. “It’s alcohol. Distilled spirits. I, um, don’t really know how else to put it.”

“Dist – Oh!” Luna’s eyes shot open. “The distillation of wine! Yes, that is an alchemical preparation of which we are familiar, although…” Luna surveyed the samples. “You mean not to tell us ponies drink such a thing?”

“Oh, wow.” Fluttershy shook her head. “You are about to have the best time. Or, uh, maybe the worst time. Definitely a time.”

“Good to know, we presume?” Luna cocked her head. “Are we correct?”

“Yes, that is what this is, I think.” A shrug. “I’m not a scientist.”

“Right.” Luna waved a forehoof. “Is this the traditional presentation of such libations? We would have expected a trough, as that was the style in times hence and we shan’t think celebrations have changed that much.”

“The glasses? Yes, although there are still punch bowls.” Fluttershy tried to not think about what a trough of beer would look like after being presumably being gulped from by unwashed warrior ponies. “But like this? No, because we are playing a game.”

“Oh! A rousing bit of bacchanalia, we see!” Luna sat back in her chair, back held apart from the chair’s back by invisible wings. “And the rules?”

“They’re easy.” Fluttershy picked up the first drink. “I make a statement about you. If I am right, you drink. If I am wrong, I drink. It’s a great way to get to know somepony, and we are about to be, uh, very stuck with each other for a few days.”

Luna thought for a moment. “… We understand, we think. Would you mind taking the first go?”

“Okay.” Fluttershy thought for a moment. “You do not have a sister.”

Luna squinted, cocking her head in confusion. “… We do have a sister. Your statement is patently false.”

“It is.” Fluttershy took the first glass of clear liquid and threw it back with nary a grimace. “So I drink. Get the point? Your turn.”

Luna eyed the unfamiliar liquids. If Fluttershy didn’t seem to mind them, it couldn’t be that bad, right? “Could we not just make obviously true statements as to never imbibe?”

“You could. But then you wouldn’t get any fun information.”

“Fun information…” Luna thought about that for a moment. “Ah! We understand.” Luna pointed a hoof at Fluttershy. “Who is the identity of your gentlecolt caller?”

“That’s a question, Luna.” Fluttershy mentally smacked a forehoof into her forehead, but did not do so physically, mostly because it would upset the rib injury. “You can’t ask questions.”

“But how are we to find things out?” asked Luna, exasperated.

“Make statements you think would be interesting.” Fluttershy pointed at the glass. “Now drink up.”

“Why?”

“Because you broke the rules. You can’t ask questions. Drink. The, um, clear one first.”

Luna eyed the glass, then, with a quick swelling of confidence, grabbed the triangular class in the crook of her hoof and chucked the contents into her mouth. Luna had never, in all of her alchemical adventures, thought about what the raw distillate of wine would taste like. The answer, apparently, was not good.

Fluttershy tried her best to hide a guilty smirk as she watched Luna cough and hack, sputtering. She supposed it wasn’t very nice of her, but she was pretty sure the immortal diarch of Equestria would probably get better.

“Mother above, what was yon spirit?”

“Vodka,” which in hindsight was a terrible choice. Fluttershy, battle-hardened from many tours of wingmare duty at Rainbow Dash’s flight-school parties, could shoot vodka like a wizened Stalliongrad beat cop, but she had neglected to consider that her partner-in-imbibing was a total greenhorn, and that a swig of neutral spirits atop a relatively empty stomach was about as awful an introduction to liquor as was possible. “I promise you’ll like the next one more.”

Luna gave a final sputtering cough. “Stars, we shan’t think we could possibly like anything less.”

“I could have started you on absinthe.” Fluttershy remarked. “Unless you like licorice. Then you might have, uh, liked it more. Do you like licorice?”

“As an alchemical ingredient? It is occasionally necessary.”

“As a candy.”

“Ponies use licorice in confectionery?”

“No, then.”

“Forgive the shock; the thought is quite surprising. Licorice was not something to be consumed casually in times hence.” Luna raised a hoof. “As my first attempt was invalid, do I get another try?”

“No, it’s my turn.” Fluttershy preempted her next question. “And no, I won’t tell you who he is.”

“Ach!” Luna pouted, comically shocked. “Why not?”

“Because it would be unkind to do so.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “’Twould be unkind to tell a friend about your lover?”

“It would be unkind to involve somepony who isn’t involved in this.”

“This what?”

“This life. What I do. Us girls, we’re all, um … disasters. All around us, disaster. Strange ponies show up in town with cameras. Twilight starts a riot. The least I can do for somepony brave and kind enough to, after all that, still come to me is to not involve him in anything related to that as best I can.” Fluttershy pointed a hoof at Luna. “Which means all my friends stay away.”

“We could determine his identity if we so pleased.”

“Anypony could.” Fluttershy didn’t need to ask how Luna could do so to, but she had some guesses, several of which were various kinds of magical mental domination. It seemed to be something of a trend. “Rarity could sit out in a tree with a telescope and wait–”

“–seems specific.”

“She may have tried once.” Fluttershy chuckled. “But only once. My friends respect my boundaries. We all have private lives. I can’t make you respect them, but…”

“Fear not.” Luna narrowed an eye. “But take care, fair Fluttershy, Part of the curse of importance is that one is always important. One does not cease to be a hero or a general or a queen when one retires to one’s private chambers – there will come a day when such spheres will collide.”

“I’m not hoping for forever, just later rather than sooner.” Fluttershy picked up her next glass. She had poured herself some sort of whisky; she wasn’t particularly familiar with the stuff made in the Hebraydies, but the bottle looked expensive, which was good enough, she supposed. “My turn. You could beat your sister in a fight.”

“Presently?” Luna thought for a moment. “… Possibly. We do not think, had we been in her place, we would have had our arse kicked so handily by that puffed-up cockroach, but we suppose we both have grown rather insipid as time passed.”

“Yes or no?” Fluttershy asked. “I need to know if I should drink or not.”

“Let us say … no. ‘Twould be a draw, methinks.”

Satisfied, Fluttershy threw back her shot. It tasted like somepony had put out a ball of burning seaweed in it before pouring it over a dog, which Fluttershy faintly recalled was something of an intended palate for such spirits. She was suddenly glad she had not poured two. “You go.”

“Delightful!” Luna, spirits high (and inside, and in front of her, as it were), thought for a moment. “You would, in your life, like to have foals.”

“Easy guess. Lots do.” Fluttershy reached for another bottle to fill her glass; two unfamiliar spirits were before her, a clear bottle of something purple, and a smoked-glass bottle of something brown. Her previous choice of brown liquid had been a decisive failure, so she went for the purple stuff.

“A fetching liquor.” Luna cocked her head. “Praytell, what be that one?”

“I am not sure.” Fluttershy eyed it warily, then uncorked it with her teeth, taking a sniff. It smelled a little like winter herbs, so it might be gin, but at least it didn’t smell like antiseptic bandages like the last one. “It is – it is purple.”

“What sort of spirit is purple?”

“None of them, usually.” Fluttershy, shrugging, poured herself a shot, then threw it back. A few lip-smacks of juniper confirmed it. “It’s gin. It’s like vodka, but … better.”

“One would be hard-pressed for something worse.”

“Uh-huh.” Fluttershy pointed at Luna’s glass. “Guess the number of them and I will drink again; get it wrong and you drink.”

Luna thought for a moment before evidently liking that idea. “Fiv – nay, six!”

“… no, not six.” Fluttershy raised an eyebrow. “Was that a serious guess, or do you just want to drink?”

“’Twas a legitimate effort, Fluttershy. That was a normal brood in my time.”

Fluttershy suddenly remembered a grandfather’s comment about how many of his siblings died in foalhood from diseases Fluttershy had never encountered. “Right.” She gestured to the shot-glass. “Drink up.”

Luna lifted the glass in her field, then threw it down. An initial face of confusion, disgust, and confused disgust faded into, astonishingly, contentedness. “We think we like that one. Unusual, yet nostalgic.”

Fluttershy pushed over the bottle, happy that somepony was going to enjoy the frighteningly expensive bottle. “You can have all of it if you like.” She thought for a moment. “I’ll go. I think you have, in the past, had foals.”

Luna didn’t answer for a long enough time that Fluttershy could tell she had misspoken. “Oh, gosh, I–” for the first time in a while, Fluttershy’s unlikely confidence slipped in the face of a potentially catastrophic error. “–I should have been more, um–”

“Nay! No, it is not as you may fear.” Luna cut her off, her momentarily-slipped composure returning. “Your statement is indeed true; it never came to pass that we would bear foals of my own.”

It was too interesting to not pry a little, but Fluttershy did carefully manage her tone. “In all that time, you were never…?”

“Not the once.” Luna poured herself another shot in her field, this time a slug out of the purple bottle of gin. “’Twas not, in our circumstances, conceivable, then it was not allowable, then it was not possible.” Fluttershy looked interested enough for Luna to continue unabated. “In our youth, in what would have been, were we mortal mares, our prime age for motherhood, sister and I were much too busy with the business of turning pony-kind from tribes in mud huts into something kin to what we would come to term a ‘society’ to deal with a foal, even if one were to not consider the near-endless combat we found ourselves inundated with.”

“That’s the inconceivable. What about the, um, ‘un-allowable?’”

“That came once society did. While most ponies did not take issue with two sisters ruling a warband, then a polis, and so forth, some more foreign and barbarous clans thought that improper, if not unimaginable – not to mention other creatures, who found us baffling. Neither Celestia nor myself were keen on taking a set-dressing spouse, nor was one of us willing to submit to the other to convey a cleaner monarchy. This problem was solved by some theatrics; in our appearances, sister would outwardly convey a warm, mareish disposition, and I a cold, muscular, and vaguely masculine one.”

“Magic?”

“Nay. ‘Twas nothing so drastic as that, but only simple things; a slim, athletic build, a stallion’s breastplate, a square-jawed helmet. It was clear that we were mares, but our presentation did convey normality for their wold-views.” Luna threw the shot in her field back, evidently parched after such a tale. It didn’t look like she liked the gin much – it might have been purple, but her face showed more green than anything. “Ech. Hideous. It tastes of a snakebite’s poultice.” She shook her head, composing herself. “We continue. Such a thing did necessarily preclude the swollen teats and belly of motherhood, but sister promised she would not herself carry a foal whilst I was prohibited.” Luna snorted a derisive laugh. “She did make it nearly twenty years, at least. Then foals and more foals – she had a talent for twins. Our royal camps were naught but pearl-white pegasi and unicorns who eventually ended up far-flung over our world.” She sighed. “She was the motherly one, and as such her fecundity was advantageous, but I had been cheated, to which she had no defense. Eventually, I did resolve that after our present military campaign was finished, I would take a strong stallion as my lover and bear a foal, but–”

“But?”

“Our campaign was the awful citadel of Whinnios.” Luna deliberately spit away from herself. “Which, if thou hath a fine understanding of tales and song, will be enough.”

Evidently, Fluttershy did not.

“Truthfully?” Nonplussed, Luna’s face bore a mask of disappointment. “The name bears no familiarity?”

“I don’t even think Rainbow Dash knows that one.”

“Verily? The opening lines which every foal did know did not survive to this day? No knowledge of–

Sing, Harmonious Chorus of the days
the bronze-clad host of Sun and Moon before
the awful walls of ocher coated stone
and blood and sand and kinfolk caught between
the horn-lit strands of contemptible fate!

–at all?”

“I wish I did,” replied Fluttershy genuinely, who was going to force Luna to tell this to Rainbow Dash as soon as it was possible to do so, “but I do not.”

“Hideous news.” Luna absentmindedly poured herself another glass of whisky. “All that inestimable effort we spent preserving the root-tales of our culture from the destruction he wrought, all for them to be thrown aside in my absence.” She chuckled darkly. “One does wonder if mine own role in the story did cause Celestia to discard the Whinniad from the societal lexicon – if so, ‘tis but another thing to blame her for.”

Fluttershy thought for a moment. “You could tell me. I’d like to hear the story.”

A pause. “Then fetch me ale, Fluttershy. A tale cannot be told with ale.”

Two beers later, a sufficiently lubricated Luna loquaciously elucidated the details.

“As in all conflict, the reasons are secondary to the ambitions.”

Luna had, while Fluttershy was looking for beer, ceased whatever spellcraft she had use to hide her wings, but remained at her diminished size. She sat Roanan-style on a chaise lounger on the cabin, another mug (the beers were bottled, but Luna seemed genuinely unable to comprehend the idea of drinking out of anything other than a mug) levitated in her field.

Fluttershy still had her first beside her. She didn’t much care for beer, but it would be a little rude to leave Luna alone in her ale-ing. “What does that mean?”

“Shush, Fluttershy. One doth not interrupt a tale-weaver in the midst of a tale – even if I have forgotten the verses.” Luna gently chastised. She continued. “It means that our reasons for war-making did not matter as much as our desired outcome. If we were pressed, ‘twould have been some sort of absent fealty or honor-slight that did cause us to send the hosts towards that citadel, but our true goal was to beat down an uppity polis which did pose a threat if organized into a league against sister and I’s rule. We had conquered the city not thirty years before from minotaurs, and had no intention of letting its ba-se-re-us – petty king – turn away from us, no matter how legitimate his grievances of sister and I’s undeserved tyranny.”

Luna took a break to throw back the rest of the mug. Another bottle snaked its way into her field, opened, and replenished the cup. She continued without losing pace.

“We had marched to the citadel from snow-choked Taurusian peaks, and had assembled the whole host under us, at that time twenty-nine honor-bands under forty-six captains, all mighty warriors, of which one band was Celestia’s companions, and was mixed, twenty bands were without horn and wing, seven with wing, and two with horn. All bands flew the banner of the sun, with the exception of one additional mixed band of warriors whom were mine own retainers who flew the Moon’s banner, but sister and I did command both freely. Sister, resplendent as she was, did hold foremost position as champion and led the hosts from the front, but was and ever will be a dreadful planner and commander, and as such it was my task to arrange the siege: Celestia – though we had different names, then – the wanax, the highest queen, and Luna, the taxiarch, commander of the Celestial Host.”

“Luna?”

Luna raised an eyebrow, seeing as she had just issued a warning about interruptions. “A question?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. Why did it matter that the city had walls? Couldn’t you just, uh, fly in? Or teleport?”

“Not unless we desired to fight without twenty bands of good fighters” Luna pointed out. “And that is not to consider the environs of times thence. Before the serpent tore the world asunder, ‘twas not enough magic in the air for a pegasus to, say, outrun an arrow, nor for a unicorn to do anything resembling teleportation – and before it occurs to you, no we did not raise the sun and moon in those days either. They did not need raising until they froze under the serpent’s terror-reign.”

Now that was something that had never occurred to Fluttershy, and it was an idea that came along with no small amount of existential discomfort. “Pegasi could not fly before Discord–”

“Mention him not, Fluttershy. The intoxicating liquor has loosened our lips such that we may express our true desires, which are that you cease mentioning him in our presence in perpetuity.” Luna further loosened her lips with a hearty swig. “Your postulate is incorrect besides. Pegasi could fly since … ever, we believe, and could roost atop clouds for a while and so forth. But the sorts of magical empowerment necessary for sustained, speedy flight were not present, and likewise the sorts necessary for a unicorn to perform something besides far-touch magic and, perhaps, a raw-magic blast. Even the invigorating presence of Earth pony upon soil was greatly diminished – to grow crops required much more in the way of sweat, worms, and excrement than in times contemporary to our current era.” She shook her head. “We digress. Suffice to say, all ponies fought in the line, more or less, and as such a wall was as effective against ponies as it would be against any other sort of beast.”

Fluttershy wordlessly offered Luna a glass of water. Luna pointedly refused it and instead whisked over the last bottle of beer from the bar, this time an anonymous lager that Fluttershy remembered faintly from her school days. The cap went floating off in Luna’s field. “We return to the saga. We had made our siege camp before the walls, and many months went by with skirmishes and raids and so forth – the old story spent much time on sister’s and some of our warrior’s battles, but we shall omit them here as our memory of them has grown hazy. Eventually, however, as plagues and dysentery set in on both sides, a duel was set up to settle some part of the original conflict. To do so was a foolish idea, as in those days she truly was a warrior unmatched, but our enemy had a trick, an awful, awful trick – their champion was Celestia’s own, best son, who had entered into the service of our enemy years before.”

“Why would Celestia’s son not be in her – your army?”

“Most were, but she had many foals,” Luna explained, “but one must consider the limitations of serving in our host: while it was very good indeed to be the scion of Celestia, nopony would ever succeed her at the head of the host. If one wished to be at the head of a warband, or the leader of a free tribe, it could not be done from in her employ. And, of course, our natural right to lead as alicorns is less convincing when one was birthed by one; the majesty of she and I fades swiftly once it is clear we are, and most especially were, naught but doubly-blessed ponies.”

“Did most of your nieces and nephews leave?”

“Most, but not all. They could sometimes start families of their own in those days, always with white-coated foals, and when they did they would leave, and some without families did so as well. But they did usually remain on good terms, though not often remaining in touch.”

“And this one? Your, uh, nephew?”

“That one was magnificent. He was unnaturally handsome, with the fine features of his mother cut into his face like it was hewn granite and long, strong legs, and he possessed a fine mane of blue and green. ‘Twas a headstrong lad, as many of hers were, but he was bright, with good sense and a martial mind, and though he and sister were at odds on many things, she loved him dearly, and did not know when we made war that he was a prince by marriage to the chieftain’s daughter.” Luna sighed deeply. “His mark was a sun pierced by a unicorn’s straight blade. A detail that sticks in my mind even now.”

She took another hearty swig. “Sister, of course, could not fight him. She had drawn sword against her own progeny in the past, but for weighty causes of usurpation, not for this … punitive squabble against an uppity petty king – and most especially not against this most magnificent of her issue. Yet she could not simply send another of our warriors against him, for they would most assuredly fail, and so–”

“It was you?” The liquor had emboldened Fluttershy into at least one interruption. “You did it?”

“’Twas. It fell to myself to defeat my nephew in single combat.” Luna rubbed at something on her abdomen. “And he did face defeat, though in truth it was an even fight. We were no stranger to combat, but we were not foolhardy enough to engage in something as idiotic as a duel with any sort of regularity – duels are for young stallions to prove themselves to comely mares and for members of the comitatus to settle out hierarchies with. We had no interest in either of those things – bands under the Moon’s banner fought not for honor-duels, but for preparation for slaughter. There were foes who did challenge us to glory-fights, as I have said, but that was a duty left to our sister.” A pause. “But! In this circumstance, there could be no other option, and so we did strap on our sister’s plate and helm and take up the spear for this most awful of bouts. It continued for some minutes, but it, in the end, as was written–"

but then, Nocturnal Chieftess cast aside
her armored guards atop unfurling wings
and cast herself into a savage dive
with spear directed at her nephew’s face
The point struck true; the Son of Sun fell dead
but not before his spear could take its toll
the point, held up, did cleave her plate in twain
and thrust itself into the lunar womb

The lines sat dangling in the air for a while.

“’Twas more than just the ‘lunar womb,’ we would add to the ancient verse; one does not destroy that from the front without passing through a fair amount of intestine and other such viscera on the way there. But we suppose the verse would not flow so well.”

Of all the various conjectures as to what that event she had managed to reference inadvertently in her faux pas was, this was considerably worse. “Luna, I’m – I–”

Luna held up a forehoof. “Please, Fluttershy, do not apologize. Suffice to say, we have long since come to terms with that day.” A shrug. “And truthfully, it was not as if sister could have foreseen exactly that which happened, and as such we held no hard feelings for that.” Her gaze darkened. “My wounds were such that sister believed me dead, and so, with her son and sister apparently killed in battle, she retreated totally into her own despair. We would not blame her for believing us dead at first – ‘twas only through mine own robustness and the skill of Celestia’s best flesh-knitters that we did not perish in a matter of hours, but even as I began my convalescence she still would not resume her duties. As such, when a week or so from that time it came time to exploit a sapped wall and sack the city, it fell upon me to once again lead the host through the breach – after the death of my nephew, the feeble forces of the city were easily cast aside, even in my state. But even the best flesh-knitters could only patch up the holes and prevent me from bleeding to death – with rest, we might have recovered, but with our duties it was ensured that our organs would not heal. And that we did, and do, blame her for.” A sniff, and Luna re-composed herself back into a passably jovial mood. “But that is all on that matter, except for a final, humorous note on my status. Would you like to hear it?”

Fluttershy hadn’t noticed anything even remotely humorous for a few minutes now, and was simultaneously worried by what this pivot could possibly entail and a little morbidly curious as to where this was going. “… Sure?”

“You recall my previous tale of my griffon husband, yes? Have you ever wondered how such a thing came to be?”

“… Love?”

“Love? Hilarious, Fluttershy. Monarchs marry not for love – that is what paramours and consorts are for.” Luna paused, raising an eyebrow and lightly biting a lip, a facial expression Fluttershy did not know princesses were capable of. “Though, he was truthfully as talented in amorous affairs as a trained serving–” a quick head-shake to refocus. “We digress. It was due to an error in our letter, which we did write in their tongue. Griffons had no word for ‘mare without children,’ only ‘maiden’ and ‘old maid.’ Though I was indeed both of those descriptors, our scribe did not have the courage to write with veracity, and so used their term for ‘maiden,’ which was also their word for ‘available.’ Thus, our letter to their king, or raja, or … knyaz?” A shrug. “One of those insipid little titles. No matter to whom it had been sent, the dispatch was read as a marriage proposal.” Luna snorted a laugh. “I arrived for a royal visit and left married to a confused little prince. Ha!”

It was pretty funny. “But couldn’t you have, um, just said … no?”

“After all his effort? He had arrived upon a twenty-head palanquin, Fluttershy. We would be remiss to not reward him for the extravagance.” She pointed a forehoof at Fluttershy. “But take heed, fair Fluttershy! When you and your compatriots must make a visit to a foreign court, which you will, ‘tis of paramount importance that you check yon scribes work afore it is sent away, lest thou be hitched to a camel, or griffon, or kelpie – ach, no, those were all put to the sword. But the first two!”

“I’ll make sure,” Fluttershy chuckled, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t been keeping up with her partner’s intake; a quick pull of purple gin fixed that. “Though we don’t have, uh, scribes, Luna.”

“Then whence would come your formal dispatches?”

Fluttershy thought for a moment, both to figure out her answer and to parse what the hell ‘whence would come’ meant. “… Twilight, I guess? If we had to write a letter, it would be Twilight writing it.”

A pause.

“I think you probably have a point, actually.”

“Veritably crucial in your case.” Luna hoisted an empty bottle. “Another?”

It was significantly more than another.

Fluttershy, quietly delighted to have found a mare who could match her prowess, sat slumped in the requisite corner chair in such a way to not hurt her now dulled rib injury.

Luna, loudly not delighted in a powerful hunger, yelled nigh-incomprehensible statements into the cabin’s telephone. “Mother’s wing-bones, we care not what sarding form yonder victuals be, if thine serving-wench doth not bringeth a heaped platter of…” Luna trailed off, obviously forgetting the name of some modern invention. A thrown pillow at Fluttershy got her attention. “Prithee: what beest those delicate bits of starch which hath been fried in suet or butter and liberally salted?”

Several seconds passed. “Uhh … hayfries?”

Luna, satisfied, turned back to the phone. “Hayfries! The Mistress doth demand them – and a feast at that. And port them to this cabin with alacrity!” Luna slammed the phone down, wings flying into the air in irritation. “Worthless! Were my knaves ever so worthless, we would have scourged them personally.”

Fluttershy could muster up enough energy to respond, if not to actually face Luna. “Luna, I think it’s, um, three in the morning. Do they even have room service?”

“Art thou not a duchess?” Luna scoffed. “No matter what hour – and mine hours of the night are not lesser to the whore’s sun-drenched ones – royalty such as thineself should be waited on with bent knee.”

Well, that at least answered where all the “old Luna” was, mused Fluttershy. Where it had been, just eleven beers in. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Fluttershy tuned out Luna’s rambling story for a number of minutes, though she was sure it was important

“–and we would be miserably remiss if we did not mention the atrocity which thine winged compatriot resides in–”

Okay, well, not important. Still, she tried to pay a little attention, even as her eyelids drifted unstoppably together. Sleep was nearly there when–

“knock-knock-knock”

“Huh.” Fluttershy perked up. “Guess they do have–”

Luna, not one for idle chatter when decisive action was needed, flung herself at the cabin’s door, throwing it open with her magic.

Fluttershy noticed just a little too late that she had utterly forgotten to hide her wings or horn.

Luna took the (impressively sized, the staff was indeed accommodating) platter in her field and thrust her face into it, uncaring of her present state.

Fluttershy, unsteadily on her hooves, peered around the corner at the open door.

And the poor unfortunate steward gazed, terrified, at Equestria’s most reclusive, most mysterious, and drunkest princess.

So much for their cover. “Shit.”

Author's Note

Poor Luna. She had to be Achilles AND Patroclus. Raw deal.

Once upon a time I wanted to write a primitive-era Iliad rip-off in blank verse about the story Luna is paraphrasing. Verse is harder than it looks, man.

A Flutter Of Wings, A Shotgun To Shoulder

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.

"AT THE RIGHT RANGE, WITH THE RIGHT LOAD..."

“Well, how about that?” Oblivious to the concern displayed behind her, Rainbow Dash looked mightily pleased by the sight of a fellow pegasus on the wing.

“It does provide some hope as to the allowed behavior for your ilk outside of cities, though our host’s concern is … concerning” noted Rarity, exhaustion overruling her desire to find a synonym.

“It is not a concern, countess,” the stallion corrected. “It is a certainty. This is grave danger, and we should retreat to the interior immediately.” The tailor said nothing, but her expression conveyed more or less the sentiment of the stallion.

Rainbow Dash kept her eyes on the distant-but-approaching pegasus. “Well, like, you can’t know that. Not that I don’t think you’re smart, but–”

“What else would a pegasus on wing indicate?” interjected the stallion, noticeably more rushed.

“Lots of things, actually,” shot back Rainbow Dash, visibly bristling.

Rarity shot a glare at Rainbow Dash. “Not the time, Rainbow.”

“Oh, well, forgive me for being a little pissed about–”

The little tailor gave a piercing scream, enough to shut Rainbow Dash up. All present turned to follow her gaze skyward. In all the hullabaloo, the approaching-yet-distant pegasus had, by virtue of an attack dive, become an imminent-and-closing pegasus. With a better view, his (he was now identifiable as a stallion, if a small one) slung sword could be seen, which at least answered the argument at hand.

More worryingly, a rapidly descending spherical object was headed directly for the top of the tower. Rarity didn’t exactly know what it was the pegasus had chucked towards her, but she knew it wasn’t good. Reflexively, her horn lit as strongly as it could, wrapping the object in a wiggly aura. Her telekinesis was never world class, even in an un-addled state, but it was enough to give the thing a solid push downwards, enduring it wouldn’t land on top of the tower.

Unfortunately for Rarity, her field also seemed, at the time, to be particularly good at catching things on fire. This was especially bad because the object, as it turned out, was a magically-powered crystalline bomb.

It was even worse because it had not quite cleared the parapets when it went off.

“AUGH!” she screamed, both because her field had been unceremoniously exploded and because she had felt a splinter draw a line across (and hopefully not into) her withers.

A moment later, a matching “Fuck!” flew from Rainbow Dash.

Rarity took a quick moment to survey. Rainbow Dash had fallen to the floor, but didn’t appear to be injured. The two locals were mostly unharmed, although a few little pricks of blood had sprouted upon the tailor’s exposed areas. Both had frozen up completely, still in the same pose they had been in before the bomb. A final look up showed the pegasus finishing his dive into a vertical loop, pulling into a high orbit to plot his next move, clearly believing he was safe from the obviously-flightless ponies he had targeted.

Just stay there, thought Rarity, wishing all her future enemies would possess the same level of hubris. First thing was first, though. “Rainbow, take yourself and the others and go somewhere below.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash, back onto her hooves, took a step towards Rarity. “Rarity, I’m not going to just abandon you! That dude is trying to kill us!”

“I am aware.” Rarity quick-stepped back to her shotgun, one barrel still loaded with birdshot. “But there’s nothing you can do for me up here.”

“But–”

Rarity cut her off. “This isn’t a discussion, and I’m not going to let you put yourself into danger for no reason.” She gestured towards the stairs, the locals still present. “And you need to put them somewhere saf-defensible, too, because they’re not going anywhere without prodding and they can’t stay up here. Do you know where your sword is?”

“I left it by the bed I slept in last night.”

“Put that on.” Rarity nodded. “And take my rifle too. There should be one more charge in the stock.”

Rainbow Dash scooped up and slung the rifle, all the while looking around for additional threats. “Do you see anypony else?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anypony. In your state, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

A pause. “Okay, I’ll go.” Rainbow Dash took as hasty of steps as she could towards the others as she could, still eyeing the airborne assassin. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Rainbow, it’s a pegasus on the wing, and I have a fucking shotgun.” Rarity scoffed, grabbing said fucking shotgun and checking the flash-pan. “I think you have the danger levels a bit backwards. Now go. I’ll rendezvous once I’ve finished pulling his teeth out of the ground.”

With a final look, Rainbow Dash dipped below, shepherding the others before her.

Once she was gone, Rarity lay on her back, pulling the shotgun to her shoulder (and ignoring the wet feeling on her upper back.) She caught the pegasus lazily enter her field of vision, then, with all the mental math she had been practicing for the last hour or so, swung the shotgun muzzle at the right speed to intersect with his path.

“You poor, dumb bastard.”

“fizz-crack!”

Muffled by the stonework, Rarity’s gunshot was decreased in audible violence, if not in literal. Rainbow Dash still ducked from the sound.

“Come on.” She gestured with a head-throw (not trusting herself to stay upright three-hooved) at the door of the bedroom in which she had spent the last night. It had a slender window – an arrowslit, Rainbow Dash remembered – which wasn’t exactly ideal in case of another assault by pegasus, but it also had a real door, which made it by far the best location in the mostly-doorless structure. “Both of you get in there.”

Mutely, both unicorns present filed in. The pinpricks of blood on the tailor hadn’t sprouted into rivers, though her vacant eyes betrayed the severity of her panic.

“Stack something up in front of the window” continued Rainbow Dash, shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. She sat down, unslinging the rifle as she did.

Neither unicorn moved.

“Come on!” Rainbow Dash felt her ears throw back, her pace of breathing picking up as the fight-adrenaline kicked in. “Do you want to catch an arrow to the back of the head or something?”

The stallion’s horn lit, but his field hadn’t surrounded any of the suitable objects – beds, a table – yet.

“Flip a bed up!” Rainbow Dash pointed to the one she had used the night before. “Over the window. Now!”

After a pause, the stallion finally did as he was told, the bed slowly flipping upwards. Rainbow Dash wasn’t an expert on field strength, but the progress of the furniture seemed to indicate a fairly piddly amount of power – then again, she did hang around princesses and other Canterlot-bred unicorns, so her frame of reference was a little off. Still, it was enough to, after what seemed like an eternity, put the bed in position.

A well timed position, because something *thwuncked* its way against the wooden slab almost as soon as it moved over. The tailor squealed, pressing herself against the corner of the room like a cornered cat.

“Shit! Okay, uh–” Rainbow Dash, deciding it was better to do so sooner rather than later, recovered her falchion from where she had left it. Taking a position by the other bed, she unsheathed the sword, leaving it on the bed in grabbing distance. She was mildly cognizant that this was the first time she had ever wielded a weapon in anger, but she didn’t exactly have time to mull about that “–guess there’s another one out there.” A pause. “Or Rarity missed.”

The stallion had composed himself somewhat, and had bravely placed himself between the tailor and the window. “How many do you think there are?”

“I don’t know. At least two, because I bet Rares probably nailed the guy. But there’s only two of us somepony would want to kill, so lets just hope they’re cheap and only sent one pony each.” She, remembering the other weapon in the room, pulled the rifle to herself, opening the patch box to reveal a single paper cartridge. She liberated it from its confines, ripping it with her teeth and beginning the arduous loading process (which she had fortunately been instructed in earlier in the day.) After applying powder to the flashpan, she dumped the rest into the bore, then set the ball into the rifling with a hoof-tap.

The stallion looked on curiously. “May I assist with … that?”

Incidentally, yes, he could, as Rainbow Dash’s limited mobility made ramming a difficult proposition. “Yeah. Punch this ball down with the wooden rod under the barrel, then hand it back to me.”

The stallion levitated the rifle over to himself, then set to the task at hoof. A half minute or so of swift *thwack*-ing followed. “And now?”

“Give it back. I need to wind it.” He did so, and she did so, fortunate that the winding key had been left on the lock. She made sure to stash it into the patch box, lest it come flying off upon firing and impact her directly in the face. Task accomplished, she pointed to the remaining horizontal bed. “Can you pull this over so I can use it as a stand?”

His hesitation seemed to indicate he didn’t quite understand the question.

Rainbow Dash gestured to show the desired geometric translation. “Turn it sideways and away from the wall. I can’t stand and aim this thing at the same time.”

Understanding, the stallion’s horn lit. The bed moved a little, scraping in fits and starts.

Rainbow Dash eyed the door. “A little faster, please?”

“It is–” he had begun to sweat from effort, nervousness, or both “–heavy.”

Another field joined his around the bed. Rainbow Dash tracked the origin to the other unicorn in the room, the tailor, whose horn corona shone with those awful streaks around the center. She was visibly pained, but her effort was worthwhile; the bed arrived at the correct position.

With a soft nod of thanks, Rainbow Dash took up position on the bed, rifle pointed at the door. She supposed she could have had the door barricaded instead, but she’d rather have the firing position, as she didn’t think it would take a burly pony particularly long to displace the bed.

The stallion looked back and forth. “Now what?”

“If we’re lucky, whoever shot a bolt at the window will come barging in here and I’ll shoot them in the face. If we’re really lucky, they won’t find us at all.”

They were not, as it turned out, really lucky.

“FIZZ-CRACK”

Rarity hadn’t really ever thought about what a full load of a hundred BB-size pellets would do to a pegasus on the wing, nor could she see the results as her view was occluded by gunsmoke, but the yelp of pain and subsequent heavy “thud” of a pegasus hitting the dirt gave her a pretty good idea.

Curiosity over the details (of both justified “I hope that guy is not going to stab me” and of plain morbid gawking) would have to wait; at a time like this, the last thing a mare would want would be an empty gun. As swiftly as she could, Rarity put a load of the largest supplied pellets on top of a heavy powder charge, then topped it with a full caliber ball. In the meantime, she noticed that she could discern the sound of somepony groaning below the threshold of the parapet.

Well, that justified the loading, at least.

Her task complete, Rarity stood up, wishing she had requested a sling for the fowling piece as well; a bit of quick thinking and the ribbon from one of the previously displayed dressed would have to do for now. That sorted, she proceeded down the wall, ducking in between parapets and remnants of battlements.

It didn’t take long to find the stallion. Crumpled in a ball with a wing and foreleg bent incorrectly and a smattering of bleed-spots, he was a pathetic sight, even without the moaning. Rarity found it hard to scrape up any empathy for the stallion who had attempted to kill her moments ago, but she did find herself wishing that this had been a much swifter incident for her assailant. He didn’t look up as she approached.

No reason to get too close; she sat down on her haunches, her weapon aimed vaguely towards him, flints cocked. “Who sent you?” Rarity had no intention of dragging this out any longer than it had to be, for both their sake; nonetheless, questioning was in order.

The stallion’s answer was a spit of blood that nearly made it to Rarity.

“Lovely.” Rarity aimed the shotgun a little higher. “I don’t think you have any budget for giving lip. Answer the question.”

The stallion put his good foreleg under himself, pushing up into a less-supine position. “Signora, I will not acquiesce to an answer so easily,”he spat with a noticeably thicker accent than the other locals she had spoken to. “Not less than torture will get my master’s name from me.”

“Really? What a terrible shame.” Rarity mused, bringing the muzzles up to the stallion’s eye level. “I have no interest in something as awful as torture, nor do I have the time. If this is the way you want it, I’ll make it quick. Hold still.”

The stallion’s eyes went wide, pupils darting around. It didn’t seem like he really understood what the implement Rarity was holding was, but he definitely understood the stakes. “You, ah, intend to kill me?”

“No, but you intend to be killed, it appears.”

“I see.” The stallion spit out another mouthful. “Then I am allowed to admit. It was Galloparte.”

The first part of his response was a much bigger shock than the second – Rarity had already been well educated on the potential for that one’s agents to be on her trail. “You are allowed to admit?”

“It is in the standard contract for such things – we are to keep secrets to the point of death. As the stakes become death, we are allowed to admit such things if we do desire.”

Rarity thought for a moment. “I don’t think that is what ‘the point of death’ means.”

“It is understood to be so.”

Rarity wasn’t one to argue with tradition. “If you insist.” The muzzles lowered a little. “How did you find me?”

“You announced your title to the vescovo, it was not difficult.” The stallion got his back legs under him, his relatively un-injured (just shot) wing flapping around as he did so. “I do not wish to cut you short, but I must ask what your intentions are for me; I am, due to you, wounded most seriously.”

“I–” Rarity paused, unsure exactly what her intentions were anyway. Morally, she probably had some kind of obligation to render aid, especially considering the would-be assassins cooperation. Logically, it wasn’t like she could send him straight back to where he came from. And practically, she couldn’t just throw him in some oubliette for a while – her castle distinctly lacked a functional one of those. “I suppose I would take your arms, splint your leg, and send you off away from Marelan, not to return.”

“Then let us do so, and most fast, I beg.” He used his good foreleg to draw his sword, a standard-pattern uhlan’s sabre (stolen, or retained from prior service?), then threw it aside before gesturing to the scabbard. “Use this.”

Rarity warily lowered the gun, then slung it in front of her on the ribbon-sling, decocking the flints of half-cock as she did so. She then made her way to the stallion, closing in to the indicated scabbard – all the while scanning for a hidden blade.

Which was not particularly helpful when the stallion punched her as hard as he could in the face.

“… they won’t find us at all.”

The door swung open violently.

The mare in front of them was a sturdily built earth pony, a good bit larger than the other Bitalians Rainbow Dash had seen. She wore no body armor save a thick jacket and was brandishing a nimble looking rapier. Her eyes scanned the room, settling upon all three ponies before locking onto the female unicorn at the back of the room. “You are contessa. I come to kill you.”

The mare’s unusual accent caught Rainbow off guard, delaying her response just long enough for one of the ponies behind her to reply first. “No–”

“Mmm, no, I think so. Unicorn, mare. Contessa.” She took a step forward, rapier point held low in the three-legged procession of a swordsmare. “The rest I do not need to kill, so you can–”

*fizz-CRACK!*

Rainbow Dash probably should have shot her immediately – even if none present were the countess, Rarity certainly was, and it wasn’t like Rainbow Dash was about to let this mare merrily waltz away to go skewer her best friend (Rarity was her best friend?) – but she apparently lacked something of Rarity’s decisive killer instinct. Rainbow Dash wasn’t as good with the rifle as she was with the fowling piece, but she still managed to put the .36 caliber ball on target.

The big earth pony recoiled back two steps, a neat little hole punched cleanly through her padded jacket directly into her left shoulder. She dropped her sword as she did so, swearing in something Rainbow Dash didn’t understand.

Notably, however, she was very much not dead. Rainbow Dash very swiftly found herself understanding Rarity’s point about appropriate calibers.

After a shorter moment than Rainbow Dash would have liked, the big pony launched herself at the pegasus behind the bed, scooping up her rapier with her right foreleg as she did so. Rainbow Dash had just enough time to pick up the sword she had placed on the bed as she hopped out of the way of the incoming attack. She had felt a stitch in her haunch pull hard as she did so, but she had bigger, sharper, rapier shaped problems to deal with. Her assailant landed with an inelegant clatter, three hooves scraping across the uneven paving stones as she regained her stance, point always held towards Rainbow Dash. The bullet hole had begun bleeding through the jacket and the mare’s left foreleg was wobbly, but she remained standing nonetheless.

Rainbow Dash, mentally prepared just moments ago for shooting a pony, now found herself in her first real sword fight. She had never placed at the bottom of the skill curve of anything in her life, much less something as kick-ass as sword fighting, but she wouldn’t call herself great at it either – worse, she recalled from school that their tips for fighting a saber against a rapier was “don’t” followed by “hope for a painless demise.” Perhaps she would get lucky and the gunshot had evened the odds.

She would find out soon enough. The big mare made a spirited thrust towards Rainbow Dash’s heart, which she managed to catch with the back of her own blade and deflect to the side, drawing the two closer together. The wound seemed to be doing something good for her – as the two closed, Rainbow Dash correctly noted that a skilled swordsmare would have kicked her as they clinched, but the big mare’s foreleg stayed firmly in contact with the floor. Rainbow Dash suffered no such compulsion, and, as the other mare attempted to withdraw her stab, Rainbow Dash hit her with a ferocious foreleg. It didn’t do much, which probably said more about Rainbow Dash than the mare, but it was enough for the big mare to step backwards, yielding position and withdrawing her sword. Wounds thoroughly aching, Rainbow Dash didn’t have enough in her to go in for a big stab, but she did manage to draw a pretty good cut across the mare’s foreleg.

She had drawn blood, but it wasn’t much more than that. Undaunted, the rapier point flew upwards, and Rainbow Dash only barely managed to save her throat from the incoming strike by flinging herself backwards. It wasn’t quite enough to keep her totally from harm – the point managed to catch her cheek, slicing a light cut across her face – but it kept her alive.

For once, it was very apparent to Rainbow Dash that she was not winning, even against her opponent’s weak hoof. Rainbow Dash was obviously the less experienced swordsmare, and she was additionally fighting against a sword with a good quarter-length more length over hers. She was successfully fending off stabs and ripostes, but only barely; she hadn’t been taught much in the way of parries and chambers (stand-up fights were for cuirassiers, not Wonderbolts,) and her opponent was catching on. With every desperate deflection, it was seeming more and more like that first cut was a lucky break.

With ice-water in her veins, she had begun to realize that, unless something changed, she was going to die.

Something did change, in the form of a large water-pail being propelled into her opponent’s face by one of the unicorns behind her. It wasn’t much, but it did make the mare’s sword-point drop in distraction – just enough time for Rainbow Dash to set her hooves back in a fighter’s stance and send her sword at her opponent’s face. This time the cut was deeper, driving hard into her opponent’s scalp in an ugly line above her brow.

Yelling again in that inscrutable tongue, the assailant feinted a stab low, which Rainbow Dash bought completely, then pivoted for a thrust aimed directly at Rainbow Dash’s head. Without a ready sword, Rainbow Dash’s options were limited, but she did have one – her good wing. Wrenching it open as fast as she could, she threw the mostly-inflated wing in front of her. She had aimed well; the rapier’s point embedded itself into the primaries of Rainbow Dash’s good wing, allowing her just enough control to keep her opponent from withdrawing her sword immediately.

Unfortunately for the other mare, “not immediately” was much too late. Rainbow Dash, with her opponent’s sword in her wing, made a textbook attack with her falchion at the exposed hide just above the level of the large mare’s jacket. The sword cut deep, and Rainbow Dash felt it deflect off a vertebrae before continuing on into more flesh. The earth pony fell dead on the spot.

Rainbow Dash stepped back, sword still stuck in where it had been struck. Sweating, panting, and shaking, she wiped what she though was sweat from her face. Her forehoof came off red. Suddenly aware of how much she still hurt, she collapsed onto the nearest piece of furniture, eyes still resting heavily on the dead mare in the room.

“First time for everything, huh Dash?”

Rarity hadn’t really had her ass kicked since her school days, so, were she not presently fighting for her life, this would be quite the nostalgic experience.

The grounded stallion had skillfully taken advantage of his sucker punch by placing himself atop the supine unicorn and punching her several more times. The broken foreleg limited his rapidity and forcefulness of strikes, but it was still a decent pummeling, and one for which Rarity was ill-equipped to fend off insofar as the stallion had positioned himself and his wings in order to block her limbs from striking.

She wasn’t out yet. Her horn lit with blue flame, ready to incinerate the –

“None of that.”

His forehoof smashed into Rarity’s horn with an audible sizzle, cutting off the incoming cantrip before it could be stoked into life. She was very aware of how agonizing that should have been, but with how much the rest of her hurt it barely made an impact. The stallion reeled back, dumbly shaking his singed hoof – just enough time for Rarity to use her horn for the more basal function. Freshly blunted by the hospital staff, it wasn’t exactly optimal for goring, but the headbutt she delivered with every ounce of her strength still managed to open up a gnarly gash in the stallion’s neck and jaw. It wasn’t enough to end the fight, but it was enough to get him off her, allowing her to get to her hooves.

There was one question to ask, which Rarity did with a spit of blood. “I thought your contract–”

“With another master, yes, I would have taken your offer and left. But not with Galloparte, who would have me killed for a failure.” He eyed the discarded sword. “Bad luck for you.”

Rarity’s own eyes lingered on the shotgun she had dropped in the tussle, still loaded with both barrels full of shot, hammers down. Evidently, the stallion did not quite understand what the device was, as he surely would have gone for it if he was aware. It was a good three steps away.

The stallion moved first. Evidently, he had decided to eschew the use of the saber, going straight for Rarity. Rarity made it to the gun, but had no time to cock it before the stallion fell heavily atop her, gash freely bleeding over Rarity’s dirt-darkened coat. The barrels lay between the two ponies. The stallion got a good punch in, then reared back, preparing a hind-leg kick to go to somewhere squishy and unpleasant. That separation gave Rarity just enough room to push the muzzles into the stallion’s barrel just below his sternum and kick the hammers back with a hind leg. She rotated the shotgun enough to reach the other side, and, thankful that her pony-usable firearms were made without trigger guards, launched her hind hoof into the pair of triggers.

The world went red.

Panting on the bedspread, rapier removed from her wing and lying by her, Rainbow Dash heard one, or maybe two, gunshots.

“What is that?” asked the tailor, eyeing the deceased pony in the room heavily.

“A good sign, probably,” Rainbow Dash answered. She turned to address the two unicorns. “Which one of you threw the pail?”

The tailor pointed to the young stallion.

“Thanks.” Rainbow Dash nodded, too tired for exclamations. “She had me.”

“I should have done more, but–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Rainbow Dash pointed to the cut on her face. “Can you help with this?”

He nodded, stepping off sharply in search of clean linens. The door shut behind him.

Rainbow Dash, after a moment, heard hoof-steps behind her. The tailor spoke up in a soft voice. “You, ah, have torn a stitch. Would you like me to mend it?”

“Please.” Rainbow Dash rolled a little further over to give easier access. She felt the unicorn’s magic on her hide, gently tugging on a suture, then another, across the wound on her flank. The unicorn’s hooves chattered on the floor.

“You’re safe now. They’re – it’s done.”

“It is not that–” a heavy gulp behind her “–I just have never seen quite anything like that. Heard, but it is another thing to see–”

“Me either” Rainbow Dash answered, which said enough.

The tailor worked in silence after that. A minute or two went by before the door opened back up; the young stallion, clean linens in his field. A dash of the high-proof alcohol near Rarity’s bed, a bit of suture work, and a firmly pressed bandage later, and Rainbow Dash was mostly mended, at least in the immediate.

The door opened again. All three present gasped.

Were it not for the chunks, one would think Rarity had fallen into a vat of red ink, so thoroughly was she coated from face to diaphragm, a long line running down her horn. The slung fowling piece was much the same, though the uhlan’s saber on her waist was conspicuously un-bloodied.

“It’s not mine.” That much was obvious – had it been hers, Rarity would have been a past-tense entity. She noticed the corpse in the room. “Was that–”

“Mine,” Rainbow Dash nodded. “She came in here looking for you. She almost had me, but–”

“Celestia, Ranbow, I–”

“It’s over. It’s what we thought would happen, right?” She darkly noted that she had cut quite a bit more than a throat. “More important things to talk about and think about right now. What happened to you?”

“I, er–” Rarity struggled to put things into order “I shot him, then he fell, then I loaded back up, went down to him, asked some questions, then he jumped me, he beat me repeatedly, and so forth. I eventually fired with the muzzles in his chest, hence–”

“That’s all his?”

“It’s almost all of him.” She shook her head. “May we perchance save this conversation for another time when I am less... bespoiled?"

Rainbow Dash didn’t disagree. Even besides everything else, it was an issue of sanitation.

“Thank you.” Rarity shucked off her cargo. “A wash-pail, please?”

Rarity wrung out her tail. It had taken three changes of water and about all the soap present, but she would finally allow herself to feel clean.

Rainbow Dash entered into the little side room, dipping through the privacy curtain. She had torn a few sutures in the fight, but nothing more serious than that. A wash cloth had sufficed for hygiene. “I had him wipe all the blood off your fowling piece, and the, uh, bodies are covered up in the old moat. Do we need anything else?”

“A hot bath, a feather bed, a chilled bottle of chardonnay, a handsome masseuse, and a sleeping cat to nap with?”

“Best I can do is some soup and a bedroll.” Rainbow Dash allowed herself a small smile. “Glad to see you’re still making jokes.”

“We can’t afford real beds, real doctors, or a real night’s sleep, but I can still afford to make a jest.” Rarity matched the smile. “If I ever stop, we’re in real trouble.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

A few heavy moments passed, noted only by water dripping from Rarity’s tail into a bucket.

“Uh, Rarity, how do you, uh–”

“How do I what?” asked Rarity, who had a pretty good idea what this was about.

“How did you, uh – up there, in that room, that was the first time I’ve ever, y’know–”

“I don’t know.” Rarity cut her off. “I’ve only been in the same boat for two weeks. I’ve really only been in the exact same situation for as long as you have been.”

“Then what are you telling yourself?”

“That he, despite my best efforts, was going to kill me. Easy enough.” Rarity shrugged. “I’m guessing it went the same for you?”

“Me and both of them.” Rainbow Dash nodded. “She thought the tailor was you.”

“Then it was her life versus yours, and the steward’s, and the tailor’s, and then mine, eventually. It’s as clear as mine.” Rarity took a step closer, preempting the next question. “Look, I cannot promise this will suffice as moral justification forever, for everything. But it will get us to tomorrow.”

A pregnant pause lay upon the room. More water drops.

“Okay. I, uh, guess that’s it for now.” Rainbow Dash gestured to the door. “What are we going to do with them?”

Rarity set off towards the door, stopping to beckon for Rainbow Dash to follow. “The right thing to do.”

Both mares exited the room. In the interim, the young stallion had also extricated the falchion from its quarry and cleaned it, placing it back in the scabbard. The uhlan’s saber lay next to it.

“You two.” Rarity hadn’t the time to wait. “Do either of you have any family or acquaintances in the Old Country? Canterlot, Trottingham, or so forth?”

Both shook their heads.

“Of course not, that would be too easy.” Rarity scowled. She raised her voice. “Right. I’ll have to supply some contacts for the two of you.”

Both locals bore of a look of concerned befuddlement. The tailor, for once, spoke up first. “Ah, contacts, contessa?”

“I would hardly want the two of you arriving in a new land without even an address to go to.”

“A new – mistress, you cannot–”

“I am, and I do.” Rarity cut him off. “It is quite clearly not safe for the two of you to remain here. I haven’t the faintest idea if those two had any idea of who the two of you are, but to persist in contact with the two of us would be immensely unwise. I am not just happy to, I am obligated to buy you safe passage out of Bitaly.”

The stallion took a step forward. “And to leave all this? It is not as simple as–”

“It is precisely as simple as that.” Rarity took a step closer. A few good bruises were starting to raise on her face, which must have provided a rather compelling piece of evidence for her own statements. “Prophecies and oaths and solemn duties are for morons who talk to glass trees such as myself. You are under no such obligation. This place is a shithole, and you both deserve better than this.”

“You mean – permanently?”

“I suppose not necessarily. But hopefully so, yes.” Rarity waved a forehoof around. “What are you doing here? Polishing a pile of rocks? This is an absurdity.”

The tailor, for her part, looked much more enthusiastic about the idea. “And, if we were to agree, to where would you send us?”

“Manehattan. I have professional contacts there.” Rarity allowed herself a smile. “Ones who would be delighted to make the acquaintance of such a talented seamstress – nay, designer – with such an uncommon sense of practical fashion terroir.”

The stallion, notably not a talented seamstress, did not share the tailor’s growing look of dreamy optimism. “And me?”

“You’re smart. Good etiquette. Great language skills.” Rainbow Dash could see what Rarity was doing. “Put yourself in the Guard. A unicorn like you should get a cushy admin job, easy.”

“That is–” the stallion thought for a moment “–that is a decent idea, but–”

“No buts.” Rarity shook her head. “I would greatly prefer to be diplomatic, but there are no other realistic options. It’s Manehattan, or it’s very likely death.”

A compelling point indeed.

“Five hundred exactly.”

Rainbow Dash pushed over the sack of bits, freshly counted from the now mostly-empty Royal Purse.

The stallion, with visible reluctance, picked up the money in his field, putting it into a sizable saddlebag. “I am not sure how I could possibly repay you, but thank you.”

“On an admin salary? Pretty easily.” Rainbow Dash noted. “But, gosh, you two are the ones who need to get paid. Clothes, housed us, let us take a bunch of free stuff.”

The tailor shook her head. “It was nothing I needed payment for beyond what you have already done.”

“You’re right. This is a gift to make things right.” Rarity passed the tailor a folded piece of paper. “On there is the addresses of everypony I could think of who would be worth talking to.”

The tailor took the letter. The hoofwriting was rough, but mostly legible. “And your own?”

“On there as well. If I happen to survive this ordeal, write to me at some point and I’ll visit. On the contrary, if I am to perish – which would be mentioned in the papers, of course – please write a nice letter to my sister with something heart-wrenching to be read at my funeral.”

“Oh, yeah, good point.” Rainbow Dash produced a pencil, then grabbed the letter back from the tailor, writing her own mailing address (a Cloudsdale one, Rarity noticed) on the back before passing it back. “Do the same for me.”

The stallion cocked his head. “Assuming a position in the Guard, how would you know where to visit?

“From the return address, duh.” Rainbow Dash chuckled. “But most camps suck, so I’d just send something back.”

“What?”

Rainbow Dash, rather than respond at full volume, leaned in close to his ear, whispering something. The stallion’s face went shock red.

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “It’s as great as it sounds.”

Rarity eyed her suspiciously, but didn’t press the matter. “Well, with that, I’m afraid it’s time for the two of you to set off. There are ships waiting back in the harbor.” She nodded to the tailor. “Do grab what materials you can before setting off. Some of those dresses would sell to certain crowds in Manehattan, and there is no reason you could not bring some of the better pieces for portfolio pieces.”

The tailor nodded eagerly, having become rather enamored with the idea. “Is there anything else to know before departing?”

“Only that there’s no contessas over there, and that you have nothing to be scared of.” Rarity smiled warmly. “Now go you two. Best if you get there before dark.”

The tailor took one step back before, with a quick decision, heading back over to Rarity, pulling her into a tight hug. A simple “grazie” expressed all that was necessary. Then the hug was released, and the locals set off for the last time from Mareanello.

After their day, Rarity and Rainbow Dash were more than content to sit on a nearby stone and watch them shrink away into the distance.

Rarity spoke up first. “What did you tell him you would send him?”

Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “A signed copy of the Wonderbolt’s ‘Beachside Babes’ calendar, our government’s best publication. He’ll be a hero in his barracks.

“Highly amusing. I presume you’re in it, too?”

“The real Wonderbolts go first. I haven’t been in it yet, but I might next year, if he’s lucky.” Rainbow Dash smirked. “But you saw how he reacted to me getting out of a dress, Rares. Forget me, he’s got twelve months of pegasi to get through. He’s gonna get to the combo shot with Spitfire and Seafire and he is gonna fucking explode.”

“As good a use of my tax bits as any.” Rarity paused for an amusing thought. “Do you think we could get a Bearers calendar?”

“Ugh, Celestia, I hope not.” Rainbow Dash mimed a comical gag. “I mean, that would be double-dipping for me, total party foul. Plus, look at us two. Who wants cheesecake of two soon-to-be scarred up beat to shit mares?”

“There’s a market, hopefully. And we can always do some airbrushing.” Rarity’s eyes had lit up, glad for some levity. “You forget, Rainbow, about the tricks of the trade.”

“Okay, yeah, but you also forgot this – who the hell would want a pin-up of Twilight Sparkle?”

Neither mare could hold it, both breaking into hearty laughter. The laughter would subside after a lengthy period, accumulated stress and panic from the day finally breaking into a wash of relief.

“Okay,” started Rarity, wiping a tear from her eye and rising to her hooves. “It’s time to get to work.”

“What do we need to do?”

“Well, we can’t stay here, that’s for sure. They’ll send somepony out to come check on us when our visitors don’t return, so we need to not be here when they arrive.”

As much as Rainbow Dash didn’t want to admit it, Rarity was right. “Shit. I guess one good night’s sleep was too much, huh?”

“Lucky you. If we're fortunate, I will hit hour forty before I can really sleep. Maybe we can find a roadhouse or inn or other such establishment if we’re lucky. I’ll roll the cart around so we can load it up. Armaments, food, clothing, such things. Can you walk?”

Rainbow Dash looked back at her wounds. They didn’t look any worse, at least. “A little. I'm gonna have to ride some too.”

“Then it will be slow going, but we must be going all the same.” Rarity stepped back towards the exterior door. “Come on.”

Rainbow Dash followed, only for Rarity to pause in front of the door. “Yeah?”

Rarity turned back towards her, remembering something. “There’s a Wonderbolt named Seafire?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s Spitfire’s twin. You never noticed the pony who looks just like her with different eyes?”

“Not really.” Rarity held the door open for Rainbow Dash, who hobbled inside. “And her parents named her Seafire?”

“Yeah, right? Talk about ‘little sister syndrome.’ I’d say it’s gotta be brutal for her self-esteem, but she’s honestly probably better off than her sister. Really invested in marine tactics. Did you know she invented the method for flying from a steamship?”

Rarity, for once, was delighted to hear Rainbow Dash’s happy babbling about pegasus athletes. After everything, that still remained, and if that remained, Rainbow Dash remained. “There’s a method for that?”

“Oh, yeah, cause you gotta take into consideration the wind and the soot and such. And there’s actually a third sister too, named Firefly, who’s kinda chubby compared to her sisters and not such a great flier but she’s a straight-up genius when it comes to siege and anti-dragon tactics, she’s got like fourteen campaign ribbons, it’s crazy. And that’s not even to mention her parents, who are themselves…”

Well, it did make for good background noise, at least.

Author's Note

This one's for you, Clint.

This chapter was really cool because it, in a rare change of pace, didn't suck ass :raritywink:

She's 50% Hater, 50% Fed, And 100% Back, Baby

External Audit didn’t believe in the word “humility.”

Humility, she had once surmised, was fundamentally for losers. There were those who had things to be rightfully proud of, who were winners like herself, and there were losers, who did not, and who chastised the winners over their display of achievements with their invented virtue of “humility.” This was because losers, above all, hated that winners existed, that there were ponies better than them, and thus that they should be put down to the level of losers.

Well, she wasn’t falling for any of that crap. After all, she had plenty to be proud of. A direct commission out of the Haynapolis Guard Academy, four years in Panamare (and the scars to prove it), two years busting smugglers over mountain passes into Griffonstone, eight years in the Revenue Service, two saber fencing championships, an immaculate mane, strong wings, and an astonishingly perfect ass – by any set of metrics, she was just objectively better than the common slime, and to pretend she wasn’t was lunacy, and she hated lunacy. She even hated the moon by virtue of association, that’s how much she hated lunacy.

Catching an express liner to Bitaly three days after she had her jaw broken was almost lunacy. It’s a good thing it wasn’t lunacy, because she hated lunacy, but it was almost lunacy. But she had two jobs to do here, real jobs, and so it wasn’t lunacy.

The first was financial, and therefore mundane. Some idiot donkey had tried to write a check for twenty four bottles of liquor that drew upon a Royal Account he was obviously not privy to. The check quite happily went through, but the magical systems put in place to catch such things did their jobs and the local police had been dispatched to seize him. A Revenue officer was needed to question in such cases, and while it would have usually fallen to a more junior officer, she was going to be present anyway – might as well take care of that as well.

The second was the important one, which was that she was going to get that blue bitch from Fillydelphia.

Now, strictly speaking investigating an assault on a Crown officer was a job for the usual Crown-Level police – in Bitaly, the frankly goofy-looking Carabinieri, as she understood it. But External Audit was absolutely not going to let that sucker-punching coward get off so easy as to avoid further contact with herself. Not when there was a score to settle, because External Audit didn’t lose fights, and she absolutely couldn’t let somepony so pathetic change that.

And she was going to relish taking her down a peg or six. “Elements of Harmony,” what a load of absolute horseshit. External Audit had fought in wars, kicked in doors, and, in doing so, had seen all kinds of impressive spellcraft. She’d seen magic that would make one shit oneself, both figuratively and literally, the kind of stuff that burns off eyebrows at thirty paces and gives its targets and casters tumors, and all of it had been done by regular old ponies – all of whom were a hell of a lot more impressive than those two morons she met in Fillydelphia who monopolized the Canterlot newspapers (worthless rags all of them anyway, whose constant focus on insipid politicians and feckless monarch rendered them only useful for emergency toilet paper.) Of course, that was because she wholly disregarded the obviously bullshit stories told about those six fuck-ups – there was absolutely no way that some kind of ancient war-mistress alicorn had been defeated by, or even summoned by, said fuck-ups, and frankly she was convinced that the little blue alicorn she had seen once or twice milling about the palace was just another one of Celestia’s love-children like the little harlot she sent off into the frozen tundra. That wasn’t even to mention the ridiculous snake-thing that Celestia had apparently made up out of thin air in order have another defeated villain – she had never seen a “Discord,” nor had she ever heard of a “Discord” before the aforementioned events, which more or less confirmed for her that it was all a bunch of propagandic hooey. Why Celestia et al. had decided to go to this much effort was still something of a mystery to the Revenuer, but she figured her current task was probably a pretty good way to get a handle on things.

Still, she was getting ahead of herself. Well before any bullshit-scrubbing from the official narrative could take place, there was the matter of un-fucking whatever gods-awful situation awaited her in Bitaly (she had received no information as to the state of the investigation insofar as they had received advanced warning of the fugitives’ arrival, but she had a sixth sense for imminent fuckery which did not often fail her) and commanding around various provincials into something resembling a coherent posse.

To that end, she had made sure to arrive in her finest, most authoritative apparel. A freshly-shined badge sat atop her crisply-pressed forest green Revenuer formal uniform, the breast studded in campaign ribbons and a single set of silver pegasus wings (mixing medals and ribbons like this between her Guard and gendarmerie duties was strictly a little tacky,) and her waist was festooned with her noticeably well-used service saber hanging from a sword belt, with additional weapons for wingtips and hoof-to-hoof work secured on the other side of the belt. And those were real medals too, not some cushy time-in-service crap. Most of her Academy-mates had a third of the rack she did, and most of them were still in the Guard. But that’s what happened when an exceptional mare like herself threw herself at whatever post she could find that was at least halfway entrenched in The proverbial Suck – well, that or death, like her first captain, a plain-gray earth pony from Ponyville, of all places, who had caught a bolt to the head on his last patrol in Panamare. She had still been cheated of a few, of course – that worthless slut Spitfire had literally swooped in at the end of a protracted airborne melee that External Audit’s squadron of cuirassiers had died for; fashionably late for the danger, but just in time for a photograph and a letter of commendation from the brigadier. That the Wonderbolt’s poster girl had managed to steal that Distinguished Flyer’s Cross from Audit, her squadron lead Firefly (Spitfire’s considerably thicker sister), Spitfire’s other sister (who had actually headed the charge but whose name nopony could ever recall), and any number of other deserving ponies was almost endearing in its sheer self-serving brazenness, but not enough that Audit wasn’t still raw about it years on. Still, absent but deserved decorations aside, there was still more than enough metal on her uniform that, with her hooves shined and mane put into a mean-looking bun, she cut exactly the kind of magnificently hard-assed figure necessary to wordlessly communicate to the peons around her that she was well and truly in the business of getting shit done.

Well, except for the misshapen brass-and-wire monstrosity which found itself parked atop her head. That kinda hurt the look.

Unfortunately for External Audit, Rainbow Dash’s expert application of hoof to face had rendered her rather unable to use her jaw for, well, anything. There was enough wire in her mouth to construct a decent chain-link fence; the missing teeth had presented a useful hole for a straw for her miserable “meals,” but speaking coherently was very much out of the question.

Thus, the helmet. Her boss had repeatedly refused to allow her to go on this little expedition, seeing as she could not speak, but she had finally relented once External Audit had agreed to “speech assistance.” She hadn’t known what that meant at the time, but she had assumed it involved a unicorn following her around to cast some kind of spell.

Well, she was half right. There was a unicorn – a curious one, with the athletic, large build of a pegasus of Lipizzan heritage but a distinct lack of wings. His other characteristics were equally as unusual; a set of non-break eyeglasses sat firmly attached to his face, and his outfit was, despite the circumstances, something more like business wear than anything else, without any clear sign of what force or agency he represented. He had provided his name – Quiet Enabler, though it was clearly a nom de guerre – and no further information. She wasn’t going to pry; the rapier on his waist and the sword-scars on his muzzle were clear enough signs of his competence, and that was what mattered.

She didn’t know what his real reason for being here was, but his stated job was to charge her helmet. The geeks who provided it to her had enthusiastically described the complexities of spell-crafting necessary for it to work, but she really couldn’t care less about the specifics – she thought the words, and the words came out. It was almost as good as talking, except that carrying around a metal salad bowl on one’s head was really fucking uncomfortable, and the tinny, monotone little voice that came out of it would have been hilarious if it wasn’t her own voice, and she had spent the last three days practicing her thoughts in order to not say something embarrassing (though her already-weak profanity filter had become basically wet tissue) but it was good enough.

And if it wasn’t, a sword point probably was.

She started down the gangway, her unicorn and scant luggage in tow. There was a smattering of locals at the bottom, all looking oddly perturbed at her presence. External Audit wasn’t unfamiliar with having ponies be perturbed in her presence – it was no small part of the job – but she hadn’t even introduced herself yet, so either she looked worse than she thought, or there was something else at work here. Whatever the case, it would have to wait -she had caught a view of agroup of swiftly approaching Carabinieri (all rather short, she noted) who had obviously been tasked with meeting her here and whose alacrity was encouraging insofar as it hopefully pointed towards success, or at least enthusiasm.

Her unicorn spotted the problem before she did. “Two of them have batons out, ma’am.”

So they did, and another one of the unicorns (there were no pegasi, she noted) in the little bunch of Bitalians had his field around the hilt of his saber. She wondered if she appeared to be violating a law on the public carrying of arms; she had been supplied with a primer on Bitalian social mores, but she hadn’t been in much of a reading mood on the journey over, as no pegasus could refuse the magnificently aimless flight around a ship in transit. Still, with her obvious uniform, her status should have been clear.

The leader of their bunch spoke up first with a ridiculous accent she was sure she would begin to despise swiftly – but her words were far more disturbing. “P-please, ah, remove your weapon and–”

“Excuse me?” The helmet had sparked to life.

The unusual source of dialog momentarily confused the local, but she continued nonetheless. “Signora, it is proibito for a pegasus uncovered to bear–”

“A pegasus un – do you know who I am?”

No flash of recognition passed across the faces of the Bitalians, so maybe they hadn’t been expecting her. Two of the batons raised higher, and one of them had unfastened the snap on his scabbard. “I am, ah, unaware of your–”

Well, that did it – remarkably, her helmet managed to let off a few real sparks. Her attached unicorn eyed it in mild concern and moderate interest. It would be bad if it blew up, but it would probably be pretty funny for a little while. “Then let me make you aware. You currently have the pleasure of speaking to Special Agent External Audit of her Majesty’s Revenue Service, badge number sixteen, formerly captain, Canterlot Household Cuirassiers, Third Squadron. Does that help refresh your memory?”

It didn’t look like it did; they didn’t even look particularly impressed. “I, ah, do apologize ma’am, but I am unsure of what your credentials are indicating, and beside you are forbidden from carrying of arms with–”

“This isn’t a discussion. Are you all just constables, or gendarmerie?”

The mare in charge didn’t appear to be familiar with the term, but one of the ponies behind her was. “The second, signora.”

One word. “Rank.”

The leader, a unicorn mare with a coat of dilute ultramarine, responded. “Tenente.”

External Audit was perfectly content to wait for that pony to say a real word, but her attached unicorn spoke up first. “Lieutenant, ma’am.”

Considerably below Audit’s rank-equivalent from the Crown Service, then. “Then stop fucking talking. Did you somehow miss the ‘Special Agent’ in my introduction? That means I’m a major for your purposes. I will ask for your input if required.”

One of the Carabinieri, a mud-green earth mare, seemingly figured it out. “Ah – the poster, Tenente, and the donkey!”

Well, it wasn’t shutting up, but she was content to let that one through for the purpose of actually getting this excruciating conversation somewhere. “We found the bright one. What’s your name?”

“It – my name is – well, in your tongue it would be Spri–”

“Too long. Your name is … Spring Roll.”

An unfamiliar term. The mare hoped it was at least not denigrating. “What is that?”

“Stop talking. Where is the donkey?”

The lieutenant spoke up first, visibly confused. “The jack has been taken to the post up the road, but…” She shook her head. “You are the agent reale? But you are–”

“Stop. Fucking. Talking.” She turned back to the bright one. “Second question. Where are the fugitives from the poster, the ones from the ship? Fat white unicorn, scrawny blue pegasus?”

None of the Bitalians present looked up to volunteering the information.

“I have better things to do than sit around sweating in this uniform. Where. Are. The. Fugit–”

The bright one was also the brave one, apparently. “The fugitives, ah, were not apprehended.”

“What.” She might not have been able to emote directly with her voice, but the flicking tail and rising wings gave a pretty good guess as to what was going on under that helmet. A spark flew off it, even; her attached unicorn idly wondered if that was a cause for concern. “One more time, Spring Roll?”

“The fugitives, ah–” a gulp “were able to make it from the ship onto the pier, and from there–”

“Are you fucking serious? ”She punctuated with a stomp.“They were on a ship. On a schedule, with a time and a place, in your own city. There is literally one way off a ship. It is the easiest possible stakeout.”

“Well, I was not present at the time of the attempt, but as I have heard the pegasus did take to the air and lead away much of the attention, but–”

Her attached unicorn spoke up, almost revolted at the apparent ineptitude of this failure of an ambush. He was something of an expert on these things, although his targets usually ended up dead; it came with his line of work. “What about the other one? She could have only gone down the gangway or jumped over the side. Did your top cover not see her?”

His vocabulary did not seem to hold any familiarity to the earth mare. “… Top cover?”

He spun around an illustrative forehoof. “Fliers. Surveillance pegasi?”

“I do not understand. There are no such things here.”

“Pegasi?” She hadn’t seen any, but that still seemed … impossible.

Spring Roll (there wasn’t really anything to suggest the name and the mare was really quite well-built, but assigning nicknames was a matter of phonetics more than anything) shook her head. “No, there are three squadrons of pegasi in total in the Carabinieri, and one is available in Marelan, but…”

“But?” Audit’s wings had begun to rise, increasingly sure that this was either utter doctrinal ineptitude or straight-up tribalist nonsense. Frankly, the former was the more offensive.

The mare’s eyes followed the wings. “In the doctrine, a detachment of pegasi is … not for policing, signora. It is to bust up a riot, or to combat a skirmish with griffons.”

Leaning more towards the first, it would seem. “And why is that?”

The lieutenant quite literally threw herself between the mares. Audit’s unicorn took a step closer, horn sparking to life. “Because it is unsuitable! A pegasus – an uncovered pegasus – full of wing-burn and feather-brained impulse, is not correct for an apprehension – an assassination, maybe, but to take in una criminale is a task most ill-suited!”

Audit didn’t have a chance to say anything, but her wings, now firmly aloft, did her talking for her.

“As can be seen! Even if you are, as you say, an agent reale, it is apparent that you are the unable to control your impulses for violence, and you flaunt the laws of decency most flagrantly!” The lieutenant turned around, babbling something in her own tongue to a subordinate as her horn lit.

The subordinate, either as a warning to Audit or as a result of not catching the lieutenant’s choice of discretion, responded in a manner which the non-Bitalians could understand “…on Crown’s agent – wing shackles?”

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. The lieutenant was right about one thing – there was going to be violence, though it was controlled. Audit had managed to slip the connection between her scabbard-clad saber and her sword belt during the lieutenant’s first statement, and, now that her back was turned and her horn lit, Audit quite forcefully swung it into the side of the unicorn’s corona-coated horn. The unicorn crumpled, likely knocked unconscious from the blow (she loved fighting unicorns – so predictable, so fragile) and Audit added to her indignity by promptly stepping on the back of her head in a full mount, pressing the lieutenant’s jaw into the paving stones. Seizing the opportunity, Audit raised her head to address the other gathered Carabinieri, noting with satisfaction that her own unicorn had stepped back out of sword range and had a spell prepared on his horn. “Let me make it clear. I do not know what kind of psychotic bullshit you, this place, or both have about pegasi, but if a single one of you limp-dicked fucking barbarians even mentions ‘coverings’ or ‘wing-shackles’ or ‘feather-brains’ or any other manner of nutjob shit, I will have my partner break all your legs and then I will cut out your tongue before mailing it to the Canterlot Academy of Sciences, where it will be tested to determine why you are all such failures. Am I understood?”

None of the Bitalians responded for a while, tea-saucer eyes going between their prostrate captain and her assailant, wings fully extended in challenge. Eventually, the bright one (whom Audit was beginning to view as an exceptionally competent specimen insofar as she could answer a question correctly) responded for the rest “… ah, yes, you are understood sigonra.”

“Great.” The revenuer pulled her hoof off the back of the lieutenant’s head, simultaneously reaffixing her sword to her belt. “And stop calling me ‘signora.’ You may call me ‘captain,’ ‘agent,’ or just ‘ma’am,’ but that is it.” She pointed at the remaining five Bitalians. “Two of you take your officer out of my fucking sight. Two of you go deal with the donkey–”

“What are we to do, sig-captain?”

With her other task far more important, she didn’t need to talk to some dumbass … ass, and so she decided to leave his fate to the whims of the locals. “I don’t care. Beat him with a stick and throw him into the next ship headed to Fillydelphia, that seems about right for you. I will sign the paperwork afterwards.” She turned to the final mare present, the bright one. “And you, as you seem the least inept, are coming with me. We’re going to go on a little walk, and you’re going to make this shithole make a little more sense.”

Little was the imperative word.

Despite the efforts of her selected Bitalian, Audit’s understanding of the situation was rudimentary at best. She didn’t have any mind for history, and so Spring Roll’s descriptions of battles and soldiers of old and raids thereof slid off her like a hayburger wrapper down a Manehattan storm drain in a rainstorm. Still, she thought she had gotten the gist of what she had told her – at some point, bands of roving pegasus marauders had terrorized this place, and ever since then pegasi had been deemed as universally social menaces. To be “uncovered,” a concept so completely alien to Audit that it had taken a couple of explanations to stick, was to have one’s wings exposed, which was a serious, aggressive social faux pas. To do so with a slung weapon was criminal. Audit, of course, had no intention of abiding by this such an utterly ridiculous social code, but she had been curious as to why she had experienced the reaction she had; the persistence of such a thing in Equestrian lands was yet another mark against the Crown’s benevolence, or at least efficaciousness, but that was a discussion for another time.

Any pony who wished to arrest her was more than welcome to try.

Much more pertinent to the issue at present was that she had a lead. A local in this depressing little seaside town had told the Carabinieri that the fugitives had stopped by, and spent a decent amount of time in, a clothes shop. The owner of that shop had been away for two days and so Audit was prepared to simply kick the door in and have a look around, but, as if on schedule, the little tailor, a stallion in tow, had returned to the shop just as Audit had turned the corner onto the street, which meant she was knocking on the door, rather than kicking it in.

Audit turned to Spring Roll. “Stay outside.” Whatever information she got out of this tailor was going to be for her purposes first, not the Carabinieri. “Let nopony inside.”

She looked a little confused, but took a post beside the door.

Satisfied at her obedience, Audit gestured for her attached unicorn to follow as she knocked authoritatively on the door of the tailor’s shop. Some rustling was heard inside, but the door’s opening wasn’t delayed enough for Audit to consider knocking again.

A latch was thrown, then the face of a stallion appeared. “Miss Thread is not taking custome–” he stopped himself mid-sentence, eyes going first to helmet, then to wings, then to medal-coated uniform “–uh.”

“Crown Special Agent External Audit, Revenue. I am coming in.”

The emphasis seemed to work. The stallion, wide-eyed (both because of the circumstances and because the mare had just spoken without moving her mouth), opened the door, allowing the two crown agents inside. The interior bore clear and telltale signs of having been ransacked – in this case, to quickly pack for travel, judging by the trunks in the middle of the room.

“Where is the owner of this business?”

A trunk held aloft dropped to the ground. The mare behind it was small enough to have been hidden by it. She managed to stay up, but her fear was evident, although Audit noticed that unlike her fellow Bitalians she hadn’t locked her eyes onto her wings.

“You, then.” The revenuer took a step closer. “I have some question–”

“If you are to mutilate or kill me, do so already.” The little mare took a step closer herself, obviously terrified but nonetheless a remarkable sense of bravery. “I will not bow to a contessa’s thugs. Not after what I have seen.”

Well, that threw the agents for a loop. Unsure of quite what to say to that, the unicorn spoke up first. “I am afraid you are mistaken. We are agents of Celestia, not locals.”

“Oh.” The tailor breathed a sigh of relief, which Audit noted – clearly, if she had been more scared of the agents of a “contessa” than those of Revenue, she either didn’t have the proper understanding of Audit’s position or the local goons were seriously gnarly. The tailor cocked her head. “Then what is it you wish of me?”

After a moment to compose herself as she finished her thought, Audit went into her prepared questions. “Do you recall, from a few days ago, two foreigners who visited this store? A white unicorn and a blue pegasus?”

“Of course I do. The contessa and her companion. What of them?”

Either she didn’t know the gravity of her statement, or she was really dumb. “Those were fugitives. My fugitives. Aiding a fugitive is a serious crime.”

“I was not aware of that, your hon–”

“Just ma’am.” She had rapidly begun to hate these insipid honorifics. “You were not aware? Did you not see the posters?”

The tailor looked a little more nervous, but no obvious tells of a lie yet. “I did not see them. I was working in my shop and saw nothing outside, and the Carabinieri did not come around to show them to me.”

“Right.” She wasn’t convinced, and to not go around with the posters would be a serious sign of ineptitude, but, from what Audit had seen, betting on the ineptitude of the locals was a pretty good bet. “So you were not, and are not, aware of who those ponies are?”

“No, I know who they are. They did introduce themselves to me; Rarity, the contessa, and Rainbow Dash, the pegasus. Just not their relationship to you.” She cocked her head. “What do you want them for?” A furrowed brow. “And what did happen to, ah, your face?”

“Nothing serious for both,” she lied, “and they aren’t related,” she lied again. There was no reason to spook the witness. “Just needed for questioning. But your cooperation is mandatory.”

The stallion who had opened the door spoke up first. “Signora, I must warn that I will not assist you if you aim to do to the contessa or Miss Dash harm, for–”

Audit’s friendly mask slipped a little as she flared a threatening wing, but she kept herself under control for now, even if that stupid ‘signora’ creeping back into conversations did irritate her. “Your cooperation is not optional, but I do not mean to do – well, that’s next. What are your names?”

The stallion pointed to himself, seemingly not particularly frightened by the display. “Empty Ledger. The tailor’s name is Thrift-Thread in your tongue.”

“Right.” Audit examined the young stallion; good health, probably about twenty years old, with good diction and only a slight accent – he was clearly of an educated caste. “Denying a Crown Agent’s request is a lot of loyalty from somepony who only met the mare three days ago, Ledger.”

“It is-was my duty.”

“Duty?”

“Signora Rarity is the Countess of Mareanello, madam. My family watched over the estate for a century in lieu of a contessa. When she arrived, I did return to her service as steward, as my family had done in the past.”

Well, that at least answered what a “contessa” was; a countess, which External Audit remembered had been awarded to the eminently un-noble Rarity in the very recent past. She, in the mildest terms, had never thought much of nobility – in other circumstances, she would have thought the arbitrary elevation of such a peasant to the peerage to be pretty funny. “Ah, her title. You do realize that Miss Rarity Belle possesses not a single drop of noble blood in her body, correct? I’ve read her files. Her father was a hoofball player, and both he and her mother were from dirt-eating hill-pony stock. You and I probably have bluer blood than she; her title is as flimsy as they come.”

“So?” The stallion took a step closer; evidently, there was something else at work to account for his loyalty than just long-forgotten occupational obligation. “Fair Cadenza was from peasant stock assolutamente, with not even in a knight in her family tree.”

So that’s the story over here, mused Audit, who was quite sure Cadence was not just produced from the very noblest of bloodlines but had been literally expelled from the noblest possible stock, presumably in a secluded closet. Still, it made for a nice story for the commoners. “A countess is not exactly a princess.”

“And besides, it matters not her origin, signora. Contessa Rarity is the noblest pony I have ever met, and of a finer moral fiber than any other supposed pony nobiliare in this realm.”

That was quite the endorsement. “Based on what?”

“Her generosity and selflessness. Her willingness to put ponies she did not really know before herself. Her refusal to abuse her new title. Her–”

“Enough.” Audit cut him off with a wave of her wing. The stallion seemed unbothered, but the little tailor did jump just a little bit. “I’ll have you get into particulars later. Which one of you met her first?”

“I did, mistress.” The tailor this time. “When they arrived here.”

Audit and her unicorn stepped closer to the tailor, who was in the back of the store, away from other Bitalian. “Describe your interaction. What did you do?”

“It was nothing of importance, signora, really. At first, with her companion’s wings uncovered, I did think naturally I was under attack, but–”

“Naturally?” Audit raised an eyebrow, still visible under the helmet. “Would you mind explaining that to another vicious pegasus?”

“Ah, si, signora, I did mean no offense, but – well, it is the custom here, and she did violate it so flagrantly. But all they did want was a set of clothes and some cosmetic treatments, mistress, nothing else, though there had been some … misunderstandings, you see.”

“Go on.”

“Well, of course, once I had been informed of her title I naturally believed I had offended her greatly and that I was soon to be … disciplined, but the Contessa di Mareanello is not cruel and petty like her other contessas, as you know.”

“Sure.” She definitely didn’t know, but that could be explored later.

“And then her companion, the mercenary Rainbow Dash, did not, ah, take to the local dresses well.”

“Why not?” As Audit recalled, the unicorn was the prissy fashionista, not the pegasus.

“Because of the, ah, wing … treatments.” The tailor eyed Audit’s wings, both bigger than Rainbow Dash’s. “As I suppose you would not accept either.”

She didn’t know what the hell a “wing treatment” was, but no, she probably wouldn’t accept it based on the other barbarisms of this godsforsaken shithole. Still, she was curious. “Can you bring such a dress up here?”

The tailor nodded, then turned to her right, spotting such a dress. Audit noticed there were no wingholes. The tailor’s horn lit, a cornoa oddly struck through with–

Audit’s attached unicorn gasped. This was deeply shocking to Audit, as she was not aware that spooks like “Quiet Enabler” actually possessed emotions, but apparently he still did – and that something he had just seen was so shocking as to drag them out. “Celestia, what happened – tailor, cut your field and walk over to me.”

The tailor, confused as to who this stallion was as he had not introduced himself, followed his instructions. With unexpectedly gentle hooves, the stallion pushed a lock of her mane out of the way, inspecting the little mare’s horn. He saw exactly what he though he had seen earlier; regular, deep scoring around the perimeter, and he didn’t look happy to be right. “When did you spend time in Saddle Arabia, ma’am?”

“Saddle Arabia? I have not ever left Bitaly, sir.”

So shocking was that that it took even him a few long seconds to respond. “Then who–” he shook his head “–horn scoring is a punishment I only know of from Saddle Arabian thieves. How did this come to pass?”

Horn scoring? Audit hadn’t been expecting that to be the next barbarism. She had seen it once, and only once, performed upon captured Equestrians by an enemymilitar in the wider Panamare conflict she had participated in. She, of course, had no idea what kind of emotional weight it bore upon a unicorn to see or, worse, experience such a thing, but she distinctly recalled that upon that enemy’s capture a tribunal of unicorn lieutenants and captains had quite swiftly sentenced him to death by electrocution spells. Regardless of whether or not it had been conducted by officers or not, a kangaroo court like that was very much not allowed by Equestrian military codes, but upon description of the matter to the higher brass, mostly unicorns themselves, no further action was taken as regards to the junior officers.

It had taken a while, as she recalled.

The tailor, ears dropping, didn’t look eager to volunteer the information as to who was responsible; Quiet Enabler decided to alleviate some fears “We are not locals, so if it was for some kind of crime we aren’t going to pursue further action. I just need to know.”

“No, it – it was not a crime. I did once not give to a contessa the … correct amount of deference, and so as was her right she had done to me, ah–” she waved a hoof around her horn.

Audit interjected first. “Protected right?”

“As a contessa, if so desired against the actions of a contadina as myself, it is.”

“And this was–” Audit gave a few slow blinks. Nobles and peers had their own silly little exemptions from such and sundry things back in Equestria proper, but that? “And this was done by the Countess Rarity?”

Both Bitalians looked horrified.

“Non! Assolutamente non! This–”

“–the contessa would never–”

“–long ago, when–”

Audit held out a hoof. “Stop. Who, then?”

The tailor continued. “It was the, ah, Contessa di Galloparte, signora. But this was long ago, when I was a filly, not–”

Her attached unicorn cut back in, once again blank-faced in practiced control. “How old?”

The tailor thought for a moment. “This was after the death of my father, so I was … quattordici – four and ten years.”

Her still stone-faced spook did not say anything else, but she heard his horn ignite and his sword being fiddled with like a morbid security blanket. Audit decided to get the conversation back on track – not that hearing about the culture of this unforgivable shithole wasn’t illuminating, but she was here for rather more targeted questioning. “The both of you seem to have quite a lot of sympathy and loyalty for a mare you two barely know. What did you do for her, anyway?”

The tailor’s face visibly lifted, ears returning to an upright position – clearly, she didn’t enjoy speaking on the matter of her horn. “Non, ma’am, it is not what I did for her. All I did was supply her dresses and a wig – and a dyeing of the mane and tail for them both. She paid well over what was required for all that.”

“So, loyalty from … tips?”

“No, that was nice, but…” she shook her head. “It was from actions later, signora. The contessa and her companion did save us both.”

“Really?” Now that was interesting, and worthy of further questioning; namely, in what way had those two losers managed to save anything. Still, a question first. “First, though, the dye job and wing; done as a disguise?”

The tailor shrugged. “It is possible. The contessa Rarity is without mane, so the wig was necessary, and the dye to match. The other one, it was, ah, not clear.” She shook her head. “But I did not want to ask questions after her reaction iniziale to my reaction to her wings, and her experience with a dress.”

“What, did she threaten you or something?”

“A little, but signora Rarity did calm her. It was my fault.”

“Explain.”

“Well, of course when I saw her wings initially, it was … I did take it as a threat most severo,as would be the expectation here.” She cocked her head, looking at Audit’s conspicuously uncovered wings. “Have you been, ah, told of the culture, signora?”

“I figured it out.” Audit raised an eyebrow. “I noticed you have not reacted quite so severely as the goons outside. Do you have pegasi in the family?”

“No, I would have, signora. But time spent around the contessa’s companion has,ah,made it normal, to a degree.”

“I see.” If the tailor’s opinion of pegasi had improved since first contact, Rainbow Dash was a much gentler pony than Audit would have been about such things. “Back to the questions. What did she do?”

“She reacted most angrily when she figured out the custom of wing coverage, then she … lost composure during a fitting for a dress which had been done in the Bitalian fashion.”

“Which means?”

“Ah, sleeves for wings, signora. No openings.”

As much as she disliked her fellow pegasus for, y’know, breaking her jaw, she certainly understood Rainbow Dash’s actions, and even, unbelievably, felt something resembling empathy; she was not aware she could do such a thing. Then again, when she had spent six weeks in Manehattan General after getting shipped back from Panamare a final time with a double compound wing fracture and had her wings cast and bound, she had found herself dreaming about throwing herself off the roof most of the time, so basally unpleasant the sensation. “I suppose I would too.” An understatement – forced into such a garmet, Audit would have killed somepony. “Keep going. They came here, she overpaid for dresses, and then …?”

“They left, for Mareanello. I brought dresses the day after next.”

Satisfied with the little Bitalian’s cooperation, she pointed to her presumed companion, the stallion. “But before, the fugitives met you, right?”

“Yes, at the-her castle.” The stallion cut the next question off early. “Do not become too excited. It is not much more than a pile of stones.”

“That’s still one more castle than Celestia ever gave me,” thought Audit, who realized too late that she had thought it aloud. All present eyed her oddly. Oops. “Never mind. What then?”

“Nothing much,” the stallion shrugged. “They slept there and took a few things: a sword, a tiara, a breastplate for a pegasus. Nothing of great value.”

Armaments, then. Audit wasn’t particularly scared of either of the mares she was chasing even if they were armed, but it was something to keep in mind – frankly, she wouldn’t want to be an unarmed pegasus in this place either. “And the next day?”

“They went to Marelan to see another contessa, but, ah, they did misunderstand my directions and simply walked in the front door.” He shuddered. “I am not sure what happened next exactly, but that night they returned with the unicorn pulling her sister in a cart; the pegasus had taken a crossbow’s bolt through the haunch and the wing very seriously.”

A bolt through the haunch and wing left a completely immobile pegasus, which, while not very sporting, was, for a fugitive, exactly the kind of – wait, sister? “You said her sister?”

“Yes.” The stallion cocked his head. “Is that odd?”

Audit had looked over the files and was very sure they were not sisters. Was this intentional misdirection to throw off a tail? Was this a joke played on this stallion? Was this stallion simply a moron? The world indeed wondered – but it was a mostly useless tangent anyway. “Never mind. Why would she go to Marelan anyway?”

“To contact another contessa, as said.”

“Why do that?”

“As part of her job as given by your crown, no?” The stallion cocked his head, confused. “I would think that, as you are also from the Crown, you would know, yes?”

She didn’t, really. She had had plenty of explanation as to who the unicorn and pegasus she was meeting were, and to their background, but the whys of this particular operation had not really been explained. “Just want to confirm. Enlighten me.”

“To be elected the Duchess of Marelan by her fellow counts and countesses, signora. For what reason, I was not told, but that job’s first step was to take the ascendant position.”

“I see.” Audit thought for a moment. “And why would a noble of the same rank elect another to a leadership position? Especially a foreigner?”

“In the past, because the realm required leadership, and favors could be curried for support of a well-regarded noble.” The stallion shrugged. “But in these days, that is a good question, and one without an answer: nopony has occupied the ducal rank in decades, and the discord between comital ponies from far fetched schemes to the ducal throne is now open conflict by means of mercenaries and assassins.”

“Which explains the wounds, I suppose.” Audit nodded. “From the other countess.”

“Her servants, I would think. But yes, that is correct.”

“Right.” It was certainly seeming like the two “national heroes” had been sent on an unlikely, if not suicidal, mission – a fuck-up from the Crown? Or was Celestia colder-hearted and more jealous than Audit thought? “And that was yesterday, yes? What about today?”

“I had been given tasks to do for the contessa, and so I returned to the castle in the afternoon with the tailor and her goods in tow. As we ascended the remaining tower to see the two of them, we were beset by assailants.”

“Assailants?” Maybe things were pointing more towards the second hypothetical; an easy way to cover a killer is to make it happen in a place where there was more than one way for it to happen. “From who?”

“Assassins sent by another conte or contessa. I was not told from which, but there are several who would do such a thing.”

“And then they … were killed?” That would make apprehending the fugitives easier, insofar as corpses don’t run. Though considerably messier.

“Killed?” Wide-eyed, the stallion shook his head. “No, signora, the assailants were defeated!”

“Yes!” cut in the tailor, who had walked up to join her fellow Bitalian. “Miss Dash, the pegasus, put herself between an awful mare and the two of us and k-killed her with a strike of sword!”

“And the contessa,” replied the stallion, preempting the question, “though I did not see the event, used a device of steel and wood with sparking–”

Audit’s attached stallion tensed, clearly surprised. Audit, though not knowing of what the Bitalian spoke of, did not miss the cue, and filed it away to be asked about later.

“–device to smite most utterly out of the air a pegasus!”

A pause followed as Audit evaluated the information. She had known that the blue one had some training – despite her cowardice, the chickenshit’s application of her hoof to Audit’s mouth had been done with fine form – but she had read nothing about the unicorn’s apparent skills. More importantly, it pointed to one of two things – either Bitalian hired blades were inept (not impossible, especially in view of the Carabinieri she had met) or her fugitives were more dangerous than initially suspected. Either way, she was, bizarrely, almost glad to see that these “heroes” she so reviled were both less pathetic than she had thought and that they had been forced to get some proverbial blood on their hooves – a mare with a legitimate body count had much more of a claim to heroism in Audit’s eyes than a mare whose title came only from the whim of Canterlot’s most decrepit resident. “And where are they now?”

The stallion shrugged. “I do not know. The contessa, in a scene of generosity most spectacular, gave us enough coin to sail to, ah, Manehattan, I think it was called, and sent us away.”

“How much was that?” Audit mused that those coins had very likely come out of the Purse she had issued earlier, and that it was much easier to give away somepony else’s money than one’s own. Still, sending anypony out of this shithole was, as much as she hated to admit it, a sign of good character, at least for the unicorn.

“A few hundred bits, signora.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose, if I had to guess, the contessa would already be headed to Marelan. Where exactly I do not know.”

“What for?”

“To kill the contessa who crippled her friend, of course.” The stallion cocked his head. “Why else?”

“Right.” Audit waited a moment, then addressed her attached stallion. “We should speak outside.” She pointed a wing as the Bitalians as she exited the shop. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Okay, What do you think?”

“I’m just the escort, ma’am. I’m not here to think.”

“Don’t be coy, spook.” Audit lightly reprimanded. “You’re obviously not just ‘some guard,’ and there’s a certain air about you that I recognize. Guard Espionage Service?”

The stallion said nothing, but allowed himself a thin smile.

“What I thought.” Audit, satisfied with her correct prediction, nodded. “Go on, then. Time is of the essence – we shouldn’t keep them waiting in there.” Audit didn’t care much about their comfort, of course, but the more time spent on relying on Carabinieri to hold a perimeter the better.

The unicorn raised an eyebrow (that almost sounded empathetic, and Revenue didn’t believe in empathy) and acquiesced to her demand; wordlessly, a hitherto unseen notepad and quill appeared in his hitherto unseen field. His corona, fittingly, was a nearly invisible smoke gray.

“That’s a neat trick. Can you do it for a whole pony?”

“For a little while, but there’s no point.” The unicorn flipped his notepad to the first page. “A pony is not threatening. A pony with a camera or dagger is. So you hide the camera, not the agent.” He shook his head. “Besides the point – yes, I have some thoughts. Would you like to hear them?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“Okay.” He moved the notepad into his field of view. “A few important points, then what I think we should do. That’s up to you, of course, and I will defer to your–”

“I get it.” Audit spun a hastening wing in a circle. “Go on.”

“First off – as I’m sure you’ve noticed – we are on our own out here. And I don’t expect that to change, nor should we try.”

Audit raised an eyebrow.

“If this place looks like this, and things go on here like that, I don’t expect that there is much in the way of real Crown assets here, and there are definitely not any assets we would want hanging off our tails. A small team is a good team. The Carabinieri are even worse than that – keep the one you like around if you would like a cultural aid, but I would rather not have to coordinate with gendarmes who failed at fugitive apprehension off a boat.”

“No disagreements.” Even if the locals hadn’t been violently repulsed by Audit’s mere presence insofar as that presence included feathers, Audit had swiftly decided that they were both loathsome and useless, neither of which were qualities she liked in partners. Though she had kind of taken a liking to the intrepid Spring Roll.

Not enough to learn her name, of course. But a liking. Perhaps she could keep that one.

“And, of course, we’d never get anypony from the real Equestria here in time to help. Good points. Next.”

The stallion raised a forehoof, pointing at Audit’s wings. “We need to get those covered up.”

An idiot would assume the worst. Audit was not an idiot, and so one chance was to be provided. “Hmph! Brave of you to say out loud. Explain?”

“Not like they do here, with socks or bindings or whatever else they can dream up. Just a rain shawl or cape would be fine.” He grimaced in seemingly mostly-real sympathy. “But you draw too much attention like that, especially for observation.”

“Might as well ask you to cover up your horn,” grumbled Audit. She couldn’t actually grumble, per say, as all of her thought-speech came out at the same even tone of voice, but she had made a sort of humming-gurgling as the talk-spell did its thing, so it kinda got to the same effect.

The stallion in front of her gave a small smirk as his almost-invisible corona lit, then disappeared – taking his horn with it. The rest of his coat had also dropped a few shades. “If necessary. Do you prefer Cemetery Wind? Or–” his coat once again changed, this time visibly greener, as obscuring complications appeared around his Mark. Audit vaguely remembered that she had no idea what his mark looked like in the first place, probably due to its dullness, which was frankly a stunningly lucky draw for a pony in his profession. His horn stayed hidden. “– Titrant Ranger? Mixing and matching can be done, of course.”

Momentarily lost for words, Audit, after a moment of thought, punched her partner in the sternum. Despite evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t a super-pony; he backed away, rubbing at his chest. “Ma’am?”

“Checking for carapace.” Audit’s desk neighbor in the Canterlot Revenue office had had his throat cut by a stray Changeling shard during the attack. They weren’t friends, but he had been a supremely competent accountant; yet another talented pony, lost preventably, to tally onto the Princesses’ list of failures. “Anything that changes like that positively chatters to me.”

“Ah. No ma’am, no bug here. You can check my blood, spit, whatever fluid you want.” He resumed his natural characteristics – well, probably natural. It wasn’t like she was really sure about that. “Just a Talent, normal talents, a strong horn, and a lot of practice. A changeling can do all that effortlessly. I can only hold it for a little while – it’s a continuous spell of illusion.”

“Uh-huh.” Officially too deep into the weeds of nerd shit for Audit, but good to know her partner’s limitations. She had a thought. “Could you do my wings, too?”

“Not long enough for it to matter. A lot more wing than horn, ma’am.”

“Right.” Worth a shot. “If we’re laying low, what about–”

“The helmet? It is just as big of a problem.” He shook his head. “I will look at it when we stop for the night. I only sort-of get how it works, and I’m no Twilight Sparkle, but I can try and make it smaller, or at least split it up where some of it can be hidden under a jacket.”

Audit chose to believe that was a lucky guess as opposed to him reading her mind through the helmet. She didn’t know if that was possible, but it wouldn’t surprise her. She really hoped it wasn’t, mostly because her thoughts were embarrassingly unorganized, but also because she had spent a not insignificant part of the pre-departing waiting time on the ship’s deck checking out his rump. It wasn’t like she was leching, just idle, unserious glances, but even Revenue mares had needs, as unbelievable as that sounded. Besides, there was a more important question to ask. “You know Twilight Sparkle? The little ‘princess’ of nothing?”

“We’ve never met.” He shook his head. “But I graduated the Academy with her brother. Nice guy, and talented, but too handsome for his own good.” A shrug. “Why do you ask? I know she’s capital-f Friends with our fugitives, but I don’t think that's really important right now. Do you have something else to say?”

She had quite a lot she’d like to say about one of her most fundamentally despised (in a theoretical sense; she had never met the mare and only barely seen her) creatures, but she supposed that would have to wait. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat, turning the page in his new notepad. “Our fugitives are significantly more dangerous than I had expected.”

“Surely you don’t mean to tell me you’re afraid of a pair of cripples, agent.” She smirked. “I thought you types were supposed to be the scary ones?”

“Hubris, ma’am,” he warned. “What did you do in the guard again?”

“Cuirassier.”

Heavy shock troops not typically known for their caution. He internally congratulated himself for another correct guess. “Makes sense.” He continued without explanation. “The pegasus should not pose a problem if we can get to her quickly enough, but the unicorn is–”

A scoff. “Oh, come on. She’s a tailor. Even if she hadn’t done … that to her face, you mean to tell me a stallion like you couldn’t beat her horn to horn?”

“If that were all to it, I could, ma’am. Quite handily.” He let the shadow of a frown cross his face. “And please do not interrupt me. I know we aren’t equals by rank, but I’d like to keep this professional.”

It had been a little rude of her – not normally a problem for External Audit, who, of course, had once taken a foal from his mother with ten words, but the stallion was awfully menacing. “Go on.”

“Firearms, ma’am. Are you familiar with the concept?”

No, but she had learned to never admit ignorance if feigned familiarity would do. “Not specifically.”

He saw through it. “Griffon made weapons, ma’am.” He turned the notepad around in his field, showing what looked like pipes strapped to boards. “We don’t know how they make them, but we know that they accelerate pieces of metal at speeds well over a crossbow bolt. It’s inferior to a good war-spell, of course, and the Guard at-large doesn’t have any interest, but they’re plenty to get through an unprepared unicorn’s ward, and it gives a non-magic user a lot better chance against a unicorn.” A pause. “Or alicorn. It’s a concern we have. Either way, it makes a lot of sense why a griffon would make such a thing, although how one ended up with a small town’s unicorn tailor is a mystery to me.”

Well, now she wished she really had known what they were – there was something delightful to Audit about the idea of a device which would even up the notoriously difficult fight of pegasus against a good unicorn. That the height and cloud advantage would further ensure pegasi superiority over ground-bound ponies was just a little bonus. “So how cautious should we be?”

“That depends on how many she has, more than anything. If those two–” he gestured towards the tailor’s shop “–told the truth, she is obviously good enough with it to take out a local assassin on the wing.”

“I think you have a higher estimation of the competence of a ‘local assassin’ than I do. Or she got lucky.” The mare she had met didn’t exactly exude an air of martial prowess.

“She only has to get lucky once, ma’am. Which leads on to my recommendation for our course of action.”

She had her own ideas, but everything else he had said so far had been valuable. “What’s that?”

“We don’t do anything to interfere. Watch from a distance, shadow and track them, but don’t try and take them into custody any time soon.”

“Absolutely no–” The stallion raised a hoof. Audit remembered his previous admonishment. “… Sorry. Continue.”

“Firstly, our fugitives are currently embroiled in lethal combat, which is sure to only intensify as they enter Marelan. This is important for two reasons: one is that they will probably die, in which case it is no longer our problem; the other, more pertinent, reason is that they are both going to be armed and wary, which is the worst kind of pony to try and abduct.”

Audit noted his usage of the verb “abduct,” but decided that some questions were better unasked.

He continued. “Worse, it would be all too easy to look like we were a party in a noble’s petty dispute, which would make us targets of the other nobles. That’s an unnecessary risk, ma’am.”

All good points. “That was firstly. What’s the next reason?”

“Timing. I still don’t quite understand exactly what our Ponyville contessa’s “path to victory” is, but in the unlikely event she is successful it would be much easier to swoop in after all the excitement is done. Less likely we’d face violent resistance.”

“I faced ‘violent resistance’ in a Fillydelphia park, agent. Consider me less convinced.”

“As I understand it, you stole a foal from his mother in front of them and subjected the pegasus to a tamper-deterrent electrocution spell from either malice or ineptitude.” He shrugged. “The first is a practical matter, but you can see how it would generate some ill will. The second is plainly offensive, ma’am, and were I ten years younger I probably would have done the same as she.”

He had good points, but she wasn’t going to admit it. Though she did not exactly regret it, it had not exactly been her finest hour. She blamed the city; Fillydelphia had that effect on ponies. “Anything else to add, agent?”

“Yes. The last reason why I’d like to play this passively is that I will not collaborate with the local nobility, and as such a capture is impossible.”

“Explain?”

“Which part?”

“Both.”

“As you wish. Two ponies cannot capture two other ponies – well, it can be done, but it shouldn’t be done unless there’s no other option, which I just stated to be untrue. That means we would either have to cooperate with the Carabinieri, which I think we both agree is ill-advised, both because they don’t impress me with their skills and because they seemingly do not want to take orders from a pegasus like yourself, or with the local nobles against or fugitives, which is obviously not going to happen.”

“We’ll have to cooperate with them eventually, agent. It’s not like we can drag prisoners all the way back to the Old Country by ourselves, and I’m sure there’s processing to do here. Besides, them ‘not wanting’ orders is irrelevant – it’s not an option.”

“It’s always an option, ma’am. You can’t go around slamming scabbards into horns all the time.” She really could, and probably would if given the chance, but she saw his point. “But would you want to work with them repeatedly?”

“I–” a scowl. “I guess you’re right. The last thing I’d want is for one of those fuck-ups to blow a stakeout and get me killed.” She shook her head, which she had to be careful about insofar as she didn’t launch her bespoke talking hat to the paving stones. “And the other thing? The ‘obviously not going to happen?’ Explain.”

“What, besides the fact that they’re all apparently backstabbing murderers?” He had raised an eyebrow, and Audit noticed that his tail had begun flicking back and forth in either irritation or rage. Hopefully it wasn’t targeted towards her. “Morally, I cannot cooperate with any pony who has, or who would do, what we saw inside there. Horn-scoring a filly is the kind of thing we get issued licenses to kill for, ma’am.”

“They can’t all be like that.” I mean, it seemed unlikely, at least. “Besides, since when do you guys have morals?”

“Guess I found the limit.” His tone indicated that wasn’t a joke. “And I’d rather not take the risk and find out later the local we busted our fugitives with was a monster.” She hesitated with her response, so he followed up. “Ma’am, I don’t expect you to understand fully – you aren’t a unicorn, and there’s not really a good equivalent. But this is not negotiable. If you would like to proceed down that path, I will cease cooperation with you and travel back to Fillydelphia as fast as possible.”

“Wait long enough and they’re both going to disappear into Marelan. Cities like that always have places for rats to hide.”

“If they were just trying to run from us, yes, but they don’t even know we’re here. Besides, I figure we’ll have a pretty good idea where they go. Just follow the corpses – either theirs or the ponies that get sent after them.” He smiled, which was frankly a little disconcerting considering his previous lack of emotional response and the subject matter. “Wait long enough and they’ll probably manage to knock off a few other counts and countesses, which is by no means a bad thing. Might be kind of fun to watch, too.”

“… I think you’re probably correct.” Stupid unicorn and his compelling reasoning – though it did honestly sound entertaining. “We should at least wait a day or two from today no matter what. They’re both going to be jumpy after two cutthroats tried to off them. Much better to wait and not get a sword in the gut.” Still, she wasn’t happy about it, as her muffled grumble and twitching wing indicated. “Even if it is agonizing to have to wait. I think you do not quite understand how excited I am for the prospect of planting my hoof in that blue brat’s face.”

“I wasn’t aware Crown Agents operated investigations on the premise of spite.” He suddenly remembered something. “Does she still have a Purse?”

“Why wouldn’t we? I’m half convinced Old Maid Sunny only stays living to spite death – we’re just following in her example.” She shook her head. “And yes, she does. Taking a Purse away is outside of the purview of my department. I could send in a request; I’m sure they’d get around to taking her bits away in a few months. Not nearly as efficient as Revenue.”

“How much is it?”

“Not much. I think it was less than a hundred bits a day for the two of them – and if they bought those two tickets out of here, that’s most of the total take.”

“Don’t have to worry about any additional hired blades, then.”

“Right.”

A few seconds of silence, then the unicorn spoke up. “Permission to speak candidly, ma’am?”

“What, more than you have been already?” A non-committal shrug of the wings. “Knock yourself out.”

“You’ve got a grudge, ma’am. Even before the whole … kicking incident, you hated those two mares, and the little princess too. Why’s that?”

A pause. Audit spent a moment constructing an appropriate sentence.

He jumped back in first. “If it’s personal, it’s none of my business, and I don’t really care either way. But grudges are dangerous, ma’am. They’ll cloud your judgment, and this whole operation is dangerous enough as-is.”

“It’s not personal, agent. It’s–” and, remarkably, she almost looked embarrassed “–it’s about the fairness of it all, I guess.”

“Fairness, ma’am?”

“Look, I won’t bore you with everything I think, but … there’s just something about the way things work that I get stuck on. Big mare with wings and a horn gets to be in charge forever? Okay, guess so, who would say no to her, right? But then you get to all the little hangers-on that go with it, to. Every one of her little love-children gets to be in charge of something or another, just because they’re close to her – and everypony thinks of them, not the ministers and agents and office workers who actually make the state run. And it’s like that everywhere, just the same kind of crap.” Her wings had risen off her back. “Every little pegasus who wants to serve Equestria doesn’t think about all the shock troopers and scouts the Guard needs, they think of that useless orange glory-hound in blue and yellow. Every unicorn wants to go to ‘Celestia’s School for Weirdos’ or whatever it’s called, then go on to be some kind of ridiculous ‘academic wizard’ in a stupid little tower full of books. Meanwhile there’s khaki-clad Rangers going out and busting up magical anomalies out in the wilderness so that little foals don’t end up inside out, but do they end up on the posters? No!”

Content to let her get it out, the unicorn sat down on his haunches. He noticed that the helmet had not started sparking, which meant this was likely quite cathartic for his partner – and a happy partner is an effective one, after all.

She continued. “So when I first started seeing the newspapers run articles about this ridiculous collection of podunk mares from a podunk town and stories of their obviously fabricated exploits, it just … stuck with me? I guess I just couldn’t get over it. And, of course, the worst part is that, whatever they were trying to accomplish, it worked, right? The public at large just eats it up, and so they just keep adding onto the story. New princesses, new titles, new everything. Never mind that the state has to rewrite itself every year now; just keep the story going for Celestia, right?” She paused for a moment, collecting herself. Wouldn’t want to seem like she was ranting, you know. “And it’s all just so unfair. A few random mares get elevated into big hero status for, what, maybe saving their town a few times? Even if I believed them, they’ve, what, ‘saved the world’ maybe twice from things Celestia could have easily handled herself? That’s the best Equestria has to offer?”

“Jealous, ma’am?” Risky, but pertinent.

“No, it-yeah, actually, I am.” She shook her head. “But not for me – well, not only for me. I sent too many bags with ponies in them home from Panamare to only think about myself – where were their memorial articles? Or, hell, if you want something less depressing, my squads and I busted seventeen wagon-loads of go-crystals coming in from Griffonstone. Do you know how many dumb little pegasus athletes seventeen wagon-loads of go-crystals can kill? But we didn’t get a poster. We didn’t even get a headline in the local papers. They just ran a story off the wire about one of those ‘heroes’ making a fool out of herself with magic wings that melted.” Wings flared in exasperation. “Really? That was more important? It’s just – damnit I wish I could yell in this stupid – argh!”

Finding herself out of words, Audit kicked a rock in final punctuation. It bounced harmlessly off the nearby wall of the alleyway. This was something of a disappointment to Audit, who had hoped, in childlike whimsy, that it might explode.

A cough. “Finished?”

Remembering her escort, Audit wheeled around, wings fluttering in a mixture of embarrassment and agitation. “… Yes, actually, that was all quite satisfying.” A pause. “Why care enough to ask me about it, anyway?”

“Because I want to know your motivations for things, so I don't get surprised by your decisions. Incidentally, my motivation is not dying. It's worked pretty well so far.”

“Fair enough. And how so very practical. You truly are a consummate professional.”

“Blame the service, ma'am.” The unicorn stood up. “Now that we're through that, we can get to work. Did you think of a course of action in the middle of all that?”

“I did, actually.” Audit likewise turned around to head back to the front of the tailor’s shop. “There’s no reason to take those two in the store into custody in the long term. They already told us everything they know, and unless she lied about not seeing posters they didn’t really do anything wrong.”

“And here I thought your grudge would extend to loose associates too.”

“Don’t get lippy with me, agent. Besides, I didn’t say we were just turning them loose to go run back to our fugitives.” They had rounded the corner now; all other Carabinieri had dispersed except dutiful Spring Roll. Audit pointed to her. “Let the two inside finish packing, then take them to your station–” a pause as a thought occurred “–you ponies do have policing stations, right? You’ve made it that far as a society?”

“There is a posting, yes.” Spring Roll looked between the Equestrians, who looked awfully flippant for the severity of order they had just recommended. “Would you like the flogging post prepared for you? Or the gallows?”

“The–” eyes wide in surprise, Audit managed to make an unintentionally yet exceptionally funny sound with her mouth as she attempted to express her shock. In all honesty, there were indeed times wherein she would to have loved a public flogging; the sentencing for Fancy Pants and his always-present hooker for their fraudulent charity, for one. That said, she found even herself a little disturbed at the speed at which the Bitalian had recommended a public whipping, to say nothing of the other option.“What? No, you psycho. Just throw them both in a holding cell for tonight, then take them to the docks tomorrow so they can buy their tickets – and make sure they get on a ship and leave! I don’t want them running off anywhere.”

“Oh.” The Bitalian shrugged. “My apologies. I meant nothing by it, sign–”

“Watch it, Spring Roll”

“–captain.” She cocked her head. “Then what?”

“Find me tomorrow at noon at whatever passes for your central station in Marelan. You’re the only member of your organization I can stand, so I’ll need you around at least sometimes when I have to navigate the cultural intricacies of this dump.”

A pause. “Captain, I do not think the town’s waste dump has culture to speak of.”

So much for being the bright one. “Please stop talking. Walk around the corner and watch the back door. When we leave through the front, you go in. Do you understand?”

“I do. Anything else?”

“When your lieutenant wakes up, don’t tell her where we’ve gone. If she starts pressing you, tell her to find the nearest tall building and jump off the roof. You can quote that directly – actually, you’d better quote that directly.”

A little wide eyed, the Bitalian did as she was told and went around the corner.

“Now, let’s go get that fucking shawl.”

Freshly adorned in a (thankfully matching) green rain shawl and her saddlebags, Audit and her unicorn stood in the street in front of the building.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“The whole … covering of wings thing?”

“Shitty? What the fuck do you think it’s like?”

Fair enough. “Which way is Marelan, anyway?”

“That way.” Audit pointed down a side street. They could see the path carry off from the town and over a few hills. “I asked while we were in there. It’s a good ways off, so we might have to stop for the night somewhere.”

“Did the Treasury also see fit to issue you a Purse as well?

“Unfortunately not. They’re scarcer than you might think. I brought enough with me that it shouldn’t be a problem, but I’m not looking forward to submitting receipts.” She started off towards Marelan. “We’ll have plenty of time to chat. Let’s get going.”

He followed, the remainder of the pair’s luggage either on him or in his field. It wasn’t much.

The two walked long enough to clear a fair few buildings, and now patches of grasses could be seen between structures.

He spoke up. “I don’t think you’re totally wrong about the whole ‘fairness’ thing, ma’am.”

“My beliefs don’t require your approval, but I’m glad to hear you agree with me. Any particular reason why?”

“I wouldn’t say I agree with you, ma’am. There’s a fair few things you don’t know about events you both don’t believe happened and weren’t privy to, but that’s just little stuff. Your main thesis holds some water.” He snorted once – his emotionless mask had slipped just a little. “Did you know I graduated above Shining Armor? He was number eleven in the class, and I was number two. Yet all that got me was a bunch of years doing … this, and he got a cushy job hanging around with Princess Cadenza all day. Tough luck, I guess.”

“I know your type, spook. You love what you do.”

“To an extent. But if the choice was between freezing in a muzzy foxhole and sleeping with a princess, I know what I’d choose.”

“Really? I think I’d pick the foxhole over hanging around with another one of Celestia’s brats, even if I liked mares.”

“She’s not exactly my type, per say, but I think you’re being presumptuous. I’ve met her a few times – she’s really quite clever, and well-acquainted with statecraft. I think you’d get along.”

“I doubt it.” Astonishingly few ponies did get along with her, really. A less confident mare would take that as a point for some reflection, but Audit took it as a point of pride.

“Well, even besides, I can’t imagine Shining Armor’s having less fun than I am right now.”

It seemed unlikely.

“Shining, I will be honest with you: I think you’re losing it.”

A grumble. “Maybe. Why’s that?”

“Because your wife has just invited you, for the third time, to come to bed with her for a vigorous session of foal-making, and yet here you are–”

Cadence’s head appeared right next to Shining Armor’s, joining him in looking at the spreadsheet.

“–looking at paperwork. And I know paperwork isn’t more interesting than I am.”

Shining didn’t respond directly, instead pointing with his field at a line on the table. “Read this.”

Cadence humored him, her good cheer falling precipitously as she finished the line. “… What?”

“I bounced a check this morning, one that I knew we had enough for.” He tapped again on the line with a quill. Adorably, they were made from his wife’s discarded primaries. “Until I found this. Almost thirty thousand bits, gone right out of the budget.”

Cadence narrowed her eyes, scanning back and forth. “For what?”

“That’s the thing. It’s going to a ‘cultural embassy’ in Ponyville. But there isn’t an embassy of any kind in Ponyville, and so I don’t know where all the money would be–”

A pause, then in unison.

“…Twilight.”

Author's Note

This chapter is the first thing I've ever written here with exclusively OC characters. Good thing Audit's such a hater to keep all of Jimmy's other little brain-children in line

Originally, I had Audit speaking in small capitals, but Fimfiction doesn't support the markup for it. That's a shame, because I thought it was pretty funny.

Before any of you freak out, Audit's opinions about various in-show events should not be taken as necessary evidence they aren't real in the canon of this story.

Or, Luna Attributes to Malice That Which Is Adequately Explained By Stupidity, But Yeah, There's Some Malice Too.

Generally, Mulberry Bags, 3rd Viscount of Oxhoof and Minister of the Exchequer, celebrated the arrival of four in the afternoon, and hence a finish to to the work day, with a nice pre-dinner glass of one part iced gin and two parts Dubonneigh. On a particularly stressful day, it might be accompanied by a nice perfecto cigar.

Of course, that was made rather more difficult when one had just been thrust through a door into a guestroom by a field of blue magic. He still hadn’t been stabbed, though, nor had a changeling plunged its fangs into a neck vein, so it probably wasn’t a permanent obstacle, but it was an obstacle nonetheless. He looked over his stack of papers – at a measured pace, of course, as not to show to his assailant that he was in any way intimidated – at whoever had waylaid him.

He had been expecting one of his junior secretaries: he had just cut their salaries, after all, so it wasn’t totally incomprehensible that one of those useless bureaucrats would take up arms and try for a more direct style of negotiation. More cynically, it was also possible a member of the Trottingham Orangists had finally tired of his incessant campaigning for budget reform and had finally decided to knock him off; a little old-fashioned, mind you, but not inconceivable.

But this was no doe-eyed newbie clumsily wielding a knife, nor a professional rogue with horn charged and pockets stuffed with bits.

This was a blue alicorn, and she was currently pointing, of all things, a dinner fork directly at his windpipe, eyes narrowed into gun-slits and wings raised in primordial threat display.

He broke into a slight bow, legs impressively only quaking a little in fear. “Your majesty! To what do I owe the–”

“Silence!” she shouted, thrusting the fork towards the minister and spearing a balance sheet. “Do not take this for a friendly meeting, Viscount Bags; nay, we have come to press our demands!”

“Demands, your majesty?” The minister looked around the room; a sparsely furnished bedroom, the furniture draped in protective linens. “Princess, I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about, unless–” The particular attributes of the present location finally hit him. “Oh my! Princess! While I am flattered that you find me worthy of such, er, affection, I am a married stallion, and a very faithful one at that.”

Luna squinted. “What? What are you talking about – oh!” She blushed, shaking her head vigorously and letting the fork clatter to the ground. “Nay, nay, minister, we do not desire you for carnal matters.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief.” The minister sighed theatrically. “I must admit I am eased by the knowledge to find out that I am not about to be despoiled by a princess.”

“Er, yes, we, ah, suppose it would be.” Luna scratched the back of her head. “Although we must admit that we are a little confused as to why ponies continue to suspect we are attempting to court them.”

The minister coughed politely. “Well, you did, er, drag me into a bedroom, which already presents a rather, uh, lurid picture of your intentions, especially in conjunction with the whole demands thing, which really only makes the whole situation all the more worrying.”

“We see.” Luna rubbed one foreleg with the other forehoof. “We do apologize for the confusion, as it were.”

“Right, right, well, it’s all just a big confusion, no harm done.” The minister sniffed once, pushing up a pair of spectacles. “Now, I believe you were threatening me, yes? Something about demands, right?”

“Oh, right!” Luna picked the fork back up, jabbing a few times towards the minister as if to get back in the mood. “Hark! We have come to press our absolutely chaste demands!”

“Of course, your majesty.” The minister dipped his head slightly. “What demands would those be?”

“Our royal stipend, or lack thereof, is insufficient!” Luna’s horn corona spiked in irritation. “We demand that it be increased!”

“Oh.” The minister cocked his head in confusion. “What?”

“WE NEED MORE–” Luna coughed, having accidentally slipped into the Royal Canterlot Voice. Those plasterers were rather expensive, after all.“–oh, excuse us, we need, uh, additional funds.”

“Right.” The minister furrowed his brow in thought. “How much money do you need exactly? I can’t open the royal vaults, per say, but I should be able to scrounge up a good hundred thousand bits out of various offices, if that is what you wish.”

“A hundred thousand bits?” Luna recoiled in shock. “What? No, we only need, er, fifty.”

“Fifty thousand bits?” The minister levitated a checkbook out of a vest pocket. “That will be little tight, but I should be able to fit that into the budget if we cut some of the school funding and guard training.”

“Er, no, just fifty bits should do.” Luna coughed. “Wouldn’t want to attract unwanted attention from our sister’s legions of bureaucrats. We only want to see a movie, after all.”

“Fifty bits?” The minister placed the checkbook back into the pocket. “Princess, you get several thousand bits a week. I fail to see how fifty bits would make any sort of substantial difference."

“We most certainly do not receive such a stipend, minister. If we did, we would not be threatening you with a dinner fork.” Luna jabbed again with the fork. “Now, minister, please do summon some sort of document with which to grant us our raise, ye–”

The minister had already started walking away, gently waving a levitated sheaf of papers at a confused Luna in dismissal. “Nonsense, princess. I know you receive a stipend, and a fairly sizable one at that; it’s in the weekly budget I present, after all.”

Luna scoffed, snorting in amusement. “If you believe that to be the case, minister, we earnestly suggest you have your spectacles adjusted. We fear you are catastrophically misreading your ledgers.”

“No, no, hold for a moment, Princess, I will prove it.” With a grunt and a quick flash of his horn, an official looking red box “fwoop’d” into existence above the middle of the bed. He muttered a quick spell under his breath, lighting his horn and disengaging an internal lock somewhere deep under the lid. He flipped the case open with a hoof and levitated out a thick stack of government ledgers, flipping a page near the halfway point of the stack. “See, Princess? Right there.”

Luna peered at the paper, head moving in a little closer. “See what, exactly?”

The minister’s horn lit, and a line of text glowed a soft yellow. It was an exceedingly useful spell for densely packed documents. He gestured with a hoof, “’Read: An Official Stipend, Which is to be Used for the Benefit Of The Crown’s duly Appointed Regent, Which Shall not be less than Seven ScoreBezants or other Weighty Coin per day.’ Regent being you, of course.”

Luna frowned. “Regent? We were not aware the realm had a regent, much less that we apparently occupied the position.”

“Oh, yes! There’s been an appointed regent for your sister since you, er, a–”

“Left her nearly dead?” Luna offered. “Annihilated our home and reduced most of the governing structure to rubble?”

“More or less.” So much for trying to avoid stepping on hooves. He coughed politely. “Regardless, there has been one for nigh on a thousand years or so; occasionally one of her consorts or children–”

“Children?” Luna furrowed her brow. She hadn't heard anything about children from her sister, although it would explain all of the pearly white unicorns she noticed having seemingly multiplied in the interim.

“A few, although all were tragically completely infertile. They made for excellent viceroys, as it were.” He sniffed. “I digress; I am accountant, not a historian, so you’ll have to ask her for details, and besides that, most of the regents were nothing more than dukes or duchesses of various realms who had managed to impress the–”

Luna growled.

He continued. “–a, excuse me, old habits, you know, a princess with their lower than usual level of incompetence.”

“Seems reasonable. And you believe this duty has been transferred to us?” Luna asked.

“We don’t believe it, we know it.” He grunted again, “fwoop”–ing in a lengthy parchment. “It’s in the list of titles we, meaning the Chamber, are required to announce if you ever were to appear for a meeting – you ought to, by the way, there are a few members of the Radicals who believe you are just an invention of your sister.” Once again, a paragraph lit up in soft gold. “It’s right after the regal titles and just before the various counties.”

Luna peered at the parchment, reading out loud. “Her Immortal, Imperial, and Celestial Majesty, Princess Luna, Queen of the Nocturnal – well that’s rather old fashioned – and High Regent of Equestria, as well as Countess of–”

“See?”

Luna pulled back, settling onto her haunches. “Huh. We must admit you are correct.” She raised a brow. “Although we fear the point may be moot, as whether or not we are regent the fact remains that we still have no stipend.”

“A separate issue, and one which I confess may be nonetheless true.” The minister folded the parchment away into the red box, replacing it in his field with a well-earmarked green notebook.

Luna pointed with a hoof at the levitated ledger. “And this?”

“A list of the current Royal Purses in distribution across the realm.”

“Royal purses?” Luna inquired. “We were not aware there could be a plurality of the royal purse.”

The chancellor chuckled. “No, not the royal purse. The, er, quote-unquote Royal Purses.”

Luna continued looking on in befuddlement, the distinction obviously not having any sort of significance.

“You know, the Royal Purses?” The minister pantomimed the action of pulling open a sack. “The little red velvet bags that magically provide royally appointed salaries?”

Luna shook her head, shrugging. “We have seen no such object.”

The minister raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then where have you been getting your money from?”

“We haven’t, minister, as stated previously. We’ve been living like a vagrant.”She sighed, twirling the fork around in her field. “Hence why we threatened you with a dinner fork and not a jeweled saber.”

The minister pushed up his spectacles, idly opening the notebook and leafing through the pages. “I see. And the armory was likewise unavailable to you?”

Luna blushed sheepishly. “Uh, no, we can access that as we wish, apparently, but we, er, couldn’t find it. ‘Tis a big castle, and the secretaries are most unfriendly and will not give us directions.”

“Mmm, yes, the bureaucrats in the Household’s service truly are a surly bunch, are they not?" The minster rolled his eyes. “Clearly, your sister has a discerning eye for quality help.”

“They rebuff you as well? It is not just us, then?”

“Heavens no!” The minister chuckled, flipping a page. “No, the staff are all a bunch of outrageous cunts to everypony. The consistency is truly impressive.”

Luna tilted her head. "Er, cunts? We are not familiar with the term, minister."

"Oh!" The minister blushed. "A rather unkind euphemism for female genitals, your majesty, and a particularly strong insult for the insufferable." That was a sentence he had never expected to say to a princess.

Luna chuckled lightly, smirking. "Hah! How inventive." The new millennia was truthfully drastically inferior in many respects, the cessation of executions being paramount among them, but she would readily admit that she much enjoyed the brevity of modern swearing; it does get rather tiring producing lengthy utterances about one’s mother’s bones or something of the sort. She turned her attention back to the matter at hoof. “Well, regardless, have you any idea as to why our sister persists in keeping these, er, cunts around?”

Viscount Bags managed to keep himself composed, albeit not without an ungentlemanly snort. “Personally? I would hazard a guess that she doesn't know of their, er, personalities. They generally shape up around her, you know, but even then your average palace staffer rarely sees your sister. Nopony does, really; she’s something of a recluse.” The minister shrugged. “Daily contact? A few maids, a chef maybe. All the rest go through that unsettling attendant, Inkwell, with the blank eyes.” He shivered. “Eugh. I once tried to find her in on the payscale out of cursiosity, you know.”

Luna had a long-standing suspicion. “And? What did you uncover?”

“She’s not on there, Princess. There is nopony in employ to the crown named Raven Inkwell.”

“So she is a construct,” muttered Luna out of earshot. It was a confirmed suspicion now. She raised her voice. “We thought as much. We would advise you to drop the matter, personally, lest you encounter some of Starswirl’s more, er, unpleasant spell-craft.” She coughed to punctuate the statement. “We digress. You were speaking on these Purses, yes?”

“We were.” He continued flipping through the pages, brows furrowing as he found himself deeper and deeper into the notebook. Clearly, he had expected to find whatever he was looking for by now. “Considering that you have never seen one, I suppose you will be needing an explanation, yes?”

“It would be appreciated. They seem a clever invention, at least when judged by your description.” Luna stuffed the fork into her mane behind her tiara, consciously dampening a bit of the “magic mane wiggle” to firm up that area and make it more secure as a stashing place. It was best not to lose any of the royal silverware; they were all very fine sterling, and the waitstaff were justifiably very observant about missing pieces.

“They are. Much too expensive for the average royal servant, of course, but for the very large amounts like noble stipends and pay for quartermasters it keeps the mail service free of what would be an irresistibly large amount of money for a sticky-hooved delivery pony. It greatly simplifies paying ponies away from the cities as well; just open the bag with one’s name on it and grab the bits. You can thank my grandfather for them.” He stopped on a page, pulling the notebook closer to his face and rereading a line.

“Verily, your grandfather? Was he their inventor?”

“Oh, no.” The minister scoffed, waving a hoof in dismissal. “He was immensely corrupt and skimmed every salary he could, which is how he bought our title. They invented them to keep him away from other ponies’ paychecks.” He gestured to the princess with a hoof. “Come around, would you princess? I believe I have figured out what has gone wrong.”

Luna rounded the minister, looking over his head at the notebook.

He pointed with a forehoof. “The Purses are all sorted into geographic areas: a section for Canterlot, for Fillydelphia Province, one for the Eastern Marches, so on and so on. This page and–” he flipped the page “–this one are for Canterlot.” He went back to the first one. “I hope you don’t take offense, but I originally assumed that you had simply stuffed the Purse in a drawer out of ignorance and forgotten about it, so I naturally skimmed through the Canterlot section.”

“And?”

“And you’re not in there.” He ran a hoof along the ledger, moving an impossibly dense list of unfamiliar names. “I am, the rest of the Lords are, your sister is, Inkwell isn’t, but you aren’t. There’s not even an errant bag issued for the stipend itself; there’s nothing assigned to the regency.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that not only are you not receiving your bits, it’s not even going to a pony in the castle.”

Luna peered at the notebook, noting, with some distress, that her sister’s stipend was well within five digits. “We see. And where is it going, pray tell? Surely upon the revocation of the current regent’s title with the assignment to us the stipend should have ceased, yes?”

“It should have, yes. Nopony alive should be receiving those bits.”

“And yet they are?” Luna watched as he flipped through the notebook, catching glimpses of the names of unfamiliar regions as they skidded past.

“No, I am quite correct; nopony alive is receiving those bits.” He stopped flipping, the book coming to rest on a section labeled “Northern Bitaly.” His horn lit, casting a single line of the book in a golden glow. “Because the recipient isn’t alive.”

Luna read the line. “Purse #3, assigned pres. to The Duke of Marelan, in his role as Duly Appointed Regent.”

The minister continued. “The issue, of course, is that there isn’t a Duke of Marelan. There hasn’t been one in sixty odd years.”

Luna shrugged. “Should be simple enough to reassign the Purse, then. We fail to see the issue.”

“Sorry, Princess, but I cannot.” He shook his head. “It’s illegal for me to transfer a Purse laden with bits, which, as nopony has been collecting for six decades, that Purse is positively stuffed.”

Luna scoffed, chuckling. “Oh, minister! Rest assured, we would be more than willing to overlook a petty violation of the laws of the realm. Surely you cannot be worried about us prosecuting you, no?”

“Hmph! You are powerful, princess, but even you shouldn’t make a habit of going up against the Revenue Ministry,” he snorted. “And besides, it would be horrific bookmaking to simply discard the–” He formed an ethereal abacus with his magic, sliding beads soundlessly across bars as his eyes shot back and forth, widening once he had found his solution. “–Oh my! Nine million bits! I had forgotten how much those currency debasements had substantially increased the value of those one hundred and forty Bezants.”

Luna stumbled a few times, blinking slowly as if to will the blood back into her brain. “Ni–nine million bits?” she squeaked. She put a forehoof on either side of the minister’s withers, pulling herself eye to eye with the viscount. “Minister, are you telling us that there are nine million bits that we are entitled to?”

“No.” The minister shucked off Luna’s hooves. “I am not. You cannot access those bits, so long as you are not the Duke of Marelan.”

Luna raised a hoof.

The minister, alongside his talents for historical currency conversion, apparently also possessed impressive mind reading skills. “No, you can’t name yourself the Duchess of Marelan either. It’s an elected position among the counts and countesses of the area, which, incidentally, is why there hasn’t been once in sixty years, and, hence, is why the purse has never been revoked. Something of a vicious cycle.”

“We see.” Luna frowned. “So much for that, then. Any other ideas, minister?”

The minister shook his head. “I’m afraid not, princess. The only way to get those bits is for somepony to successfully obtain that ducal title, which, unless you know somepony simultaneously unemployed for a month, ruthless enough to knock off a few counts, and vain enough to be willing to travel to Bitaly for naught but a worthless comital title, isn’t going to happen.”

Luna froze. She, as it turned out, might just know somepony who was indeed unoccupied, ruthless, and immensely vain. “Prithee, minister, repeat that?”

The minister scoffed. “What? You know somepony you think fits the bill?”

Luna smirked. “Yes, minister, we believe we do.” She turned to look out the window, catching a glimpse of one of Equestria’s innumerable trains chugging away from Canterlot Central Station. “Do you know when the express to Ponyville leaves?”

“Ponyville?” The minister levitated a pocket watch out of his vest. “In about twenty minutes, your majesty.”

“We see.” Luna wheeled around. “Perchance, do you have enough bits to cover the cost of two tickets?”

He patted at a different pocket, feeling the lump of coins inside. “I should, yes, although I still haven’t quite–”

He found his mouth covered completely with an impossibly dense mass of blue feathers, and then he was gone in a blue flash.

Hopefully the dining car stocked Dubonneigh, or this was going to be a permanent obstacle after all.

Author's Note

As the great Boltman once said, [IT BEGINS]

The viscount has high tastes; Dubonnet, gin, ice, and a slice of lemon is the favorite drink of the Queen. It's, as they say, bretty gud.

Luna, as it turned out, did not return the fork. Unfortunately for the waitstaff, the penalty for pilfering from the royal silver is public flogging.

The chubby lady in the cover art is Clotilde of France, sister of Louis XVI. It is my favorite historical portrait. I like to imagine she's playing Wonderwall.

Just 7,000 Words of Pure Shipping Action

In all fairness to the Yakalaska, there had indeed been a time in which she had, in complete sincerity, been the unmatched standard of the seas.

Once the fastest ocean liner afloat, the single-screw steamer had, at full speed ahead, cut across the white-capped waves of the ocean at a highly respectable sixteen knots, all while coddling its passengers in Canterlot’s finest luxury. Years ago, it was common to see duchesses, captains of industry, and other ponies of import clack-clack-clack their way across the smartly polished wooden floors of a grand ballroom and engage in the sort of dressed-up carousing that passes for high-class social events, eventually, after much revelry, retiring to well appointed staterooms so sumptuous as to be fit for a princess, which, as the ship had once carried a young Cadence around an inter-ocean tour, was naturally fitting.

But that was two decades, three owners, and several million bits of ignored maintenance ago, and now the Yakalaska spent its days at half speed, crawling across the ocean packed not with nobility but, primarily, with the very poorest of transoceanic travelers, mostly Bitalian peasantry longing for the seeming stability of the homelands. On return trips, the ship was only thinly populated with deadhead crew and those with absolutely no other choice in transport.

And, this time, two deeply unfortunate mares.

Rarity and Rainbow Dash, in what had, upon boarding, once been aghast horror, now surveyed their miserable cabin with mute acceptance. There wasn’t much to survey; a porthole showed scenes of twilight-darkened water, while a single light bulb shone from a wall-mounted lamp across two bunks hanging from the wall, one of which was suspended by conspicuously rusted chains.

The unicorn attendant tucked a letter marked “Värend” into his vest pocket. “I’ll make sure this gets to the telegraph desk, miss.” A cough. “Anyway, the heads are down the hallway. Water is rationed, so it’s one shower a week, and a brush once a day. Any questions?”

“Can one smoke in the cabin?”

“No. First class passengers may use the cedar room before the grand saloon.” A slight twitch of derision. “You are welcome to join the other steerage passengers upon the decking of on the stern.”

“On the stern?” Rarity sighed. “Oh, how pleasant. And here I thought I would miss out on the lovely sensation of biting sea spray with every cigarette. Are electric lighters provided, at least?”

A nod. “Required, actually, that or magic. Too much of a fire risk with oil, you see.”

Rarity shrugged. “Could be worse, I suppose. Do leave us, yes?”

Another nod, and the stallion backed out of the cabin, shutting the door behind him with a whoosh of magic.

With the throwing of the bolts on the door, Rarity crumpled to the ground, splayed out flat against the painted metal flooring of the cabin.

Rainbow Dash shucked a bag onto the floor, turning towards her friend. “Do you, uh, want some help with–”

“Gods, yes, please, obviously,” Rarity moaned. “I think my spine will never recover, but we can at least make my upcoming paralysis more comfortable.”

“That’s the spirit.” Rainbow Dash examined the laden unicorn, eyes flicking across the mosaic of straps. “So, do I start with the side, or with the top, or…?”

“The back. I can get the rest.” Rarity bent down towards a buckle on her chest. “Just pull the straps by the case’s attachment points, then unbuckle the ones around my midsection, yes?”

“Midsection, huh?” Rainbow Dash approached the laden form of Rarity, ducking underneath the larger mare. “Oh, great. Should be nice and sweaty, then!”

“With one shower a week, I would posit that such, er, unpleasantness is going to be something of a common theme.” Rarity deadpanned. “Start at the top, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rainbow Dash extracted herself from the tangle of limbs, repositioning near the case. She gave a strap a tug, letting it fall away slack. “Like that?”

“Yes, now just, ah, go for the – no, not that one yet, the other – Rainbow!”

Rainbow Dash, buckle in mouth, pulled away. She spat it away. “What? You said start at the–”

“CLONK.”

The case fell sideways off Rarity’s back, smacking into the floor with a bang that seemed to resound from the walls of the cabin.

Rainbow Dash looked between the case and Rarity, then shrugged sheepishly. “Uh, my bad?”

Rarity took a deep breath. “… Well, we almost had it.” A light sigh, more defeated than angry. “Honestly, with how nice the walnut is on that box, it probably did more damage to the floor than anything else, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Rainbow Dash peered at the mirror-slick surface. “How nice is nice?”

“Thirteen hundred and forty nine bits, exactly.” Rarity stepped out of the front of her harness, shaking the back straps down her hind legs with inelegant shudders. “And that was the budget option. Mahogany was double.”

“That seems like a lot for a coffee table, Rares.” Rainbow Dash offered skeptically. Of course, she lived in a house made of clouds, so she had never actually bought furniture, but she had an inkling it was probably less expensive than a door-sized slab of steel.

“It’s not a – never mind.” Rarity shook her head. “I’ll show you later. It’s something of an ordeal to unlock without magic.”

“Suit yourself.” Rainbow Dash shrugged, shucking off a saddlebag onto the floor. “I’m not really that interested in your box of dresses or anything.”

Rarity paused, ceasing to fiddle with her own set of baggage. “It’s not dresses, either.”

“It’s not?” Rainbow Dash looked between Rarity’s various pieces of luggage. “Then where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“The dresses and stuff,” Rainbow Dash responded. “Duh. You’re here, so there’s got to be at least three or four bags of all that girly crap.”

“Once again, I can only complement you on your choice of diction. It’s impressive that you’ve managed to smear my entire portfolio of work as ‘girly crap.’” Rarity managed to get one of her saddlebags unlatched, sending it to the floor. “For what it’s worth, I don’t have much in the way of that anyway, I’m afraid. I packed lightly.”

Rainbow Dash froze, staring back in abject confusion, as if Rarity had just informed her that she, in fact, was a frequent visitor at the monthly Sweet Apple Acres greased-pig wrestling competitions.

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“… Packed lightly?” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Rarity, you don’t pack lightly. You can’t pack lightly. Like, I think you’d cause some sort of magical anomaly if you showed up to an event with anything less than four separate pieces of luggage.”

Rarity thought for a moment before deciding that, yeah, that was probably correct. “… Fair enough, actually. It is somewhat out of character.”

“See!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed.

“But! There is a reasoning behind this, as always. A full half of my luggage was always dedicated to mane care products, which I obviously have no need of yet.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “Why don’t you need them, though?”

Rarity, after a pause of befuddled disbelief, took off her hat, gesturing with the other hoof at the former site of her mane.

“Oh, uh, right.” Rainbow Dash replied sheepishly. She shook her head. “But don’t you still need that stuff for your tail?”

“Of course not. That’s what tail care products are for, Rainbow – wait!” Rarity gasped. “You don’t mean to tell me you use the same product for your mane and tail?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Eugh!” Rarity winced in disgust. “Gods, you really are a barbarian. And next you’ll tell me you use one of those ‘nine in one’ shampoo, coat washes, conditioners, and toothpastes, too!”

“What! No. C’mon Rarity, have a little respect.” Rainbow Dash replied defensively. “Seven in one, tops. I can buy my own drain cleaner separately.”

Rarity snorted a laugh. “Oh, I see! That’s the limit, then? Drain cleaners and fast acting styptic solutions are just too far?”

“Only cause the drain cleaners burn my eyes. It seems kinda dumb to combine that and contact solution, but I guess the smarty-pants at Quills and Sofas know better.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Rarity muttered. “Considering that they once sold a combination sofa-quill, I have serious doubts as to their critical thinking skills.”

“You’re probably right.” Rainbow Dash chuckled. “They’re not the sharpest bulbs in the knife drawer.” She removed her other bag. “Okay, so, that’s half the luggage. Where’s the dresses, then?”

“I don’t have any,” Rarity answered casually, as if she was unaware of the gravity of that statement.

“… What?” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “No, wait, what? No dresses?”

Rarity thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose there’s a slip in there, if you count that, but it’s really more of an undergarment than anything.”

“Okay, no, sorry, still not getting it. No dresses?” Rainbow Dash continued. “Rarity, I saw you bring six dresses to go camping.”

“Of course, but that’s entirely different.” Rarity removed her other bag. “That was camping, and this is Bitaly.”

“So? You’d never need a dress camping, and you brought six,” Rainbow Dash responded. “But I can think of all kind of fancy stuff in Bitaly, where, y’know, you’d need a dress, and you bring none?”

“A dress? No, one would not need a dress. One would need a Bitalian dress, Rainbow. To show up in a decade old style from the Old Country? What an enormous faux pas!” Rarity chuckled. “No, there will be plenty in the way of dress wearing in our, and I repeat myself, our future, but it will be in dresses we acquire in situ.”

“…Okay, sure, yeah.” Rainbow Dash shrugged, not willing nor desiring to get a further explanation of Rarity’s perception of social dress dynamics. “But I’m still a little surprised you didn’t bring something to show off over there, y’know? Get your name out there?”

“To attempt to get one’s name out with a few dresses in Bitaly would be like throwing a bucket of water into a lake, Rainbow Dash. One needs decades of exposure to even make a dent into the cabal of Bitalian fashion intelligentsia.”

“Yeah, but, nothing? Really?” Rainbow Dash scoffed. “Come on, you’ve got to have brought something.”

“I did bring something.” Rarity gestured towards a saddlebag. “There’s a few flat-packed hats in that one, as well as a few pieces of jewelry, for both myself and you.”

“Aw, gross, what?” Rainbow Dash cringed away. “You brought jewelry for me?”

“Yes, Rainbow, I did.” Rarity dug in her bag for a moment, then removed a lovely silver necklace looped around her foreleg. “And the usual response when someone offers to share precious objects is ‘thank you,’ not ‘aw, gross.’”

“But it is gross.” Rainbow Dash backed away from the offered item. “I hate wearing that crap. Why would I need any of that stuff?”

“Because, oh, I don’t know,” Rarity sighed, exasperated, “your duties as escort to a countess may very well involve accompanying her to something, I don’t know, fancy? Wherein to appear unadorned with accessories would mark you immediately at a rube at best and an interloper at worst?”

Rainbow Dash paused for a few moments as she tried to think up a retort, eventually giving up with a shrug. “…Okay, fair enough. I guess you’re probably right about that.” She pointed to the other bag. “If all your girly stuff is in that bag, what’s in the other one?”

“Thank you, and to answer your question: ten boxes of cigarettes, one lighter, a bottle of cognac, and earplugs, because you snore and I would occasionally like some sleep.” Rarity gave a smug little smile, returning the necklace to her bag. “Anyhow, so long as we’re playing ‘interrogate your friend over her luggage,’ may I inquire as to what you brought?”

“Oh, you know me. Just the essentials.” Rainbow Dash threw the top of her bag open, removing items and throwing them onto the bunk suspended on solid chains. “One bar of combination soap, a tooth brush, a book on Bitaly I stole from Twilight, another book I stole from Twilight, aaaaaand–” she gave the bag a few more shakes, dropping, on the final one, a pair of spectacles “–reading glasses, because I’m a real pegasus, so I’m farsighted.”

“So I see.” Rarity squinted a little. “I’m glad you seem to have remembered the at least half of the basics of oral hygiene, although I must wonder if you also managed to bring the other half, that being toothpaste. Is it in your other bag?”

“Uh, duh!” Rainbow Dash shook the bar of soap. “Seven in one, remember?”

“Oh, of course, my mistake. And here I thought you had the other kind of seven in one, with the grout stripper.” Rarity chuckled. “What’s in the other one?”

“A pack of gum and a hoofball.” Rainbow Dash pulled the ball out of bag, giving it a twirl in the air. “I figured I’d show these Bitalian jabronis what a real sport looks like.” She turned to Rarity, snickering as she gave the ball another toss. “Up for a little game of catch, huh, Rares?”

“Yes,” answered Rarity, with an unexpected amount of confidence. “I most certainly am.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bag, stepping out of the cabin door. “Meet me up top in ten, yes?”

Rainbow Dash gave a few slow blinks. “…Wait, wha–”

Rarity watched from under the muzzle of her now-beloved manticore headdress, watching through harsh arc-lamp light as Rainbow Dash crested the top of the stairs onto the deserted stern of the ship. She took a final drag of her “Mare-you-can Spirit” (now with extra nicotine!) before crushing it beneath a forehoof. “Took you long enough. And here I thought I would be stuck up here on this gods-forsaken deck by myself.”

Rainbow Dash pointed dismissively behind her with a wing. “I had to stop by the can.” She shuddered. “Just in case you were hoping it was any different, it’s terrible, by the way.”

“Oh, great. Just the thing to keep up with my meticulous hygiene.” Rarity scanned her friend with her eyes. “Where’s the ball?”

“Under my wing.” Rainbow Dash shifted her left wing, rolling the ball into her opposite hoof. “You were serious?”

“Deathly.” Rarity stretched out a foreleg. “Hoofball is no laughing matter, Rainbow.”

“Ha! Yeah, sure.” Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “What do you know about that?”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Must I remind you who my father is?”

“Yeah, well, he knows about it.” Rainbow Dash pointed with her wing at Rarity. “What do you know about it?”

“A considerable amount, actually.” Rarity countered. “I’m no professional, but I know my way around balls – oh, please,” Rarity preempted. “Don’t.”

Rainbow Dash swallowed a quip, letting lose only a few chuckles. “Okay, okay, fine. Low-hanging fruit anyway.” She shook her head. “But, what, you saying you played or something?”

“Yes,” Rarity confirmed, to Rainbow Dash’s immediate shock. “Not anything serious, obviously, just recreational leagues in my youth, but I did for a number of years.”

“What, you? Hoofball?” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “You’re bullshitting me.”

“I am most certainly not.”

“Okay, then it was some kinda wimpy spot, like place-kicker.”

“Place-kicker?” Rarity scoffed in mock hurt. “You wound me, Rainbow Dash. No daughter of my father would ever stoop so low as to kick.” She straightened up a little. “I was a free safety.”

“Really, you?” Rainbow Dash looked Rarity over. “But you’re so … slow and unathletic.”

“And fat?” Rarity questioned.

“Getting there, yeah.” Rainbow Dash nodded.

“Tactful as ever. Thanks.” Rarity grumbled. “Rest assured I was once much more trim.” She pointed a forehoof, sweeping back and forth across Rainbow Dash’s lithe frame. “Not quite you trim, but trim nonetheless.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Rainbow Dash replied, slightly skeptically. “Were you, like, any good?”

“I was decent enough.” Rarity shrugged. “I played regularly, and it wasn’t anything too serious anyway.” She sighed wistfully. “Truthfully, I must admit I do miss it sometimes on my more unpleasant days. There’s something supremely satisfying about predicting an opposing quarterback’s actions and cutting a route off, and it’s a sensation not quite filled by dressmaking.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I never played much, but it was always on the other side of the ball.” Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “Sorry, still can’t get over this. Please tell me there’s film of this.”

“Probably so, yes.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “On the occasions when he was home, father would take an eighth-hoof width camera to my games. A few have gone missing, but I’m sure there’s still some in the attic with heartwarming notes written on tape.” Rarity chuckled. “‘Daddy’s favorite little filly gets a pick!’”

“Oh, wow, no way!” Rainbow Dash guffawed. “Promise me you’ll show me the highlight reel when we get back?”

“If you insist. Not much to it, I’m afraid. With hooves like these, catches were few and far between.”

“I’m more surprised you had any, honestly.”

“Well, I did play under Central rules, so magic was permitted with a damper ring,” Rarity clarified. “And good form can make up for bad hooves.” Rarity shrugged. “It comes expected with the territory regardless. If cornerbacks and safeties had ‘good hooves,’ as it were, they’d be receivers.”

“Fair enough.” Rainbow Dash pointed towards the edge of the deck. “You want to step out there?”

“Heavens, no, of course not.” Rarity shook her head, shuddering. “You can, if you would prefer. I will be staying away from the railing at all costs.”

“Why?”

“Outside of the whole ‘drop the pass into the ocean’ thing?”

“Good point, but yes, besides that.”

“Because I hate the ocean, and I would greatly prefer to stay as geometrically far away from it as possible,” Rarity answered. “Which, in our instance, means staying exactly here.”

“Hate the ocean?” Rainbow Dash, accommodating Rarity’s request, strolled towards the railing. “What, do you just hate fish or something? How does somepony hate the whole ocean?”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “I don’t hate the whole ocean, Rainbow. Beaches aren’t too bad, I suppose, so long as one stays above wither-height in the water.”

“What’s the difference?” Rainbow Dash spun a foreleg back and forth in lazy circles, leaning up against the railing. “It’s the same ocean, last time I checked.”

“It’s different when you can’t reach the bottom, you know. It’s not the same when one cannot simply walk along–” Rarity shook her head. “Never mind. Let me just tell you a story, okay?”

Rainbow Dash shrugged. “So long as we can throw at the same time.”

“Thank you.” Rarity smiled gently. “And you may begin when you wish, of course.”

Rainbow Dash nodded, taking up a quarterback’s stance before, after a moment tossing a ball in a lazy loop towards her friend.

Rarity, watching the ball in its high arc, positioned herself in the correct spot. The ball landed directly into her waiting hooves, but bounced out despite her best effort to haul it in. After a quiet swear, Rarity picked the ball up. “My fault, of course,” she apologized, somewhat sheepish at her flub. “Perhaps I did not quite remember how much Central rules aided me in my efforts, no?”

“Understandable.” Rainbow Dash stuck out a waiting hoof. “You were saying something about a story?”

“Oh, right!” Rarity, in a somewhat less athletic stance, chucked the ball at Rainbow with her left foreleg, falling more or less neatly into her opposite’s hooves. “Well, my father once took us – and this was a smaller us, as Sweetie wasn’t quite around yet – to join him on an away trip in Jack’s-Ville, you know, the donkey town?”

Rainbow Dash nodded in affirmative, tossing the ball to her other hoof.

Satisfied, Rarity continued. “Yes, well, anyways, we all went as a family out to the little rock-beach near there, and mother and father were, ah–” she tapped her forehead in thought, “–well, I’m not sure what they were doing exactly, but nevertheless I was left unattended for a brief period of time.” She beckoned with a forehoof, prompting Rainbow Dash to toss another lob which, after a considerable amount of bobbling, ended up securely in Rarity’s hooves.

“Better already!” Rainbow Dash joked.

“I’m more inclined to chalk it up to luck,” Rarity sighed. “As I was saying, I, left unattended, proceeded to do exactly what any blank-flanked little filly would do: get into trouble as fast as possible.”

“What, did you get arrested?”

“Wha – No, I didn’t get arrested! What kind of ‘blank-flank filly’ could manage to get arrested by the authorities in a minute of being unatten–”

Rainbow Dash gave her a look of “really?”

“Oh, right, of course.” Rarity matched her look with one of defeated understanding. “How could I forget about our three favorite ones.” An irritated huff. “Well, I’ll have you know I was still a little younger than they are now, and I was never as…” she paused for a moment, trying to think of even a slightly charitable descriptor for her sister. She gave up. “…generally dangerous as she.”

Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “Neither is a rattlesnake, honestly. What’s she up to now, six?”

“Just five felonious arrests, so she’s still two behind yours, mercifully.”

“What can I say? It comes with the wings.” Rainbow Dash stretched out a back leg. “Mind giving me a little bit of a route to run?”

“But of course. And here I thought we’d be stuck on an elementary game of catch.” Rarity drew a horizontal line in the air with her hoof. “Just run a crossing route, oh, halfway down the deck, yes? I must confess I never had much of an arm, but I will try my damnedest.”

“Thanks for the diagram, because I have no idea what a crossing route is.” Rainbow Dash trotted to the side of the deck, parallel with Rarity.

“What?” Rarity responded in disbelief. “Didn’t you say you played a little?”

“I was, like, twelve, Rares.”

“So?” Rarity shook her head with an amused smirk. “It wasn’t like I asked you to run something hard. We’re not running hitches out here.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Gosh, it’s like talking to Twilight about nerd crap, except it’s, like, jock-nerd crap.”

Rarity set her stance. “Is that worse?”

“It’s not better.” Rainbow Dash dropped into a sprinter’s stance. “Ready?”

Rarity nodded. “As I’ll ever be. Go when you wish.”

After a moment, Rainbow Dash bolted out of her crouch, charging down the deck before turning sharply inwards, running horizontally. As she crossed midway, Rarity threw the ball; a little wobbly, and a little high, but still quite catchable with a little bit of a leap. Rainbow Dash snagged it out of the air, skidding to a halt along the rough-hewn decking.

“Oooh, admirable catch, Rainbow!” called out Rarity.

“‘Admirable?’” Rainbow Dash groaned, still prone along the boards. “C’mon, that was better than ‘admirable.’ That was an awesome catch.” She stood up, twitching a back leg. “Also, I wouldn’t recommend doing that, because I think I have four splinters in my legs.”

“Duly noted.” Rarity chuckled. “Throw it back, please?”

“Yeah, sure. What were you saying, again? Something about trouble on a beach?” Rainbow Dash reared back, tossing the ball in a somewhat less lazy arc towards Rarity.

Rarity made an inelegant catch, hugging the ball clumsily against her chest, looking pleasantly surprised at her success. “Oh, right!” She took a deep breath, composing herself slightly before continuing. “As I was saying, I, as any little filly would, decided that I wanted to do something dangerous, right?”

“Sure.” Rainbow Dash trotted back towards Rarity. “I mostly flew into cloud banks, but I get the idea.”

Rarity nodded. “Exactly. Well, my little foal-brain decided that this would be a perfect time to do exactly what my parents forbade, which was to swim unattended. Thus, armed only with a pair of swim-goggles and a garish blue swimsuit, I hurled myself into the ocean, paddling out beyond the point wherein I couldn’t even bob on the bottom.” Rarity sat down, putting the ball under a forehoof. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been our to Jack’s-Ville, but the currents are brutal in the ocean. It couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty seconds and I found myself just surrounded by water, endless blue in every direction. No shore, no city, no nothing, just whitecaps.” Rarity looked up from the ball, visibly shaken. “And I swam and swam and swam and screamed and nothing. Just endless water, as far as the eye could see, and I could swim as hard as I wanted in any direction and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. I was completely powerless, just absolutely helpless, in the mercy of an unimaginably vast ocean which didn’t even know I was there.”

“...Oh.” Rainbow Dash walked over to Rarity, sitting down beside her. Her smaller stature was most apparent when seated, her head a comfortable hoof-width shorter than Rarity’s. “That’s, uh, not a very fun story.”

“No, it’s not.” Rarity took a deep breath. “It’s, perhaps, the opposite thereof, actually.”

Both mares sat in silence for a while, nothing audible over the crash of waves except for a quiet clattering of the steam engine below decks.

After what seemed like a few minutes, Rainbow Dash broke the silence. “I kind of feel like that all the time, actually.”

“What, surrounded by water?” Rarity turned towards her friend, who continued staring outwards. “That’s not normal, Rainbow. I think you might have vertigo, or an inner ear infection.”

“No, not, like, literally.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Like I’m swept up in some kind of riptide or something.”

“My apologies for missing the metaphor.” Rarity coughed. “Do tell.”

“Well, y’know, like…” Rainbow Dash tapped on her head with a forehoof, thinking. “It’s like how you said you just swam out a little bit, and you ended up way off shore, right?”

Rarity nodded.

Rainbow Dash continued. “I think that’s kind of how our lives are, honestly, because I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t thinking ‘gee, I really hope I’ve gotta save the world like five times in three years’ when I grabbed a raincloud to spray off this weird chick covered in mud, y’know?” Rainbow Dash turned to face her friend. “I mean, you, what, just welcomed her to town, right, and then all of a sudden we’ve got to save Equestria from Princess Dark n’ Stormy?” Rainbow Dash paused for a moment. “I mean, look, I not complaining, because we did save the world and I made four amazing friends and also you and I’m now apparently some kind of god of loyalty or something, but it’s still completely freaking bonkers, right?”

“And also me?” interjected Rarity, smirking.

“Yeah, well, the jury’s still out on you. We’ll see after the whole jewelry thing.” Rainbow Dash answered playfully. “But you get what I’m saying, right?”

“Actually, yes,” Rarity answered. “And I must say I’m impressed. This is a borderline Twilight-esque extended metaphor.”

“I told you, Rares, the brains work in bursts.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t believe what’s happened sometimes, you know? It’s like I just barely stepped into the extendedly-metaphorical ocean and got sucked into this kind of stuff.”

“Boat rides? Late night chats over hoofball?”

“More ‘going with your buddy to Bitaly to do … something.’” Rainbow Dash thought for a moment. “What are we doing, actually?”

“Getting elected as duchess of Marelan, apparently.” Rarity frowned. “The princess and minister were unfortunately scarce on the details, so I’m assuming it will be self explanatory. Something about the nobility.”

“Fair enough. Sorry about interrupting your story, by the way. How did it end up, anyway? Did you drown?”

Rarity eyed Rainbow Dash skeptically. “Did I drown?”

“Yeah. I mean, you said there wasn’t anyone around.”

“No, I didn’t–” Rarity smacked her forehoof into her face, rubbing it side to side softly. “Good goddess, you weren’t lying about the sprinter thing.” Rarity straightened up. “Rainbow, if I drowned, how would I be here?”

“Oh, right.” Rainbow Dash blushed slightly, spreading her wings wide in a sheepish grin. “My bad.”

“It’s only your nature.” Rarity shook her head, amused. “No, eventually a lifeguard pegasus flew out and got me. Again, it felt like hours, but it truthfully was likely only a minute or two. I don’t think my parents were away long.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess. Glad you made it.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Mostly because if you didn’t, somepony else would have had to be generosity in Ponyville, and I can’t really think of anypony else.”

“Neither can I. Judging by how they farthing and dime me over the simplest job, they’re all a bunch of stingy fucks as far as I can tell.” Rarity snorted a laugh. “Well, anyways, you missed the worst part of the story.”

“Oh yeah?” Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “What, you get bitten by a beaver-shark or something?”

“No, worse.”

“Worse than a beaver-shark?” Rainbow Dash raised the other eyebrow. “What, two beaver-sharks?”

“No, that would have been at least quick. This was unimaginably worse.” Rarity shuddered. “I still had to go to a Jags game afterwards.”

“Oh, dang, that is horrible.” Rainbow Dash shuddered in sympathy. “What year?”

“The winless one.” Rarity blinked slowly a few times, as if to clear repeated mental pictures of no-point scoreboards. “Honestly, I wished I had drowned at the time.”

“I was a little too young to listen to the radio back then, but, c’mon, that bad?” asked Rainbow Dash skeptically.

“Yes, that bad,” confirmed Rarity. “It was like some sort of experiment wherein one team was comprised exclusively of invalids.” She peered up at her own forehead. “Although I suppose I am living proof that even invalids are capable of performing the bare minimum of hoofball activities, which is more than can be said of that team.”

“You’re not an invalid, Rarity. An invalid can’t leave their house. You’re just … temporarily less-valid.”

“Fair, although I believe that a unicorn permanently rendered unable to use magic – which I may or may not be, truthfully – counts as such for government purposes.”

“Still nothing then, huh?” Rainbow Dash poked at Rarity’s hat with a hoof. “None of the ol’ magic juice running yet?”

Rarity swatted away Rainbow Dash’s hoof. “I don’t actually know what the medical term is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not magic juice.” She sighed. “And no, for what it’s worth. There’s almost … something, like it’s nearly there, but it’s just all so weird of a sensation that I can’t exactly tell you what or when something will happen.” She pulled off her hat, running a hoof around her much-abused horn. “It’s not like foalhood, that’s for sure. Back then, I could feel the potential, like the horn knew what it wanted and I just needed to know what to ask. Now, it’s like I’m trying to draw water from an empty well, except the well never had any water anyway, just a bunch of crude oil or something of that ilk.” She pointed at Rainbow Dash. “I’m sure it’s like your wings, where learning to fly is mostly a matter of mental technique.”

Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Not really. They mostly just run on pure bird-brain, actually, no thinking required.” She sat up. “Anyway, I’m bored. Want to run some more passes?”

“Of course.” Rarity joined her friend in standing, doing a catlike stretch on the way up. “Mind throwing to me for a little bit? I’d like to relive some of my wilder years, as it were.”

“Sure. Away from the railing, right?”

“Absolutely.” Rarity tossed Rainbow Dash the ball. “On your lead.”

“Oooh! Fabulous catch, dear!” shouted Rarity, coat slick with sweat from repeated sprints down the deck. “I especially liked the little loop on the aerial, very North Coast of you!”

“Thanks.” Rainbow Dash trotted towards her friend, similarly gross. She paused ten or so paces away, mouth fixed in a mischievous smirk.

“Er–”Rarity eyed her friend, cocking her head in confusion. “Aren’t you going to throw it back? That is the objective, yes?”

“Sure.” Rainbow Dash pitched the ball into a hoof, raring back. “Think fast!”

Rarity’s eyes shot wide in alarm “Wha–”

Rainbow Dash hurled the ball at Rarity, who threw her hooves up in panic, her mind doing its best to protect her face. It was not successful, the ball passing between her hooves and boinking off her nose to the ground.

Rainbow Dash fell backwards, clutching her gut in laughter. “Nice catch, dork!”

“Rainbow!” growled Rarity in anger, a forehoof to her nose. “We were having such a nice bout of friendly bonding, and here you go and throw it away for a cheap prank!”

Rainbow Dash sat back up, wiping a tear away from her eye with a wing. “Yeah, but you should have seen the look on – holy heck!” Rainbow Dash pointed a forehoof at Rarity’s head. “Your hat’s smoking!”

“What?” Rarity pulled away her hat, examining it. The front of the hat, approximately the former location of the manticore’s brain, was smoldering ever-so-slightly. “Why is my–”

Rainbow Dash continued pointing, mouth agape, at Rarity’s now exposed horn.

Rarity looked up as far as she could. At the very tip of her horn, barely visible in her peripheral vision, was a little blue flame, no larger than a tea candle’s.

“Is – is that normal?” asked Rainbow Dash.

“I’m, er, not sure. It’s certainty new.” Rarity, still watching the tip of her horn, strained slightly in mental effort. The flame went out.

“Whoa!” Rainbow Dash stood up, walking a little closer. “Can you make it come back?”

“Well I’m, er, not sure.” Rarity spread her hooves slightly, closing her eyes and straining. Her horn stayed stubbornly unlit. “Urgh!” She stomped a back hoof in frustration. “No, I – I can’t quite get the feeling down.” She locked eyes with Rainbow Dash. “I need you to replicate what happened before. Scare me with something.”

“Like what?” Rainbow Dash picked up the ball. “Like this?”

“No, a word will suffice.” Rarity shook her head. “Something unfashionable or distasteful should suffice to cause enough mental shock.”

“Oh. Darn!” Rainbow Dash huffed comedically. “And here I was thinking I could spike another ball into your face.”

“Thankfully unnecessary.” Rarity answered. “Do you have something in mind?”

“Uhhhh…” Rainbow Dash tapped her head with a hoof, thinking. After a moment, she smiled maliciously. “Oh, yeah, I’ve got just the thing.”

Rarity nodded slightly in affirmation, then widened her stance, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes with mental strain. “Oh – okay, go ahead with whatever you’re going to– ”

“CORDUROY JORTS”

“Oh goddess, why?” Rarity physically recoiled, face contorted into a grotesque mask of abject disgust. “Why would you–”

“It worked!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed. “Your horn works!”

“It did?” Rarity looked upwards. Sure enough, the little flame had reappeared, now slightly darkening the bandages wrapped around her horn. “It did! Ha!”

“Turn it off and on again!” Rainbow Dash took to the air, swerving around her friend and pulling up close to the incendiary appendage. “C’mon, try again!”

“Uhhh.” Rarity bit her lip, deep in thought. “Okay, I think I figured out what it felt like. Let’s try…” With a grunt of effort, the flame went out.

“Well, hey, that’s halfway there!” Rainbow Dash offered. “Do you need me to say something else?”

“No, because I think if I try swirling with–” Rarity gave her head a soft flick. With a noise not entirely unakin to a gas range flicking to life, her horn lit again with a wisp of blue smoke and slight sense of sulfur.

“You got it!” Rainbow Dash rubbed the side of her head with a hoof. “Although, uh, I’m not sure that horns are actually supposed to work like that, so–”

“Never mind that! This is stupendous! Incredible!” Rarity shouted in glee. “Yes-yes-yes-yes…”

“It is?” Rainbow Dash cocked her head in confusion. “I mean, it’s kinda cool I guess, but it’s not, like, incredible or anything.”

“Of course it is!” Rarity grabbed Rainbow Dash by the shoulders, shaking her back and forth with a look of pure elation. “Do you know what this means?”

“You can light your cigs with your face?”

“No, better – actually, no, that is pretty great, but no, better!” Rarity shook her head. “It means I’m not stuck like some kind of barbarian forever! My magic is coming back! That means I can make dresses and use forks and live again!”

Rainbow Dash gently shucked off Rarity’s hooves. “Okay, first off, that’s kind of tribally insensitive, Rares, and secondly, you aren’t exactly whizzing around crap Twilight style either. You’re basically just a high-maintenance lighter right now.”

“Yeah, well, whatever, Rainbow.” Rarity waved a hoof dismissively. “I’m sure it’s just the first of my abilities to return.”

“I’ll hope for the best, I guess.” Rainbow Dash shrugged.

“Hope is for suckers, Rainbow. I know.” Rarity, standing up, scooped up the hoofball from the deck into her left hoof. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I believe I’ll be retiring to the cabin. You’re welcome to make your own way down after this.”

Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “After what?”

“This.” Rarity reared her foreleg back. “Catch!”

Rainbow Dash did not, in fact, catch.

“That was low, Rares.” Rainbow Dash shut the door of the cabin, turning the lock’s bolt.

“Turnabout’s fair play, Rainbow.” Rarity scoffed, still practically floating in joy. “And that was catchable.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, dweeb.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. She paused, sticking her snout inelegantly beneath a wing before recoiling in a grimace. “Eww, dang,”

“My thoughts exactly.” Rarity huffed. “I’m probably going to go insane from one godsdamn shower a week, but that’s for the future. Right now, nothing’s going to get me down!”

Rainbow Dash ran her eyes around the room. “Not even the depressing crappy prison room we’re stuck in?”

“Not even that.” Rarity pulled a pair of earplugs out of a saddlebag on the floor, inserting one into her left ear, then the right. “Goodnight, Rainbow.”

“Yeah, you too.” Rainbow Dash sat on her bunk. “Try not to set the bunk on fire in your dreams or whatever.”

“I’ll try my best,” Rarity joked. She sat on the other bunk, which was suspended by rusted chains. “Try not to–”

“PING!”

The chains on the bunk snapped, throwing Rarity to the cabin’s floor. Rainbow Dash, after a moment of confusion, held a hoof to her mouth in a futile effort to not bust into laughter.

“Yes, I am okay, thank you for asking,” Rarity grumbled, standing up. She turned around to survey the damage. The bunk hung on its hinges parallel to the wall.

“I – whew – I’m sorry Rares, but that was pure comedy.” Rainbow Dash wiped a tear from her eye. “It was just absolutely perfect, you should have seen–”

Rarity turned around. “Scoot over.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash looked at Rarity, then looked at the tiny bunk. “Rarity, what are you talking about? We can’t both fit on this!”

“Remember what I said about nothing getting me down?” Rarity asked. “I lied. Sleeping on a metal floor would get me down.” She waved a hoof, then trotted towards the bunk. “So move.”

Rainbow Dash herself against the wall, shaking her head. “Rarity, there’s literally no way you’re going to – oof!”

Rarity, unbothered by concerns like geometry, hoisted herself into the bunk, squeezing Rainbow Dash against the wall back first with a satisfied grin.

After a moment of wriggling, Rainbow Dash managed to free herself slightly. “Rarity you lardass, I’m getting squished over here.” A sniff. “And, eugh, you smell like a bar!”

“Too bad. Goodnight.”

“Rares, get out of my bunk!”

“I’m the countess, I get the bunk,” Rarity scoffed. “You can sleep on the floor.”

“I am not sleeping on the floor!” Rainbow Dash retorted.

“Then shut up already.” Rarity moved the pillow closer to her. “Goodnight.”

After a moment of frustrated groaning, Rainbow Dash weighed her options. On one hand, Rarity might roll over and crush her to death with her prodigious weight.

On the other hand, the floor might kill her with tetanus.

Deciding that a quick death was better than a slow one, she made her decision. She pulled as much of the pillow back as she could. “… Goodnight.”

Rarity was already snoring.

Author's Note

Should have packed earplugs there, Rainbow.

So ends the first part, and much of this dreary talking crap. The next chapter is a time and perspective skip, so we won't be pulling a Berserk and getting stuck on a boat. Following that, much is prewritten, so updates will be faster.

Yes, it's just straight up "the Jags." Sucksonville is a kind of suck that surpasses mere dimensional bounds.

Yakalaska is based on a real ship. First one to figure out which gets a deeply useful piece of life advice.

Interlude: Fluttershy Remembers the Basics of CQC at Twenty-Three Hundred Hours

A week and a half later…

Princess Luna, ever the picture of punctuality, stood in front of the door of Fluttershy’s cabin. The lights downstairs were off, which seemed odd to Luna considering she was ostensibly expecting visitors, but the light upstairs shone through the window, from which soft incomprehensible voices could be faintly heard. Satisfied that this was sufficient evidence that Fluttershy was, indeed, home, Princess Luna, after a final look at her levitated Bakelite novelty wristwatch (fifteen bits at the palace gift shop), gave the cabin’s door a few solid knocks.

The voices upstairs ceased for a moment, then resumed. The lights downstairs stayed off.

Assuming that the cabin’s occupant may not have heard her, Luna gave the door another few knocks, this time a little louder.

The voices once again stopped. After a minute or so, the light downstairs sprung to life, accompanied by the hurried sounds of hoofsteps down a stairwell.

Prescient of the hinge direction on Fluttershy’s front door, Luna stepped backwards to avoid being hit in the face. A moment afterwards, the door flung open, revealing the flustered and disheveled form of Fluttershy, whose sweat-soaked mane hung straight down and whose tail was, curiously, hiked way into the air. A clipboard sat in her hoof, from which she read whilst she wiped a line of slobber from her mouth with a patchy wing. “Please list the symptoms in order of severity you have noticed in your pet, um–” she looked up to examine her late-night patient, spotting, to her immediate despair, no such animal.

Luna waved politely. “Greetings and goodnight, fair Fluttershy! Shall we depart on–”

“What in the flyingFUCK are you doing at my house, Luna.”

“–er,” Luna recoiled slightly from the sheer exasperated vitriol of the statement. “We are, er, simply convening at our previously agreed hour?”

“What are you talking about?” Fluttershy flicked an irritated ear, tossing away her clipboard as to free up both hooves for any potential fisticuffs. “First you completely skate on our lunch plans earlier, and now you show up at this Celestia-forsaken hour at my– oh, fuck.” A sudden moment of horrible realization. “You meant–”

Luna cocked her head in confusion. “Er, pray tell, Fluttershy, did we not agree to meet at half-past eleven?” She levitated a few letters out of a burlap saddlebag. “We could confirm it, if you wish…”

Fluttershy smacked a forehoof into her forehead, rolling it around and taking very obviously strained deep breaths. After a final sigh, she pulled her hoof away. “ … The other eleven, Luna.”

Luna thought for a moment. “Ah. We see.” She levitated the letters back into her saddlebag. “T’would make for more convenient hour for luncheon for a diurnal creature such as yourself.”

“No, I suppose it’s my fault for not specifying.” Fluttershy moved a forelock out from in front of her eye. “I, um, guess it would be prudent when writing to the ‘Princess Nocturnal.’”

“Nonsense, our apologies.” Luna waved a hoof in dismissal. “So, shall we depart? We believe our fellow Princess Twilight is waiting for us to appear at her domicile, and we do not wish to disappoint her.”

“No, uh, we shall not.” Fluttershy, suddenly bashful, shook her head. “At least, not yet.”

“Prithee, why is that?” Luna shook her head. “We will surely be tardy if we tarry.”

“Because I have, er, somepony over.” Fluttershy rubbed her back hooves together, looking to the side and blushing. “And we’re not, um, finished with business.”

“Oh! We did not realize you were entertaining company.” Luna chuckled. “We shan’t cause you to cause offense in your houseguest by leaving without delay. Feel free to render a goodbye.”

“Uh, yeah. Entertaining. That’s a word.” Fluttershy bit her lip. “Shouldn’t take long. Just, um, give me twen–thirty minutes, okay?”

“Thirty minutes?” Luna asked, a little surprised. “That is more than a brief farewell, Fluttershy.” She looked into the cabin. “Can we at least enter and sit down?”

“Um, no. Sorry.” Fluttershy smiled sheepishly, stepping away from the door. “But there’s a really comfy tree stump over by the corner of the yard, and a very friendly stray cat!”

Luna looked towards said tree stump. “Oh, well, we suppose that is not too bad.” She turned back towards the door. “What is the name of the–”

The door was already closed.

The voices resumed shortly.

“We must agree with your assessment, Fluttershy; ‘tis a superb cat that you keep.” Luna, mid stride, shook out a back leg. “Though, we will have to disagree about the comfort of the stump of which you spake, the diameter of which is a bit small for our posterior.”

Fluttershy, fresh from a quick shower, trotted alongside Luna up to Twilight’s door. Her mane and tail hung in loose buns, visibly damp, but, despite her somewhat unkempt appearance and the ungodly hour, a serene smile rested assuredly on her face. “Yes, he is, isn’t he? I found him outside Rarity’s house, locked in a staring match with her cat through a window.”

“Ah!” Luna chortled. “Such silly little creatures! We have kept the company of so many over the centuries, yet we still fail to tire of their antics.”

“They’re always fun to watch, at least.” A polite cough. “You did, uh, tell Twilight that we were coming at night, right?”

Luna shrugged. “We figured the ever prepared Twilight Sparkle would assume it. We are the lunar princess, after all.”

Fluttershy tilted her head slightly, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, I, um, guess it’s possible, but I didn’t.”

“True,” replied Luna. “But, unless our fellow princess suddenly acquired the disguise skills of a lifetime of roguery, you are not Twilight Sparkle.”

“Fair point.” Fluttershy gestured to the door. “After you?”

Luna raised a hoof. “If you wish.”

She gave the door a few firm horseshoe-shod knocks.

No lights came on. The library remained dark.

After a few moments, Luna turned her head to Fluttershy, raising a hoof in front of the door in question.

Fluttershy stepped back from the door, looking through a darkened window. She looked back to Luna. “Well, I, uh, guess you can knock again. I don’t think anypony’s home.”

Luna knocked again, this time a little harder.

Once again, the library remained dark. More awkward moments passed, the silence broken only by occasional coughs and fidgeting wings.

“Uh, princess, I don’t think Twilight is coming to the door.” Fluttershy backed away from the door. “I guess she didn’t think of that after all.”

“What a shame.” Luna looked at the upstairs window. “We suppose we, both in the plural and singular sense, could try the upstairs window, but that would likely be overly invasive of Twilight’s solitude.”

“Yes, it would.” Fluttershy eyed the same window. “It’s probably better if we didn’t, uh, knock on her bedroom’s windows.”

“Understandable.” Luna frowned. “But we would hate to waste the considerable effort we expended traveling to this town.”

Fluttershy bit her lip. “Um, well, I really shouldn’t be flying yet, but…” She thought for a moment. “Well, I guess one little knock wouldn’t hurt.”

“WHACK!”

The windows of Twilight’s house visibly bowed inwards under the force of Luna’s kick, silver shoes skating off the wooden frame with splinters in tow. Some sounds of movement could be heard inside, although it was difficult to tell if it was a pony trotting along floors or a piece of furniture falling away from the awesome power of the Luna’s once legendary dragon-slaying back-kick.

Fluttershy cringed away from the impact, holding mostly steady in a somewhat lopsided hover. She could just about fly on her patchy wings, but it still took quite a bit effort than usual, and new feathers were both very sensitive and very fragile. She peered around the princess, staring into the still-dark home inside. “That sounded a little, uh, heavier than necessary, Luna.”

“Well!” panted Luna, breathing heavy from the effort of full-bodied kicks while maintaining flight. “Methinks that if she wanted intact window panes, she should not have disregarded our appointed time for meeting!”

“I mean, it’s not exactly a hard mistake to make–”

“SLAM!”

The windows of the house, encased in violet glow, flew open, revealing the bedraggled shape of Her Majesty Twilight Sparkle, scrap parchment stuck to her face with drool and horn charged with crackling spellpower. Without so much as a look out of the library, she loosed the spell, a violently sparking ellipsoid of purple magic, directly at Luna. After no more than a fraction of a second, Luna’s horn lit, sliding a line of blue in the spell’s path and deflecting it into the ground with a cacophonous “BOOM” and cloud of dirt.

Twilight, eyes now adjusted to the dark, looked between Luna, the ground, and her own horn. “Uhhh….”

“Hah!” Luna barked out a laugh. “Fine aim, Twilight Sparkle. We admire your fiery spirit, and your caution to anticipate a waylay so late at night is an assumption which may very well save you from grievous harm at the hooves, wings, and horns of assailants.” Her gaze darkened. “Unfortunately, your choice in battle spells is pathetic. Pages in our time could have quite easily deflected that stunning spell, and any number of harnesses we once possessed in our armory could have absorbed it into the enchantments with naught but a slight tickle. Frankly, we believe a princess should be able to perform better.”

“W-what?” Twilight shook her head vigorously in an attempt to clear bleary eyes, absentmindedly flinging the parchment stuck to her face into the air. “What do you mean pathetic? I saw that spell straight up blow up a changeling! And I wasn’t even an alicorn then!”

“To annihilate a changeling is not particularly difficult, Twilight Sparkle, considering that a drone’s carapace is only as sturdy as the top of a crème brûlée.”

“Easy for you to say!” Twilight retorted. “Not all of us are ancient warlocks, you know!”

“A considerable head start does not excuse ignorance of the basic components of magical combat.” Luna shook her head in disappointment. “Did you not take to heart our considerably less adept but nonetheless still impressive sister’s tutelage?”

“What tutelage? Celestia taught us lots of things, but she didn’t teach us how to make ponies explode or anything like that!”

“Truthfully?” Luna “tsk’d” in disapproval. “What an immense disservice. It is understandable to have not instructed you in higher level dueling, considering the softness of this present era, but to have not taught you even the most elementary basics? Shameful! No magically adept foal’s tutelage is complete without a firm understanding of at least a few of the classic codices.” Luna’s horn lit, creating ethereal depictions of long-forgotten texts in the air as she rattled them off. “The famous Haachen Lance manuals? Red Beard’s treatise upon kriegsmagie? We would not diminish these by calling them merely important, but, verily, mandatory, in our eyes.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Great, thanks, I’ll be sure to remember those the next time I have to obliterate a princess outside my window.” She pointed a wing at Luna. “What are you doing kicking the shit out my windows at midnight, anyway?”

“Is it not the appointed hour of–”

“And what is she doing here?” Twilight, horn once again sparking faintly to life, pointed her other wing at Fluttershy. “You aren’t welcome here.”

Luna looked at Twilight, confusion across her face. “Er, she is simply accompanying us on a social visit, which, as I stated in our correspondence, was to take place at half past eleven. You must forgive us for our tardiness.”

“What?” Twilight put a forehoof to her forehead, then pulled it away, gesturing in confusion. “What do you mean a social visit at half past ele–.”

“Er, this one.” Luna clarified. “We are beginning to believe we should have specified.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Oh! I remember something like that. I was wondering why you didn’t show up, but I guessed you just got busy with princess stuff.” Twilight snorted a quick chuckle, quite a bit less incensed than before. “My bad. I guess I should have expected that.”

“Our domain is the nocturnal, after all.” Luna chuckled in kind. “Still, take heart in that fair Fluttershy did make the same mista–”

“Yeah, wait, no, hang on a second, I wasn’t done with her!” Twilight growled, face suddenly masked with fury. She bared her teeth, snorting in anger. “Why the hell did you bring her along? Don’t you know what that yellow cretin did to me?”

“Extracted, by our recommendation, some considerable financial restitution, primarily, as we recall, through the form of precious consumables?”

Twilight shook her head viciously, wild bands of unkempt hair flinging about. “No, she and that other treacherous bitch ransacked my house! They completely emptied my cellar!” A hoof stomp. “All of it! Can you believe that?”

“Er, quite easily, yes.” Luna tilted her head in confusion. “Did we not previously confirm to you that I was aware of the circumstances?”

“No, you said–” Twilight’s face lit up in understanding “–wait, hang on, you told her to do that?”

Luna sniffed. “Quite.”

“Wh-wait, so it’s your fault?” Twilight shot back, taking a step back from the window frame in abject confusion. “You made her do it?”

“Nay, we merely offered it as a possible choice,” Luna countered. “Fair Rarity and Fluttershy did decide on a course of action solely based on their own desires.” She tapped her head with a forehoof. “Although we suppose we did perhaps recommend it at a particularly low point in their lives, so mayhaps we should have been a smidge more judicious with our offers.”

“Why?” Twilight spread her tragically unkempt wings in befuddlement, temporarily lost for words. “Wh-why? Why would you tell her to do that?”

“Because we, which, we must specify, includes you, ourself, and our sister, owed Fluttershy and Rarity a considerable sum due to our actions.” Luna turned her head to Fluttershy. “Did you not elucidate to Princess Sparkle the particulars of the situation?”

“N-not really, no,” panted out Fluttershy, the effort required to use her lopsided wings beginning to seriously fatigue her. “We didn’t get that far.” She hovered closer to the window. “Uh, anyway, Twilight, I’m sorry to intrude, but can I come–”

“Hell the heck no you can’t come in!” Twilight’s horn lit, grabbing the window panes in her field. “What, are you trying to steal my stuff again? I don’t know what Luna’s talking about with owing you anything, but I can’t see what else you’d be here for. What are you going to take, my toothbrush? Spike’s leftover lasa – whoa!” Twilight pointed a hoof a Fluttershy, whose left wing had seemingly sprung a leak. “What’s wrong with your wing?”

Ignoring the question, Fluttershy, breathing heavily and in obvious discomfort, addressed the question’s premise instead. “Look, I’m sorry, but I really need to land, so, um, sorry.” Fluttershy, teeth gritted in pain, half-flew, half-fell through Twilight’s window, muscling her aside. As soon as she set her hooves to the floor, she, after a few labored breaths, threw her face under her dripping wing, itself already partially blood-slick.

“Aw, gross!” Twilight took a step back, revolted. “You’re bleeding all over the wood! It’ll take me ages to get that out!” It wouldn’t take her any time at all, actually, because Spike would be doing it once he got back from … wherever he was, but Fluttershy didn’t need to know that.

“Too bad,” murmured Fluttershy from under her feathers. After a violent motion of her head, she pulled back her red-coated muzzle, broken feather in her teeth. She spat it onto the floor, smacking her lips a few times to clear the taste of iron, then turned to address Twilight. “Sorry about that again, but that had to come out. I’ll clean it in a, um, minute or two.”

“Augh!” Twilight wrinkled her nostrils in disgust. “You’d better! And what do you mean ‘had to?’ Couldn’t you, y’know, not do that on my floor?”

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow, in sudden near-disbelief. “No, because if I stayed airborne I would have hemorrhaged.” She wiped her muzzle with her already besmirched wing. “I already apologized. Would you have preferred if I died mid-hover?”

“Depending on how bad you wrecked my floor? Yeah, maybe I would have.” Twilight’s horn lit, levitating a dish towel from somewhere behind her and tossing it at Fluttershy’s hooves. “Last time I checked, it’s not my fault you’ve got some kind of weird leaky wings. What’s wrong with you, anyway?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Fluttershy asked, incensed. “What’s wrong with me is that I was flying on two week old pin feathers because I had half of my wings ripped off by a manticore and I broke one.”

“And?” Twilight drew closer, wings rustling restlessly in half-understood instincts. “How is you being mauled by wildlife my problem?”

“How is it YOUR problem?” Fluttershy stomped a hoof in involuntary rage, wings likewise raising a hoof-width or so above her side, one coated in ugly stains of crimson red. “Y-you-you made it happen!” Fluttershy pointed a hoof at Twilight, close enough it was almost a prod. “Your little ‘free money’ you got me almost got me murdered!”

“Free money? I don’t remember promising you anything,” Twilight scoffed.“And isn’t it your job to be good with wildlife?”

Fluttershy, eyes wide, snorted in rage, raising a hoof for a scathing retort, mouth writhing in a frantic effort to secure the right words. After a moment, she exhaled, taking a few measured breaths and relaxing slightly, evidently realizing the confrontation wasn’t worth it. “…Fine. It’s not worth it anyway, and I’m not going to do this with one of my friends who obviously doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” She took a small step backwards, turning to Luna, who still hovered silently outside the window. “Sorry, princess, but I’m afraid I must leave before I do something I regret.” She turned fully around, peeking back over her shoulder to address Twilight one more time through clenched teeth. “Goodnight, Twilight.”

She hadn’t made but two steps down the hallway before a purple field surrounded her, lifting her, much to her outraged shock, off the ground.

“Nuh-uh, no you don’t.” Twilight spun Fluttershy around, positioning her directly in front of her just a little off the ground. “I changed my mind; I don’t need you to clean, but you’re leaving back the way you came. You’re not destroying more of my house.”

“Twilight,” said Fluttershy through barely-contained violent indignation, breathing labored and eyes wide with fury. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

Twilight extinguished her horn, dropping Fluttershy onto the wood with four soft hoof-clicks. “Sure. Just as long as you fly out of the window like I said.”

“I already told you, I can’t.” Released from their magical bindings, Fluttershy’s wings were now fully splayed in challenge.

“Too bad.” Twilight’s horn lit, once again surrounding Fluttershy. “Guess I’ll have to fling you out of my–”

“SMACK!”

Fluttershy’s left hoof collided at a measured pace with Twilight’s cheek, rendering a slap more intended as a social warning than as a serious attack.

Twilight, her horn unlit and smaller wings held aloft, held a hoof to her cheek. “Di-did you just slap me?”

“Yes.” Fluttershy very deliberately placed her hoof back onto the ground. “And I will not tell you again. Do not, and never, hold me like that aga–”

“SMACK!”

Twilight’s own hoof, held straight in a punch rather than askew in a slap, slammed into Fluttershy’s jaw in a right hook. While she had managed to move her head as to not catch it directly on the bottom of the chin, Fluttershy still reeled back.

“On the contrary, Fluttershy.” Twilight shook out her hoof, horn sparking to life. “I’ll do what I see fit.”

Fluttershy dropped into a fighter’s stance, powerful hind legs coiled up to launch her at her opponent and wings held firmly forward to propel a tackle. She worked her jaw back and forth. “Okay. Have it your way.”

“Try me, bitch.” Twilight rolled her head from side to side, cracking her neck. Her horn corona began to spread towards Fluttershy. “I had Shining show me the best the guard – oof!”

Not bothering to hear the rest of Twilight’s spiel, nor foolish enough to allow her to grab her with potent telekinesis, Fluttershy launched herself down the hallway, colliding with the smaller princess in a brutal tackle. The two skidded down the wood, a few purple feathers dragging themselves out on the various knots and gaps of the wooden floor.

Twilight’s horn began to relight, a faint sparkling corona surrounding Fluttershy. Having learned her lesson, Fluttershy smacked a hoof into Twilight’s horn, rendering, with a scream of pain, her unable to use her magic temporarily.

“I told you.” Fluttershy held back another strike, forehoof cocked back. “I will not hesitate to do it ag–”

Unable to utilize her preferred method of attack, Twilight went for an alternative, and thrust a back hoof into Fluttershy’s side, colliding with Fluttershy’s left bottom two ribs with an unpleasant crack. Fluttershy fell backwards onto her wings, grabbing her side with the opposite forehoof. Seeing an opportunity, Twilight picked herself back up, rushing over to deliver another strike; standing over Fluttershy and eyes running with involuntary tears, she threw a wild punch at Fluttershy’ face, which the pegasus skillfully dodged with a jerk to the right.

Fluttershy, wincing through ragged breaths, exploited her opponent’s overexposed stance by driving her right forehoof into Twilight’s wing joint, straight into the tightly bundled nerves and sensitive muscle fibers that controlled the appendage. Twilight’s knees buckled, falling onto Fluttershy, who took advantage of the situation to deliver a swift headbutt to Twilight’s nose, which crumpled with a distinct crunch and sent a fresh spray of alicorn blood across the floor.

Twilight reeled backwards, swearing around two rapidly filling nostrils. “Muthur-fugger!”

Fluttershy, similarly wounded, staggered to her hooves as best she could on three limbs, ragged wings still proudly displayed in threat posture. “Had–” A distinctly wet cough, then a spit “–shit – enough?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

Twilight answered Fluttershy's question quite firmly in the negative by flinging herself into the air, nearly scraping the ceiling as she pitched into an attack dive. Fluttershy sidestepped the attack, extending an iron-firm right foreleg for a brutal clothesline which Twilight sailed into. Rather than attempt to stop Twilight’s momentum, Fluttershy was more than happy to allow Twilight’s trajectory to continue directly into the floor, at which point Fluttershy mounted the smaller mare in a wrestling hold, placing Twilight’s wing in a dangerous wing-lock; a back hoof near the base of the wing as a fulcrum, a foreleg near the wingtip to apply force.

Faced with a panicked realization that she was seemingly about to experience an extremely painful set of compound wing fractures, Twilight's usually saturated brain resorted to its basest instincts, preparing to roll her head back with force to allow her horn to perform its most primitive function; to gore, in this case, directly into Fluttershy’s chest. She rolled her head forwards, ready to sling it back with enough force to perforate a sternum.

“Enough.” A voice, gentle but certain.

A sparkling sea of navy blue surrounded the combatants, gently but firmly rendering them immobile. They began to drift slowly apart, each one squirming against their restraints and voicing their displeasure.

“She’s – gasp– done!”

“Leg-goh! I hadh hur!”

Four horseshoes landed on Twilight’s floor, one rendered silent by a puddle. “We would be inclined to agree, as it were.” Luna spun the other two mares around, pointing them towards herself, matching fury-filled eyes with ones that displayed a very slight amount of amusement. “Unfortunately, ‘having her’ meant, in the case of your bout of fisticuffs, permanent disfigurement and expiry. We took the liberty of assuming the death of a dear friend was not your preferred result of a spat.”

Twilight and Fluttershy, in dawning horror at the near-killing of each other, ceased squirming, eyes wide in realization. Each one stammered in shock.

“Oh my–”

“I didn’t mean–”

Luna held up a hoof. “Cease your explanations.” She smiled gently, in a halfway decent impression of her sister’s resolutely matronly resting expression. “Ye needn’t explain to us what it means to be fight-drunk.” She spun the mares in her field around onto their respective hooves, setting them down gently as to not cause any additional pain by aggravating one of a myriad of injuries. Each one took a few cautious steps apart, switching gazes between each other and Luna.

Satisfied that neither one would launch herself at the other, Luna fully relaxed her field’s grasp on both. Not extinguishing her horn, she levitated the washcloth Twilight flung at Fluttershy before to Twilight, placing it gently on her now profusely bleeding snout. She pointed a wing at Twilight. “We would recommend you address your injury overtop a watercloset. Tilt your head down and gently apply pressure from each side. Clotting should begin shortly.” Luna gestured towards Fluttershy, preempting Twilight’s next question. “Worry not for her, as we shall address her injuries in your absence.”

With a slight nod of thanks, Twilight set off to her bathroom.

Once she rounded the corner, Luna turned to face Fluttershy, who stood on three shaky hooves, one clutched to her side. Fluttershy, bravado from earlier significantly diminished, looked away from her gaze sheepishly. “S-sorry about, um, ruining your v-v-mrph-visit, Luna. I should have, uh, just done what she said, I guess. Didn’t mean for i-i-it to end up like that.”

“Ruin? Ha!” Luna gave a light laugh, eyes twinkling. “On the contrary! It has been far too long since I have lain witness to a good brawl, and that was a fine bout indeed. We must commend you both on your, er, shall we say unexpectedly superb skills in close action, even if your willingness to maim friends does bear some consideration.” Luna took a few steps towards Fluttershy. “However, we must admit that we would be inclined to agree with Twilight that she did, in fact, ‘have you.’ She would never fly again, but you would have likely perished via a horn through the breast.”

“I, um, saw the wings and, uh, p-planned for a pegasus.”

“We figured as much. ‘Tis a mistake easily made, and one which our sister and we did exploit with a fair regularity in our wilder years. For what it is worth, had that been the case you would have been quite successful. Few pegasi would have risked a permanent grounding.”

“I guess so. I know–” Another wet cough, this time, after a firm expression of pain, dulling presence of adrenaline wearing off, punctuated with an uncouth spit of bloody phlegm. “–oh shit, that hurt,” muttered Fluttershy, sitting back onto her haunches and wrapping her left wing around her side. She spotted the results of her coughing fit, eyeing it with worry. “Oh, that’s, um, bad.”

“It is.” Luna closed the distance, mirth replaced on her face with deep concern. She stood directly in front of Fluttershy’s seated form, head above hers, and ran a hoof down Fluttershy’s left side, stopping directly above where Fluttershy’s hoof rested.

Fluttershy looked up at Luna. “What are you–”

“Move your hoof, Fluttershy,” Luna murmured gently into the pegasus’ ear. “We would wish to palpitate your injury so as to redress it.”

Slowly, Fluttershy moved her hoof down. The impact site had already begun to turn an ugly shade of blue beneath her yellow coat. Wordlessly, Luna removed the horseshoe on her left forehoof, letting it clatter to the wood below, then ran a careful hoof-tip across the spot, prodding gently. The last two ribs moved more than a little too far, hinging across a common axis. Fluttershy flinched away from the contact, squirming against Luna’s other hoof.

Luna removed her hoof. “Twilight’s strike clove two of your lower ribs in twain.” She stepped back. “Likewise, your coughing up of blood is worrying, and we be remiss to not check your lungs for perforation.”

With a start, Fluttershy quite suddenly remembered a very important bit of medical knowledge. She ran her wing across her neck, noting, with some relief, that her windpipe had not deviated towards her injury, a sure sign of serious lung collapse.

“We noticed as well.” Luna gave a small nod. “We suppose we should not be surprised that you are at least reasonably adept at bonesetting.”

Fluttershy gave a small smile. “Sure. ‘Ponies are b-but animals writ large.’”

“We see you’ve read the classics. Four Humors was a dear friend in our youth. Wrong, but a dear friend.” Luna’s horn lit. “We beseech you to open your mouth, if you would.”

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow.

“Far-touch magic cannot exert force nor sensation through an object, Fluttershy. ‘Tis a fundamental constant,” explained Luna. “Fortunately, what constitutes inside is mostly a matter of perspective, and an open mouth renders even the lungs topologically identical to a simple tube. All the caster requires is a deft touch, and none are defter than we.”

Seeming reasonable, Fluttershy opened her mouth.

“Our thanks.” Luna stepped back over to Fluttershy, this time turning around to face the same direction. She wrapped her left wing firmly around the smaller mare. “We will warn you that this will be uncomfortable in the extreme.”

Without so much as another word, Luna’s field snaked down from her horn into Fluttershy’s open mouth, swerving through her respiratory system. For a few seconds which passed like hours, she was subjected to the immensely disconcerting sensation of her lungs being manipulated from the inside, occasionally spiking with shards of agony around the injury. Her knees gave out, but she remained upright, held up by Luna’s wing.

“We are nearly – there!” Luna’s horn extinguished, removing the alien presence from Fluttershy’s trachea. Luna let her slip from her wing, guiding her onto the floor. “Worry not, Fluttershy; our did efforts did confirm your lung is unpenetrated. You are suffering from naught but a bit of bruising.”

Fluttershy said nothing, presently occupied with whimpering on the floor.

Luna, noticing the lack of a response, looked down, spotting the wretched form beneath. “Oh, dear, oh…” She ducked down to her level, laying her head across Fluttershy’s withers, a wing spread across the poor pegasus’ chest. “Shh-shh-shh, fair Fluttershy. ‘Tis finished,” she added, barely above a whisper. The sobbing continued under the sheet of midnight-blue feathers. “We do apologize, but ‘twas a necessary measure.”

From somewhere under the wings, Fluttershy gave a sniffle, composing herself enough for a single statement. “T-t-that was–”

“Awful beyond all measure? Indescribably discomforting?”

Fluttershy nodded, wiping a tear, accidentally, with her besmirched wing, leaving an ugly smear.

“We are aware, as we have been subjected to exactly that on uncountable occasions.” Luna shuddered. “We alicorns are inherently unaging, but our immortality has to do much with our skills with knife and horn. In our early days, when the world was wild and we wrought Equestria from naught but wildlife and barbarians, ‘twas not particularly uncommon to spend the night after a skirmish pushing broadheads out of each other’s breasts.”

The sobbing tapered off. “R-really?”

“Oh yes.” Luna removed the wing across Fluttershy’s breast, revealing her face. “Whilst our body did lose the majority of our scars during our re-transformation by the Elements, there are still a few deeper ones whose echoes are still present under out coat.” She subconsciously rubbed a hoof across one of said sites. “But our marks pale in consideration to our sister’s. The old maid is fortunate a white coat hides much in the way of disfigurement, for across her body one would find nearly more blemishes than healthy skin. In fact, the peytral she is not oft seen without is, we believe, designed to specifically cover the remainder of an ax wound received from–” she shook her head “–we digress. To go into morbid detail would be unnecessary, and would only serve to upset you further.”

Fluttershy said nothing, staring at the floor.

Luna stepped back, taking the opportunity to deftly reaffix her horseshoe to her hoof. Those were expensive, after all, and her sister would be most cross if she left one. She sat back onto her haunches, looking Fluttershy in the face, if not the eyes, which remained cast to the floorboards. “But, then, we sense that your disquiet is more than just an immediate reaction to the physical discomfort you are experiencing.”

“It’s not totally.” Fluttershy looked up. “This is all, um, extremely painful.”

“It is, yes. But pain does not misery necessarily make. You could just as well have become incensed at the course of events, cursing the name of the treacherous princess who attempted to defenestrate you whilst you lick your wounds and plan another skirmish. ” Luna paused. “That would have been an utterly reasonable course of action, of course. To use magic to bind one who hasn’t the gift of spellcraft is a grave offense.”

Fluttershy shook her head. “It’s not that. I’m not, um, stewing.”

“Of course you are not. To plot is not in your nature. To stew requires bitterness, all consuming vitriol that takes up every moment of the day. You are frustrated, exhausted, and angry, both at yourself and the world. Distinctly not bitter.” Luna levitated her tiara off her head, spinning it around and staring at it. “No, you are, if not quite sorry about your actions, at least remorseful about the course of events.”

Fluttershy flicked an ear, looking away with her eyes. “Well, um, no, it’s more, um–” she bit her lip in frustration, trying to find the right words. “–yeah, I, um, guess that’s pretty close.” She kicked the ground softly with a forehoof. “I-I tried to break my friend’s wings.” She sniffed. “A-and she’s right anyway! Rarity and I did just, um, ransack her house. And she didn’t really even know why!”

“That she lacked the presence of mind to remember her own grave errors is not your fault. While in hindsight somepony should have elucidated to Twilight–”

“–You.” Fluttershy interrupted. “You should have.”

“…Perhaps, although we would remind you that we did attempt to contact her beforehand. Nevertheless, we suppose we are as guilty as any.” Luna shrugged. “In any case, her deprivation of libations is certainly not sufficient cause to treat you as she did.” She ceased spinning her tiara, instead placing it in line with the open window and the moon. The aquamarine glowed faintly, open backs of the setting catching scant light. “As for the wings? We would tend to agree that it would have been rather excessive, although we would also point out that Twilight was similarly, er, efficient in her style of combat, so you were more or less responding in kind.”

“I don’t care about that!” Fluttershy threw out her wings in exasperation. “I don’t care about fairness or ‘responding in kind.’ I’m the Element of Kindness!”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So?” Fluttershy snorted a laugh; a bad decision, as it turned out, as snorting tended to place quite a lot of stress on the lungs. She mostly hid the resulting wince. “So I’m not supposed to be going out and doing … that! Any of that! I’m supposed to be better. I have to be better!”

“Have to?” Luna shook her head. “Nay, you needn’t have to be anything. You are Kindness, irrevocably. You are virtuous, not infallible; a god you are not.”

“… Rainbow says we are,” murmured Fluttershy, a slight look of amusement bubbling under a dour expression.

“You prismatic friend is an idiot, Fluttershy. Lovable, loyal, but an idiot. You are not a god.” Luna chuckled. “And whilst we would quite like to inform you on who and what exactly constitutes divinity, as we have met with things out there which very likely are divine, there is a far more important distinction to make here.”

“Which is?”

“That it matters naught. Even if we temporarily disregard the very convincing principle that the kindness wrought by you towards your temporarily crippled friend which was funded by acquisitions from Twilight far exceeded Twilight’s injury, you have nothing to be ashamed of.” Luna turned to Fluttershy. “For that you feel remorse in the first place means you are very decidedly not a bad pony.”

“Anypony can feel bad, Luna.” Fluttershy eyed Luna skeptically. “That doesn’t make them good.”

“Verily? 'Anypony?'” Luna turned back to the moon. “Can you be sure that is the case?”

“How would you know?”

“Because we have been that pony, Fluttershy.” Luna glared at her celestial object. “Do you know, Fluttershy, what we did for fifty score years in our exile?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Confronted by the knowledge that we attempted to extinguish our sister? We seethed. We plotted, and cursed, and swore her name, and fantasized about splitting her ribs and mounting her bones to the spire of our old castle and using her hide as a doormat.” A few tears ran from her eyes. “And we walked, we walked around that rock uncountable multitudes of time, and know you what we did not once do?”

Fluttershy said nothing.

“We did not once regret.” Luna gave a wet sniffle. “We tried to kill our own blood and for a thousand years we did not once feel the slightest pang of remorse.”

Fluttershy paused for a moment, thoughtful. “But weren’t you, um, possessed?”

“The aberrant construct which did plague our mind and body was strong, but not absolute. ‘Twas many times in which we felt intense remorse over the wondrous landscapes we destroyed in our fit of rage, or the innumerable guards which we slayed with naught but an idle thought, or the pegasi which we distorted for our imagined future. We were perfectly capable of feeling immense remorse over the grave injury which we caused our sister.” A shaky breath. “We never did.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Worry not about causing offense, Fluttershy.” Luna snorted in derision. “There is no opinion you can express that we have not said to ourselves.”

“No, I’m not going to, um, chastise you.” Fluttershy shook her head. “But, um, out of curiosity, have you ever actually apologized to your sister?”

“Of course we have. We do so every time we see her, and we will continue to do so until the end.” Luna wiped an eye. “Even if our sister is an incorrigible glutton, brusque conversationalist, perfidious hypocrite, and general…” she tapped a hoof “–oh, what’s the word the Viscount used? ‘Cunt?’ One of those.”

Fluttershy giggled. “Siblings can, uh, be like that.”

“Quite.” Luna returned the giggle. “No, even if all of that is true, she still gave us a thousand years to say sorry, and we could not even give her that. And she still forgave us.” Luna looked down at the ground. “So while we are aware that my current situation is … sub-optimal, and our sister is, in part, to blame, as far as we are concerned? She has nine hundred and ninety seven more years.”

“Well, um, Luna, that’s all fair and good, but I think she could still be doing better.” Fluttershy rolled her eyes. “I think limiting soft drinks is a step beyond sub-optimal.”

“Of course she could. But she could be doing worse with just as much ease. And as we left her to rule from a single throne for a millennia, we suppose we cannot fault her for laziness.” Luna looked back up at Fluttershy. “But we suppose we may ask about the soda. ‘Twould make a good start.”

“It’s, um, worth a–” Fluttershy paused, noticing an unfamiliar weighty presence atop her head. She looked up, spotting a glint of silver from the slightly oversized tiara which rested on her brow.

“You would have made for a fine princess, Fluttershy.” Luna, head uncovered and mane flowing free in an unseen wind, looked down with a slightly forlorn gaze. “Mother knows you would have made for a finer one than we, for once the task of laying low the wheat is done the sickle is but an unwelcome presence in the farmhouse. Equestria did not need a warlock a thousand years thence, nor a warlock now.”

“But some of us need a friend.” Fluttershy gave her a gentle smile. She looked up at the tiara. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”

“Weightier still than you can imagine, Fluttershy.” A rueful chuckle. “The crown rests weightier still.” Luna levitated the crown back, placing it into the crease of her mane. “Now go wash up. We believe Twilight has a set of public facilities downstairs for use by the patrons. We would advise you to remove the blood from your wings before it ruins the wax.” She took a few steps towards the bedroom. “In the meantime, we will tend to Twilight’s injuries and, er, inform her of the circumstances.” She smirked. “And perhaps pilfer some tea, while we are at it.”

Fluttershy and Twilight sat on opposite sides of a tea table, both pointedly avoiding the gaze of the other in the sort of awkward silence that can only result from an overabundance of things that need to be said.

Judging by Twilight’s now mostly straight snout, as well as the screams from the upstairs bathroom clearly audible, much to Fluttershy’s discomfort, over the sound of the guest’s sink, Luna had performed a similarly rudimentary procedure on Twilight’s nose. Both mares held bags of recently frozen ice – a neat trick of Luna’s – to their respective injuries.

A clock ticked overhead, the only thing audible besides wind through the open hallway window.

After a few more moments had passed, each mare, as is seemingly always the case, began to speak at the same time.

“Fluttershy, I–”

“Uh, Twilight, I–”

“Oh!” Twilight waved Fluttershy off with a wing, not trusting the integrity of her nasal protection for a head-shake. “Nuh! Nu-no! You go ahead.”

“Uh, okay, well, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about–”

“You’re sorry?” Twilight exclaimed, holding a hoof to her chest. “Fluttershy, I’m the one who should be sorry! I mean, just to start I had no idea about what happened a week ago, a-and then there was that whole thing with Spike – where is he by the way – and honestly I should probably be thanking you for the whole thing with that box and I mean honestly–”

“Hey.”

Twilight looked down at her muzzle, a yellow hoof held in front of her lips. She looked back up at Fluttershy.

“I forgive you,” said Fluttershy with a soft smile. “It’s okay.”

Twilight looked back in confusion, hoof held awkwardly mid twirl. “But I didn’t even get to the whole–”

Fluttershy shook her head. “I. Forgive. You.” She lowered her hoof. “Can you forgive me?”

“I, uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “But aren’t you still, y’know, mad about, like, everything?”

“Mad?” Fluttershy shrugged. “I guess maybe a little. I’m not happy about how things turned out. But that’s not what I said. I said I forgive you.”

Twilight thought for a moment. “Then yes.” She nodded gently, so as to not worsen her injury. “I forgive you.”

“Then that’s all I need.” Fluttershy gave another soft smile.

The clock ticked on a few more counts, both mares content to let a moment pass.

“…Thanks, Fluttershy. I’d give you a hug, but, y’know, the, uh, whole, uh, kicking thing.” Twilight pointed at Fluttershy with a wing, concerned. “Are you okay, by the way?”

“Uh, no, not really. You broke two of my ribs.” Fluttershy squeezed the ice-pack a little tighter in. “Luna made sure I was going to be, um, mostly fine, though.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Twilight ran a hoof through her mane, sheepish. “I didn’t think I could really do that, actually. Guess I should have listened to Shining better.”

“Don’t worry about it. I would have done the same.” Fluttershy waved a hoof in dismissal.

“Thanks.” Twilight sighed in relief. “You’re pretty good, by the way. Where did you learn to fight like that? Animals? Because I’m pretty sure you don’t have a brother in the guard.”

“Animals?” Fluttershy chuckled. “No, not from animals. They’re a little too frantic. They just swing with their claws, anyway.” She shook her head. “No, I, um, read a book back in school.”

“A book?” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “You learned that from a book? A book you willfully read back when you were a teenager?”

“Yes. But I didn’t really mean to. I was a little, um, confused as to what it was about.”

“…Explain.”

Fluttershy blushed slightly, averting her eyes sheepishly. “Oh, um, it’s kind of embarrassing, but, uh, I used to have a lot of trouble with, um, stallions, right?”

“Used to?” Twilight’s question wasn’t based on a disbelief that Fluttershy once had trouble with stallions, of course, but that the trouble had ever ceased.

“Yes, absolutely. I would, um, lock up around ones I thought were cute, and if they talked to me I’d just freeze up, which was bad, because then I couldn’t, um, respond.”

“Uh-huh.” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “And the book helped you stop doing that?”

“Uh, no, not really.” Fluttershy shook her head. “I, uh, got over that by just kind of, um, reevaluating my worth to stallions.”

“By what means?”

“A couple ways.” Mostly by growing up to look like that and the possession of a mirror, but that was besides the point. “But, uh, anyway, so, I thought I needed to be, uh, ‘tougher,’ so I got this book from a secondhand store titled “Get Tough”. Do you have it her?”

“I don’t think so.” Twilight levitated one of many inventory scrolls present in her bedroom over, giving it a quick scan. “Who’s the author?”

“Uh, I think it’s ‘Gutter Fighting.’” Fluttershy scrunched her face in thought. “Some kind of guard in a rough place in the east. Maybe in Shanghide? Does that sound right?”

“I don’t know. There definitely were some guards sent to Shanghide about a hundred years ago, but I don’t know about that name.” Twilight lowered her scroll. “There’s a pony named Gutter Fighting?”

“Apparently.” Fluttershy shrugged. “So, anyway, I read the book, but it wasn’t really a self-help kind of thing about, uh, mental toughness.”

“It wasn’t?” Twilight sent the scroll back. “We don’t have that one, by the way.”

“No. It was mostly about how to kill things as efficiently as possible in hoof-to-hoof combat.”

A pause. “And you finished it?”

“It was interesting.” Fluttershy offered with a shrug. “And I thought it might come in handy some day.” She coughed politely into her hoof. “Which I, um, guess it did.”

“Fair enough.” Twilight levitated over something else, this time a quill pen and piece of parchment, upon which she wrote the name of the book. “I guess I can’t blame you, considering that I learned from Shining for the same reason.”

A new voice, from behind. “If you did learn from your guard-stallion brother, we would have to complement him for his exceptional skills, especially in comparison with the average pony-at-arms.”

Fluttershy peeked around Twilight, who turned all the way around. Princess Luna stood in the doorway, levitating three cups of tea upon a tray in front of her.

Twilight eyed her fellow princess suspiciously. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Since the both of you did begin speaking.” Luna trotted over, cups held steady in the field in front of her. “The whole exchange was rather heartwarming, as an aside.”

“Uh, thanks I guess?” Twilight cocked her head. “Where did you get tea?”

“From your cupboard.” Luna placed the tray in front of the mares, then sat down at the table. “We hope you enjoy, as we must, with no small amount of pride, boast that we were trained by the finest tea-bearers in the world.”

Both mares eyed the cups placed before them, Twilight’s a stemless affair intended for unicorns, Fluttershy’s with a wide handle. The murky liquid within did, in all honestly, mostly smell like tea, although the color and, more disturbingly, texture were all wrong.

“Uh.” Twilight stared at her cup intently. “Princess, where, exactly,did you learn to make tea?”

“At the court of a dowager princess of the Celestial Kingdom – no relation to our sister – on an official visit, near to the time of the founding of Equestria.” She tapped the side of her head with a hoof-tip. “I believe it was one, ah, ‘Dongzhen,’ which would be ‘Eastern Jewel” to us, if you are familiar with your history.”

“Can’t say that I am familiar.” Twilight swirled her cup with an idle twirl of telekinesis. “And you said they were the finest tea makers in the world?”

“Without question. Why, they had only invented it a decade prior!” Luna scoffed. “No, there is no doubt we learned from the best.”

“Uh-huh.” Fluttershy sniffed her cup inelegantly, snout wrinkling slightly. “Uh, princess, how did they make tea, exactly?”

“The one always does, of course.” Luna took a hearty sip of her cup. “Cut leaves, let them dry for a year, preferably with a small amount of intentional fermentation, muddle the now-dried samples at the bottom of a cup, add infernally hot water, serve.” She placed her cup back onto the tray. “We must say that the level of fermentation upon the curiously bagged tea you stock was generally unsatisfactory, but we do know a spell to replicate some of the acidity and astringency.”

“Wait.” Twilight shook her head, befuddled. “You cut the teabags open, then dumped the leaves into the cup?”

“Precisely.” Luna levitated her own cup. “How else would one brew tea?”

While Twilight attempted to mentally organize the, at first count, fourteen other ways one would brew tea, Fluttershy, seemingly braver than her purple-coated compatriot, took a cautious sip of her tea.

“We see one of ye possesses a satisfactory amount of courage.” Luna took a sip of her own tea, swallowing with a satisfied sigh. “So, did we, ah, ‘nail it?’”

Fluttershy, who in this time had gone through the facial positions of abject confusion, then slight discomfort, then a pucker of astringency, followed by wide-eyed surprise, finally swallowed her mouthful, finishing with a few loud tongue-palate smacks, brow furrowed in thought.

“Well?” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “How is it?”

“Well, it’s, um…” After a moment’s pause, Fluttershy shrugged, lifting her tea up for another sip. “It’s better than Rarity’s tea, at least.”

“…Good enough for me.” Twilight took a sip, face contorting through the same emotions.

“And for us as well. We would consider that quite the successful effort, then, especially considering the near eleven-hundred years that have passed since we did last perform the act.” Luna placed her cup back onto the tray. “In other news, we must express that we are delighted to learn that the unfortunate troubles between yourself and your two fellow bearers are more or less settled amicably.”

“Oh, no, I definitely didn’t say that.” Twilight glared over the rim of her cup. “Fluttershy and I are settled up. I said nothing about Rarity.”

“We see.” Luna chuckled. “Hopefully your discussions will involve no more fractured bones.”

“I make no guarantees,” Twilight snarked, placing the cup back onto the tray. “Where is she anyway? I think I haven’t seen her in a week.”

“Oh, she’s in Bitaly. Luna sent her and Rainbow Dash over there for something.” Fluttershy, quite taken with the tea, finished her cup. “I think it’s, uh, some kind of bank thing? It wasn’t all that clear.”

“Wait.” Twilight gave her head a quick shake. “You sent her on a vacation to Bitaly?” She rose slightly in her chair. “What, as some kind of reward for robbing my house?”

“No, not a reward.” Luna waved a hoof. “A task for her whilst she recuperated and found herself unable to work. We figured that her incapability was a result of our action, and thus it was our duty to provide a replacement. Rainbow Dash, after a bit of convincing, was delighted to serve as an escort.”

Twilight levitated her cup back into the air. “That’s fair, I guess.” A sip. “What, exactly, are you having them do?”

“Simply something light.” Luna twirled a hoof in idle dismissal. “More or less a bureaucratic measure to deal with a particular element of our finances in Marelan.”

“Marelan?” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “That’s kind of a rough city, but it should be fine unless–”

“–Oh! We did forget to mention!” Luna interjected. “Due to the particular necessities of her task, we were required to elevate Rarity to a position of petty nobility! You are no longer the sole–”

“CRASH!”

“–Er.” Luna looked at the floor, where the shrapnel of Twilight’s teacup had only just ceased scattering across the floor. “Twilight, we must inform you that you seem to have–”

“You did WHAT?” Twilight slammed a forehoof into the table. “You gave Rarity a title? In Marelan?”

“…Yes?” Luna cocked her head. “Is that a problem?”

“Is that a – I don’t know, Luna, that depends!” Twilight threw out her wings, eyes wide in bafflement. “Are you trying to have her killed as fast as possible?”

Fluttershy, who had been listening intently, placed her cup back onto the tray. She didn’t want to drop it, of course, but she was also beginning to realize she might need that forehoof for something more important.

“Nay, nothing of the sort!” Luna shook her head. “Pray tell, what are you talking about? We were not informed of any serious danger she may face whilst performing her appointed task.” Luna, had, in truth, heard the viscount’s statement about ‘knocking off a few barons,’ but she had believed that, as most would, to be a joke.

“Any serious danger? Are you – hang on a second!” Twilight’s horn lit, corona flaring in power. The sounds of book shelves crashing emanated from out of the door of the room. After a few moments, and a few more crashes, a weighty and frankly unpleasantly dusty tome neatly ‘fwip’d’ into Twilight’s waiting hoof. “Look at this!”

Luna peered in. “‘A Condensed History of Bitalian Noble Assassinations.’” Luna pulled back, somewhat unimpressed. “Well, Bitaly has been a subject of the crown for, er, what, nine hundred years or so, correct? We always mess up our histories of the world post-exile.” It wasn’t exclusively her fault, of course – the only source she could get her hooves on was a children’s history textbook pilfered from what had likely been a younger Twilight’s instruction materials. “We would posit that, while the tome is indeed sizable, it is generally to be expected for nine hundred years of history.”

Twilight, not taking her eyes off Luna, blew the dust off the cover of the book, revealing a subtitle.

Luna once again read the cover. “‘ A Condensed History of Bitalian Noble Assassinations.’” She looked a little closer. “‘Part One of T-T-TWENTY SIX?”

“Yeah, twenty-six.” Twilight, with another flick of her horn, sent the book careening back through the door. “You couldn’t have put her in more danger if you had tied meat to her and thrown her in the Amanezon River, or dressed her in gold chains and sent her to East Clovenhoof!”

Fluttershy felt her wings subconsciously begin to rise, chafing against her chair. She also felt herself beginning to believe that she probably broke the wrong princess’s nose.

“We didn’t know!” Luna pulled back from the table, straining against the back of her chair. “W-we don’t know anything about Bitaly! There wasn’t even a Bitaly a millennia thence!” She threw up her hooves in exasperation. “And we have most certainly not heard anything from our sister about some part of Equestria so dysfunctional they have twenty-six codices worth of backstabbing!”

“You didn’t do any research?” Twilight pointed an accusing forehoof. “You just sent them off without the slightest care?”

“Of course I cared, Twilight Sparkle! ‘Tis the furthest from my intentions to cause your friends harm. But we had no reason to believe that our sister had grown so much in incompetence as to render a part of our realm so dangerous.”

A pregnant pause.

“Okay, well, perhaps there was some reason to believe, being that her present nature would seem to suggest something of the sort.” Luna admitted. “But still! Can you judge us too harshly for the offense of sending a pony on what we assumed to be tantamount to a vacation, nor a desire to finally acquire both a source of income and nine million bits? ‘Tis humiliating to be reduced to scrounging the floor for currency whilst the maids and servants laugh openly.” Luna, emboldened, straightened up, matching Twilight’s posture and thus towering a head or so higher. “Can you blame us for that, Twilight? We think–”

“Ahem.” Fluttershy, hitherto silent, made her presence known. “Luna?”

Luna, confidence almost visibly leaking out, didn’t so much turn as swivel to face Fluttershy, shrinking back down into her chair. “Ah, yes, Fluttershy?”

“I believe you.” Fluttershy, terse, wings held forcefully to her sides, spoke in measured, even tones. “I understand your problem, and I believe that you didn’t know.” A steady breath, nostrils flaring in contained rage. “Partially because I believe that you wouldn’t have known about Bitaly, and partially because I believe that you are a fundamentally good pony, and fundamentally good ponies wouldn’t lie to me about trying to kill my friends.”

“…Thanks?” Luna let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, dropping her guard. “We are gladdened to see that you believe our account of–”

“But.”

“…Oh dear,” squeaked out Luna.

“But, that does not mean we are in any way satisfied.” Fluttershy pointed a hoof. “You are going to fix this.”

“Of course!” Luna nodded vigorously. “We would be happy to perform nearly any penance you would require!”

“Great.” Fluttershy gestured towards the window of the room. “Because you’re going to Bitaly to do your own dirty work and get Rarity and Rainbow Dash out of there.” Another gesture. “Now.”

“Now?” Luna shook her head. “Fluttershy, even if I could afford to sail across the sea, our vessel would arrive in Bitaly nearly a week after her arrival. If the level of danger is to be believed, our friends would have surely already perished.”

“I don’t give a shit, Luna.” Fluttershy, grip on her temper slipping, swore through clenched teeth. “Fucking fly if you have to. But you are going.”

“One cannot fly so far without rest, Fluttershy; surely you know this. And the clouds over the ocean are far too thin to allow for a quick slumber.” Luna pantomimed with her hooves and horn, depicting a pony falling through a field of blue. “One would plummet to a watery grave!”

“I don’t care if you have to swim the whole way, Luna.” Fluttershy stomped a back hoof against the wood, squirming in her chair. “You. Are. Going. To. Bit–”

“Why don’t you just take an airship?”

Both mares turned to Twilight.

“Airship?” asked Luna.

“Yeah. Airship.” Twilight nodded. “You know, big flying things? Takes three days to get across the ocean? Would be perfect for what you need? Those?”

Luna furrowed her brow. “No, we have no knowledge of such,” she added after a pause.

Fluttershy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it would be perfect, Twilight. Except for the part where she couldn’t even afford a normal ship.”

“Who cares?” Twilight chuckled. “Just charge it to the Crystal Empire! That’s what I’d do!”

A few moments passed in silence as the other two mares absorbed the casual gravity of Twilight's statement.

“…What?” Luna cocked her head. “Charge it to the Crystal Empire?”

“Yeah! It’s easy!” Twilight levitated over a quill and stack of papers, each marked with Cadence’s letterhead. “The Crystal Empire has, like, unlimited money, Luna. It’s literally made out of money. There are doorknobs in the palace worth more than Applejack’s farm.” She placed one of the papers onto the desk, positioning the quill above the form, an expense sheet, and gesturing for Luna to pick the quill up in her own field. “They’ve never noticed before, and as long as you, uh, bend the truth about why you would be spending Empire funds nopony would ever think to care.”

Luna looked at Twilight suspiciously, but took the quill into her own field. “We refuse to believe this could be this easy.”

“It is very much this easy. I don’t think Cadence and Shining have ever looked at their expenses.” Twilight shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve gotten away with this, Luna. And there’s basically no limit, too! Both of you could fly first class on the newest airship in the fleet, and they’d be none the wiser.”

“First class, you say?” Luna looked at Twilight, then the sheet. “And the both of us could travel?”

“Easily.”

“Well! We normally have no such stomach for such underhanded fiscal actions, but we suppose we could make an exception.” Luna turned to Fluttershy, eyebrow raised “What say you? We seem to recall you were unable to leave town due to your obligations, but, perhaps, this shorter stint would be acceptable?”

Fluttershy thought for a moment. “I guess if it’s only a week I could swing it.” She pointed a hoof back. “But we’re going first class, got it?”

“Done.” Luna began to fill out the form. “Now all we must figure out is a way to justify our trip’s existence.” She looked up. “Either one of you have any superb ideas?”

“Hmmmm…” Twilight rubbed her chin with a forehoof, deep in theatrically enhanced thought. “Huh, doesn’t Fluttershy kind of look like Cadence?” A smirk. “Think ponies would fall for a younger sister?”

“I don’t know, Twilight.” Fluttershy bit her lip. “I, uh, guess that might work, but I’m, uh, kind of famous from that thing with Rarity and the cameras, so people might recognize me.”

“You’re only vaguely famous, Fluttershy. That’s even better.” Twilight looked out the window. “Now come on, do you want to raid Rarity’s for dresses and jewelry or not? I know for a fact she’s sized things for you before.”

Well, that did sound like fun.

Author's Note

In lieu of an extended author's note, I've got a blog post up about this chapter and general state of things. Click here!